Merlin Fanfiction: Love As Thou Wilt | Part 8
Part 8
The sound of the anchor dropping is the only sound as they stare at the warriors on the beach. There is probably only a dozen, not enough to take on their full crew, but the fact that they are waving broadswords makes them cautious.
“Are those…children?” one sailor asks from where he is watching two of the smaller party run about the beach, one brandishing a stick like a spear.
“It looks like it,” Petit says. He turns to Merlin, “Well Queen’s Ambassador, what do we do?”
Merlin looks up at him, “The only thing we can do. We go to meet them. Bring six of your best fighters. I will bring Arthur and Gwaine.”
“We’ll be outnumbered,” he warns.
Merlin shrugs, “It will show we come in peace, not war. And if we could bring something from your treasures as a gift for the Wigend, I’m sure Morgana will compensate you for the loss.”
Petit nods and starts barking orders. An oar boat is lowered as Petit goes to grab something. He brings out a wooden box inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl. Inside, gold, gems, and spices are fit to burst out. Merlin nods, though he has no idea if this is appropriate.
Merlin shoulders his pack with Aithusa in it and climbs slowly and carefully down the rope ladder. Once everyone is inside, the boat pushes away and the rowers take to their oars, the gap steadily closing up between them and the party watching.
When they are in earshot, one of the people steps forward, a young woman, her hair a deep russet and her skin tanned with blue markings inked into her skin. Green eyes stared back at them. “Welcome,” she says clearly enough to be heard. She raises a hand, and the men sheath their swords, running forward to ground the oar boat. “Welcome, wise one,” a voice says in his ear and he starts as he realizes that she was the one who guided him.
When no one speaks up at her words, Merlin realizes that they are waiting on him, the translator to speak. Putting a steadying hand on Arthur and Gwaine’s shoulders, Merlin stands slowly, planting his feet on the swaying boat.
Merlin bows as much as he can without toppling over. “I am Merlin nó Emrys, here as Morgana de la Pendragon’s Ambassador. We seek Driant mab Drekana, the true Frumgar of Hibernia,” Merlin says, shaping the difficult syllables of the Hibernian language. He is out of practice.
She nods, “I am Gylden, his sister.” She motions to the men waiting with her. “We have been waiting for your arrival.”
Merlin stares at her. “How?” When Gwaine jabs him in the side Merlin realizes that the others are lost. “It’s all right. They are bidding us welcome.” Seeing tense shoulders relax, the men start to get out of the boat, helping Merlin out into the shallow water. Finally on solid land, Merlin staggers onto the beach towards Gylden.
“I had a vision,” she says, tapping him on the chest, right over the crystal. “I saw this and this bay which I had come to before. I saw your face and the Pendragon flag in the crystal. When I came to, I came here with some men and waited. I felt your magic seeking and called you through the fog.”
“You followed a vision?” Merlin asks with eyes wide.
“So did you and you still do,” she says with a smile.
The little boy comes up and says something to her, but Merlin can’t pick out exactly what he says; the dialect strange, even if he knows it is Hibernian. He’ll have to learn quickly if he’s going to be of any use to everyone else.
“May we see your brother?” Merlin asks.
“You will, but you must meet the Twins first. They are the Lords of the Wigend,” Gylden says.
They follow the warriors and Gylden up a narrow winding trail to the top of the cliff. Two men stay behind to tell everyone else what has happened. Merlin tries to explain as best he can what is happening, but even he is at a loss partly.
The building they come upon is huge. It rests on top of a hill. While not as vast or grand as Camelot’s castle, it still commands respect. They enter though two huge doors, the wood carved and inlaid with shells and small semiprecious stones. Shown to a sitting room, they wait for the Twins to arrive.
“You say you speak for the Golden Dragon. Who will stand with you?” Gylden asks.
“Him,” Merlin says pointing to Petit, “and him and him,” Merlin points to Arthur and Gwaine.
“Very well,” she says and walks through another door where they can hear people arguing. She comes back some minutes later. “They will see you now.”
Taking a deep breath, Merlin follows her, the others close behind. Merlin stares at the two rulers of the Wigend, seated on their duel thrones. They stare at them as they approach. Æcran mac Laren is tall, with broad shoulders. His head is shaved to the skin. His beard is a light blonde color, framing his frowning mouth. Æcrania mac Laren, his sister, sits proudly, chin held high. Her hair is a color a shade lighter than her brothers, curling around her shoulders, braids and beads poking out here and there. They both have startling pale blue eyes that give nothing away.
“They have come to speak with my brother, Driant,” Gylden says evenly, bowing to the Twins. “They seek an audience with him.” Merlin follows her words, placing each word and meaning. His ear is improving.
Æcran frowns a little more before glancing at his sister. Æcrania nods silently and he looks back at Gylden. “They are welcome here. Bring your brother,” he says evenly. Merlin has a little trouble with his accent, but he understands and gives a little inner smile. Kilgharrah would be proud.
Gylden nods and motions to one of their escort to seek out the Frumgar. He walks off after nodding to her. Merlin turns to the others, “They are sending for Driant.”
When Driant enters the room, the first thing Merlin notices is his slight limp. He recalls Kilgharrah mentioning his limp, a deformity from birth. Although it is covered up by a leather boot, the angle of the foot gives testament to the misshaped bones.
Three women enter behind him, one older and two younger. They were all similar to Gylden, their hair red, eyes a bright green and skin pale. Their skin is marked with blue ink, and though Merlin can’t read what the symbols mean, he knows that to have that many speaks of a long story indeed.
He limps towards Merlin, green eyes fevered and boring into Merlin. “You are the Dragon’s voice?” he asks and Merlin nods. “What does she says?”
Merlin senses something in his voice, a hitch in it, of hopefulness and worry. Merlin smiles a little and bows lowly. “My lord, her majesty Queen Morgana de la Pendragon wishes to honor her betrothal to you.”
Driant inhales sharply at Merlin’s words and his face looks fierce in his devotion. “And the price?”
Merlin straightens under his scrutiny. “My lord, Albion is in threat of invasion. If you regain your throne, the Fisher King will allow you passage. If you wish to marry Morgana, the price is your aid of Camelot and the five kingdoms.”
Driant seems to go completely still and then he looks over at the Twins. Æcrania looks back, smiling and pale eyes fierce. Æcran looks away, unwilling to meet the Frumgar’s heated gaze. “What do you say, my kin? You wanted a sign, well here it is. Now is the time to take up our swords and drive that father killing usurper from my throne and to free our people. If we do this, the Fisher King will answer to us, grant us passage. What do you say?” he asks them.
“I say that-,” Æcrania starts to say.
“NO!” Æcran cuts his sister off who turns to glare at him. No,” he says again shaking his head. “The risk is too great and the gain too little. They do not bring an army to back their words. Instead they bring trinkets. I say no!”
“You are a coward and a fool, brother,” Æcrania hisses at her brother, turning to glare at him.
“Say what you like. If we disagree then we go nowhere. We already are strained to keep this land as ours. I will not listen to anything more.”
“Æcran, you have this land because my ancestor honored your loyalty and oath. My people will side with me as will many of the other clans, even if Galway calls the Blæc Beran to war. But what of you? What will your children and your children’s children think of when they recall your name?”
“They will say he is a coward and a fool,” Æcrania hisses again.
“Enough, sister,” Æcran yells, his hand slicing through the air, bringing silence. “You wish to go to war, but will Hibernia answer to a cripple’s call?” he asks harshly. The warriors behind them murmur softly, stances shifting at the insult to their leader.
Driant shakes his head slightly and the still. “They have before. What use are two legs when I can have four on horseback. They will come to my call.” He shifts slightly forward, staring Æcran down. “Will you ask to test your blade against mine next?” Æcran looks away. “I thought not. Now answer the question.”
Merlin whispers quickly what has happened so far as the silence stretches out between the two men. Arthur glances up at Æcran. “If he wants, he can try his steel against mine,” he says with a hiss.
At that moment, the hall erupted into quarrels, Æcrania in the midst, drawing the short sword at her waist as she started to yell at one of Driant’s men. Æcran storms down from them throne, sliding between her and the other man, arguing with his sister. Merlin watches with wide eyes, waiting with baited breath to see how it will plat out.
Finally, Æcran throws his hands up in frustration. “I will not go to war on a whim’s notice. We will speak more on this later.” He turns to Merlin, “We welcome you Merlin nó Emrys and you gift. Tonight, we will feast in your honor as well as the others and tomorrow, we will speak again. Is that acceptable, Frumgar?” Æcran hisses at the man.
Driant just nods his head in approval. Huffing, Æcran storms from the room, sending his sister a glare. “He spoke wisely,” Drekana says, coming forward.
“Oh yes, he can speak and speak and speak until even our enemies beg him to stop,” Æcrania says with a snort and a glance at the door her brother stormed off through.
“Your brother is just thinking for your people. War is never a light decision. But we have guest and must see to them,” Drekana reminds.
