Merlin Fanfiction: Love As Thou Wilt | Part 7
Part 7
They are all silent as they travel north through the woods on one of the better kept roads. Around them, the forest is alive with life, birds chirping and insects buzzing. Gwaine rides ahead of them, searching for the markers that proclaim where the Druid road starts.
Beside him, Arthur is silent, eyes watchful. When Gwaine finally finds what he is looking for, he gives a shout. As the wagon pulls up, Merlin brings it to a stop. “Is this it?” Merlin asks. It looks barely big enough to let the wagon through.
“It is, look,” Gwaine says, pointing to one of the trees that bracket the road. There, barely noticeable, is a small sigil carved into the bark. If Merlin concentrates, he can just pick up on the small amount of magic infused with it.
“Then let’s go before anyone starts to come this way,” Arthur says. Gwaine goes in first, followed by Merlin and the cart then Arthur bringing up the rear. At first, it is a tight fit, bushes and branches scrapping along the sides of the cart. This goes on for a few hundred feet when suddenly, the trail opens up before them.
Gwaine is grinning from ear to ear at their surprised looks. “Told you,” he says simply, leading the way. Shrugging at Merlin, Arthur sends his horse forward to talk with Gwaine. For the most part, Merlin lets the sounds of their travel wash over him. After so long running in fear and desperation, it feels nice to not have to worry.
A small growl sounds out next to him, his bag giving a harsh wiggle before Aithusa pokes his head out from under the flap. He sends Merlin a questioning chirp, looking up with imploring blue eyes. “Sorry, Aithusa, but not until we’re a little further away from the city. Don’t want anyone seeing you just yet,” Merlin says, rubbing the little dragon under the chin. The dragon gives a sad chirp and pulls his head back into the pack.
They travel for the rest of the day, only stopping for the midday meal. Feeling a little guilty, Merlin let’s Aithusa out for a while. The little dragon spends most of their stop exploring the leaves and bushes, poking his head into random places.
By the time night starts to fall, Merlin is hoping they stop soon, his butt and back sore from the constant bouncing on the hard wooden bench. Gwaine seems to know what he is doing, because soon, he’s pulling off the side of the road into a little sheltered alcove of trees.
The ground has been cleared, a fire pit dug into the ground and ringed with rocks. There’s even a small lean-to with fire wood underneath it. Unhitching the horse from the wagon, Merlin and Arthur are silent as they see to their mounts, Gwaine looking on with an amused air.
As they sit around the fire eating, Gwaine comments, “You two have certainly been quiet.”
Arthur just grunts, eating the stew that they had made. Merlin shrugs. “We needed to be quiet when we escaped. It’s hard to slip out of it after so long,” Merlin says. Fidgeting with the pack, he lifts the flap and Aithusa crawls out to sprawl in front of the fire.
Smiling, Merlin places a small bowl of stew next to his head and soon the little dragon is devouring the meal. A sharp wind blew through their shelter and Merlin huddled closer to the fire, shivering a little. It is still winter, though the end of it.
The talk about the campfire is small, about nothing really. It is mostly Gwaine talking about things that had happened while they were away, the antics of his little network of people. Merlin listens, head nestled in his arms, letting the words wash over him and lull him a little.
He starts when a hand jerks him awake. “Go to bed, Merlin,” Arthur says quietly. Nodding, Merlin stands slowly, accepting the bedroll from Arthur. Rolling it, Merlin shucks off his boots and slips under the blankets, letting sleep drag him under. A short time later, a small ball of heat crawls into his makeshift bed and curls up against his stomach.
~*~
They start out early the next morning and for a while, Merlin sits on the wooden seat and drives. Then he remembers the slim book Morgana had given him. Digging into his bag, he pulls the leather-bound book out, leaving the flap open for Aithusa to crawl out groggily after being woken by Merlin.
Merlin spends the rest of the day immersed in its faded pages. It’s odd, to see Kilgharrah as something more than the man who bought and raised him as a child, but in these pages, he is seen from someone else’s eyes and the picture that Queen Ygraine de la Pendragon paints is a man with few worries and a more lighthearted nature.
It seems that it was Ygraine who found Kilgharrah, alone in the woods of Tintagel, hurt. Helping him back to the Bois summer home where she had been staying, she nursed Kilgharrah back to health. Soon after, they had struck up a friendship. With Ygraine’s charm and charisma and Kilgharrah’s wit, they were soon inseparable.
It isn’t until later on that Kilgharrah reveals who he was to Ygraine and through Ygraine’s journal, to Merlin. He had told her that he was older than he looked, far older. He told her in confidence about his true heritage, that of a dragon. At first Ygraine hadn’t believed him, thinking it a joke. It took some convincing on Kilgharrah’s part, but Ygraine doesn’t go into detail, so Merlin doesn’t learn how exactly Kilgharrah convinced her.
After the death of the last dragonlord, Ambrosia Antonius, had been slain, Kilgharrah had been grievously wounded. He’d gone into hiding, deep in the mountains to sleep and heal. He wasn’t too sure how he came to be in the hills of Tintagel in human form and can only assume it had to be the Balance’s doing.
It continues on to Ygraine’s first meeting of a brash, arrogant Uther de la Pendragon and her eventual falling in love. There were a few heated arguments over her soon approaching marriage to Uther, Kilgharrah saying harsh words about her betrothed. Finally, Ygraine gave Kilgharrah an ultimatum: leave her despite their friendship, or accept her marriage and come with her to Camelot. Eventually, he decided that he would come with her.
Everything was fine, until Ygraine couldn’t get pregnant.
When they came to Kilgharrah, asking him to use magic, at first he refused, not saying why. Eventually though, she cornered her friend and demanded he give one good reason why. He explained that for him to give her a child someone must die and it would most likely be her. He’d rather she be barren and childless than lose her.
She eventually persuaded him and she asked that he keep the risk from Uther, for her husband would try to stop her. “He has promised me to not tell Uther of the risk to my life, but I don’t care. I want to give Uther this and I want it for myself. This child that grows inside me will grow up with a king for a father and a dragon for a mentor and will be wiser for it. I just hope Kilgharrah can forgive me for forcing his hand. Mayhap one day, he will understand this need inside me of wanting to be a mother. One can only hope it will be soon.”
Soon though, she was pregnant and though it pained him, Kilgharrah was happy for her. Except, that as the due date steadily got closer, the weaker Ygraine became, often spending the day in bed, to regain her strength. By the end when she gave birth, she could barely move her head.
Merlin knows the rest, how the Queen was poisoned in her weakened state, soon after dying. How Uther, enraged with grief, had nearly banish Kilgharrah. He must have seen the grief in Kilgharrah’s eyes though, for he stayed his hand and shut the dragon-turned-man from the court.
That night, they sat around another fire in another little campsite. Merlin mused on Ygraine’s journal. He hadn’t even been born when this had happened. Arthur had already been sent to the Brothers and Morgana had already reached her second birthday by the time Merlin had been had been born. By the time Merlin had been taken to the Court, things had already been set into motion that would shape his future.
And that future extends to now, as their small group races for Porte and the sea and across the water, Hibernia, where their last hope waits. It seems so much rests on Merlin’s choices and words. Clutching the small diary tighter, Merlin prays to the Balance and any other god who is listening that he doesn’t fail.
~*~
They don’t cross paths with anyone until two days later. The road they have been following crosses through a large meadow, and in it sits a large camp of Druids. It is Merlin’s first time meeting a Druid, not counting Freya.
A man, the leader of the group most likely, steps forward to speak with Gwaine. Merlin keeps his head down and Aithusa’s hiding place close. Finally, Gwaine dismounts and walks over to them. “Borre has asked us to eat with him tonight and says we may camp here as well,” Gwaine says, nodding to the man standing further away.
“Is it safe?” Arthur asks lowly, eyeing the camp in front of them.
“It is,” Gwaine assures. “The Druids are a peaceful people and will not attack unless attacked first.”
“Then it seems we’ll be staying,” Merlin says softly.
Gwaine walks back to the man, telling him their decision. Borre smiles and nods, waves his arm in a gesture for them to follow him. He leads them to a small area near the back of the camp. He leaves them with another smile, saying he will send for them when the meal is ready.
They unsaddle the horses and brush them down. Laying out their bed rolls for later, they sit and wait. Arthur pulls out his sword and whet stone and sets about sharpening it. It gets a few looks from those closest to them, but for the most part, they are ignored.
Keeping his back to the camp, Merlin opens his pack to look at Aithusa. “You’re going to have to stay in there tonight,” Merlin says softly. Aithusa chirps at him in question. “No, they wouldn’t hurt you, but we need to keep you secret for now. I promise that the moment we get far enough away, I’ll let you out and you can fly around some.” Aithusa gives the dragon equivalent of a sigh, a puff of smoke drifting up out of the bag, and settles further into the leather folds.
Sighing, Merlin shuts the bag and tucks it under his bed roll. A few minutes later, someone comes forward and says that Borre will eat with them now. Merlin glances back once as they walk away before forcing himself to face forward.
~*~
Inside the tent they are shown to, Borre sits, his grey hair and lined face the only sign of his age. Beside him sits another man, who looks to be a few years younger. A younger man sits across from them, next to two women: one a younger woman, the other much older.
“Ah, come in, please. Have a seat,” Borre says, motioning to the cushions set near the fire. “Allow me to make introductions, please. This is my younger brother Clègis. That is his son and my nephew Sadok as well as his wife Frœdra and her mother Chiaræ.” He points to each in turn and they nod in greeting.
“A pleasure,” Gwaine says, taking a seat. Merlin and Arthur follow suit. “I am Gwaine and this is my cousin Merlin and Arthur, a friend we picked up on the road.”
“We still have a few minutes until the food is ready, come, let us talk. Where are you three headed?” Borre asks politely.
