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Chapter Text

Dialogue taken directly from ‘The Diamond of the Day Part One.’

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Chapter: One

Jeering at Arthur, Merlin raised the wooden dice in the cup to his face, and blew gently, in a familiar gesture of ‘luck’. At the same time, his eyes flashed golden as he surreptitiously threw his will into the small wooden cubes, determining where they would land. “Ten” He stated with confidence. The dice rattled against the wooden table-top, coming to rest against the raised lip, each displaying the number five on top. Shrugging, he laughed out loud again, able in this one small thing to best his master.

Arthur leaned over the low table, frustration tempered with good humour. “Enjoy this moment Merlin. While it lasts.”

For those who did not know the monarch well, these words were threatening and ominous. Merlin, knowing his liege rather better than the average man, laughed again enjoying the moment. Sir Percival, standing at Arthur’s right shoulder, chucked and rocked on his toes in enjoyment, observing the interplay between the two friends.

For friends they were. An unlikely partnership, that nevertheless, worked seamlessly. Much of an age and height, the two were as unlike in appearance and temperament as it was possible to be. One was blonde, strongly muscled, sturdy and stocky. The other dark, slim, fragile and awkward looking. Yet it was difficult to imagine seeing one without the other close behind.

Arthur the King: Skilled in sword-play and horsemanship was the uncontested Ruler of Camelot. Settled comfortably on the throne he was accustomed to leadership and no longer sat in the shadow of his formidable father, Uther. Decisions were made to aid his people, maintain peace, lead the Knights, and generally set the example by which Camelot was known across the land.

Confident in bearing, Arthur was the epitome of a strong ruler. He was just, noble, and his decisions were made with deliberation for all parties. The years of reigning and tempered him; he could make the difficult decisions, bringing hardship at times to those he ruled knowing that in the long-run the benefits would outweigh short-term pain.

His one blind spot remained, as ever, his condemnation of magic. In this one area, he followed in Uther’s footsteps doggedly: Magic was evil, and always best avoided. Nobody who wielded magic could be trusted. Ever. The proverb “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely” was the mantra by which he judged all magic-users. They could be useful, on occasion, but would never be accepted in his Kingdom.

Merlin the Servant: skilled in dressing Arthur, cleaning his Master’s room, and seeing to his everyday needs. Gangly, awkward, and odd-looking. Yet, in the last few years a maturity had eased his bumbling carriage somewhat. Still clumsy at times, he had stamina and endurance beyond what was immediately visible. On the hunt, he could keep up all day with the well-trained Knights, running without faltering. His skill with a sword had improved, and he was able to hold his own (almost) in a battle by Arthur’s side. Added to this was his wisdom, displayed only rarely, and only to those close to him. It was Merlin’s counsel that Arthur most often sought. Many were the evenings that, as he tended Arthur, Merlin was able to plant the seeds of his knowledge, and steer Arthur towards more moderated decisions.

These were not all the reasons for Merlin’s altered bearing, however, although they did play some part. Many were the facets of this man. Much of his quiet confidence came from his growing comfort with his magic. In the long years in Camelot, he’d had access to boundless knowledge of his craft. Learning from Gaius, the druids, and the huge library in the castle, he had refined and deepened his understanding of who he was. Guided by the Great Dragon, he had accepted his destiny, and thrown himself into fulfilling the role. Not because he had to, but because he chose to. He was Merlin. He was Emrys. He was Magic personified.

It was this total acceptance of himself, rarely found in men, that had granted Merlin maturity. He knew that the time was coming when he would reveal to Arthur who he was. And he knew that he would do so unhesitatingly. But he also knew that he must wait until the time was right, or he risked losing all that he had gained, and more. Not only would he, himself, suffer, but so would Arthur, and by extension all those in the Castle, as well as the people. This was not something Merlin was willing to risk. And so he waited, bided his time, and played dice in the Tavern.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

He and Arthur had gathered quite a crowd by this stage. The Inn-keeper stood to one side, surrounded by several other patrons. Laughter and ale flowed as the commoners watched their once-arrogant King lose to his base-born manservant.