“Of course,” Æcrania says, looking their party over with a pale arched brow. She claps her hands, summoning servants to see to them.
“Do not worry about those two,” a soft voice says next to Merlin. He turns to see Drekana and her daughters, Gylden included, staring at him with small smiles. “They are polar opposites. The trick is finding the balance between them. If you can find that, there is nothing they can’t do.”
“And how do I do that?” Merlin asks desperately.
“You will find away. After all, you were chosen to always find balance in life,” Drekana says with a knowing smile. Before Merlin can say anything else, they turn and leave their group there, servants waiting to take them to their rooms.
Merlin turns to the others. “Well, it seems we must find a middle ground for the twins. If anyone knows away, I’m all ears,” he says, looking at the others.
~*~
Merlin and Arthur are given a room next to Nerecca. It is her sons who will be Driant’s heirs. Should Morgana have any sons, they will never sit on the Hibernian throne. Instead, they will rule over Camelot.
Aithusa gives a happy chirp when Merlin opens his bag. The little dragon crawls out, quickly taking to wing to stretch the cramped muscles. Merlin feels guilty for keeping him in there so long, but the little dragon seems fine with it.
When someone knocks at the door, Merlin is surprised to see Nerecca standing there. Her long red hair is braided and bound up on top of her head. A simple dress made of thick wool graces her shoulders, a belt cinching the cloth at her waist.
“My lady,” Merlin says quickly, bowing slightly.
“Please, may I come in?” she asks. Nodding, Merlin steps aside to let her in. He can see Arthur crouched down by their bed, stuffing something under it. He assumes it is Aithusa since he can’t see the dragon.
“You must excuse Æcran for his harsh words. The Wigend have fought long and hard to secure their land here and have only just started to enjoy peace,” she pauses to look at him. “That war is coming, whether they want it or not is a hard thing to face. And though they do not belong to any of the four houses, they still have loyalty to Read Heorot and our ancestor. If it hadn’t been for him, they would not have this land in the first place. It is the same with all the clans. If not for his work to bring them together, we would not be here today.”
“Will they follow Driant if he goes against his cousin?” Merlin asks.
“They will follow if the Read Heorot wills it to be so,” she says simply and Merlin feels worry set in.
“You yourself should know that if something is meant to happen, it will. Eventually, the Balance will even out,” Nerecca says with a small smile towards Merlin.
Merlin nods slowly. “Come, the feast will be ready soon,” she says and stands. Merlin and Arthur follow her out. Merlin glances back to see Aithusa’s head poking out from under the bed.
~*~
Merlin stands in the shadows as he stares out at the gathering. More of Petit’s men had been brought ashore and the hall is filled to bursting with Albans, Hibernians and Wigend, all drinking and eating. It is certainly a strange sight to see.
Merlin lets Arthur pull him into the crowd, cheers going up at his arrival. Bowing in thanks to the Twins who sit at the head of the table, Merlin settles in to eat. The hall is full of talk, despite the language barrier and soon, songs are being sung around them. Merlin, who has drunk a little more than he should have, grins when he realizes exactly what song the sailors are singing.
There’s a commotion and Merlin glances over to see one of the Wigend warriors poking fun at Arthur, fingering his chainmail sleeve and tapping his sheath covered sword. The area is cleared and there are shouts from both sides for the fight that the warrior is certainly trying for.
Merlin glances at Driant. Merlin arches a brow and the man nods slightly. Standing, Merlin stumbles a little with so much wine in him. “My lord, my lady, let us show you the strength of Alban swords. But let there be no blood drawn. The first to be disarmed is to surrender with honor,” Merlin says, his tongue more fluent than before. He isn’t sure if it is the wine or not.
The Twins nod in approval. Arthur gives him a look but nods. Drawing his sword still sheathed, he faces the man. The man swings his sword, bringing it down in in a blur of steel towards Arthur’s head. Merlin’s heart jumps into his throat as he watches but he doesn’t need to worry as Arthur easily side steps the blow.
Instead of taking advantage of the man’s overbalance, Arthur spins away and faces him again, a small smirk on his face. Roaring, the man comes at Arthur again, from the side. This time, Arthur ducks under the swing, bring his sword up and jams it into the man’s stomach, knocking the wind from him. Spinning, he brings his sword to the back of the other man’s knees and he crashes to the floor, sword falling from his grip to clatter across the floor.
The room is deathly silent, only the sound of the other man’s ragged breathes sounding out. Slowly, he gains his feet and turns to look at Arthur. He grins and bursts out laughing, slapping Arthur on the shoulder. The rest follow suit, laughing.
“I think the princess impressed them,” Gwaine says beside him.
Merlin looks up at his friend, but the man’s eyes are trained elsewhere. “Oh, go on, I know you want to,” Merlin says with a grin.
“You know me too well,” Gwaine says and saunters off. Merlin watches him approach one of the women who have been eyeing his friend the whole night. Grinning, Merlin turns away, wobbling a little.
The evening starts to blur over as Merlin drinks more. Merlin stands before the Twins as they argue like children. It takes him a moment to realize that they are fighting over him. Æcran throws up his hands and turns to Merlin, “You chose then, Ambassador.”
So Merlin does.
~*~
Merlin wakes the next morning with a splitting headache in a strange room. Merlin feels someone next to him stir and he turns to see Æcrania lounging on the bed, head on her hand as she watches him. “Are you all taught to do those things?” she asks him with a sly grin.
“No, my lady,” Merlin says and rubs at his aching head. “Not everyone.”
“That’s too bad,” she says and stands to dress. Merlin watches her pale skin covered in blue ink disappear underneath the clothing.
Someone runs into the room and jumps on the bed. Merlin winces at the noise. “Ohh,” Merlin moans softly.
“Easy, Brodon,” Æcrania says with a smile at her son. “Are you trained to be like that for all royalty?” she asks him, sitting down on the edge of the bed and holding her son.
“It is how I was trained,” Merlin admits, sitting up with the sheets pooling around his waist. Merlin sighs, “I told Morgana I would not be a good Ambassador.”
“You are good with languages,” she says simply, eyeing him. “Besides, I’ve shown you the way to my brother.”
“What?” Merlin asks, looking at her.
“My brother hates not having anything I have. I once got a sword from my father when I was fifteen. Æcran would not shut up until my father got him one as well. No matter what it is, he will have it or one of better quality,” she says softly with a put upon sigh.
“Are you saying he will go to war for me?” Merlin asks, confused.
“No, he will not go to war, instead choosing to stay neutral. But it will incense him to not have you. That is the way you will persuade my brother, Merlin nó Emrys,” she says solemnly. “Though I will admit, you are almost worth war.” Merlin blushes at that but he does smile a little.
“Did you do that purposefully?” Merlin asks her.
“No, I did it for myself,” she says with a cheeky grin. “Tell me, do you think your captain would breed strong sons?”
“Petit Fils?” Merlin says. “I assume so, but I’ve not asked before,” Merlin says with a grin.
Æcrania grins back. “Then I guess we’ll find out if we may die tomorrow. Some things are best done in haste,” she says. She looks down at Merlin, “You should try to remind my brother that.”
“I will try,” Merlin says softly.
~*~
Merlin isn’t the only one suffering from overindulgence. Many are shuffling around with pained expressions on their faces. Merlin has no time to prepare when Arthur storms up to him. The knight grabs him by the arm, dragging him down the hall and towards their shared room.
The door shuts with a thump and Arthur turns to glare at Merlin. “Do you think everything can be solved by falling into a bed?” he asks.
Merlin leans against the door at his back. “Well, seeing as I’ve no sword skill to settle my disputes, I’ll just have to ask for your forgiveness,” Merlin hisses. “Besides, this would have never happened had you not left me alone out there. Maybe, you’re just jealous.” Merlin glares at Arthur.
“I am not-,” Arthur sputters.
Merlin just looks at him, brow arched.
“Fine, maybe I am,” Arthur says quietly. He turns away, shoulders stiff.
“I’m sorry if I upset you, but this is what you get when you send someone like me to be a diplomat and ply me with strong drink,” Merlin mutters.
Arthur sighs and turns to look at him, “At least you were able to choose this time.”
Merlin snorts a little, “I chose all right.” They shared a look and then started to laugh. Merlin groans softly, clutching his head. “Please don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“You light weight,” Arthur mutters, pulling Merlin close and running his fingers through Merlin’s hair. Merlin hums in agreement. “What am I going to do with you?”
~*~
Merlin emerges from their room later in the day, refreshed and no long feeling like he’ll shatter. Driant comes to him and ask if he would like to see more of the Wigend lands. Merlin nods, Arthur behind him doing so as well.
Their group is small as they ride: just Driant, two guards, Merlin and Arthur. Around them, the land is slowly waking up. Grasses which for so long have been brown, dead from cold, are growing again under the warm gentle sun. Merlin’s heart beats heavily in his chest, knots forming in his stomach at this sign. Spring has arrived and soon after summer. They really must hurry if they want to help Morgana fight against Arrœk and his massive army.
