Chapter Text
Word of a stranger flew round the tiny village of Rainsford faster than anyone could have believed, and the tiny Tavern was packed with people wanting to hear his story even before night fell. Tucked away in the foothills of a mountain range, strangers were a rarity in Rainsford, and no one wanted to miss out on the excitement.
His name was Sir Acturus, and he was from Camelot, on a quest from Prince Arthur himself, the Prince’s last quest before the Prince was crowned King of Albion. Five of the greatest knights in Camelot had ridden out, and Prince Arthur himself, and they were searching for the sorcerer, Merlin, banished from Camelot five years ago.
“For what purpose, sir?” One of the braver men, John, asked, greatly daring. “We heard of all that, even here. The sorcerer were banished, weren’t he?”
His wife stepped on his foot, and hissed, “‘Wasn’t he’!” too-audibly in his ear. John flushed, but didn’t back down.
“He were banished – wasn’t he?” he corrected himself, with a venomous look at his wife.
Acturus smiled and nodded, his expression rather distant. “He was, on the King’s orders. Have you heard any other news of him other than that? Has anyone seen him, or heard of him?”
“He’s a sorcerer,” another man piped up. “He’ll have vanished off the face of the earth.”
Acturus shook his head. “I don’t think so. From what Prince Arthur said, magic doesn’t work like that.”
“Prince Arthur, studying magic?” Elspeth, the village gossip, scoffed. “I don't think so.” She flushed, suddenly. “Er, no offence intended, my lord.”
“Strange things happen at Camelot,” Acturus murmured, and the villagers nodded, knowingly. Everyone knew Camelot was a strange place. “So you’ve had no news of the sorcerer?”
There was a moment’s silence, before one of the younger girls said, shyly, “I heard he rides these parts at night, on a black horse. And anyone who sees him dies.”
“Who did you hear it from, then?” A boy demanded, grinning.
Acturus smiled at her kindly, though his expression was still more than a little distant. Sadly, though, the tale seemed to spark something among the villagers, and the tales that had grown up around Merlin were all pouring out.
“I heard he has an extra eye, that’s always awake and watching!” Matilda said, rather shrilly.
“I heard that he disguises himself as an ordinary person, and sheds the skin when he’s done!”
“I heard that the nothing will grow where he’s walked!”
This last was greeted by a howl of derision. “Pretty easy for him to be found then!” Someone shouted back, and for a few moments, they laughed, easy among themselves.
Acturus’ expression was indulgent but disappointed. George, the headman, lent over to him with a wry, apologetic look. “As you can see, we’ve no real news of the sorcerer. Just stories.”
Acturus nodded with a smile. “I can see.”
“Yes,” George’s voice was very level. “And even we would notice someone like that walking through our village.”
“Why did you say you were searching for Merlin, again?” Elspeth pressed, and Acturus sighed.
“It is Prince Arthur’s intention to overthrow the current law against magic,” he said, heavily. “He feels the help of this sorcerer, Merlin, could be of great use to him.”
There was a long, tense silence after that, while the villagers wrestled with the idea of living with magic again after twenty years. It was nearly a minute before anyone spoke up again.
“Albion was never right without magic,” Geoffrey said, his voice rather wheezy. He was the oldest man in the village, and commanded respect even though some of the children rolled their eyes. “Crops didn’t grow right – rivers stopped running clean. The air was heavier.”
John frowned at that. “Stuff and nonsense, Father,” he said, firmly.
“What would you know of it?” the old man retorted, with surprising sharpness. “You were a child when our warlock was driven out of the village on Uther’s orders.”
“Magic’s dangerous, though,” Matilda said uncertainly. “That’s why it was banned.”
“Maybe in Camelot,” Geoffrey said derisively. “Everything is dangerous there, that’s what these big towns and cities do to normal, honest folk. Out here, magic was perfectly safe.”
Acturus spoke up. “And the stories of Merlin are just that – stories. I never saw him do evil.” He shrugged, humorously. “Or shed his skin, mistress.” He nodded at Matilda. “Or any sign of that extra eye.” A couple of people round the room flushed.
“You knew him?” One of the children piped up. On receiving a glare from his mother, he added, hastily, “My lord.”