The game was simple: two players wagering their pennies against the fall of the dice. Each calling out as they cast, the number they hoped would be shown. A game of chance, or so you would think. To Arthur, the money he was losing meant far less than the temporary loss of dignity. For Merlin, the joy of being accepted as an equal was only enhanced by the extra coins he was accumulating. His mother could always do with a little extra to see her through the winter, and Merlin himself was in need of a few items of clothing.

The crowd roared approval at Merlin's successful throw.  Now it was the King's turn, and the contents of the wooden bowl between them rested on the outcome.  Rattling the dice in the round cup, Arthur's eyes held Merlin's.  

“Twelve” he declared, needing to beat Merlin’s ten.

The cup tipped and the dice fell. Arms crossed over his chest, Merlin coughed, a hand held to politely cover his mouth. Again his eyes flashed, unnoticed. The two small cubes settled to a rest, displaying a one and a three. A chorus of “Oooh’s” flowed from the audience. Merlin leant to claim the bowl, when Arthur’s challenge caught his attention.

“You put me off.”

Puzzled, Merlin glanced towards his King. “What are you talking about?” and reached once more for the small pile of coins. Percival watched, a small smile on his lips.

“You just coughed. Deliberately.” Arthur was beginning to be annoyed at his losing streak, and leaned forward, supporting his weight on the table while moving into Merlin’s personal space.

Momentarily unsettled, ‘Did he notice? Am I caught?’ Merlin fell back on his standard buffoonish response. Sighing and shaking his head, he admitted “Ahh! I knew you’d discover my secret in the end! There’s just no fooling you, my lord!” He looked down, penitent.

Laughs from the on-lookers echoed across to Arthur, as Merlin’s response highlighted the foolishness of the King’s accusation. Arthur played along, pretending to act like spoiled child, upset when he wasn’t winning. Glaring across at his servant, Arthur telegraphed his displeasure.

Merlin’s fooling abruptly ceased, and he met Arthur’s gaze evenly. He then reached down, and methodically picked up each of the piles of silver and placed them in the betting bowl, challenged Arthur with the remainder of his money.

Recognising Merlin’s teasing, and quite willing to provide amusement for the watching people, Arthur swept the remainder of his own money into his hand, and dumped it into the bowl along with Merlin’s. “It’s like that, is it?” he jibed.

Merlin locked eyes with Arthur, nodded, and grabbed the dice cup. Holding his gaze, he insolently went through his little ritual of shaking the cup and blowing on it, surreptitiously releasing his magic once more, before throwing the dice. “Twelve.” He called, matching Arthur’s previous call. A rattle and the dice, inevitably, displayed two sixes. Whooping, Merlin punched the air in triumph, before claiming his winnings. It was not often that he was able to best Arthur in anything, and this small public victory was sweet.

In fond exasperation, Arthur rolled his eyes and accepted defeat. After all, it rarely occurred, and it wasn’t as if he would really suffer from losing the money. He grinned, and, clapping Merlin on the back, ordered another round of ale.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

An hour later and Merlin was quietly entering Gaius’ chambers on his way to bed. Since his imprisonment by Morgana almost two years ago, Gaius had aged noticeably. His face held more lines, the skin around his neck sagged more, and his posture was more stooped. He tended to tire more easily, and was often found asleep resting over a book on healing, or herbal lore.

Though physically more frail, Gaius’ mind and healing knowledge remained unmatched in the Kingdom. Merlin thought that he’d never come to the end of the old man’s wisdom, and would often sit and talk, learning more about healing, magic, and the druids as he did so. Merlin had found himself taking on more and more of the Physician’s duties as his own skills in medicine grew. His fondness and respect for his guardian expanded to include care and concern for his wellbeing.

It was many months since Merlin had returned this late, and he was taking care not to disturb the sleep of his beloved mentor. Juggling his purse in one hand, Merlin closed the door softly, tugging to check that the latch had engaged. Walking carefully in his soft-soled shoes, he headed across the chamber, noticing on the way that Gaius had a pot simmering on the stove. Deviating course, Merlin inhaled deeply through his nose, identifying his favourite breakfast stew. A pleased grunt, and he resumed direction to his bed chamber. In the darkness he failed to see a three-legged stool placed in front of the fireplace, and, tangling his feet in it, fell with an enormous clatter.