“So where does your home lie?” Driant asks, coming up behind Merlin.
Merlin startles and looks at him before answering, “That way.” He points west, towards Albion and Camelot.
“Through the lands of my throne steeling cousin, hmm? He will soon be without his head,” Driant comments nonchalantly.
“If Æcrania were to choose against Æcran, would the Wigend follow?” Merlin asks softly, eyeing the ruler.
“Some would, those who thrive on battle. But she will not. Æcrania may be bold in words, but she would never sever her bond with her brother. Their thrones are bound together by sibling love and not chains of necessity. It is what I would like for myself and Morgana. What we both want. Does she still?” Driant asks Merlin.
Merlin smiled, “She does my lord.”
Driant smiles back and turns their path back the way they had come. Merlin quickly explains what was said to Arthur. “I’m going to have to do something else you will not like. Just…go with it and keep your temper in check please. I swear, it is necessary,” Merlin finishes, not looking at Arthur. He hears Arthur’s harsh sigh next to him, but then the knight grips his hand where he holds the reins and squeezes. Arthur understands.
~*~
The next three days are nothing but meetings and talks. As word spreads of their arrival, more people show up, lords from more distant lands; land which are still loyal to the Red Hart, to Driant.
But still, many flock to Æcran who still refuses to go to war. Many refuse to go to war for Albion and back up their lord.
“This seems more like a fool’s errand,” Petit mutters, looking around the gathered people.
Merlin just sighed. They had four more days of this. Merlin had been refusing politely or outright ignoring Æcran’s interest in him. And that didn’t even include the many others who had asked unabashedly. Smirking, Merlin looks up at Petit, “Are you so quick to leave the Lady Æcrania’s bed?”
Petit flushes and mutters something, though Merlin only catches the word “child.”
Gwaine comes up, “Gylden has had a vision. It was of you holding a scale and it was tipped to one side.”
Merlin starts, “And you were able to understand her how?”
“They’ve been teaching me Hibernian in exchange for me teaching them Alban. Besides, you’ve been busy with Queen’s business and I needed something to do,” he says with a grin.
“And has she had any other visions?” Merlin asks, rubbing at his forehead where a headache is starting to form.
“Just one of me. She said she saw me on an island and wondered if I’d ever been to it or planned to,” Gwaine says and shrugs, but his voice seems more subdued.
Gwaine’s words slip from his mind as he is called back over to Driant to speak with another clan-lord who wishes to learn more about Albion.
~*~
The days flow by and soon, it is the day before they must decide or leave. Merlin has seen many things during his stay here, mostly shouting matches between the Twins and their factions. Merlin is tired of all the shouting, but there is not much he can do about it.
Driant sidles up to him where Merlin leans against the wall, watching Æcran and Æcrania argue again. “Tomorrow is the last day. Tell them your decision during the feast,” he says quietly. Merlin nods and Driant walks away to cool some of the hot tempers that are starting to spark.
~*~
At the feast, Merlin waits until the feast is well underway before standing. Driant beats him to it though, standing to address the Wigend leaders. “My lords of the Wigend, you have given me and my people shelter in our time of need and I thank you, but is time we stopped relying on your charity and take back what is ours. We go to slay my cousin who is a throne stealer and a father killer. We ride tomorrow and if I live, I will cross the strait to Albion.” He bowed to the two on their thrones.
Noise brakes out as people start to talk. Merlin takes a breath and walks down the table to kneel in front of them. “My lords, we too thank you for your generosity. Since Prince Driant has made his choice, we will take his words to our Queen. We will be leaving tomorrow as well.”
Æcrania nods in understanding and turns her head to hide her quivering lips where she tries to suppress her knowing grin. She understands what Merlin is attempting to do.
“Wait,” Æcran says, looking desperate. “There is no need for you to depart so soon. At least…stay and have a drink with me…or…” he glares at his sister, “We are the same, me and my sister. You cannot favor one over the other.”
“My lord, I am the queen’s Ambassador. Would you treat me so?” Merlin asks, looking up at the man.
“I have never forced anyone,” he says, “But how can you chose her over me? It is not right,” he hisses.
Merlin shrugs, “My lord, as you desire Albans for their beauty and such, so do we in others, boldness and daring, which your sister seems to have plenty of.”
“And you imply with your words that I lack these qualities?” he asks with a glare. Merlin can feel Arthur close behind him, ready should anything get out of hand.
Merlin shakes his head, looking up at Æcran, “No my lord, your actions do.”
“Tis true,” Æcrania says softly to her brother.
A muscle twitches in Æcran’s cheek as he glares at her. He turns burning eyes onto Merlin, “If it is daring you seek.” He stands; face red with his passion and rage. “The Wigend ride to war to aid our brother. We stand behind the rightful heir, Driant mab Drekana.”
Æcran turns to look down at Merlin. “Is that daring enough for you?” he asks heatedly.
“It is my lord,” Merlin says with a small smile. Behind him, Merlin can hear Arthur’s annoyed sigh, but he ignores it.
That night, Merlin beds Æcran, though he certainly serves the man better than his sister now that he isn’t drunk. Æcran spends the next few days with a grin plastered on his face.
Æcrania stops Merlin in the hall the next day. She slips a ring on his finger, heavy gold wires woven into intricate knots. “For luck,” she says. Merlin thanks her and she waves him off, walking away.
~*~
As the Hibernians and Wigends prepare for war, so do the Albans. It is not their fight, but if Driant is willing to come to their aid, it is only right that they do so as well. Petit instructs half of his men to remain ship bound, in case of their failure. Hey will bring word to Morgana.
They rest prepare as well, including Merlin. Merlin can feel Arthur’s dislike of this plan, that he would rather Merlin had gone onto the ship. It had taken all night and much arguing to convince his knight that Merlin needs to be here.
So they had compromised. Merlin will ride with the army, but he would remain with Driant’s sisters who ride as well. At the back of the procession, it will be safer for all of them. Merlin had wanted to say no, but the look in Arthur’s eyes had stopped him.
They set off at dawn. Men had been sent ahead to rally more people. Those who are loyal will come to the aid of the true heir. Gwaine and Arthur ride with Merlin and Driant’s sisters. Throughout the day as they road, people start to arrive. It starts out as a trickle, a few here and there.
By the next day, they come in groups, standards held high for the Hibernians and Wigend to see: clans from the Grene Hengest, the green horse; from the Fealo Leo, the yellow lion; from the Read Heorot; the red hart, all flock to their leader. None come from the Blæc Beran. None come from the Black Bear until near the end of their journey. Those still loyal and who think that Galway’s treachery should be punished.
They bring news through, of Galway. Others of his people are flocking to his call. He knows his cousin Driant is coming and is raising his own army. They ride on and Merlin shivers as he remembers another journey by horse. He looks at Arthur and sees understanding in his face. This ride may not be as desperate or hard pressed, but it is still deadly.
The night before they are to make it to the capital city, Driant’s home and Galway’s base, they camp out. Merlin sleeps fitfully. Aithusa croons softly from his hiding place under Merlin’s blanket. “I’m just worried about everyone,” Merlin murmurs to the dragon, caressing Aithusa on his eye ridge. The little dragon purrs in pleasure at the touch. “I don’t want anyone to die, least of all for me.”
“You cannot save everyone,” Gwaine says and Merlin looks up to see his friend staring down at him. “And you shouldn’t ask them to not fight. It’s not fair to those who wish to protect you.”
“I know,” Merlin says softly.
Gwaine sits down next to Merlin’s head, running gentle fingers through his hair. “Go to sleep Merlin,” he says softly. Merlin does eventually, drifting off to a dreamless sleep.
~*~
They all sit atop their horses ready to go. It is less than a day’s ride to their destination. Driant paces his horse back and forth, letting everyone see him on his horse. “My brothers and sisters,” he calls out. “You know why we are here. My cousin, my family, killed his own father, tried to kill me and took my rightful throne. This will not be tolerated. We will take back my throne from his bloodstained hands!” They cheer for him loudly. “I am Driant mab Drekana, my lineage is clear upon my skin. But today, you are all my kin. You who fight for me today will always be remembered. Today…”
A hush fell over the area as from the trees, a hart stepped out placidly. His rack was huge, towering over everyone and branching widely. It turned limpid eyes on them, blinking slowly. A shout rose and the creature startled, running over the path and through the trees on the other side, disappearing. “Follow it!” Driant bellows and some six thousand warriors take off after the creature.
Merlin, Gwaine, Arthur and Driant’s sisters and mother remain where they are on the path. They can hear the battle even from here. “They must have been trying to sneak up on us over the night and were caught with their pants down,” Gwaine murmurs.
Merlin swallows heavily as the smell of blood and gore reaches them on the wind. He can hear people’s screams. He turns his horse, hoping to get away from some of the smell and freezes. Coming onto the path is a group of twelve Hibernians. Above them flies the Black Bear.