“Porte,” Gwaine says easily. “I’ve some family living there and with the sickness in Camelot, I thought it would be prudent for me and my cousin to leave, just in case it started to spread from the city.”
“We have heard of the sickness in the city. It is a sad thing indeed. We mourned for the loss of so many, as well as the passing of the old king. Uther wasn’t the greatest king, but he was still ours and he will be missed. And now, Morgana de la Pendragon is Queen,” Borre says softly.
Soon after, the meal is served and they eat mostly in silence, only talk of travel and weather breaking the silence. Merlin spends his time watching these people, not speaking as Gwaine and Arthur lead the discussions.
By the time they leave, Merlin still hasn’t spoken. “Is everything okay?” Arthur asks quietly as they walk back to their wagon.
“Hmm, oh, yes. It just, they seem so normal. I guess I was expecting more after so long hearing stories about them and Freya’s tales of them,” Merlin says, rubbing his neck a little.
Arthur snorts, but doesn’t say anything. They sleep close to the wagon and horses that night. Merlin starts awake at sudden sounds, but for the most part, the camp is silent.
~*~
By the time the sun has truly risen, they are packed and ready to leave. Gwaine and Arthur are seeing to the horses while Merlin puts out their small fire. He nearly falls into the fire when a hand lands on his arm. Whirling around, Merlin stares at Chiaræ.
“Peace, warlock,” she says softly.
“What?” Merlin asks sharply, panic rising. He didn’t want word of a warlock traveling through Camelot to get back to their enemies.
“Do not worry so. I still remember the old tales and if my kin and the rest of the camp are too ignorant to realize who you are, I will not be informing them. I just came to give you this,” she says and hands him a little pouch.
Frowning, but curious, Merlin takes it and peers inside. “My mother gave that to me, and her mother gave it to her, and so forth. It has brought my family good fortune, and it looks like you could use some of that luck yourself. Be safe young warlock and may the Balance always be in your favor.”
Inside, about the length of his thumb, rests a scale, a dragon scale. It shimmers with a bronze hue at the light hits it. “Thank…you,” Merlin finishes as he realizes that the old woman has already left.
“What is that?’ Arthur asks as Merlin comes over to take his usual position in the wagon.
“A good luck gift,” Merlin says, stowing the scale inside his pack next to Aithusa.
~*~
It takes them for more days to reach Porte proper, but their last night camping with the wagon; they can smell the sea on the breeze. Perhaps this has them letting their guard down because as they start to make their way further down the road, they are taken by surprise by a patrol as it crests a hill.
The twenty guards pour down the trail and start to surround them. Merlin can see Arthur’s hand on his sword hilt and though he can’t see Gwaine’s front, he’s sure Gwaine has his hands on his hidden daggers. Merlin stares at the banner one of the riders is carrying: a dark blue field with three black ravens; the Duc de Porte’s crest.
Their leader stops just in front of them, eyeing their small wagon and plain clothing. “Where are you bound, Druid?” he asks.
“We are taking something to the Admiral, may we pass?” Gwaine asks with easy, even with his hands on his daggers.
The leader snorts, “No one crosses without the Duc’s permission. We shall wait for him.”
Merlin heart sinks at the leader’s words. The one person who can identify him whose loyalties are ambiguous at best and he is being brought to meet them. One of the men turns his mount and rides off for their master.
They dare not try and fight through, not with reinforcements so close, so they wait and an hour later, the sound of two horses can be heard. Merlin ducks his head, hoping to avoid attention as the rider and Duc Mordred de Porte ride over the hill.
The men bow as the Duc pulls his horse up. “Why have you sent for me?” he asks with a note of annoyance in his voice.
“My lord, these Druids are seeking permission to cross, but they have not given sufficient reason as to why,” the leader says.
“And that reason?” Duc de Porte asks with a bored look.
“They say they carry something to the Admiral who has made port along your coast,” he informs him.
“Oh, and what is it that you carry for the dear Admiral?” Duc de Porte asks.
“Sir, we cannot say. We were given it in the strictest confidence and asked to deliver it as quickly as possible,” Gwaine says.
The Duc snorts softly, eyeing their small company. “If you cannot give sufficient reason, then I cannot let you cross.” He starts to turn his horse and stops, “Unless you are willing to trade for passage. As Druids, I’m sure you’ve something of worth to trade.”
Gwaine sidles up, “I could trade you this fine mount that I ride. As a lord, I’m sure you have need of such good flesh.”
“Why would I need another horse to add to my stables? If that is the best you can do, then turn your wagon around and leave,” Duc de Porte says.
“My lord,” Merlin calls out and the Duc pulls up his mount. “Perhaps we can come to a fair trade.”
“You idiot, what the hell are you thinking?” Arthur hisses at him, grabbing him by the arm.
Merlin shakes Arthur off and continues to stare at the Duc as he turns around. Even without the dragon mask, the Duc can clearly see his eyes. “Nimueh’s thing? I had heard you are a condemned murderer,” he says, staring at Merlin.
Ignoring his words, Merlin continues, “You know what I offer, my lord. One night, free passage and no questions. Do you accept?”
“Someone has forgotten to leash you. You cannot make such terms, warlock,” Duc de Porte says.
“I am a free man with a completed Mearcung and can make what terms I want. Do you accept? I will make you no other,” Merlin says evenly, not even flinching.
“I wonder what the Queen would pay to know of your presence. Or maybe house L’Isle? Nimueh always loves to learn things,” he says evenly.
Merlin can feel Arthur’s heated gave on his back and can hear Gwaine cursing up a storm nearby, his words getting darker and darker as the seconds draw out. As the tension grows, Merlin waits, not answering his questions, just staring.
Finally, the Duc breaks the staring match. “What business is it of mine that the Admiral is using Druids as a courier service? Fine, I accept your offer. You shall be my guests tonight and in the morning, you shall ride to the Admiral. Is it agreed?”
Merlin speaks up before Arthur can say anything, “It is. We will draw up the contract in your quarters. Do you have a priest to witness it?” Merlin asks.
“I will send for one,” he says.
Merlin nods and the Duc turns his mount. Slowly, they follow him along the road, Merlin ignoring the glare Arthur is sending him.
~*~
Merlin has never seen the home of the Duc de Porte. It is a tall watchtower, wider than even Kilgharrah’s house. It stands stark gray against the back drop of the sea. Behind it, the land falls away to white cliffs and a thin line of beach.
The wind whips over the cliff as the approach and Merlin shivers. Inside, the wagon is stowed and their horses stabled. They stand in the courtyard of the tower, the sky a distant circle of blue over their heads. Arthur and Gwaine pull Merlin aside while the Duc sees to other things for the moment.
“Are you crazy, Merlin?” Arthur hisses at him. “Why did you speak up?”
“We needed a way to cross. Mordred would have never let use cross otherwise,” Merlin says, trying to keep an even voice.
“Do you think he will keep his word?” Gwaine asks, eyeing the Duc.
“Yes. He maybe a prick, but he is bound by the Balance just as I am. It is harder than it looks to break a promise with the Balance, and not end up hurting yourself,” Merlin says. “Look, what’s done is done. At least we get a time to rest here. Try and gather any information if you must, but I will be doing this and nothing you say will stop me,” Merlin says, looking at Arthur.
Arthur heaves a heavy sigh, “Fine. But if he hurts you maliciously, I will drive my sword through his heart.” Merlin grins at Arthur’s words and nods. Merlin hands Arthur Aithusa’s bag with a look and he nods, understanding. He will keep him safe and hidden.
Mordred doesn’t even look at Arthur and Gwaine when he tells them they may stay with the guard in the kitchen for the night. Motioning Merlin onwards, he leads the way from the courtyard. Merlin glances back once with a small smile for his friends.
The priestess is waiting for them in his study; he simple robes a bright contrast to the darker stone. A fire roars in the grate behind his desk as they draw up the contract. “Your signal?” Mordred asks near the end.
Merlin blinks and it takes him a second to realize what he just asked. “Oh, um, Aithusa,’ Merlin says. It seems to fit, that his little dragon will protect him, even when not here. It doesn’t seem right for him to use Gwaine’s name anymore, not since Nimueh took the safety it meant away.
Mordred nods, his pale blue eyes staring at him for a drawn out second before writing down the word to the contract. The priestess nods and steps forward, pressing her seal into the wax and signing the contract. Merlin and Mordred sign it as well.
“You know, I will ask questions afterwards. The contract does not forbid that,” Mordred says once the priestess has left.
“I know, my lord, but beware, for those questions come with answers,” Merlin says evenly.
“Ah, so the dragon has a mind of its own. You know, unlike Nimueh, I have no need for collars,” he says, hand brushing the base of Merlin’s throat. “Are you Nimueh’s creature still? Has she sent you to test me? What game is she playing?”
Merlin steps back, shaking his head. “No questions, my lord,” Merlin reminds him.
“Ah yes,” he says and for a second, Merlin see him doubting his decision in taking up Merlin’s offer.
Sighing, Merlin shakes his head, “I will answer one thing, before we honor the contract. I am not Nimueh’s. If anything, I am Kilgharrah’s.”
“He honored his vow to Ygraine, in life and death. If you are his even with him dead, than you must be here on Morgana’s bidding,” Mordred says.
Merlin doesn’t say anything, only nodding toward the contract on the table still.
“Ah, yes, the contract. My servant will see you bathed and clothed properly,” he says, pulling on a rope cord beside the desk. A few minutes later, a servant knocks at the door. “See to it that he is bathed and dressed.”
The servant bows and leads Merlin out..
~*~
The servant leads Merlin away to a waiting bath. Merlin will admit that he indulges in the heated water after so many days using at best lukewarm water and a handy piece of cloth to bathe. By the time he is finished and has dried, the servants have found something close to his size.