A soft curse, and Merlin lay still on the floor, taking inventory of his bruises. There appeared to be only minor damage, and he lay quietly to see if Gaius had awakened. Several long moments later, and Merlin decided that Gaius must be sleeping deeply indeed, as he heard no disparaging comments on his clumsiness flung his way from the other man’s bed.

Stumbling to his feet, feeling a little worse for wear from both the fall and the few pots of ale he’d consumed, Merlin continued on into his room. So intent on reaching his bed was he that he failed to notice two important facts.

One: Gaius wasn’t in his bed. He was laying on the floor, just now beginning to regain consciousness from a blow to the head which had left him bleeding behind the left ear.

Two: there was a strange wooden box with ornate carving partially hidden beneath his bed. The top was open and resting against the box, and an odd, dank smell filled the small chamber.

Falling face-first onto his bed, Merlin placed the full coin-pouch on his stand, and began to sink into sleep. He could never relate, later, what it was that alerted him. It could have been the bizarre squelching hiss as the creature abandoned it’s place in the box. It could have been a sudden increase in the odd rotting-water smell that pervaded the room. Or it could have been a sub-conscious response of his magic, signalling him that danger was near. Most likely it was a combination of all three.

Whatever the cause, Merlin found himself suddenly sitting in the middle of his bed, hyper-alert, waiting for……he knew not what.

A dark blur, and a large rubbery something propelled itself through the air, and clamped over his face. Instinctively Merlin grabbed the animal, trying to thrust it away from himself. Calling on his magic, he willed it away in panic. It had sealed itself over mouth, nose, ears and eyes, and he couldn’t breathe. He could hear and feel his heart pounding, as it fought to pump blood around his stressed body.

Worse than that, he could feel an unexpected heat on his face, despite the clammy sliminess of the thing. Four spots of searing heat, as tendrils from the creature began infiltrating eyes, nose and mouth. Panicking, kicking and struggling, Merlin rolled from his bed onto the floor, perhaps reaching for his Sidhe staff under the bed, perhaps just hoping that the jolt might knock the creature from him, as the four points of heat increased to blinding pain. Lungs screaming for air, terror pounding through his body, Merlin fought.

Somehow, he detached the creature and flung it, with everything in him, against the wall away from him. Sobbing in a great breath Merlin half raised up against the wall, trying to identify what it was that had attacked him. Readying his magic, he braced himself for the next onslaught, trying to ignore the residual pain and tingling in his face.

The creature appeared stunned, resting in the corner several feet away. On examination, it appeared to be a cross between a giant slug and an eel. No discernible head or tail, it appeared to be rallying. It was almost as if it could sense him. Raising his hand in front, Merlin was focused entirely on the ‘sleel’ (as he’d dubbed it) and was still shocked with the speed with which it launched itself once more into the air, un-erringly heading for him once more.

 ‘Thwak!’ the sleel connected with a metallic object, which had suddenly appeared in it’s pathway through the air. It was the fire-shovel, wielded by a groggy Gaius. The sleel landed on Merlin’s coverlet, and Gaius followed the first whack with several more, until the creature shuddered, and moved no more.

Gaius crawled to Merlin, oblivious to the bleeding cut on his forehead, concerned only for his ward. “Merlin!”

Merlin was groggy, leaning against the wall. His face appeared oddly swollen, and he was obviously having trouble focusing his eyes. “Gaius. Your head.” he fingered the cut oh the physician’s face, “You should get that seen to.” Merlin was peripherally aware that his co-ordination was off, that he was unable to command his hand to move where he willed it, and that his speech was slurred. ‘Head injury’ He silently catalogued, before losing consciousness.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Some time later Merlin came back to himself. He was laying supine on his bed, and Gaius was wiping his face with a cloth soaked in a herbal wash often used to help reduce bruising and swelling.

Seeing his ward’s eyes open, Gaius uttered a relieved and joyful “Merlin!”

“What happened?” Merlin rasped. “What was that thing?”

“Morgana’s work, that’s for sure.” Was Gaius’ succinct answer.

Nodding, Merlin accepted the likely truth of the statement, before Gaius continued on.

“Mordred would have told her of your powers by now Merlin. It was only a matter of time before she struck out.” Comforting now, the old man added “We can only be grateful that she failed.”