They grin evilly at Merlin’s group. Merlin starts as one of them goes down, an arrow protruding from his throat. He turns to see Gylden with her bow out, aiming at the men. “Get behind us,” Arthur yells at Merlin as he and Gwaine pull their horses around and position themselves in front of the group.
The Hibernians charge, Gwaine and Arthur holding their ground. There are too many of them though to stop them all. They swarm between and around the two, coming at Merlin and the women. Merlin’s magic jumps at his finger tips and one of them attackers flies off of his horse to land with a wet thud some distance away.
The sound of tearing leather reaches his ears and he looks down in time to see Aithusa pull himself from his pack and launch himself at the nearest target. “No,” Merlin shouts after the little dragon.
Bows twinge around him as the other women start to fire their bows as well. Merlin’s magic whips out again, shoving another attacker away as the man gets too close. Aithusa is onto another attacker, diving at his face, racking sharp claws over him, blinding him with his own blood. The little dragon shoots into the air as an arrow buries itself into his chest.
The battle is over as quickly as it started. Aithusa gives a crooning chip and dives back to Merlin who pulls the dragon close, running gentle fingers over him, checking for injuries. Finding none, Merlin sighs in relief.
As Arthur and Gwaine draw near, someone shout and comes out of the woods. It’s Æcran, grinning feraly. Behind him comes Driant. “My cousin is dead,” he announces to their group. “I have my throne.”
Merlin could have shouted in relief at the man’s words. “What the hell is that?” Petit yells from nearby. Merlin realizes that Aithusa is still out.
“I guess you’re not a secret anymore,” he says softly. Aithusa just rubs his scaled cheek against Merlin’s in understanding.
~*~
Merlin learns later what actually happened. After chasing the hart through the woods, they had stumbled upon Galway’s army that was trying to sneak up on them. They had caught the enemy unprepared in the base of a valley. After that, it had been easy to take them down with the advantage of high ground.
Nearly half remained alive to surrender. A few hundred of Driant’s army had died and they would be sung about for generations to come. As for Galway, he was killed by Driant himself, his head sliced clean from his body. While his body is tied behind a horse to be dragged to the city, his head is carried on a pike in Driant’s hand. Merlin shivers and looks away.
The rest of the day is spent gathering the dead. The enemy are piled high and left to rot in the sun for the carrion birds to feast on. Their dead are burned, each with their own pyre. It is hard work for all. Merlin works among the others, bringing water to the wounded and those building the pyres. The stink makes his stomach roil but he doesn’t let it win.
Four of Petit’s sailors are dead as well. “Do not feel guilt for them, warlock,” Petit says when he tells Merlin the news. “They knew what they were getting into. Those who sign onto my ship know that death is always an option.” He shuffles his feet a little. “I promised the lads something as well,” he admits.
“What is that?” Merlin asks, Aithusa still on his shoulder, tail wrapped around his throat.
“I promised they would be titled…by your hand,” he says softly.
Merlin jerks in surprise, mouth opening and closing. “Me!”
“You are Queen’s Ambassador. It is your right and my men respect you,” he says gruffly.
“But I…I’ve never…” Merlin stammers. Aithusa rubs his gently through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm him.
“They deserve it Merlin,” Arthur says softly next to him. Merlin swallows and nods. So Merlin bestows titles on some twenty-odd sailors in the middle of a battle field. They file one by one in front of him and Merlin, borrowing Arthur’s sword, and lays the blade gently against their shoulders. By the time he’s done, his shoulders ache slightly from lifting the sword so much.
“I’ll call this lot, Merlin’s Boys, then,” Petit says with a laugh. “Give a name to bear with pride.” Merlin flushes but doesn’t say no to the Admiral’s words.
~*~
That night, Merlin sits quietly with Gwaine on the edge of their camp watching the pyre burn low to nothing but embers. “I heard about what you did,” Gwaine says softly.
“I feel like a fraud,” Merlin says softly, petting Aithusa. “They shouldn’t be asking me to do stuff like that.”
“Maybe they should. You give them hope, Merlin. The Queen’s Ambassador is not only the first warlock seen in two generations, but also the first Dragonlord in as many years. You show them that there is still a chance in this desperate race that we are in,” Gwaine says softly, tugging Merlin close by the shoulders, tucking the warlock under his arm.
Merlin looks up just as Gwaine looks down at him. The tension seems to hang suspended for a prolonged moment before Gwaine bends down and kisses Merlin. It’s not passionate or chaste. It is just a kiss and Merlin presses into it, taking comfort from it. Gwaine pulls away. “You deserve everything and more, Merlin,” Gwaine says softly. Flushing, Merlin looks down and presses closer to Gwaine. They spend the night like that, taking comfort from each other like in years gone by.
~*~
The ride into the city is longer than it actually is. It sits on the edge of a river, buildings made of stone and wood. It’s also smaller than Merlin is expecting. The people come out to meet them and for a long drawn out moment, Merlin thinks they will attack them.
Except the tension breaks and they start bowing. Merlin glances up as flowers start raining down and sees women standing at windows, smiling and hands full of flowers. There’s a scuffle ahead and then a group of people emerge. In the middle of them is a woman, her hands bound. It is Vela, Galway’s mother and wife of Driant’s uncle, the Frumgar.
Driant motions and his guards take her in hand, dragging her along with the procession. They reach the castle-like building. Galway’s flags no longer fly. When Merlin looks up, all he sees is the Red Hart fluttering in the breeze.
Driant takes his throne back. Vela is placed before him and he listens to her petition. She stands tall and unrepentant before them. Merlin has a clear view this time as he represents Morgana. He stands to the left of Driant’s throne, trying to keep his face expressionless. This woman is the cause of so many deaths and not just those from yesterday.
Her words, her speech are met with unimpressed gazes. Five pairs of bright green eyes stare her down until her words run out. She will not be swaying any hearts here. Not on this day. Driant turns to look at the Twins. “What say you?”
“You know what we will say, brother. It would be unwise to allow a blood-traitor to live to try again another day,” Æcran says softly. His sister nods.
“And you, Ambassador? What would your Queen say?” he asks Merlin.
Merlin can feel Aithusa’s soft purring against his next where the dragon sits perched. He takes comfort from it and meets Driant’s eyes. “My lord, Vela, wife of the late Frumgar has conspired against not only your throne, but the throne of Camelot and the rest of the five kingdoms. There is no clemency for traitors and throne stealers,” Merlin says, voice even and devoid of emotion.
“Then death it is,” Driant says, turning back to where Vela has turned paler than ever at their words. Before anyone can react, he is out of his seat, sword drawn. Before anyone knows what is happening, Vela’s head is off her shoulders, her body falling to the floor. It twitches a few times before stilling, blood pooling around her.
Merlin looks away, feeling bile rising in his throat. Aithusa croons in his ear and he can feel Arthur’s hand on his arm, squeezing it tightly. The flash of pain helps to clear his head and lets him swallow the bile back. He turns thankful eyes up towards his knight.
“This ends here,” Driant says. “I have taken back my throne and the rightful heir now reins. For those who aided me, you will be honored. For those who didn’t, your lands will be forfeit. Maybe one day you will be washed clean of this dishonorable taint.” There are cheers from the warriors around, other’s slink back, ashamed of their deeds.
The Red Hart is back on his throne.
~*~
Days drag by as affairs of state are seen to. Merlin, for the most part is left alone now that his part in the war is done. Still, he can’t stop fretting over the passing time. Summer is upon them and they are needed in Camelot.
But he has one thing to sooth his fears. While Driant sees to his kingdom, preparations are being made for their departure and crossing of the straits to Albion and Camelot. It will not be an easy feat. They will have a few thousand men and some hundred horses with them and Petit’s flag ship can only carry so much weight.
Driant sends messengers ahead of their departure to the coast, hoping to rally some boats or whatever comes close to water treading devices. So Merlin waits and worries about everyone back home. Aithusa tries to sooth his nerves but it only works half the time.
Time seems to slow as finally, the last things are seen to and Driant’s army is mounted up. It will be a day’s journey to the coast. After which, they will follow the edge, with nothing but towering cliffs until they reach a bay. They will be close to Camelot then. They say sometimes, if the weather is calm enough, you can see Albion’s coast from where they will be headed.
“This isn’t your burden to bear alone,” Arthur says later in the day, riding up next to Merlin.
“I know,” Merlin says, glancing at the knight.
“Then why are you doing so anyways?” Arthur asks.
“If they die, it will be my fault,” Merlin says quietly. “It was me who persuaded them to come.”
“Driant was willing to come before you said a word. He loves Morgana and it is her words that we brought, not yours.” Arthur pauses for a second, “And you did persuade the Twins, but it was their choice to come. You did not force them.”
“I’m afraid,” Merlin says. “You’ve seen the Picts,” Merlin says. “You know what we will be facing.”
“I know,” Arthur says. They ride in silence for the rest of the day, staying close as they ride.
They stop atop the cliffs as they finally arrive at the sea. “Look,” Merlin says and points. Just visible as a thin ribbon of brown and green, lies Albion and home.