The shirt, a rich purple, is a little loose in the shoulders and waist, but a belt fixes it mostly and he doesn’t complain. The leggings and pants are a brown so dark, they look almost black. Polished, black leather boots finish the image.
It has been so long since he dressed up for a patron that it feels odd now, like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. Running a hand through his hair, Merlin nods to the servant in the mirror and follows him back out.
They don’t go back to the study, but to a small dining room set off to the side. Inside, it is set up for two, candles and a low fire making the room seem intimate. The servant arrive just as they sit down, serving the simple but rich food.
They are silent throughout the meal, Merlin watching Mordred through his lashes. When the last piece has been eaten and the last plate removed Mordred motions for the servant to pour them some wine. Merlin sips at is slowly, savoring the rich taste.
“Come,” Mordred finally says, and stands. Cradling his goblet, Merlin drains the last of his wine and sets it aside as he stands.
He is led to another room; inside a large four poster bed waits. Not the Duc’s rooms, a guest room most likely by the lack of anything but the basic furniture. As Merlin walks ahead, Mordred shuts and locks the door behind them. Merlin turns and looks at the Duc. “It begins now. Undress me,” he says.
Merlin doesn’t say anything, just steps forward to slowly peel the Duc’s clothing from his body. His body bears scars and Merlin remembers that the Duc used to be a soldier when he was younger, before his father died and he became the next Duc.
His cock is already hard behind his laces when Merlin goes to unknot them. Mordred places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder as he finishes the laces and grabs Mordred’s leg to take his boots off. He is full naked in front of Merlin, who is still on his knees.
“I will take my pleasure tonight, starting with these,” Mordred says softly, running a thumb over Merlin’s lips. His hand jerks up, grabbing a handful of Merlin’s hair and shoving his face into his crotch. Merlin doesn’t fight him, letting the Duc guide him for what he wants. It’s going to be a long night.
~*~
Merlin wakes alone in the bed. Stiff and a little sore, he stretches, feeling his muscles give easily. That certainly wasn’t the worst assignation he has had. A servant enters shortly with clothing and a message that the Duc wishes to have breakfast with him.
Thanking the servant, Merlin dismisses them and gets dressed. The shirt is thick white cloth, a brown leather belt cinching the billowing clothe to his waist. Sturdy boots go over fine breeches. Clothing meant for traveling.
Remembering the dining room from before, Merlin leaves his room and makes his way over to it. Mordred is already there, eating from a small array of dishes as he reads from a parchment scroll.
“Thank you for the clothing,” Merlin says, settling into the same chair from last time.
“I figured you no longer needed to hide behind your Druid clothing. Here,” he says, not looking up as he slides something across the table toward Merlin.
When he takes his hand away, Merlin sees a small crystal set in a silver ring. A fine chain goes through the loop over it. “It is a seeing crystal, taken from a cave full of them. It shows possible futures. I think you will need this more than I will, Warlock,” Mordred says.
“Thank you,” Merlin says softly, pulling the chain over his head and tucking the crystal into his shirt.
~*~
The Duc escorts him back to the courtyard where their wagon waits, already loaded and hitched, Gwaine and Arthur waiting on their horses. “I bring him back reasonable unharmed, knight. You can stop plotting my demises now,” Mordred says, eyeing Arthur whose hand is resting on the hilt of his sword.
Arthur glares at him and looks at Merlin, “Are you all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” Merlin reassures. “The Duc honored our contract and we are free to continue.”
“Give my…regards, to the Queen’s admiral,” Mordred says with a smirk, turning away and walking back into his tower.
Merlin settles onto his wooden bench, pulling his pack close. Inside, he can feel Aithusa wiggling with want to come out and check on him. Flicking the reins, he follows Gwaine and Arthur as they leave the tower and make their way back the way they had come.
Arthur draws his horse up slightly until he is riding next to Merlin. “Are you sure you are all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” Merlin says and winces as the cart goes over a bump and jostles the wagon. “Just a little sore, is all.”
“I’ll never understand how you can do this to yourself, let them hurt you so and call it pleasure,” Arthur grits out, glaring at open air.
“Your one to talk with your temper,” Merlin says sharply.
“What? I do not have a temper! And what has that to do with anything?” Arthur asks, jerking around to look at Merlin.
“You have a horrid temper, Arthur, but you try and hide it under your knightly honor. I’ve seen you lose it, seen you fight like a beast cornered when all hope was lost and death the only option. What is it like to lose yourself in it, to let go of everything?” Merlin asks, looking up at him with narrowed eyes.
“Good,” Arthur admits and looks away.
Merlin sighs, “If you must know, it isn’t really the sex part that is so great. My magic, when I use it, it’s like I’m finally whole. And when it is released during, it is like I’m connected to everything. I’m not me without my magic.”
“And among the Picts?” Arthur asks softly.
“That wasn’t by choice. That was me being used by the Balance,” Merlin says.
“Oh,” he says. They ride in silence for a while further. It took an half an hour to get back to their original path. After that it was a short hour ride along the coast until they found them.
Rising up over a hill, a forest of masts greeted them. “Come one!” Gwaine calls out to them, spurring his mount onward. Down below, men scurry about, some coming towards their path having spotted them.
By the time they reach the bottom of the hill, Admiral Petit Fils has arrived, glaring at their approach. “You have much explaining to do, Merlin nó Emrys,” Petit growls out as the wagon draws close to him.
“We bear a message from the Queen,” Merlin says. He doesn’t have time to say more as Petit pulls him from the wagon into a bone grinding hug. Merlin tries to hug back as best he can, but his arms are pinned at odd angles.
“I’d thought you lost for sure,” he says, pulling back. “Those idiots in the council had you convicted of murder.”
“I know; that is one reason why I’m here and not in Camelot,” Merlin says.
“And the other?” he asks.
“I speak Hibernian,” Merlin says.
“Ahh, that. I suppose we have much to discuss.” He glances at Arthur and Gwaine, “And I guess you two can come as well.” Merlin tries to hide his grin at the Admiral’s words.
Inside the tent, it is filled with chests and books and more treasure than Merlin has ever seen. “Sit and tell me what actually happened, from the beginning. Who killed the Old Dragon?” he asks, plopping down onto a stool.
Merlin and Arthur stare from the beginning in the tattooist’s shop and work their way up to meeting Nimueh in the castle and her betrayal. “It was Valiant d’Alene who killed Kilgharrah,” Merlin says, the old ache of loss trying to force its way into his throat. Swallowing heavily, they continue. They finish their tale with Morgana’s decision.
Petit sighs heavily, “I had hoped something like this wouldn’t happen. So she wants us to go across the straight to try and bring us her foreign love, eh? A fool’s errand if you ask me,” he growls, rubbing at the stubble on his cheek.
“And if it’s not a fool’s errand?” Merlin asks, leaning forward from where he is leaned against a chest.
“I’ve tried before, Merlin, from all sides, and nothing has works. We’d never even make landfall, even if we got close enough too,” Petit says.
Frowning, Merlin fiddles with the necklace around his neck. “How many ships?” Gwaine asks Petit.
“I’ve fifteen at the moment. The rest are further north, up the Gathen River to help with the Pict raids,” he says, but Merlin isn’t listening. Staring at the crystal, the shifts it and the light from a candle reflects off of it, shining in his eyes.
Images rise up in his mind: a ship setting sail, another lost in a fog bank, another sinking as a storm rages on overhead, another sailing into a bay. It is always the single ship, the Pendragon crest flying on the main mast.
“One ship,” Merlin says and they all look up at him. “You will only need one ship.”
“How?” Arthur asks.
Merlin holds up the crystal pendant, “Duc de Porte gave this to me as a patron-gift. It is a seeing crystal and shows possible futures. In every one I saw, there was on ship, flying the Pendragon crest.”
Petit rubs at his face again. “I’ve not much choice in the matter, huh? Do this or not.”
“It is your choice, Admiral,” Merlin says softly.
Giving a shuddering sigh, Petit squares his shoulders. “Well, if we’re going to die, might as well do it with style. I hope you know a way to get around the Fisher King, warlock, because if not, this will be a short voyage.” Merlin gulps at his words. “Well, better go tell the men to start packing and loading the ships. We set sail at dawn.”
~*~
As the sun slowly rises up, Petit and his men push the oar boats off from the shore, making their way to the flag ship where it rests further out in the bay. They had been up late into the night, planning and issuing orders. The rest of his fleet will go up the river to join his ships already stationed there. They could use the extra soldiers, even those trained for battle at sea.
A few remained to hold of Mordred and as the ships slowly got ready to sail, they remained on shore, watching. Merlin, Arthur, and Gwaine stood off to the side uneasily as the men hurried about, shouting orders.
Arthur, looking green around the edges, stared balefully at the vast expanse of water ahead of them. “Princess,” Gwaine stage whispered to Merlin with a grin. Grunting in annoyance, Arthur shot Gwaine a glare.
For Merlin, it’s an effort to find his sea legs, holding onto the railing to keep from slipping on the sea slick deck. Gwaine takes it in stride, swaggering across the deck like he was born to it. For Merlin, who has never seen an ocean and the biggest bit of water a lake, boats are something of a mystery to him.
As Petit walks about shouting orders left and right, slowly the ship comes to life. Men file down below and a low drum beat starts up, beating an easy tempo. The oars come out of their holes and the ship groans and turns to face out towards the mouth of the bay.
Feeling the wooden planks shudder under his feet as the ship starts to move, Merlin grips the railing harder. Petit shouts an order over the splashing of the oars just as the reach the mouth of the bay. Men hanging off the masts wave and the sails unfurl.
It is a sight to behold, the middle, biggest mast, holding a crimson sail, the golden dragon bulging out as the wind catches the sails. Merlin feels the moment the wind grabs the ship and pushes them. The oars are drawn in with shouts and cheers, men coming back up with grins. They are sailing.