Getting to his feet, Gaius moved away from the bed, collecting the bowl and cloth as he went to leave. Merlin slowly moved his head on the pillow, conscious of aching all over, a dull headache, and a foul taste in his mouth. Smacking his lips, he looked towards the cup of water set on the stand beside his bed, yearning for a cleansing sip of fresh water.

Extending his arm towards the cup, he realised it was just out of reach. Not wanting to aggravate his headache, he called up his magic, and uttered the spell ‘Strangath’ to summon it to him. It took Merlin a second or two to realise that nothing had happened; the warm feeling of power that flooded him when using his magic was missing. Becoming uneasy, he repeated the spell with more force, commanding the cup to move. ‘Strangath!’

Fear and dread rose inside him, adding nausea to his other discomforts. Cold sweat slicking his face, Merlin again uttered the spell. Nothing. Dread increased tenfold: there was no magic! His heart pounding as if he once more wrestled with the sleel, Merlin strained every millimetre of himself, feeling for the comforting glow of his power. It was always there, like a background hum. Always ready to respond to his will. Until now.

Controlling his panic as best he could, Merlin called to his mentor. “Gaius!” tears gathered, and he did his best not to shed them. Voice shaking, he sobbed out “I don’t think she failed.”

Alarmed, more by Merlin’s demeanour than his words, Gaius moved swiftly back to the bedside. Quietly he inquired “Whatever do you mean?” as he leaned over the distressed young man.

Merlin rolled his head back to face Gaius, and the tears poised in his eyes fell, and dribbled down his face into his hair. He didn’t want to utter the words; to say them would make it all too real. Maybe if he didn’t say it, then it wouldn’t be true. But Merlin couldn’t lie to Gaius, the person he’d always revealed his troubles to.

Sobbing quietly, Merlin forced out the words in little more than a whisper. “I’ve lost my magic.” Pain, physical and emotional filled his body, as the suddenly small room was filled with the sound of his gasping breaths.

Gaius reeled back, unsure what to say. This was something far beyond his power to remedy, and he didn’t know what words to utter to bring comfort to Merlin.

The thought of Emrys without magic was inconceivable.

Chapter Text

Chapter: Two. Majority of Dialogue taken directly from "Diamond of the Day"

Stunned and helpless, Merlin turned slowly in place, surveying the legions of wounded soldiers, knights and commoners that filled the hallways. The garrison at Stowell had fallen, and the survivors had made their way south to Camelot for aid. It wasn’t that the sight of an injured army was anything new for him, but Merlin was off-balance and unsettled.

The loss of his magic was as debilitating as losing his hearing, or eyesight. He could still see, still walk, still perform chores, but he felt heavy and dead, sluggish. Until this moment he had not realised just how much he relied on his inner senses to provide him information about his world. He felt blurred, dulled as a precious stone with it’s facets scratched and clouded. Unable to think and process information he stood, watching as more people were brought in on litters, or supported by friends to lean against the walls.

In the background Gaius moved rapidly, assessing injuries, moving the most critical to inner chambers for immediate treatment, and resolutely ignoring those who would, for now, survive albeit in pain and distress. Noting Merlin standing observing, he took a moment to speak to him. “The garrison was attacked.”

Thinking of the events of a few hours ago, Merlin asked “Morgana?”

“It would seem so. It cannot be a coincidence. She has picked the moment you are most helpless to begin her attack.”

Guilt flared inside Merlin: he should have been there, he should have been able to help! What use was he now? Nothing! Just another servant, in a palace with a hundred others just like him. He had no skills to set him apart, nothing unique he could offer that could not be better done by somebody else. He had no hope of standing against the most unskilled sorcerer, let alone a Priestess of the Old Religion and Mordred, her protégé.

The worst thing was that there was no physical mark to account for his loss, nothing he could point to and say “See: I am injured, just as these soldiers are.” Instead, he was forced to conceal the magnitude of his grief, just as he had always concealed the magnitude of his power.

Pleading, he looked at the one man in the Kingdom who could understand what he had lost. “What am I going to do?”

Knowing that Merlin needed a task to occupy him, to prevent his further slide downwards into despair, Gaius answered “Well first you’re going to help me treat the wounded. Your skill as a physician is still valid.”