~*~
Part 9
The sound of the anchor dropping is the only sound as they stare at the warriors on the beach. There is probably only a dozen, not enough to take on their full crew, but the fact that they are waving broadswords makes them cautious.
“Are those…children?” one sailor asks from where he is watching two of the smaller party run about the beach, one brandishing a stick like a spear.
“It looks like it,” Petit says. He turns to Merlin, “Well Queen’s Ambassador, what do we do?”
Merlin looks up at him, “The only thing we can do. We go to meet them. Bring six of your best fighters. I will bring Arthur and Gwaine.”
“We’ll be outnumbered,” he warns.
Merlin shrugs, “It will show we come in peace, not war. And if we could bring something from your treasures as a gift for the Wigend, I’m sure Morgana will compensate you for the loss.”
Petit nods and starts barking orders. An oar boat is lowered as Petit goes to grab something. He brings out a wooden box inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl. Inside, gold, gems, and spices are fit to burst out. Merlin nods, though he has no idea if this is appropriate.
Merlin shoulders his pack with Aithusa in it and climbs slowly and carefully down the rope ladder. Once everyone is inside, the boat pushes away and the rowers take to their oars, the gap steadily closing up between them and the party watching.
When they are in earshot, one of the people steps forward, a young woman, her hair a deep russet and her skin tanned with blue markings inked into her skin. Green eyes stared back at them. “Welcome,” she says clearly enough to be heard. She raises a hand, and the men sheath their swords, running forward to ground the oar boat. “Welcome, wise one,” a voice says in his ear and he starts as he realizes that she was the one who guided him.
When no one speaks up at her words, Merlin realizes that they are waiting on him, the translator to speak. Putting a steadying hand on Arthur and Gwaine’s shoulders, Merlin stands slowly, planting his feet on the swaying boat.
Merlin bows as much as he can without toppling over. “I am Merlin nó Emrys, here as Morgana de la Pendragon’s Ambassador. We seek Driant mab Drekana, the true Frumgar of Hibernia,” Merlin says, shaping the difficult syllables of the Hibernian language. He is out of practice.
She nods, “I am Gylden, his sister.” She motions to the men waiting with her. “We have been waiting for your arrival.”
Merlin stares at her. “How?” When Gwaine jabs him in the side Merlin realizes that the others are lost. “It’s all right. They are bidding us welcome.” Seeing tense shoulders relax, the men start to get out of the boat, helping Merlin out into the shallow water. Finally on solid land, Merlin staggers onto the beach towards Gylden.
“I had a vision,” she says, tapping him on the chest, right over the crystal. “I saw this and this bay which I had come to before. I saw your face and the Pendragon flag in the crystal. When I came to, I came here with some men and waited. I felt your magic seeking and called you through the fog.”
“You followed a vision?” Merlin asks with eyes wide.
“So did you and you still do,” she says with a smile.
The little boy comes up and says something to her, but Merlin can’t pick out exactly what he says; the dialect strange, even if he knows it is Hibernian. He’ll have to learn quickly if he’s going to be of any use to everyone else.
“May we see your brother?” Merlin asks.
“You will, but you must meet the Twins first. They are the Lords of the Wigend,” Gylden says.
They follow the warriors and Gylden up a narrow winding trail to the top of the cliff. Two men stay behind to tell everyone else what has happened. Merlin tries to explain as best he can what is happening, but even he is at a loss partly.
The building they come upon is huge. It rests on top of a hill. While not as vast or grand as Camelot’s castle, it still commands respect. They enter though two huge doors, the wood carved and inlaid with shells and small semiprecious stones. Shown to a sitting room, they wait for the Twins to arrive.
“You say you speak for the Golden Dragon. Who will stand with you?” Gylden asks.
“Him,” Merlin says pointing to Petit, “and him and him,” Merlin points to Arthur and Gwaine.
“Very well,” she says and walks through another door where they can hear people arguing. She comes back some minutes later. “They will see you now.”
Taking a deep breath, Merlin follows her, the others close behind. Merlin stares at the two rulers of the Wigend, seated on their duel thrones. They stare at them as they approach. Æcran mac Laren is tall, with broad shoulders. His head is shaved to the skin. His beard is a light blonde color, framing his frowning mouth. Æcrania mac Laren, his sister, sits proudly, chin held high. Her hair is a color a shade lighter than her brothers, curling around her shoulders, braids and beads poking out here and there. They both have startling pale blue eyes that give nothing away.
“They have come to speak with my brother, Driant,” Gylden says evenly, bowing to the Twins. “They seek an audience with him.” Merlin follows her words, placing each word and meaning. His ear is improving.
Æcran frowns a little more before glancing at his sister. Æcrania nods silently and he looks back at Gylden. “They are welcome here. Bring your brother,” he says evenly. Merlin has a little trouble with his accent, but he understands and gives a little inner smile. Kilgharrah would be proud.
Gylden nods and motions to one of their escort to seek out the Frumgar. He walks off after nodding to her. Merlin turns to the others, “They are sending for Driant.”
When Driant enters the room, the first thing Merlin notices is his slight limp. He recalls Kilgharrah mentioning his limp, a deformity from birth. Although it is covered up by a leather boot, the angle of the foot gives testament to the misshaped bones.
Three women enter behind him, one older and two younger. They were all similar to Gylden, their hair red, eyes a bright green and skin pale. Their skin is marked with blue ink, and though Merlin can’t read what the symbols mean, he knows that to have that many speaks of a long story indeed.
He limps towards Merlin, green eyes fevered and boring into Merlin. “You are the Dragon’s voice?” he asks and Merlin nods. “What does she says?”
Merlin senses something in his voice, a hitch in it, of hopefulness and worry. Merlin smiles a little and bows lowly. “My lord, her majesty Queen Morgana de la Pendragon wishes to honor her betrothal to you.”
Driant inhales sharply at Merlin’s words and his face looks fierce in his devotion. “And the price?”
Merlin straightens under his scrutiny. “My lord, Albion is in threat of invasion. If you regain your throne, the Fisher King will allow you passage. If you wish to marry Morgana, the price is your aid of Camelot and the five kingdoms.”
Driant seems to go completely still and then he looks over at the Twins. Æcrania looks back, smiling and pale eyes fierce. Æcran looks away, unwilling to meet the Frumgar’s heated gaze. “What do you say, my kin? You wanted a sign, well here it is. Now is the time to take up our swords and drive that father killing usurper from my throne and to free our people. If we do this, the Fisher King will answer to us, grant us passage. What do you say?” he asks them.
“I say that-,” Æcrania starts to say.
“NO!” Æcran cuts his sister off who turns to glare at him. No,” he says again shaking his head. “The risk is too great and the gain too little. They do not bring an army to back their words. Instead they bring trinkets. I say no!”
“You are a coward and a fool, brother,” Æcrania hisses at her brother, turning to glare at him.
“Say what you like. If we disagree then we go nowhere. We already are strained to keep this land as ours. I will not listen to anything more.”
“Æcran, you have this land because my ancestor honored your loyalty and oath. My people will side with me as will many of the other clans, even if Galway calls the Blæc Beran to war. But what of you? What will your children and your children’s children think of when they recall your name?”
“They will say he is a coward and a fool,” Æcrania hisses again.
“Enough, sister,” Æcran yells, his hand slicing through the air, bringing silence. “You wish to go to war, but will Hibernia answer to a cripple’s call?” he asks harshly. The warriors behind them murmur softly, stances shifting at the insult to their leader.
Driant shakes his head slightly and the still. “They have before. What use are two legs when I can have four on horseback. They will come to my call.” He shifts slightly forward, staring Æcran down. “Will you ask to test your blade against mine next?” Æcran looks away. “I thought not. Now answer the question.”
Merlin whispers quickly what has happened so far as the silence stretches out between the two men. Arthur glances up at Æcran. “If he wants, he can try his steel against mine,” he says with a hiss.
At that moment, the hall erupted into quarrels, Æcrania in the midst, drawing the short sword at her waist as she started to yell at one of Driant’s men. Æcran storms down from them throne, sliding between her and the other man, arguing with his sister. Merlin watches with wide eyes, waiting with baited breath to see how it will plat out.
Finally, Æcran throws his hands up in frustration. “I will not go to war on a whim’s notice. We will speak more on this later.” He turns to Merlin, “We welcome you Merlin nó Emrys and you gift. Tonight, we will feast in your honor as well as the others and tomorrow, we will speak again. Is that acceptable, Frumgar?” Æcran hisses at the man.
Driant just nods his head in approval. Huffing, Æcran storms from the room, sending his sister a glare. “He spoke wisely,” Drekana says, coming forward.
“Oh yes, he can speak and speak and speak until even our enemies beg him to stop,” Æcrania says with a snort and a glance at the door her brother stormed off through.
“Your brother is just thinking for your people. War is never a light decision. But we have guest and must see to them,” Drekana reminds.
“Of course,” Æcrania says, looking their party over with a pale arched brow. She claps her hands, summoning servants to see to them.