A keg of wine is opened to toast the new voyage and Gwaine brings them all a flagon of it. Sipping at his, Merlin turns to look at Arthur who is looking greener by the second. “I shouldn’t,” he mutters, handing the flagon back to Gwaine who shrugs and drains it.
“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist, lad,” Petit roars, his cheek red with wine and the cool wind whipping by them. “If it comes up, it comes up, but just lean over the rail. We don’t want to have to clean up your sick later.”
A few minutes later, Arthur’s eyes grow wide and he does as told, leaning over the rail to let his stomach’s contents come up. Merlin winces in sympathy as Arthur’s back heaves. Petit laughs again. “Don’t worry; he’ll get his sea legs eventually.”
Merlin frowns at the Admiral, but he just grins and walks off, shouting orders. Gwaine, snickering at Arthur’s discomfort, follows him, already walking like a seaman. Sighing, Merlin stays put, watching over Arthur.
Petit’s plan is to make a straight shot across the waters west. With the wind at their backs, he reckons they can gain a good enough lead to stay ahead of the Fisher King and reach Hibernia’s eastern coast before he tries to stop them.
It is a good plan, but they don’t reckon on the Fisher King being in a foul mood.
~*~
The wind starts to slack, another breeze coming from the west, pushing the waves back towards them, slowing them. Petit is close enough that Merlin can hear him curse in the colorful sailor’s tongue. “What is it?” Merlin asks, looking at the Admiral.
“It’s him,” he says softly, and his voice carries over the sudden stillness as all the winds die suddenly. “It’s the Fisher King.”
Just as suddenly as the sky was clear, it opens up over them, rain and thunder and lightning. The sea pitches the boat like a toy. Merlin clings to the railing, Arthur next to him. “Can you do anything?” Arthur yells at him over the roar of the wind.
Merlin shakes his head. “I…I don’t know,” he shouts back.
“Drop the sails!” Petit roars and his men jump to do his bidding. Even on the heaving deck, they are agile, but even that isn’t enough as a huge wave sweeps over the ship, grabbing at those with nothing to hold and dragging them across. One man gets swept overboard, unable to grab the railing in time.
Arthur waits and then grabs Merlin, hauling him over to the main mast. Taking a rope, he quickly ties it around Merlin’s waist.
“Admiral, do we turn back?” Arthur yells at Petit.
Petit shakes his head, “It’s too late, he already here!”
A wave is coming towards them faster than anything natural. It grows and swells until it towers over even their tallest mast. And in it, a horrid fast stares back, eyes dark and fathomless as they stare down at them.
“WHO DARES CROSS MY OCEAN?”
“I do you old hag and if you want this prophesy of yours to happen, you’ll let us across!” Petit roars, hanging onto the wheel.
There’s a booming sound and it takes Merlin a second to realize that the face is laughing, laughing at them. “IT IS NOT YOUR PROPHESY, CAPTAIN! WHAT WILL YOU PAY FOR PASSAGE?”
“Name your price, you bloody sea nag, and I’ll pay it!” Petit roars back.
“A song,” someone says and Merlin sees Arthur close by, looking at him. “A song the likes of which you will have never heard.”
Merlin can only stare at him in bewilderment. Where would they get such a song? Arthur’s next words are lost in a roar of wind, but Merlin can read his lips: Hoel’s steading.
Realizing what he means, Merlin straightens and sings. Sings the songs he learned while slave to Hoel. He sings the songs of blood and battle, of home and hearth and the harvest, of love lost and children born. He sings until his throat is hoarse and the wind and sea dies down. Merlin falls silent and stares at the huge face looming above them.
“IT IS ACCEPTABLE. YOU MAY CROSS,” the Fisher King says and the wave sinks back down, the sky clearing as if nothing had ever happened.
Merlin sinks down, resting against the mast where he is tied. His legs are shaking and his throat feels like someone scraped it raw. Merlin shuts his eyes and is dead to the world.
~*~
He wakes to the darkness of the cabin below. Someone had carried him down and put him in a hammock, a blanket tucked up close around him. He can feel the warm, reassuring weight of Aithusa tucked under his arm.
Blinking bleary eyes, he can just make out Gwaine sitting on the floor, back to the wall. “Gwaine?” Merlin says and his throat comes out in a hoarse croak.
“Did you miss me?” he asks with a lazy grin. Standing, he comes forward with a flagon of some of the wine from before. Merlin takes it with a grateful smile.
“I wasn’t sure. I saw one go over,” Merlin says, swallowing with a wince.
“Four,” Gwaine says, eyes sad. “It would have been more if Harry Renowne, Petit’s second, hadn’t made us lash ourselves to the railing.”
“You saw it then?” Merlin asks.
“Yes, and you. Your eyes, they were glowing golden as you sang. It was magic,” Gwaine says.
Merlin shakes his head. “I don’t know what it was I did.” He looks back at his friend. “Where’s Arthur?”
“Above, trying to get his bearings by the stars. He’s not vomiting though, so that’s progress,” Gwaine says with a grin.
“We owe him,” Merlin mumbles, feeling sleep creeping back up on him.
“You’re the one who sang,” Gwaine says.
“But he was the one who reminded me,” Merlin says softly.
“Go to sleep, Merlin,” Gwaine says softly, hand running through Merlin’s hair soothingly. Merlin snuggles closer to Aithusa and falls asleep to the swaying of the ship.
~*~
Merlin shivers in the cool air as the sun rises from behind them. “Where do we land?” Merlin asks Petit where he stands next to him.
“A good question, Merlin. The last know information says that our Hibernian heir has taken refuge amongst the Wigend near the western coast of Hibernia. I suggest that we sail around the north of the island. With winter nearly done, the seas shouldn’t be too bad. After that, it is up to you to guide the way,” he says staring at Merlin.
“Me?” Merlin says with wide eyes.
“Yes, warlock. I’m here to get you there, but even I can’t just pick a random bay in hopes of finding these people. Maybe that crystal can help us,” he says pointing to where the chain peaks out from under his shirt.
“It only shows possible future, Admiral. It wouldn’t be of use to find the bay we need,” Merlin says.
“A possible future can still happen,” Arthur says coming up beside him.
“I don’t…I don’t even know how the crystal works. Last time was an accident,” Merlin admits, tugging the crystal out of his shirt.
“You figure it out, Merlin. For now, Admiral, I suggest we find land before we start looking for a place to land,” Arthur says.
“Don’t push yourself, lad. We still have a few days before we reach the western coast,” Petit says, clapping him on the shoulder. Nodding back at Arthur, he walks off, shouting orders to his men.
~*~
Merlin watches the sea, leaning up against the point of the ship. He nearly jumps when something grey jumps out of the water next to the ship. “What is that?” he asks aloud.
“Dolphins,” Gwaine says behind him. Merlin turns to look at him. “One of the men told me. They follow ships at sea and often help guide them to safe harbor. The sea folk see them as good luck.”
“Too bad they can’t show us the way,” Merlin says.
“Quit it,” Gwaine says, coming up to lean next to him. “Beating yourself up will not do any good.”
Merlin sighs, “I know. It’s just frustrating.”
“I read somewhere once that a warlock is the connection between this world and the Balance. I remember that day, at the temple; you were gone for a long time. Mayhap that’s you way of finding Driant. Maybe your magic can be used to seek him out,” Gwaine says.
“It’s worth a try,” Merlin says. Eyeing the water down below, he pushes off from the railing, “Maybe I should be seated for this.”
Settling his back against the wooden railing, Merlin breaths in the salt air and lets it back out. He can hear the gulls crying over head and the dolphins splashing beside the ship. There’s no bell this time to ring, but he doesn’t need it. Pulling deep, he lets his magic out like a fog, tendrils crawling forward, searching for the Hibernian heir.
“Come,” he hears. He jumps mentally. “Come,” the voice calls again. An image comes to mind, a deep bay, white cliffs towering on either side. “Come.”
Merlin frowns as he starts to draw his magic back in. He can hear people talking and a hand on his shoulder, shaking him softly. “Merlin,” he hears Gwaine calling. Frowning harder, he pushes the last bit and opens his eyes to white all around them.
“What happened?” he asks, staring at the fog bank enclosing the ship.
“I don’t know,” Gwaine says. “It happens shortly after you closed your eyes.”
“Oh,” Merlin says.
“What things have you been meddling with, boy?” Petit asks, coming forward. His men stay back, eyeing Merlin.
“I…I didn’t mean to. I don’t have complete control of my magic and sometimes it does things without me intending for them to happen,” Merlin says, looking up sheepishly.
“And what was it you were doing then?” the admiral asks.
“Looking for Driant and I think I know where he will be,” Merlin says, standing up shakily.
“Merlin?” Arthur calls from the fog.
“Over here,” Gwaine says and the knight emerges a few seconds later, frowning at Merlin.
“And where will he be?” Petit asks.
“I saw an image of a bay. It looked pretty deep and it had white cliffs surrounding it. I’ll know it when I see it,” Merlin says.
“Let’s hope we find it before we crash in this fog,” Petit says.
As if someone was listening, a breeze picks up, shooing the fog away. Merlin blinks as the sunlight shines through momentarily blinding him. Shifting, he glances to the east over the other side of the ship. His breath catches in his throat. “Admiral, that’s it. That’s the bay I saw!”
“Are you sure?” he asks, turning to look at Merlin.
“I’m positive,” Merlin says, grinning.
“Well then boys, you heard the warlock. Turn our course, we’re making for land!” Petit yells. As his men obey, he turns to Merlin, “I sure hope you know what you are doing, warlock.”
As the white cliffs close in around them, sails are lowered and the oars come out. Dipping them into the water, they stroke backwards, slowing the ship’s momentum. As they slow, Merlin can make out the shore line. A group of people stand on it watching them.