Acturus smiled, the first real smile he’d given since he got there. “Oh, yes.” He stood, and dozens of chairs scraped back as everyone stood with him. “If you good people will excuse me,” he said, politely, and several of the younger women girls flushed, “I’ve had a long journey, and need to sleep. In the morning, if it’s agreeable, I’d like to meet all the young men of the village. Prince Arthur asked that we leave no stone unturned in our search.”
George nodded. “They’ll be working in the quarry from first light, though, my lord. What time would be agreeable for you?”
“If they’re needed from first light, I will be up before then,” Acturus said, pleasantly. “Provided that doesn’t pose a problem for anyone. If they could come here…?”
“They’ll be here, my lord. You all hear that?” he called out, over the villagers heads, and received a chorus of agreement from his village.
“Before first light then.” He bowed slightly to George, who hurried to bow deeply and inelegantly back. With that, he was gone, disappearing up the stairs to the Tavern’s one room, leaving the villagers to talk among themselves.
“As if he can expect to find Merlin here,” Elspeth said, loudly and derisively, and was hushed from all sides. “Well, he can’t!” she returned, hotly, but in a much quieter voice. “All the boys here were born here, barring two or three, and they’re all of them hard-working, normal lads!”
“True’s true,” George agreed, sagely. “But whatever his lordship says, Merlin’s a sorcerer, he could be anywhere. Prince Arthur’s right to take no chances.” He shrugged, “I says a thorough man’ll make a good king, no matter how foolish that thoroughness might seem here.”
On that note, the village dispersed, though none of them slept much that night. A stranger with an interesting quest was more excitement than any of them had seen for years.
**
The next morning before first light saw Acturus in the Tavern’s taproom, with a handful of young men, all between eighteen and thirty. The candles were burning low and Acturus was peering at each face in turn, before shaking his head and turning away, moving onto the next man. All of them got the same reaction, and finally he sighed, turning to George, and shrugging eloquently.
“You’re sure there are no other young men here?”
George returned the knight’s shrug with one of his own. “Only Mark Taverner’s drudge, my lord, and he’s a half-wit. Not to mention, he’s an indented servant. No more a sorcerer than you or me.”
“Merlin escaped notice as a sorcerer for three years, right under King Uther’s nose, which is why we were told to take no chances.” Acturus’ voice was firm. “Let me see him.”
George wore a speaking expression, but he went to the backroom of the little Tavern, and returned pulling a tall, slight young man of indeterminate age behind him. His skin was very pale and smeared with all kinds of filth; his dark hair stood up every which-way, and his clothes were ragged and untidy. More than that, he smelt badly of whatever Taverner kept in his backroom-come-kitchen.
George shoved the young man towards Acturus with a look of faint distaste, and the boy ended up on his knees in front of the knight, glancing up at him through the strands of his too-long, too-dirty hair, before looking sharply back down at the floor.
Acturus paused for a long moment, looking down at the man, his own expression unreadable, while the drudge kept his eyes firmly on the knight’s feet. “Look at me,” he ordered quietly.
“He might not understand, my lord, he’s as witless as the day he was b-” George began, but one look from the knight stopped him.
“What’s his name?” he asked, quietly.
“He arrived here without one,” George shrugged. “A year, maybe two years ago. Mark named him David, but he only recognises it once in a dozen times.”
“David.” The knight’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Look at me.” Still no reaction. Thinking quickly, Acturus looked at George. “Trauma can break a man’s wits. It’s possible David here may know something of Merlin, he might talk to me better without a crowd. Would you…?” he gestured to the door. George simply nodded by way of reply, herding all the other young men of the village, who had been watching the scene avidly, out and into the little street, leaving with only a curious glance back himself.
Throughout it all, the drudge kept his head down, kneeling on the straw Taverner scattered over the floor of his taproom to soak up any spills. After an agonising moment of inaction, Acturus dropped to his knees himself, and took the drudge’s chin in one hand. “Merlin, look at me,” he ordered, very softly.
“I know Merlin,” the young man said, his voice cracking over the words so they sounded madder than they were. “I see him when I sleep, comes to me, talks to me, whispers about magic and dragons and princes. We talk.”
“Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, Merlin,” Acturus said, with a smile. “I’m surprised you’re still only on the first sign.”
David shook his head. “I’m not Merlin,” he said, quietly, his voice hoarse with lack of use.
“And I suppose you don’t recognise me?” Acturus said quietly.
“How would I recognise your lordship?” he asked.
“I recognise you, Merlin. I’ve had the kingdom searched for you, looked everywhere for you… why hide from me?”
Merlin shook his head, finally abandoning the pretence. “I don’t – I was banished for a reason.”
Arthur shook his head firmly. “No. My father hated magic, that’s all it was-”
“I nearly killed you, Arthur!”
“And how long would I have been dead before that if you hadn’t been there beside me!?” Arthur demanded.
Merlin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said stubbornly. “I could have killed you. Just because it wasn’t me-”
“You would never hurt me,” Arthur told him, very firmly. “We both know it.”
“I won’t come back to Camelot,” Merlin told him, equally firm, a mulish look on his face.
“And I won’t leave here without you!”
“Then build a house,” Merlin told him with a shrug.
“Merlin, do you really want to stay here?” Arthur asked persuasively. “The people here-”
“Are honest men and women-”
“Who will be terrified of you when they all find out who you are," Arthur overrode him. “They think you’re a mindless half-wit thrall, for God’s sake! And their idea of ‘Merlin’ is some devil-”
“I don’t care!” Merlin cried, his voice breaking over the words. “They can think what they like of me, believe what ever rumours they like, but I’m not going to come back to Camelot and put you in danger!”
“You kept me out of danger," Arthur retorted. He stood, and offered a hand to Merlin, who took it with the greatest reluctance, wincing slightly as he pulled himself up. Abruptly, Arthur let go of his hand and turned away. “I missed you,” he said bluntly. “We weren’t – I mean, we didn’t… I know you were only supposed to be my servant, but I missed you. You were a friend as well.”
“Then it was lucky your father only had me flogged and exiled, rather than having me beheaded,” Merlin said softly, the bitterness in his tone worn to a trickle.
Arthur laughed without humour. “That wasn’t luck,” he told him, his own voice bitter enough for both of them. “That was me.”
It was Merlin’s turn to stare. “What?”
“And it was hardly merciful, was it?” Arthur went on, apparently ignoring him. “That flogging nearly killed you anyway.”
“You watched?”
Arthur turned back to look at him, and for a second, his whole bearing was exhausted. “Of course I watched,” he said heavily. “I had to make sure my father didn’t go back on his word; I made sure I was near you until the moment you left our borders, in case the King changed his mind. And I watched as you bled and bled - Gods, I thought you would never stop bleeding, that you'd die on the road before I could ever-" he broke off. "Don't ever call it lucky," he said shortly. "Luck had nothing to do with it. And Camelot hasn't dealt in luck since you left her." He turned away for a second, steeling himself, then looked back at Merlin, his eyes heavy on Merlin's face. “My father didn’t even let you see Gaius before you left. Gaius never forgave him for that.”
“Is-" Merlin shifted nervously, one hand worrying at his cuff. "Is Gaius is dead?”
“No. My father is,” Arthur replied shortly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Arthur said, matter-of-fact after his brief loss of control. “Even I’m less sorry than I should be.” They stood in silence for a few seconds, before Arthur spoke up again. “Please. Come back to Camelot with me.”
“Arthur-”
“Don’t say you can’t,” Arthur told him, firmly. “You can. It wasn’t you, Merlin, Nimueh possessed you, she used your magic for her own purposes. Come back with me, and you’ll be my advisor, my confidante, not – a drudge in some filthy backwater tavern. Camelot needs you.” He cleared his throat. "I need you."
Merlin couldn’t meet his Prince’s eyes, and it seemed Arthur couldn’t bear to look away from him. “Your Majesty-”
“Don’t call me that,” Arthur interrupted quickly, then tried to pass off the urgency in his voice with a nervous laugh. "It sounds so strange coming from you. You were never good at formality, d'you remember?"