“Do not worry about those two,” a soft voice says next to Merlin. He turns to see Drekana and her daughters, Gylden included, staring at him with small smiles. “They are polar opposites. The trick is finding the balance between them. If you can find that, there is nothing they can’t do.”
“And how do I do that?” Merlin asks desperately.
“You will find away. After all, you were chosen to always find balance in life,” Drekana says with a knowing smile. Before Merlin can say anything else, they turn and leave their group there, servants waiting to take them to their rooms.
Merlin turns to the others. “Well, it seems we must find a middle ground for the twins. If anyone knows away, I’m all ears,” he says, looking at the others.
~*~
Merlin and Arthur are given a room next to Nerecca. It is her sons who will be Driant’s heirs. Should Morgana have any sons, they will never sit on the Hibernian throne. Instead, they will rule over Camelot.
Aithusa gives a happy chirp when Merlin opens his bag. The little dragon crawls out, quickly taking to wing to stretch the cramped muscles. Merlin feels guilty for keeping him in there so long, but the little dragon seems fine with it.
When someone knocks at the door, Merlin is surprised to see Nerecca standing there. Her long red hair is braided and bound up on top of her head. A simple dress made of thick wool graces her shoulders, a belt cinching the cloth at her waist.
“My lady,” Merlin says quickly, bowing slightly.
“Please, may I come in?” she asks. Nodding, Merlin steps aside to let her in. He can see Arthur crouched down by their bed, stuffing something under it. He assumes it is Aithusa since he can’t see the dragon.
“You must excuse Æcran for his harsh words. The Wigend have fought long and hard to secure their land here and have only just started to enjoy peace,” she pauses to look at him. “That war is coming, whether they want it or not is a hard thing to face. And though they do not belong to any of the four houses, they still have loyalty to Read Heorot and our ancestor. If it hadn’t been for him, they would not have this land in the first place. It is the same with all the clans. If not for his work to bring them together, we would not be here today.”
“Will they follow Driant if he goes against his cousin?” Merlin asks.
“They will follow if the Read Heorot wills it to be so,” she says simply and Merlin feels worry set in.
“You yourself should know that if something is meant to happen, it will. Eventually, the Balance will even out,” Nerecca says with a small smile towards Merlin.
Merlin nods slowly. “Come, the feast will be ready soon,” she says and stands. Merlin and Arthur follow her out. Merlin glances back to see Aithusa’s head poking out from under the bed.
~*~
Merlin stands in the shadows as he stares out at the gathering. More of Petit’s men had been brought ashore and the hall is filled to bursting with Albans, Hibernians and Wigend, all drinking and eating. It is certainly a strange sight to see.
Merlin lets Arthur pull him into the crowd, cheers going up at his arrival. Bowing in thanks to the Twins who sit at the head of the table, Merlin settles in to eat. The hall is full of talk, despite the language barrier and soon, songs are being sung around them. Merlin, who has drunk a little more than he should have, grins when he realizes exactly what song the sailors are singing.
There’s a commotion and Merlin glances over to see one of the Wigend warriors poking fun at Arthur, fingering his chainmail sleeve and tapping his sheath covered sword. The area is cleared and there are shouts from both sides for the fight that the warrior is certainly trying for.
Merlin glances at Driant. Merlin arches a brow and the man nods slightly. Standing, Merlin stumbles a little with so much wine in him. “My lord, my lady, let us show you the strength of Alban swords. But let there be no blood drawn. The first to be disarmed is to surrender with honor,” Merlin says, his tongue more fluent than before. He isn’t sure if it is the wine or not.
The Twins nod in approval. Arthur gives him a look but nods. Drawing his sword still sheathed, he faces the man. The man swings his sword, bringing it down in in a blur of steel towards Arthur’s head. Merlin’s heart jumps into his throat as he watches but he doesn’t need to worry as Arthur easily side steps the blow.
Instead of taking advantage of the man’s overbalance, Arthur spins away and faces him again, a small smirk on his face. Roaring, the man comes at Arthur again, from the side. This time, Arthur ducks under the swing, bring his sword up and jams it into the man’s stomach, knocking the wind from him. Spinning, he brings his sword to the back of the other man’s knees and he crashes to the floor, sword falling from his grip to clatter across the floor.
The room is deathly silent, only the sound of the other man’s ragged breathes sounding out. Slowly, he gains his feet and turns to look at Arthur. He grins and bursts out laughing, slapping Arthur on the shoulder. The rest follow suit, laughing.
“I think the princess impressed them,” Gwaine says beside him.
Merlin looks up at his friend, but the man’s eyes are trained elsewhere. “Oh, go on, I know you want to,” Merlin says with a grin.
“You know me too well,” Gwaine says and saunters off. Merlin watches him approach one of the women who have been eyeing his friend the whole night. Grinning, Merlin turns away, wobbling a little.
The evening starts to blur over as Merlin drinks more. Merlin stands before the Twins as they argue like children. It takes him a moment to realize that they are fighting over him. Æcran throws up his hands and turns to Merlin, “You chose then, Ambassador.”
So Merlin does.
~*~
Merlin wakes the next morning with a splitting headache in a strange room. Merlin feels someone next to him stir and he turns to see Æcrania lounging on the bed, head on her hand as she watches him. “Are you all taught to do those things?” she asks him with a sly grin.
“No, my lady,” Merlin says and rubs at his aching head. “Not everyone.”
“That’s too bad,” she says and stands to dress. Merlin watches her pale skin covered in blue ink disappear underneath the clothing.
Someone runs into the room and jumps on the bed. Merlin winces at the noise. “Ohh,” Merlin moans softly.
“Easy, Brodon,” Æcrania says with a smile at her son. “Are you trained to be like that for all royalty?” she asks him, sitting down on the edge of the bed and holding her son.
“It is how I was trained,” Merlin admits, sitting up with the sheets pooling around his waist. Merlin sighs, “I told Morgana I would not be a good Ambassador.”
“You are good with languages,” she says simply, eyeing him. “Besides, I’ve shown you the way to my brother.”
“What?” Merlin asks, looking at her.
“My brother hates not having anything I have. I once got a sword from my father when I was fifteen. Æcran would not shut up until my father got him one as well. No matter what it is, he will have it or one of better quality,” she says softly with a put upon sigh.
“Are you saying he will go to war for me?” Merlin asks, confused.
“No, he will not go to war, instead choosing to stay neutral. But it will incense him to not have you. That is the way you will persuade my brother, Merlin nó Emrys,” she says solemnly. “Though I will admit, you are almost worth war.” Merlin blushes at that but he does smile a little.
“Did you do that purposefully?” Merlin asks her.
“No, I did it for myself,” she says with a cheeky grin. “Tell me, do you think your captain would breed strong sons?”
“Petit Fils?” Merlin says. “I assume so, but I’ve not asked before,” Merlin says with a grin.
Æcrania grins back. “Then I guess we’ll find out if we may die tomorrow. Some things are best done in haste,” she says. She looks down at Merlin, “You should try to remind my brother that.”
“I will try,” Merlin says softly.
~*~
Merlin isn’t the only one suffering from overindulgence. Many are shuffling around with pained expressions on their faces. Merlin has no time to prepare when Arthur storms up to him. The knight grabs him by the arm, dragging him down the hall and towards their shared room.
The door shuts with a thump and Arthur turns to glare at Merlin. “Do you think everything can be solved by falling into a bed?” he asks.
Merlin leans against the door at his back. “Well, seeing as I’ve no sword skill to settle my disputes, I’ll just have to ask for your forgiveness,” Merlin hisses. “Besides, this would have never happened had you not left me alone out there. Maybe, you’re just jealous.” Merlin glares at Arthur.
“I am not-,” Arthur sputters.
Merlin just looks at him, brow arched.
“Fine, maybe I am,” Arthur says quietly. He turns away, shoulders stiff.
“I’m sorry if I upset you, but this is what you get when you send someone like me to be a diplomat and ply me with strong drink,” Merlin mutters.
Arthur sighs and turns to look at him, “At least you were able to choose this time.”
Merlin snorts a little, “I chose all right.” They shared a look and then started to laugh. Merlin groans softly, clutching his head. “Please don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“You light weight,” Arthur mutters, pulling Merlin close and running his fingers through Merlin’s hair. Merlin hums in agreement. “What am I going to do with you?”
~*~
Merlin emerges from their room later in the day, refreshed and no long feeling like he’ll shatter. Driant comes to him and ask if he would like to see more of the Wigend lands. Merlin nods, Arthur behind him doing so as well.
Their group is small as they ride: just Driant, two guards, Merlin and Arthur. Around them, the land is slowly waking up. Grasses which for so long have been brown, dead from cold, are growing again under the warm gentle sun. Merlin’s heart beats heavily in his chest, knots forming in his stomach at this sign. Spring has arrived and soon after summer. They really must hurry if they want to help Morgana fight against Arrœk and his massive army.