Armed and waiting for them to make land.
~*~
Part 8
They are all silent as they travel north through the woods on one of the better kept roads. Around them, the forest is alive with life, birds chirping and insects buzzing. Gwaine rides ahead of them, searching for the markers that proclaim where the Druid road starts.
Beside him, Arthur is silent, eyes watchful. When Gwaine finally finds what he is looking for, he gives a shout. As the wagon pulls up, Merlin brings it to a stop. “Is this it?” Merlin asks. It looks barely big enough to let the wagon through.
“It is, look,” Gwaine says, pointing to one of the trees that bracket the road. There, barely noticeable, is a small sigil carved into the bark. If Merlin concentrates, he can just pick up on the small amount of magic infused with it.
“Then let’s go before anyone starts to come this way,” Arthur says. Gwaine goes in first, followed by Merlin and the cart then Arthur bringing up the rear. At first, it is a tight fit, bushes and branches scrapping along the sides of the cart. This goes on for a few hundred feet when suddenly, the trail opens up before them.
Gwaine is grinning from ear to ear at their surprised looks. “Told you,” he says simply, leading the way. Shrugging at Merlin, Arthur sends his horse forward to talk with Gwaine. For the most part, Merlin lets the sounds of their travel wash over him. After so long running in fear and desperation, it feels nice to not have to worry.
A small growl sounds out next to him, his bag giving a harsh wiggle before Aithusa pokes his head out from under the flap. He sends Merlin a questioning chirp, looking up with imploring blue eyes. “Sorry, Aithusa, but not until we’re a little further away from the city. Don’t want anyone seeing you just yet,” Merlin says, rubbing the little dragon under the chin. The dragon gives a sad chirp and pulls his head back into the pack.
They travel for the rest of the day, only stopping for the midday meal. Feeling a little guilty, Merlin let’s Aithusa out for a while. The little dragon spends most of their stop exploring the leaves and bushes, poking his head into random places.
By the time night starts to fall, Merlin is hoping they stop soon, his butt and back sore from the constant bouncing on the hard wooden bench. Gwaine seems to know what he is doing, because soon, he’s pulling off the side of the road into a little sheltered alcove of trees.
The ground has been cleared, a fire pit dug into the ground and ringed with rocks. There’s even a small lean-to with fire wood underneath it. Unhitching the horse from the wagon, Merlin and Arthur are silent as they see to their mounts, Gwaine looking on with an amused air.
As they sit around the fire eating, Gwaine comments, “You two have certainly been quiet.”
Arthur just grunts, eating the stew that they had made. Merlin shrugs. “We needed to be quiet when we escaped. It’s hard to slip out of it after so long,” Merlin says. Fidgeting with the pack, he lifts the flap and Aithusa crawls out to sprawl in front of the fire.
Smiling, Merlin places a small bowl of stew next to his head and soon the little dragon is devouring the meal. A sharp wind blew through their shelter and Merlin huddled closer to the fire, shivering a little. It is still winter, though the end of it.
The talk about the campfire is small, about nothing really. It is mostly Gwaine talking about things that had happened while they were away, the antics of his little network of people. Merlin listens, head nestled in his arms, letting the words wash over him and lull him a little.
He starts when a hand jerks him awake. “Go to bed, Merlin,” Arthur says quietly. Nodding, Merlin stands slowly, accepting the bedroll from Arthur. Rolling it, Merlin shucks off his boots and slips under the blankets, letting sleep drag him under. A short time later, a small ball of heat crawls into his makeshift bed and curls up against his stomach.
~*~
They start out early the next morning and for a while, Merlin sits on the wooden seat and drives. Then he remembers the slim book Morgana had given him. Digging into his bag, he pulls the leather-bound book out, leaving the flap open for Aithusa to crawl out groggily after being woken by Merlin.
Merlin spends the rest of the day immersed in its faded pages. It’s odd, to see Kilgharrah as something more than the man who bought and raised him as a child, but in these pages, he is seen from someone else’s eyes and the picture that Queen Ygraine de la Pendragon paints is a man with few worries and a more lighthearted nature.
It seems that it was Ygraine who found Kilgharrah, alone in the woods of Tintagel, hurt. Helping him back to the Bois summer home where she had been staying, she nursed Kilgharrah back to health. Soon after, they had struck up a friendship. With Ygraine’s charm and charisma and Kilgharrah’s wit, they were soon inseparable.
It isn’t until later on that Kilgharrah reveals who he was to Ygraine and through Ygraine’s journal, to Merlin. He had told her that he was older than he looked, far older. He told her in confidence about his true heritage, that of a dragon. At first Ygraine hadn’t believed him, thinking it a joke. It took some convincing on Kilgharrah’s part, but Ygraine doesn’t go into detail, so Merlin doesn’t learn how exactly Kilgharrah convinced her.
After the death of the last dragonlord, Ambrosia Antonius, had been slain, Kilgharrah had been grievously wounded. He’d gone into hiding, deep in the mountains to sleep and heal. He wasn’t too sure how he came to be in the hills of Tintagel in human form and can only assume it had to be the Balance’s doing.
It continues on to Ygraine’s first meeting of a brash, arrogant Uther de la Pendragon and her eventual falling in love. There were a few heated arguments over her soon approaching marriage to Uther, Kilgharrah saying harsh words about her betrothed. Finally, Ygraine gave Kilgharrah an ultimatum: leave her despite their friendship, or accept her marriage and come with her to Camelot. Eventually, he decided that he would come with her.
Everything was fine, until Ygraine couldn’t get pregnant.
When they came to Kilgharrah, asking him to use magic, at first he refused, not saying why. Eventually though, she cornered her friend and demanded he give one good reason why. He explained that for him to give her a child someone must die and it would most likely be her. He’d rather she be barren and childless than lose her.
She eventually persuaded him and she asked that he keep the risk from Uther, for her husband would try to stop her. “He has promised me to not tell Uther of the risk to my life, but I don’t care. I want to give Uther this and I want it for myself. This child that grows inside me will grow up with a king for a father and a dragon for a mentor and will be wiser for it. I just hope Kilgharrah can forgive me for forcing his hand. Mayhap one day, he will understand this need inside me of wanting to be a mother. One can only hope it will be soon.”
Soon though, she was pregnant and though it pained him, Kilgharrah was happy for her. Except, that as the due date steadily got closer, the weaker Ygraine became, often spending the day in bed, to regain her strength. By the end when she gave birth, she could barely move her head.
Merlin knows the rest, how the Queen was poisoned in her weakened state, soon after dying. How Uther, enraged with grief, had nearly banish Kilgharrah. He must have seen the grief in Kilgharrah’s eyes though, for he stayed his hand and shut the dragon-turned-man from the court.
That night, they sat around another fire in another little campsite. Merlin mused on Ygraine’s journal. He hadn’t even been born when this had happened. Arthur had already been sent to the Brothers and Morgana had already reached her second birthday by the time Merlin had been had been born. By the time Merlin had been taken to the Court, things had already been set into motion that would shape his future.
And that future extends to now, as their small group races for Porte and the sea and across the water, Hibernia, where their last hope waits. It seems so much rests on Merlin’s choices and words. Clutching the small diary tighter, Merlin prays to the Balance and any other god who is listening that he doesn’t fail.
~*~
They don’t cross paths with anyone until two days later. The road they have been following crosses through a large meadow, and in it sits a large camp of Druids. It is Merlin’s first time meeting a Druid, not counting Freya.
A man, the leader of the group most likely, steps forward to speak with Gwaine. Merlin keeps his head down and Aithusa’s hiding place close. Finally, Gwaine dismounts and walks over to them. “Borre has asked us to eat with him tonight and says we may camp here as well,” Gwaine says, nodding to the man standing further away.
“Is it safe?” Arthur asks lowly, eyeing the camp in front of them.
“It is,” Gwaine assures. “The Druids are a peaceful people and will not attack unless attacked first.”
“Then it seems we’ll be staying,” Merlin says softly.
Gwaine walks back to the man, telling him their decision. Borre smiles and nods, waves his arm in a gesture for them to follow him. He leads them to a small area near the back of the camp. He leaves them with another smile, saying he will send for them when the meal is ready.
They unsaddle the horses and brush them down. Laying out their bed rolls for later, they sit and wait. Arthur pulls out his sword and whet stone and sets about sharpening it. It gets a few looks from those closest to them, but for the most part, they are ignored.
Keeping his back to the camp, Merlin opens his pack to look at Aithusa. “You’re going to have to stay in there tonight,” Merlin says softly. Aithusa chirps at him in question. “No, they wouldn’t hurt you, but we need to keep you secret for now. I promise that the moment we get far enough away, I’ll let you out and you can fly around some.” Aithusa gives the dragon equivalent of a sigh, a puff of smoke drifting up out of the bag, and settles further into the leather folds.
Sighing, Merlin shuts the bag and tucks it under his bed roll. A few minutes later, someone comes forward and says that Borre will eat with them now. Merlin glances back once as they walk away before forcing himself to face forward.
~*~
Inside the tent they are shown to, Borre sits, his grey hair and lined face the only sign of his age. Beside him sits another man, who looks to be a few years younger. A younger man sits across from them, next to two women: one a younger woman, the other much older.
“Ah, come in, please. Have a seat,” Borre says, motioning to the cushions set near the fire. “Allow me to make introductions, please. This is my younger brother Clègis. That is his son and my nephew Sadok as well as his wife Frœdra and her mother Chiaræ.” He points to each in turn and they nod in greeting.
“A pleasure,” Gwaine says, taking a seat. Merlin and Arthur follow suit. “I am Gwaine and this is my cousin Merlin and Arthur, a friend we picked up on the road.”
“We still have a few minutes until the food is ready, come, let us talk. Where are you three headed?” Borre asks politely.