Taking the young man’s shoulders, Gaius steered him down the hallway towards a treatment station. Here was a table with all the tinctures and medications needed to begin. Taking a breath, Merlin rolled up his sleeves, and motioned for his first patient to take position in the chair before him. Here was, at least, something he could do. Focusing on the task before him and resisting the temptation to probe the man for injuries with his magic, Merlin began a methodical examination, head to toe as he had been taught, dealing with the most pressing wounds first.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

It was towards evening, and Merlin still toiled amongst the wounded. As the number dwindled and more space was cleared, he moved into a side-room in order to work with more privacy. The life-threatening cases had earlier been dealt with, and he and Gaius were now dealing with the more minor cuts, abrasions and contusions.

Gwaine had escaped serious injury with his usual luck, and had brought a young woman for treatment: Eira. She had long tangled blonde hair, and Gwaine seemed unusually protective. Merlin examined the cut on her L) upper leg, assessing and choosing the best treatment. Flexing her knee, he noted that the movement pulled tight the skin, causing her wound to gape. Although not very large, it would undoubtedly heal better if stitched. Applying himself to the routine task, he was able to watch the interplay between Gwaine and Eira. She was obviously smitten with the handsome young knight, and appeared to be making every effort to gain his favour.

Gwaine appeared no less eager to have his favour gained.

Merlin deduced that, during the battle, Eira had somehow distinguished herself, saving Gwaine a nasty blow from a brute of a man, and that Gwaine therefore felt responsible for her. As Eira lamented the fact that her family was dead, and that she had nowhere to go, Merlin watched as Gwaine fell to his knees before the girl, eyes shining amber in a beam of sunlight, and pledged to keep her safe in Camelot.

Knowing Gwaine’s propensities, Merlin wagered silently that ‘safe’ might involve protection within his personal chambers.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Exhausted from the toil and emotional stress of the day, Merlin fell asleep rapidly that evening. If he’d ached from his encounter with the magic-devouring sleel, he had now added to that several hours of hard toil bending, lifting, and positioning injured men all day. Rapidly inhaling the breakfast stew Gaius had prepared the day before, he stripped off his bloodied clothes before a rapid sponge down with a rag & cold water and collapsed onto his narrow cot.

Waking next morning, he was immediately aware of a sense of ‘wrongness’. Of something missing. Blinking and rubbing the grit from his eyes, he sat slowly and groaned. His head felt wooden, and the dull pain of his headache had not dissipated with sleep. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he shuddered, the reality of the ‘wrongness’ slamming into his brain. His magic was gone! Once more, tears threatened to escape as the emptiness in his body blared into consciousness. He was useless, weak, hamstrung. He couldn’t even call Kilgarrah for help or counsel, as that, too, involved an aspect of magic.

Merlin didn’t think he would ever acclimate to this feeling of deadness within. With leaden limbs he dressed in clean clothes. There was a meeting called in the Council Room which he had to attend.

These meetings were usually good times for Merlin to stand quietly in the background and gather information. He would hear the reports brought to Arthur, and glean vital information as decisions were made, choices discussed, pros & cons debated. Many times he was able to quietly leave the Round Table discussion and deal with the issues himself. Arthur had no idea how many potential threats had been aborted before they even came to light, and Merlin snickered to himself quietly. Since Gaius’ slow deterioration, he often did not even discuss with his mentor what he was planning, or where he was going. These quiet acts of service were what Merlin lived for. It was the way he served Albion, and assisted Arthur to bring peace to the land, uniting the disparate war-chiefs and rogue sorcerers.

Today Merlin would stand quietly in the background, and hear the same information, listen to the same debates, and know that he was powerless to do anything to assist. Sighing, he tied his neck-kerchief, and wandered into the outer room. Grabbing a piece of stale bread and topping it with cheese, he set off on his morning errands of preparing Arthur’s breakfast, then waking and dressing the King.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur was in a sombre mood today. For once he was up before his servant, and was sitting at his table, going over battle reports, counting men available for fighting, and making notes of what he wished to raise at the meeting.

Guinevere remained sleeping in the large bed, and he did his best not to disturb her rest.

Focused on his reports, he started when his wife laid a supportive hand on his shoulder, having crept silently to his side. He smiled, and covered her hand with his own, accepting her silent reassurance and placing a quick kiss on her cheek as she leant down to him.