“So where does your home lie?” Driant asks, coming up behind Merlin.
Merlin startles and looks at him before answering, “That way.” He points west, towards Albion and Camelot.
“Through the lands of my throne steeling cousin, hmm? He will soon be without his head,” Driant comments nonchalantly.
“If Æcrania were to choose against Æcran, would the Wigend follow?” Merlin asks softly, eyeing the ruler.
“Some would, those who thrive on battle. But she will not. Æcrania may be bold in words, but she would never sever her bond with her brother. Their thrones are bound together by sibling love and not chains of necessity. It is what I would like for myself and Morgana. What we both want. Does she still?” Driant asks Merlin.
Merlin smiled, “She does my lord.”
Driant smiles back and turns their path back the way they had come. Merlin quickly explains what was said to Arthur. “I’m going to have to do something else you will not like. Just…go with it and keep your temper in check please. I swear, it is necessary,” Merlin finishes, not looking at Arthur. He hears Arthur’s harsh sigh next to him, but then the knight grips his hand where he holds the reins and squeezes. Arthur understands.
~*~
The next three days are nothing but meetings and talks. As word spreads of their arrival, more people show up, lords from more distant lands; land which are still loyal to the Red Hart, to Driant.
But still, many flock to Æcran who still refuses to go to war. Many refuse to go to war for Albion and back up their lord.
“This seems more like a fool’s errand,” Petit mutters, looking around the gathered people.
Merlin just sighed. They had four more days of this. Merlin had been refusing politely or outright ignoring Æcran’s interest in him. And that didn’t even include the many others who had asked unabashedly. Smirking, Merlin looks up at Petit, “Are you so quick to leave the Lady Æcrania’s bed?”
Petit flushes and mutters something, though Merlin only catches the word “child.”
Gwaine comes up, “Gylden has had a vision. It was of you holding a scale and it was tipped to one side.”
Merlin starts, “And you were able to understand her how?”
“They’ve been teaching me Hibernian in exchange for me teaching them Alban. Besides, you’ve been busy with Queen’s business and I needed something to do,” he says with a grin.
“And has she had any other visions?” Merlin asks, rubbing at his forehead where a headache is starting to form.
“Just one of me. She said she saw me on an island and wondered if I’d ever been to it or planned to,” Gwaine says and shrugs, but his voice seems more subdued.
Gwaine’s words slip from his mind as he is called back over to Driant to speak with another clan-lord who wishes to learn more about Albion.
~*~
The days flow by and soon, it is the day before they must decide or leave. Merlin has seen many things during his stay here, mostly shouting matches between the Twins and their factions. Merlin is tired of all the shouting, but there is not much he can do about it.
Driant sidles up to him where Merlin leans against the wall, watching Æcran and Æcrania argue again. “Tomorrow is the last day. Tell them your decision during the feast,” he says quietly. Merlin nods and Driant walks away to cool some of the hot tempers that are starting to spark.
~*~
At the feast, Merlin waits until the feast is well underway before standing. Driant beats him to it though, standing to address the Wigend leaders. “My lords of the Wigend, you have given me and my people shelter in our time of need and I thank you, but is time we stopped relying on your charity and take back what is ours. We go to slay my cousin who is a throne stealer and a father killer. We ride tomorrow and if I live, I will cross the strait to Albion.” He bowed to the two on their thrones.
Noise brakes out as people start to talk. Merlin takes a breath and walks down the table to kneel in front of them. “My lords, we too thank you for your generosity. Since Prince Driant has made his choice, we will take his words to our Queen. We will be leaving tomorrow as well.”
Æcrania nods in understanding and turns her head to hide her quivering lips where she tries to suppress her knowing grin. She understands what Merlin is attempting to do.
“Wait,” Æcran says, looking desperate. “There is no need for you to depart so soon. At least…stay and have a drink with me…or…” he glares at his sister, “We are the same, me and my sister. You cannot favor one over the other.”
“My lord, I am the queen’s Ambassador. Would you treat me so?” Merlin asks, looking up at the man.
“I have never forced anyone,” he says, “But how can you chose her over me? It is not right,” he hisses.
Merlin shrugs, “My lord, as you desire Albans for their beauty and such, so do we in others, boldness and daring, which your sister seems to have plenty of.”
“And you imply with your words that I lack these qualities?” he asks with a glare. Merlin can feel Arthur close behind him, ready should anything get out of hand.
Merlin shakes his head, looking up at Æcran, “No my lord, your actions do.”
“Tis true,” Æcrania says softly to her brother.
A muscle twitches in Æcran’s cheek as he glares at her. He turns burning eyes onto Merlin, “If it is daring you seek.” He stands; face red with his passion and rage. “The Wigend ride to war to aid our brother. We stand behind the rightful heir, Driant mab Drekana.”
Æcran turns to look down at Merlin. “Is that daring enough for you?” he asks heatedly.
“It is my lord,” Merlin says with a small smile. Behind him, Merlin can hear Arthur’s annoyed sigh, but he ignores it.
That night, Merlin beds Æcran, though he certainly serves the man better than his sister now that he isn’t drunk. Æcran spends the next few days with a grin plastered on his face.
Æcrania stops Merlin in the hall the next day. She slips a ring on his finger, heavy gold wires woven into intricate knots. “For luck,” she says. Merlin thanks her and she waves him off, walking away.
~*~
As the Hibernians and Wigends prepare for war, so do the Albans. It is not their fight, but if Driant is willing to come to their aid, it is only right that they do so as well. Petit instructs half of his men to remain ship bound, in case of their failure. Hey will bring word to Morgana.
They rest prepare as well, including Merlin. Merlin can feel Arthur’s dislike of this plan, that he would rather Merlin had gone onto the ship. It had taken all night and much arguing to convince his knight that Merlin needs to be here.
So they had compromised. Merlin will ride with the army, but he would remain with Driant’s sisters who ride as well. At the back of the procession, it will be safer for all of them. Merlin had wanted to say no, but the look in Arthur’s eyes had stopped him.
They set off at dawn. Men had been sent ahead to rally more people. Those who are loyal will come to the aid of the true heir. Gwaine and Arthur ride with Merlin and Driant’s sisters. Throughout the day as they road, people start to arrive. It starts out as a trickle, a few here and there.
By the next day, they come in groups, standards held high for the Hibernians and Wigend to see: clans from the Grene Hengest, the green horse; from the Fealo Leo, the yellow lion; from the Read Heorot; the red hart, all flock to their leader. None come from the Blæc Beran. None come from the Black Bear until near the end of their journey. Those still loyal and who think that Galway’s treachery should be punished.
They bring news through, of Galway. Others of his people are flocking to his call. He knows his cousin Driant is coming and is raising his own army. They ride on and Merlin shivers as he remembers another journey by horse. He looks at Arthur and sees understanding in his face. This ride may not be as desperate or hard pressed, but it is still deadly.
The night before they are to make it to the capital city, Driant’s home and Galway’s base, they camp out. Merlin sleeps fitfully. Aithusa croons softly from his hiding place under Merlin’s blanket. “I’m just worried about everyone,” Merlin murmurs to the dragon, caressing Aithusa on his eye ridge. The little dragon purrs in pleasure at the touch. “I don’t want anyone to die, least of all for me.”
“You cannot save everyone,” Gwaine says and Merlin looks up to see his friend staring down at him. “And you shouldn’t ask them to not fight. It’s not fair to those who wish to protect you.”
“I know,” Merlin says softly.
Gwaine sits down next to Merlin’s head, running gentle fingers through his hair. “Go to sleep Merlin,” he says softly. Merlin does eventually, drifting off to a dreamless sleep.
~*~
They all sit atop their horses ready to go. It is less than a day’s ride to their destination. Driant paces his horse back and forth, letting everyone see him on his horse. “My brothers and sisters,” he calls out. “You know why we are here. My cousin, my family, killed his own father, tried to kill me and took my rightful throne. This will not be tolerated. We will take back my throne from his bloodstained hands!” They cheer for him loudly. “I am Driant mab Drekana, my lineage is clear upon my skin. But today, you are all my kin. You who fight for me today will always be remembered. Today…”
A hush fell over the area as from the trees, a hart stepped out placidly. His rack was huge, towering over everyone and branching widely. It turned limpid eyes on them, blinking slowly. A shout rose and the creature startled, running over the path and through the trees on the other side, disappearing. “Follow it!” Driant bellows and some six thousand warriors take off after the creature.
Merlin, Gwaine, Arthur and Driant’s sisters and mother remain where they are on the path. They can hear the battle even from here. “They must have been trying to sneak up on us over the night and were caught with their pants down,” Gwaine murmurs.
Merlin swallows heavily as the smell of blood and gore reaches them on the wind. He can hear people’s screams. He turns his horse, hoping to get away from some of the smell and freezes. Coming onto the path is a group of twelve Hibernians. Above them flies the Black Bear.