“Porte,” Gwaine says easily. “I’ve some family living there and with the sickness in Camelot, I thought it would be prudent for me and my cousin to leave, just in case it started to spread from the city.”
“We have heard of the sickness in the city. It is a sad thing indeed. We mourned for the loss of so many, as well as the passing of the old king. Uther wasn’t the greatest king, but he was still ours and he will be missed. And now, Morgana de la Pendragon is Queen,” Borre says softly.
Soon after, the meal is served and they eat mostly in silence, only talk of travel and weather breaking the silence. Merlin spends his time watching these people, not speaking as Gwaine and Arthur lead the discussions.
By the time they leave, Merlin still hasn’t spoken. “Is everything okay?” Arthur asks quietly as they walk back to their wagon.
“Hmm, oh, yes. It just, they seem so normal. I guess I was expecting more after so long hearing stories about them and Freya’s tales of them,” Merlin says, rubbing his neck a little.
Arthur snorts, but doesn’t say anything. They sleep close to the wagon and horses that night. Merlin starts awake at sudden sounds, but for the most part, the camp is silent.
~*~
By the time the sun has truly risen, they are packed and ready to leave. Gwaine and Arthur are seeing to the horses while Merlin puts out their small fire. He nearly falls into the fire when a hand lands on his arm. Whirling around, Merlin stares at Chiaræ.
“Peace, warlock,” she says softly.
“What?” Merlin asks sharply, panic rising. He didn’t want word of a warlock traveling through Camelot to get back to their enemies.
“Do not worry so. I still remember the old tales and if my kin and the rest of the camp are too ignorant to realize who you are, I will not be informing them. I just came to give you this,” she says and hands him a little pouch.
Frowning, but curious, Merlin takes it and peers inside. “My mother gave that to me, and her mother gave it to her, and so forth. It has brought my family good fortune, and it looks like you could use some of that luck yourself. Be safe young warlock and may the Balance always be in your favor.”
Inside, about the length of his thumb, rests a scale, a dragon scale. It shimmers with a bronze hue at the light hits it. “Thank…you,” Merlin finishes as he realizes that the old woman has already left.
“What is that?’ Arthur asks as Merlin comes over to take his usual position in the wagon.
“A good luck gift,” Merlin says, stowing the scale inside his pack next to Aithusa.
~*~
It takes them for more days to reach Porte proper, but their last night camping with the wagon; they can smell the sea on the breeze. Perhaps this has them letting their guard down because as they start to make their way further down the road, they are taken by surprise by a patrol as it crests a hill.
The twenty guards pour down the trail and start to surround them. Merlin can see Arthur’s hand on his sword hilt and though he can’t see Gwaine’s front, he’s sure Gwaine has his hands on his hidden daggers. Merlin stares at the banner one of the riders is carrying: a dark blue field with three black ravens; the Duc de Porte’s crest.
Their leader stops just in front of them, eyeing their small wagon and plain clothing. “Where are you bound, Druid?” he asks.
“We are taking something to the Admiral, may we pass?” Gwaine asks with easy, even with his hands on his daggers.
The leader snorts, “No one crosses without the Duc’s permission. We shall wait for him.”
Merlin heart sinks at the leader’s words. The one person who can identify him whose loyalties are ambiguous at best and he is being brought to meet them. One of the men turns his mount and rides off for their master.
They dare not try and fight through, not with reinforcements so close, so they wait and an hour later, the sound of two horses can be heard. Merlin ducks his head, hoping to avoid attention as the rider and Duc Mordred de Porte ride over the hill.
The men bow as the Duc pulls his horse up. “Why have you sent for me?” he asks with a note of annoyance in his voice.
“My lord, these Druids are seeking permission to cross, but they have not given sufficient reason as to why,” the leader says.
“And that reason?” Duc de Porte asks with a bored look.
“They say they carry something to the Admiral who has made port along your coast,” he informs him.
“Oh, and what is it that you carry for the dear Admiral?” Duc de Porte asks.
“Sir, we cannot say. We were given it in the strictest confidence and asked to deliver it as quickly as possible,” Gwaine says.
The Duc snorts softly, eyeing their small company. “If you cannot give sufficient reason, then I cannot let you cross.” He starts to turn his horse and stops, “Unless you are willing to trade for passage. As Druids, I’m sure you’ve something of worth to trade.”
Gwaine sidles up, “I could trade you this fine mount that I ride. As a lord, I’m sure you have need of such good flesh.”
“Why would I need another horse to add to my stables? If that is the best you can do, then turn your wagon around and leave,” Duc de Porte says.
“My lord,” Merlin calls out and the Duc pulls up his mount. “Perhaps we can come to a fair trade.”
“You idiot, what the hell are you thinking?” Arthur hisses at him, grabbing him by the arm.
Merlin shakes Arthur off and continues to stare at the Duc as he turns around. Even without the dragon mask, the Duc can clearly see his eyes. “Nimueh’s thing? I had heard you are a condemned murderer,” he says, staring at Merlin.
Ignoring his words, Merlin continues, “You know what I offer, my lord. One night, free passage and no questions. Do you accept?”
“Someone has forgotten to leash you. You cannot make such terms, warlock,” Duc de Porte says.
“I am a free man with a completed Mearcung and can make what terms I want. Do you accept? I will make you no other,” Merlin says evenly, not even flinching.
“I wonder what the Queen would pay to know of your presence. Or maybe house L’Isle? Nimueh always loves to learn things,” he says evenly.
Merlin can feel Arthur’s heated gave on his back and can hear Gwaine cursing up a storm nearby, his words getting darker and darker as the seconds draw out. As the tension grows, Merlin waits, not answering his questions, just staring.
Finally, the Duc breaks the staring match. “What business is it of mine that the Admiral is using Druids as a courier service? Fine, I accept your offer. You shall be my guests tonight and in the morning, you shall ride to the Admiral. Is it agreed?”
Merlin speaks up before Arthur can say anything, “It is. We will draw up the contract in your quarters. Do you have a priest to witness it?” Merlin asks.
“I will send for one,” he says.
Merlin nods and the Duc turns his mount. Slowly, they follow him along the road, Merlin ignoring the glare Arthur is sending him.
~*~
Merlin has never seen the home of the Duc de Porte. It is a tall watchtower, wider than even Kilgharrah’s house. It stands stark gray against the back drop of the sea. Behind it, the land falls away to white cliffs and a thin line of beach.
The wind whips over the cliff as the approach and Merlin shivers. Inside, the wagon is stowed and their horses stabled. They stand in the courtyard of the tower, the sky a distant circle of blue over their heads. Arthur and Gwaine pull Merlin aside while the Duc sees to other things for the moment.
“Are you crazy, Merlin?” Arthur hisses at him. “Why did you speak up?”
“We needed a way to cross. Mordred would have never let use cross otherwise,” Merlin says, trying to keep an even voice.
“Do you think he will keep his word?” Gwaine asks, eyeing the Duc.
“Yes. He maybe a prick, but he is bound by the Balance just as I am. It is harder than it looks to break a promise with the Balance, and not end up hurting yourself,” Merlin says. “Look, what’s done is done. At least we get a time to rest here. Try and gather any information if you must, but I will be doing this and nothing you say will stop me,” Merlin says, looking at Arthur.
Arthur heaves a heavy sigh, “Fine. But if he hurts you maliciously, I will drive my sword through his heart.” Merlin grins at Arthur’s words and nods. Merlin hands Arthur Aithusa’s bag with a look and he nods, understanding. He will keep him safe and hidden.
Mordred doesn’t even look at Arthur and Gwaine when he tells them they may stay with the guard in the kitchen for the night. Motioning Merlin onwards, he leads the way from the courtyard. Merlin glances back once with a small smile for his friends.
The priestess is waiting for them in his study; he simple robes a bright contrast to the darker stone. A fire roars in the grate behind his desk as they draw up the contract. “Your signal?” Mordred asks near the end.
Merlin blinks and it takes him a second to realize what he just asked. “Oh, um, Aithusa,’ Merlin says. It seems to fit, that his little dragon will protect him, even when not here. It doesn’t seem right for him to use Gwaine’s name anymore, not since Nimueh took the safety it meant away.
Mordred nods, his pale blue eyes staring at him for a drawn out second before writing down the word to the contract. The priestess nods and steps forward, pressing her seal into the wax and signing the contract. Merlin and Mordred sign it as well.
“You know, I will ask questions afterwards. The contract does not forbid that,” Mordred says once the priestess has left.
“I know, my lord, but beware, for those questions come with answers,” Merlin says evenly.
“Ah, so the dragon has a mind of its own. You know, unlike Nimueh, I have no need for collars,” he says, hand brushing the base of Merlin’s throat. “Are you Nimueh’s creature still? Has she sent you to test me? What game is she playing?”
Merlin steps back, shaking his head. “No questions, my lord,” Merlin reminds him.
“Ah yes,” he says and for a second, Merlin see him doubting his decision in taking up Merlin’s offer.
Sighing, Merlin shakes his head, “I will answer one thing, before we honor the contract. I am not Nimueh’s. If anything, I am Kilgharrah’s.”
“He honored his vow to Ygraine, in life and death. If you are his even with him dead, than you must be here on Morgana’s bidding,” Mordred says.
Merlin doesn’t say anything, only nodding toward the contract on the table still.
“Ah, yes, the contract. My servant will see you bathed and clothed properly,” he says, pulling on a rope cord beside the desk. A few minutes later, a servant knocks at the door. “See to it that he is bathed and dressed.”
The servant bows and leads Merlin out..
~*~
The servant leads Merlin away to a waiting bath. Merlin will admit that he indulges in the heated water after so many days using at best lukewarm water and a handy piece of cloth to bathe. By the time he is finished and has dried, the servants have found something close to his size.