The last two years had tempered and matured Gwen, as much, if not more, than they had Arthur. She had a ‘settled’ air about her, a quiet confidence that pervaded all she did. Gwen had not lost one iota of the compassion that had been her trade-mark as a maid-servant, but her time as Queen and ruler had taught her to mix compassion with wisdom. No longer was she the tongue-tied young girl of nearly a decade ago. She was now, in every aspect, a shrewd and sensible woman, a perfect foil for her husband. Together they made a far better team than either one could alone. Arthur knew that without Gwen to guide and centre him, he would not be half the person he now was. If he was the wise and just ruler of Camelot, Guinevere was it’s heart. He did not need to explain to her what was going through his mind today, and the challenges he would face. Gwen knew, and supported him as only she could.

Turning back to his work, Arthur focused again on the problems the day would bring.

A knock at the door, and with a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure Gwen was appropriately clad in her wrap, he called “Enter.”

Merlin entered quietly, balancing a tray in one hand as he closed the door. He appeared a little more clumsy today than usual, and Arthur spared a second’s thought as his man-servant approached with breakfast. A yawn from Merlin reminded Arthur that the young man had spent most of yesterday under Gaius’ supervision, treating the wounded. That, no doubt, accounted for his withdrawn and unsteady appearance. Mystery solved, Arthur dismissed it from his mind.

“Morning, Sire.” Merlin greeted. He placed the tray on a small side-table, and dragged it over to the larger work-table, enabling Arthur to continue working as he broke his fast. A padded chair was next dragged to sit on the other side of the breakfast table, ready for the Queen to assume her customary position.

“Mmmph.” Arthur grunted around a mouthful of food. Merlin greeted Gwen, and moved to begin tidying the great bed.

“No, leave it Merlin.” a female voice pleaded. A wry grin at the former maid-servant showed her that Merlin knew the reason Gwen wanted the bed untouched. A practical person, accustomed to hard labour, she felt somewhat unsettled when others did for her what she could well do for herself. Guinevere liked to perform tasks she found familiar and comforting.

“Guinevere!” Arthur remonstrated. “How many times do we have to go through this? Leave it! I’m sure Merlin is well able to make a bed.”

Gwen sighed, and ceased her efforts, coming to perch on the chair next to her husband.

“I’m sure he remembers how.” continued the King, “Not all of his skills can have leaked out of his thick skull overnight. Although, you have to admit, those ears are large enough to allow a fair amount of leakage.”

Smiling at Arthur’s usual banter, Merlin mused ‘At least some things haven’t changed.’ And left the room, throwing a wink at Gwen as he did so.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Early-morning sunlight slanted across the Round Table, and the Knights and councillors gathered there. Sir Leon brought a detailed report of the previous day’s events.

“The men you faced, they were Morgana’s?” questioned the King.

Sir Gwaine interjected “There is no doubt about it Sire. It was not just men we faced, but Sorcery.”

Inhaling silently, Merlin’s worst fears were realised. Morgana had an army, and was on the warpath, no doubt intent, once more, on taking Camelot for herself. And he was powerless to stop her. Heart pounding, exacerbating the ever-present headache, Merlin steeled himself to remain outwardly calm, and gain as much information as he could.

Sir Leon continued his report, advocating preparing Camelot for a siege.

Arthur was concerned with this plan. Although he had faith in Camelot’s defences, he was unwilling to place the city at risk, along with all her inhabitants. The refugees from Stowell had swelled the numbers, and he did not want needless injuries and deaths on his hands. Arthur’s plan was to ride out and choose a place to meet Morgana’s army, before they reached the borders of his Kingdom.

Numbed and pale, Merlin continued to listen, making his own observations and assessments. The plan had merit, and he could see Arthur’s reasoning. Feeling sick, he knew that this time when he rode with Arthur, he would be riding as no more than servant and delegated Physician. No longer a powerful Warlock, he would, nonetheless, do his duty to his friend and King.

“It is our duty as protectors of this land.” Arthur’s words continued. “We cannot stand by and let our citizens be slaughtered. Those are not the values that Camelot was built on.” Such was the conviction of his words, that Merlin knew there would be no need of further argument. Arthur had always been able to spur his Knights on when needed.

“Whatever the outcome of this battle, my sister cannot and will not desecrate those values. The war has begun.”