Merlin smiled, just a little, and Arthur visibly relaxed. “Arthur,” Merlin amended. “I - I didn't know what Nimueh did to me was possible. I'm one of the strongest sorcerers I know of, but she possessed me and you nearly died. There is nothing to stop that happening again. Do you think I can take that risk? I would risk anything else for you, but not your life.”
“In three years, did anything like that happen before?” Arthur asked pointedly.
“That it happened once is bad enough!”
Arthur was in front of him in one stride, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. Merlin couldn’t quite suppress the flinch, and Arthur gentled his hold on him, clasping Merlin's shoulders carefully. “I would never hurt you," he promised, "However infuriating you might be. And you would never hurt me. I know you, Merlin. You're too good a man to kill someone over a grudge. In pitched battle, maybe, but never in cold blood. We'll - we'll find some way to stop you, if you like, some way to restrain you if anything goes wrong, but I know that left to yourself, you'll never try to hurt me."
“Could you risk my life?" Merlin asked pointedly, and Arthur sighed, letting his hands drop.
"I'm a King, Merlin," he said dully. "There is no one's life I wouldn't risk for the good of my country - not mine, not yours. And frankly," he shook off his dark mood, "it’s too much of a risk not to have you with me. If you won’t come back for me,” Merlin winced again, “Come back for Albion. Nimueh hates us, and we have no one who can match her; we're at the mercy of every neighbouring country who wants to try out her new King; our harvests have been poor for years. Albion needs you even more than I do.”
Merlin was watching him, his eyes thoughtful. "You've changed," he said lightly, though Arthur couldn't read his expression.
"Things were hard after you left," he told him quietly, painfully. "I was alone at court again, and I could no longer trust my father, or the things I had been taught. Morgana and I worked things through together before - before she had to leave. I learnt that I wanted to be a good King, not just a stern one, like my father. But for that I need you. You've always inspired me to be a better man, and a better Prince. Now I need you to help me to be a good King."
There was a moment of painful silence, before Merlin simply nodded, taking the hand Arthur was holding out in both his own, dropping to his knees and kissing Arthur’s ring. Looking up at Arthur, he smiled suddenly. "You will be a great King," he promised. "If you want me by your side, I'll be honoured to be there."
Arthur shook his head, looking rather pained, and pulled him up. “You don’t bow to me,” he said quietly, and Merlin frowned.
“You’re my King.”
“You’re my friend,” Arthur told him firmly. He pulled Merlin over to one of the small tables and sat him down. “Just – just sit there, would you? You look like you’re about to keel over. I’m going to get you a bath.”
“I don’t know that my master has one,” Merlin said thoughtlessly, and Arthur’s expression darkened.
“He’s not your master,” he told him firmly. “And if he doesn’t have one, I’ll get him to bloody well make one for you.”
“It might be easier if you took me down to Glenburn,” Merlin pointed out. “There’ll be inns there, and people won’t talk so much.” He paused, then flushed darkly, all too noticeable on his pale skin, even under all the grime. “You’ll have to buy my indenture off Taverner,” he said, would-be casually, but Arthur gritted his teeth anyway. “It’s not worth much, but…”
“I’ll pay him whatever he wants for it,” Arthur said flatly. “And then we’ll head for Glenburn. How far is it?”
“About seven or eight hours on foot. On horseback, four, maybe five. You’ll have to go slower with me there, though, I don’t think I walk as quickly as your horse.”
“You’ll ride with me, you idiot,” Arthur said firmly.
Merlin smiled. "I pity the horse," he murmured.
“That's enough out of you," Arthur retorted. "I’ll see about finding you another horse in Glenburn, one which will get you back to Camelot.”
“I’m not a very good rider.”
“Trust me, Merlin, I remember.” They grinned at each other, a little of their old camaraderie returning, banishing the solemnity of their earlier conversation. Arthur stood. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes; go up to my room, there are some clean clothes in a bundle there, meant for you. If you’re not bathing here, at least you won’t smell quite so much like a cow-byre.” He paused in the doorway, on hand on the door. “I’m glad I found you, Merlin,” he said very softly. “I missed you.”
Merlin smiled, warm and open and just like Arthur remembered. "I missed you too," he said, and let Arthur go.