The shirt, a rich purple, is a little loose in the shoulders and waist, but a belt fixes it mostly and he doesn’t complain. The leggings and pants are a brown so dark, they look almost black. Polished, black leather boots finish the image.
It has been so long since he dressed up for a patron that it feels odd now, like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. Running a hand through his hair, Merlin nods to the servant in the mirror and follows him back out.
They don’t go back to the study, but to a small dining room set off to the side. Inside, it is set up for two, candles and a low fire making the room seem intimate. The servant arrive just as they sit down, serving the simple but rich food.
They are silent throughout the meal, Merlin watching Mordred through his lashes. When the last piece has been eaten and the last plate removed Mordred motions for the servant to pour them some wine. Merlin sips at is slowly, savoring the rich taste.
“Come,” Mordred finally says, and stands. Cradling his goblet, Merlin drains the last of his wine and sets it aside as he stands.
He is led to another room; inside a large four poster bed waits. Not the Duc’s rooms, a guest room most likely by the lack of anything but the basic furniture. As Merlin walks ahead, Mordred shuts and locks the door behind them. Merlin turns and looks at the Duc. “It begins now. Undress me,” he says.
Merlin doesn’t say anything, just steps forward to slowly peel the Duc’s clothing from his body. His body bears scars and Merlin remembers that the Duc used to be a soldier when he was younger, before his father died and he became the next Duc.
His cock is already hard behind his laces when Merlin goes to unknot them. Mordred places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder as he finishes the laces and grabs Mordred’s leg to take his boots off. He is full naked in front of Merlin, who is still on his knees.
“I will take my pleasure tonight, starting with these,” Mordred says softly, running a thumb over Merlin’s lips. His hand jerks up, grabbing a handful of Merlin’s hair and shoving his face into his crotch. Merlin doesn’t fight him, letting the Duc guide him for what he wants. It’s going to be a long night.
~*~
Merlin wakes alone in the bed. Stiff and a little sore, he stretches, feeling his muscles give easily. That certainly wasn’t the worst assignation he has had. A servant enters shortly with clothing and a message that the Duc wishes to have breakfast with him.
Thanking the servant, Merlin dismisses them and gets dressed. The shirt is thick white cloth, a brown leather belt cinching the billowing clothe to his waist. Sturdy boots go over fine breeches. Clothing meant for traveling.
Remembering the dining room from before, Merlin leaves his room and makes his way over to it. Mordred is already there, eating from a small array of dishes as he reads from a parchment scroll.
“Thank you for the clothing,” Merlin says, settling into the same chair from last time.
“I figured you no longer needed to hide behind your Druid clothing. Here,” he says, not looking up as he slides something across the table toward Merlin.
When he takes his hand away, Merlin sees a small crystal set in a silver ring. A fine chain goes through the loop over it. “It is a seeing crystal, taken from a cave full of them. It shows possible futures. I think you will need this more than I will, Warlock,” Mordred says.
“Thank you,” Merlin says softly, pulling the chain over his head and tucking the crystal into his shirt.
~*~
The Duc escorts him back to the courtyard where their wagon waits, already loaded and hitched, Gwaine and Arthur waiting on their horses. “I bring him back reasonable unharmed, knight. You can stop plotting my demises now,” Mordred says, eyeing Arthur whose hand is resting on the hilt of his sword.
Arthur glares at him and looks at Merlin, “Are you all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” Merlin reassures. “The Duc honored our contract and we are free to continue.”
“Give my…regards, to the Queen’s admiral,” Mordred says with a smirk, turning away and walking back into his tower.
Merlin settles onto his wooden bench, pulling his pack close. Inside, he can feel Aithusa wiggling with want to come out and check on him. Flicking the reins, he follows Gwaine and Arthur as they leave the tower and make their way back the way they had come.
Arthur draws his horse up slightly until he is riding next to Merlin. “Are you sure you are all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” Merlin says and winces as the cart goes over a bump and jostles the wagon. “Just a little sore, is all.”
“I’ll never understand how you can do this to yourself, let them hurt you so and call it pleasure,” Arthur grits out, glaring at open air.
“Your one to talk with your temper,” Merlin says sharply.
“What? I do not have a temper! And what has that to do with anything?” Arthur asks, jerking around to look at Merlin.
“You have a horrid temper, Arthur, but you try and hide it under your knightly honor. I’ve seen you lose it, seen you fight like a beast cornered when all hope was lost and death the only option. What is it like to lose yourself in it, to let go of everything?” Merlin asks, looking up at him with narrowed eyes.
“Good,” Arthur admits and looks away.
Merlin sighs, “If you must know, it isn’t really the sex part that is so great. My magic, when I use it, it’s like I’m finally whole. And when it is released during, it is like I’m connected to everything. I’m not me without my magic.”
“And among the Picts?” Arthur asks softly.
“That wasn’t by choice. That was me being used by the Balance,” Merlin says.
“Oh,” he says. They ride in silence for a while further. It took an half an hour to get back to their original path. After that it was a short hour ride along the coast until they found them.
Rising up over a hill, a forest of masts greeted them. “Come one!” Gwaine calls out to them, spurring his mount onward. Down below, men scurry about, some coming towards their path having spotted them.
By the time they reach the bottom of the hill, Admiral Petit Fils has arrived, glaring at their approach. “You have much explaining to do, Merlin nó Emrys,” Petit growls out as the wagon draws close to him.
“We bear a message from the Queen,” Merlin says. He doesn’t have time to say more as Petit pulls him from the wagon into a bone grinding hug. Merlin tries to hug back as best he can, but his arms are pinned at odd angles.
“I’d thought you lost for sure,” he says, pulling back. “Those idiots in the council had you convicted of murder.”
“I know; that is one reason why I’m here and not in Camelot,” Merlin says.
“And the other?” he asks.
“I speak Hibernian,” Merlin says.
“Ahh, that. I suppose we have much to discuss.” He glances at Arthur and Gwaine, “And I guess you two can come as well.” Merlin tries to hide his grin at the Admiral’s words.
Inside the tent, it is filled with chests and books and more treasure than Merlin has ever seen. “Sit and tell me what actually happened, from the beginning. Who killed the Old Dragon?” he asks, plopping down onto a stool.
Merlin and Arthur stare from the beginning in the tattooist’s shop and work their way up to meeting Nimueh in the castle and her betrayal. “It was Valiant d’Alene who killed Kilgharrah,” Merlin says, the old ache of loss trying to force its way into his throat. Swallowing heavily, they continue. They finish their tale with Morgana’s decision.
Petit sighs heavily, “I had hoped something like this wouldn’t happen. So she wants us to go across the straight to try and bring us her foreign love, eh? A fool’s errand if you ask me,” he growls, rubbing at the stubble on his cheek.
“And if it’s not a fool’s errand?” Merlin asks, leaning forward from where he is leaned against a chest.
“I’ve tried before, Merlin, from all sides, and nothing has works. We’d never even make landfall, even if we got close enough too,” Petit says.
Frowning, Merlin fiddles with the necklace around his neck. “How many ships?” Gwaine asks Petit.
“I’ve fifteen at the moment. The rest are further north, up the Gathen River to help with the Pict raids,” he says, but Merlin isn’t listening. Staring at the crystal, the shifts it and the light from a candle reflects off of it, shining in his eyes.
Images rise up in his mind: a ship setting sail, another lost in a fog bank, another sinking as a storm rages on overhead, another sailing into a bay. It is always the single ship, the Pendragon crest flying on the main mast.
“One ship,” Merlin says and they all look up at him. “You will only need one ship.”
“How?” Arthur asks.
Merlin holds up the crystal pendant, “Duc de Porte gave this to me as a patron-gift. It is a seeing crystal and shows possible futures. In every one I saw, there was on ship, flying the Pendragon crest.”
Petit rubs at his face again. “I’ve not much choice in the matter, huh? Do this or not.”
“It is your choice, Admiral,” Merlin says softly.
Giving a shuddering sigh, Petit squares his shoulders. “Well, if we’re going to die, might as well do it with style. I hope you know a way to get around the Fisher King, warlock, because if not, this will be a short voyage.” Merlin gulps at his words. “Well, better go tell the men to start packing and loading the ships. We set sail at dawn.”
~*~
As the sun slowly rises up, Petit and his men push the oar boats off from the shore, making their way to the flag ship where it rests further out in the bay. They had been up late into the night, planning and issuing orders. The rest of his fleet will go up the river to join his ships already stationed there. They could use the extra soldiers, even those trained for battle at sea.
A few remained to hold of Mordred and as the ships slowly got ready to sail, they remained on shore, watching. Merlin, Arthur, and Gwaine stood off to the side uneasily as the men hurried about, shouting orders.
Arthur, looking green around the edges, stared balefully at the vast expanse of water ahead of them. “Princess,” Gwaine stage whispered to Merlin with a grin. Grunting in annoyance, Arthur shot Gwaine a glare.
For Merlin, it’s an effort to find his sea legs, holding onto the railing to keep from slipping on the sea slick deck. Gwaine takes it in stride, swaggering across the deck like he was born to it. For Merlin, who has never seen an ocean and the biggest bit of water a lake, boats are something of a mystery to him.
As Petit walks about shouting orders left and right, slowly the ship comes to life. Men file down below and a low drum beat starts up, beating an easy tempo. The oars come out of their holes and the ship groans and turns to face out towards the mouth of the bay.
Feeling the wooden planks shudder under his feet as the ship starts to move, Merlin grips the railing harder. Petit shouts an order over the splashing of the oars just as the reach the mouth of the bay. Men hanging off the masts wave and the sails unfurl.
It is a sight to behold, the middle, biggest mast, holding a crimson sail, the golden dragon bulging out as the wind catches the sails. Merlin feels the moment the wind grabs the ship and pushes them. The oars are drawn in with shouts and cheers, men coming back up with grins. They are sailing.