They grin evilly at Merlin’s group. Merlin starts as one of them goes down, an arrow protruding from his throat. He turns to see Gylden with her bow out, aiming at the men. “Get behind us,” Arthur yells at Merlin as he and Gwaine pull their horses around and position themselves in front of the group.
The Hibernians charge, Gwaine and Arthur holding their ground. There are too many of them though to stop them all. They swarm between and around the two, coming at Merlin and the women. Merlin’s magic jumps at his finger tips and one of them attackers flies off of his horse to land with a wet thud some distance away.
The sound of tearing leather reaches his ears and he looks down in time to see Aithusa pull himself from his pack and launch himself at the nearest target. “No,” Merlin shouts after the little dragon.
Bows twinge around him as the other women start to fire their bows as well. Merlin’s magic whips out again, shoving another attacker away as the man gets too close. Aithusa is onto another attacker, diving at his face, racking sharp claws over him, blinding him with his own blood. The little dragon shoots into the air as an arrow buries itself into his chest.
The battle is over as quickly as it started. Aithusa gives a crooning chip and dives back to Merlin who pulls the dragon close, running gentle fingers over him, checking for injuries. Finding none, Merlin sighs in relief.
As Arthur and Gwaine draw near, someone shout and comes out of the woods. It’s Æcran, grinning feraly. Behind him comes Driant. “My cousin is dead,” he announces to their group. “I have my throne.”
Merlin could have shouted in relief at the man’s words. “What the hell is that?” Petit yells from nearby. Merlin realizes that Aithusa is still out.
“I guess you’re not a secret anymore,” he says softly. Aithusa just rubs his scaled cheek against Merlin’s in understanding.
~*~
Merlin learns later what actually happened. After chasing the hart through the woods, they had stumbled upon Galway’s army that was trying to sneak up on them. They had caught the enemy unprepared in the base of a valley. After that, it had been easy to take them down with the advantage of high ground.
Nearly half remained alive to surrender. A few hundred of Driant’s army had died and they would be sung about for generations to come. As for Galway, he was killed by Driant himself, his head sliced clean from his body. While his body is tied behind a horse to be dragged to the city, his head is carried on a pike in Driant’s hand. Merlin shivers and looks away.
The rest of the day is spent gathering the dead. The enemy are piled high and left to rot in the sun for the carrion birds to feast on. Their dead are burned, each with their own pyre. It is hard work for all. Merlin works among the others, bringing water to the wounded and those building the pyres. The stink makes his stomach roil but he doesn’t let it win.
Four of Petit’s sailors are dead as well. “Do not feel guilt for them, warlock,” Petit says when he tells Merlin the news. “They knew what they were getting into. Those who sign onto my ship know that death is always an option.” He shuffles his feet a little. “I promised the lads something as well,” he admits.
“What is that?” Merlin asks, Aithusa still on his shoulder, tail wrapped around his throat.
“I promised they would be titled…by your hand,” he says softly.
Merlin jerks in surprise, mouth opening and closing. “Me!”
“You are Queen’s Ambassador. It is your right and my men respect you,” he says gruffly.
“But I…I’ve never…” Merlin stammers. Aithusa rubs his gently through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm him.
“They deserve it Merlin,” Arthur says softly next to him. Merlin swallows and nods. So Merlin bestows titles on some twenty-odd sailors in the middle of a battle field. They file one by one in front of him and Merlin, borrowing Arthur’s sword, and lays the blade gently against their shoulders. By the time he’s done, his shoulders ache slightly from lifting the sword so much.
“I’ll call this lot, Merlin’s Boys, then,” Petit says with a laugh. “Give a name to bear with pride.” Merlin flushes but doesn’t say no to the Admiral’s words.
~*~
That night, Merlin sits quietly with Gwaine on the edge of their camp watching the pyre burn low to nothing but embers. “I heard about what you did,” Gwaine says softly.
“I feel like a fraud,” Merlin says softly, petting Aithusa. “They shouldn’t be asking me to do stuff like that.”
“Maybe they should. You give them hope, Merlin. The Queen’s Ambassador is not only the first warlock seen in two generations, but also the first Dragonlord in as many years. You show them that there is still a chance in this desperate race that we are in,” Gwaine says softly, tugging Merlin close by the shoulders, tucking the warlock under his arm.
Merlin looks up just as Gwaine looks down at him. The tension seems to hang suspended for a prolonged moment before Gwaine bends down and kisses Merlin. It’s not passionate or chaste. It is just a kiss and Merlin presses into it, taking comfort from it. Gwaine pulls away. “You deserve everything and more, Merlin,” Gwaine says softly. Flushing, Merlin looks down and presses closer to Gwaine. They spend the night like that, taking comfort from each other like in years gone by.
~*~
The ride into the city is longer than it actually is. It sits on the edge of a river, buildings made of stone and wood. It’s also smaller than Merlin is expecting. The people come out to meet them and for a long drawn out moment, Merlin thinks they will attack them.
Except the tension breaks and they start bowing. Merlin glances up as flowers start raining down and sees women standing at windows, smiling and hands full of flowers. There’s a scuffle ahead and then a group of people emerge. In the middle of them is a woman, her hands bound. It is Vela, Galway’s mother and wife of Driant’s uncle, the Frumgar.
Driant motions and his guards take her in hand, dragging her along with the procession. They reach the castle-like building. Galway’s flags no longer fly. When Merlin looks up, all he sees is the Red Hart fluttering in the breeze.
Driant takes his throne back. Vela is placed before him and he listens to her petition. She stands tall and unrepentant before them. Merlin has a clear view this time as he represents Morgana. He stands to the left of Driant’s throne, trying to keep his face expressionless. This woman is the cause of so many deaths and not just those from yesterday.
Her words, her speech are met with unimpressed gazes. Five pairs of bright green eyes stare her down until her words run out. She will not be swaying any hearts here. Not on this day. Driant turns to look at the Twins. “What say you?”
“You know what we will say, brother. It would be unwise to allow a blood-traitor to live to try again another day,” Æcran says softly. His sister nods.
“And you, Ambassador? What would your Queen say?” he asks Merlin.
Merlin can feel Aithusa’s soft purring against his next where the dragon sits perched. He takes comfort from it and meets Driant’s eyes. “My lord, Vela, wife of the late Frumgar has conspired against not only your throne, but the throne of Camelot and the rest of the five kingdoms. There is no clemency for traitors and throne stealers,” Merlin says, voice even and devoid of emotion.
“Then death it is,” Driant says, turning back to where Vela has turned paler than ever at their words. Before anyone can react, he is out of his seat, sword drawn. Before anyone knows what is happening, Vela’s head is off her shoulders, her body falling to the floor. It twitches a few times before stilling, blood pooling around her.
Merlin looks away, feeling bile rising in his throat. Aithusa croons in his ear and he can feel Arthur’s hand on his arm, squeezing it tightly. The flash of pain helps to clear his head and lets him swallow the bile back. He turns thankful eyes up towards his knight.
“This ends here,” Driant says. “I have taken back my throne and the rightful heir now reins. For those who aided me, you will be honored. For those who didn’t, your lands will be forfeit. Maybe one day you will be washed clean of this dishonorable taint.” There are cheers from the warriors around, other’s slink back, ashamed of their deeds.
The Red Hart is back on his throne.
~*~
Days drag by as affairs of state are seen to. Merlin, for the most part is left alone now that his part in the war is done. Still, he can’t stop fretting over the passing time. Summer is upon them and they are needed in Camelot.
But he has one thing to sooth his fears. While Driant sees to his kingdom, preparations are being made for their departure and crossing of the straits to Albion and Camelot. It will not be an easy feat. They will have a few thousand men and some hundred horses with them and Petit’s flag ship can only carry so much weight.
Driant sends messengers ahead of their departure to the coast, hoping to rally some boats or whatever comes close to water treading devices. So Merlin waits and worries about everyone back home. Aithusa tries to sooth his nerves but it only works half the time.
Time seems to slow as finally, the last things are seen to and Driant’s army is mounted up. It will be a day’s journey to the coast. After which, they will follow the edge, with nothing but towering cliffs until they reach a bay. They will be close to Camelot then. They say sometimes, if the weather is calm enough, you can see Albion’s coast from where they will be headed.
“This isn’t your burden to bear alone,” Arthur says later in the day, riding up next to Merlin.
“I know,” Merlin says, glancing at the knight.
“Then why are you doing so anyways?” Arthur asks.
“If they die, it will be my fault,” Merlin says quietly. “It was me who persuaded them to come.”
“Driant was willing to come before you said a word. He loves Morgana and it is her words that we brought, not yours.” Arthur pauses for a second, “And you did persuade the Twins, but it was their choice to come. You did not force them.”
“I’m afraid,” Merlin says. “You’ve seen the Picts,” Merlin says. “You know what we will be facing.”
“I know,” Arthur says. They ride in silence for the rest of the day, staying close as they ride.
They stop atop the cliffs as they finally arrive at the sea. “Look,” Merlin says and points. Just visible as a thin ribbon of brown and green, lies Albion and home.
~*~
Part 9