A keg of wine is opened to toast the new voyage and Gwaine brings them all a flagon of it. Sipping at his, Merlin turns to look at Arthur who is looking greener by the second. “I shouldn’t,” he mutters, handing the flagon back to Gwaine who shrugs and drains it.
“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist, lad,” Petit roars, his cheek red with wine and the cool wind whipping by them. “If it comes up, it comes up, but just lean over the rail. We don’t want to have to clean up your sick later.”
A few minutes later, Arthur’s eyes grow wide and he does as told, leaning over the rail to let his stomach’s contents come up. Merlin winces in sympathy as Arthur’s back heaves. Petit laughs again. “Don’t worry; he’ll get his sea legs eventually.”
Merlin frowns at the Admiral, but he just grins and walks off, shouting orders. Gwaine, snickering at Arthur’s discomfort, follows him, already walking like a seaman. Sighing, Merlin stays put, watching over Arthur.
Petit’s plan is to make a straight shot across the waters west. With the wind at their backs, he reckons they can gain a good enough lead to stay ahead of the Fisher King and reach Hibernia’s eastern coast before he tries to stop them.
It is a good plan, but they don’t reckon on the Fisher King being in a foul mood.
~*~
The wind starts to slack, another breeze coming from the west, pushing the waves back towards them, slowing them. Petit is close enough that Merlin can hear him curse in the colorful sailor’s tongue. “What is it?” Merlin asks, looking at the Admiral.
“It’s him,” he says softly, and his voice carries over the sudden stillness as all the winds die suddenly. “It’s the Fisher King.”
Just as suddenly as the sky was clear, it opens up over them, rain and thunder and lightning. The sea pitches the boat like a toy. Merlin clings to the railing, Arthur next to him. “Can you do anything?” Arthur yells at him over the roar of the wind.
Merlin shakes his head. “I…I don’t know,” he shouts back.
“Drop the sails!” Petit roars and his men jump to do his bidding. Even on the heaving deck, they are agile, but even that isn’t enough as a huge wave sweeps over the ship, grabbing at those with nothing to hold and dragging them across. One man gets swept overboard, unable to grab the railing in time.
Arthur waits and then grabs Merlin, hauling him over to the main mast. Taking a rope, he quickly ties it around Merlin’s waist.
“Admiral, do we turn back?” Arthur yells at Petit.
Petit shakes his head, “It’s too late, he already here!”
A wave is coming towards them faster than anything natural. It grows and swells until it towers over even their tallest mast. And in it, a horrid fast stares back, eyes dark and fathomless as they stare down at them.
“WHO DARES CROSS MY OCEAN?”
“I do you old hag and if you want this prophesy of yours to happen, you’ll let us across!” Petit roars, hanging onto the wheel.
There’s a booming sound and it takes Merlin a second to realize that the face is laughing, laughing at them. “IT IS NOT YOUR PROPHESY, CAPTAIN! WHAT WILL YOU PAY FOR PASSAGE?”
“Name your price, you bloody sea nag, and I’ll pay it!” Petit roars back.
“A song,” someone says and Merlin sees Arthur close by, looking at him. “A song the likes of which you will have never heard.”
Merlin can only stare at him in bewilderment. Where would they get such a song? Arthur’s next words are lost in a roar of wind, but Merlin can read his lips: Hoel’s steading.
Realizing what he means, Merlin straightens and sings. Sings the songs he learned while slave to Hoel. He sings the songs of blood and battle, of home and hearth and the harvest, of love lost and children born. He sings until his throat is hoarse and the wind and sea dies down. Merlin falls silent and stares at the huge face looming above them.
“IT IS ACCEPTABLE. YOU MAY CROSS,” the Fisher King says and the wave sinks back down, the sky clearing as if nothing had ever happened.
Merlin sinks down, resting against the mast where he is tied. His legs are shaking and his throat feels like someone scraped it raw. Merlin shuts his eyes and is dead to the world.
~*~
He wakes to the darkness of the cabin below. Someone had carried him down and put him in a hammock, a blanket tucked up close around him. He can feel the warm, reassuring weight of Aithusa tucked under his arm.
Blinking bleary eyes, he can just make out Gwaine sitting on the floor, back to the wall. “Gwaine?” Merlin says and his throat comes out in a hoarse croak.
“Did you miss me?” he asks with a lazy grin. Standing, he comes forward with a flagon of some of the wine from before. Merlin takes it with a grateful smile.
“I wasn’t sure. I saw one go over,” Merlin says, swallowing with a wince.
“Four,” Gwaine says, eyes sad. “It would have been more if Harry Renowne, Petit’s second, hadn’t made us lash ourselves to the railing.”
“You saw it then?” Merlin asks.
“Yes, and you. Your eyes, they were glowing golden as you sang. It was magic,” Gwaine says.
Merlin shakes his head. “I don’t know what it was I did.” He looks back at his friend. “Where’s Arthur?”
“Above, trying to get his bearings by the stars. He’s not vomiting though, so that’s progress,” Gwaine says with a grin.
“We owe him,” Merlin mumbles, feeling sleep creeping back up on him.
“You’re the one who sang,” Gwaine says.
“But he was the one who reminded me,” Merlin says softly.
“Go to sleep, Merlin,” Gwaine says softly, hand running through Merlin’s hair soothingly. Merlin snuggles closer to Aithusa and falls asleep to the swaying of the ship.
~*~
Merlin shivers in the cool air as the sun rises from behind them. “Where do we land?” Merlin asks Petit where he stands next to him.
“A good question, Merlin. The last know information says that our Hibernian heir has taken refuge amongst the Wigend near the western coast of Hibernia. I suggest that we sail around the north of the island. With winter nearly done, the seas shouldn’t be too bad. After that, it is up to you to guide the way,” he says staring at Merlin.
“Me?” Merlin says with wide eyes.
“Yes, warlock. I’m here to get you there, but even I can’t just pick a random bay in hopes of finding these people. Maybe that crystal can help us,” he says pointing to where the chain peaks out from under his shirt.
“It only shows possible future, Admiral. It wouldn’t be of use to find the bay we need,” Merlin says.
“A possible future can still happen,” Arthur says coming up beside him.
“I don’t…I don’t even know how the crystal works. Last time was an accident,” Merlin admits, tugging the crystal out of his shirt.
“You figure it out, Merlin. For now, Admiral, I suggest we find land before we start looking for a place to land,” Arthur says.
“Don’t push yourself, lad. We still have a few days before we reach the western coast,” Petit says, clapping him on the shoulder. Nodding back at Arthur, he walks off, shouting orders to his men.
~*~
Merlin watches the sea, leaning up against the point of the ship. He nearly jumps when something grey jumps out of the water next to the ship. “What is that?” he asks aloud.
“Dolphins,” Gwaine says behind him. Merlin turns to look at him. “One of the men told me. They follow ships at sea and often help guide them to safe harbor. The sea folk see them as good luck.”
“Too bad they can’t show us the way,” Merlin says.
“Quit it,” Gwaine says, coming up to lean next to him. “Beating yourself up will not do any good.”
Merlin sighs, “I know. It’s just frustrating.”
“I read somewhere once that a warlock is the connection between this world and the Balance. I remember that day, at the temple; you were gone for a long time. Mayhap that’s you way of finding Driant. Maybe your magic can be used to seek him out,” Gwaine says.
“It’s worth a try,” Merlin says. Eyeing the water down below, he pushes off from the railing, “Maybe I should be seated for this.”
Settling his back against the wooden railing, Merlin breaths in the salt air and lets it back out. He can hear the gulls crying over head and the dolphins splashing beside the ship. There’s no bell this time to ring, but he doesn’t need it. Pulling deep, he lets his magic out like a fog, tendrils crawling forward, searching for the Hibernian heir.
“Come,” he hears. He jumps mentally. “Come,” the voice calls again. An image comes to mind, a deep bay, white cliffs towering on either side. “Come.”
Merlin frowns as he starts to draw his magic back in. He can hear people talking and a hand on his shoulder, shaking him softly. “Merlin,” he hears Gwaine calling. Frowning harder, he pushes the last bit and opens his eyes to white all around them.
“What happened?” he asks, staring at the fog bank enclosing the ship.
“I don’t know,” Gwaine says. “It happens shortly after you closed your eyes.”
“Oh,” Merlin says.
“What things have you been meddling with, boy?” Petit asks, coming forward. His men stay back, eyeing Merlin.
“I…I didn’t mean to. I don’t have complete control of my magic and sometimes it does things without me intending for them to happen,” Merlin says, looking up sheepishly.
“And what was it you were doing then?” the admiral asks.
“Looking for Driant and I think I know where he will be,” Merlin says, standing up shakily.
“Merlin?” Arthur calls from the fog.
“Over here,” Gwaine says and the knight emerges a few seconds later, frowning at Merlin.
“And where will he be?” Petit asks.
“I saw an image of a bay. It looked pretty deep and it had white cliffs surrounding it. I’ll know it when I see it,” Merlin says.
“Let’s hope we find it before we crash in this fog,” Petit says.
As if someone was listening, a breeze picks up, shooing the fog away. Merlin blinks as the sunlight shines through momentarily blinding him. Shifting, he glances to the east over the other side of the ship. His breath catches in his throat. “Admiral, that’s it. That’s the bay I saw!”
“Are you sure?” he asks, turning to look at Merlin.
“I’m positive,” Merlin says, grinning.
“Well then boys, you heard the warlock. Turn our course, we’re making for land!” Petit yells. As his men obey, he turns to Merlin, “I sure hope you know what you are doing, warlock.”
As the white cliffs close in around them, sails are lowered and the oars come out. Dipping them into the water, they stroke backwards, slowing the ship’s momentum. As they slow, Merlin can make out the shore line. A group of people stand on it watching them.
Armed and waiting for them to make land.
~*~
Part 8