Gwaine was nodding quietly, agreeing reluctantly with Arthur’s assessment. Percival sat, steady and determined to serve his King as needed.

Leon, accepting the need, drew in a breath of regret. Not at the Monarch’s decision, but because such an action was necessary at all.

Chapter Text

Chapter: Three. Most dialogue taken directly from 'Diamond of the Day'

Camlann: the name struck fear into Merlin’s soul; it was a word he had heard previously. Suddenly his mind is flooded with images of a battle. Of rocky escarpments surrounding a small number of red-robed warriors, as they fight an army of blond-haired Saxons.

The words spoken many months ago by Lochru the Vates replayed in his memory: “…even as Camelot flowers, so the seeds of her destruction are being sown. The prophets speak of Arthur’s Bane. You would do well to fear it, for it stalks him like a Ghost in the night….”(1) Merlin’s recollections are shattered by the memory of a dead arm falling into a still pool of water, of ripples spreading, and of visions and pictures slammed into his brain in light, and power, and searing pain.

Taking a breath Merlin shook his head violently, determined to focus on the ongoing meeting between Gwen, Arthur, and the Knights. Arthur’s decisive words only heightened the headache he’d been enduring ever since his encounter with the sleel: “Then it is at Camlann that we make our stand.”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Far away, a white dragon looks at her Mistress for approval. Nothing matters so much as the ‘Well done,” Aithusa yearns to hear from Morgana.

The black-haired witch smiles with her chapped lips, and hands a sword to Mordred. “Your weapon, my Knight.”

Mordred grasps the hilt of the slender sword, amazed that it retains no heat from the dragon’s fire which so recently bathed the weapon. Swinging it through the air, he can feel the power running down the blade into his arm, and smiles. Arthur will pay for his betrayal.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Pacing the chambers of his guardian, Merlin listened to Gaius. Merlin knew Arthur should not go to Camlann, but he also knew that even with his full powers he would be unable to dissuade the King from his chosen course of action. Merlin’s only hope would have been to quietly work his magic behind the scenes and keep Arthur safe, as he had done so many times in the past. Disabled as he was, this option was denied him. The nightmare seemed only to grow worse with each passing hour. How could he live with himself if Arthur died because he, Merlin, was helpless? It was his job to defend Arthur, no, it was his fate. And now he was unable to fulfil it.

Pacing restlessly again, Merlin ran ideas through his head one by one and rapidly discarded them. He was hamstrung. Unless……..

Casting his mind back four years, Merlin remembered the most concentrated field of magic he had ever encountered, and the wise man Taliesin, who had encouraged him to experience it. Merlin recalled how the power had vibrated the very molecules of the air, extending through the earth and rocks beneath his feet. Still early in his and Arthur’s partnership they had stumbled across the place while running from bandits. With Arthur wounded and Merlin’s skills too unrefined to heal him, they had taken shelter in the Valley of the Fallen Kings.(2) If there was one place on earth he may have a chance of finding his lost magic it would be the Crystal Cave; the birthplace of magic itself.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Persuading Gwaine to act as escort hadn’t been easy for Merlin. It was only their long-standing friendship and Gwaine’s respect for Merlin that had persuaded the man. It was galling to the young warlock to have to ask for aid in this way.

When he’d knocked on the door to Gwaine’s chambers, it was to find the Knight otherwise occupied. Eira had been nestled on the big bed, and it was obvious what the two had been up to. Merlin’s suspicions of the previous day had been proven correct.

Eira had leaned back, covered by the linen, and listened to Merlin & her lover’s conversation. Eyes focused idly on them, she’d seemed to ignore their debate.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Taking leave of Arthur had been even more difficult. Racing to the King’s chambers, Merlin had unashamedly called in favours from fellow-servants to prepare everything needed for the campaign. Arthur had entered his chambers, ready to instruct Merlin to prepare, only to find his table groaning under all the equipment he could ever need. His chain-mail, cleaned, was folded next to the padded surcoat he would wear beneath it. His battle-armour had gleamed, ready to don, next to Excalibur, burnished and shining as usual. Boots rested on the floor beside the table, and a satchel of dried travelling food leaned against them. Merlin had done all he physically could to ensure his liege’s wellbeing, knowing he would not be there at his side as Arthur rode out of Camelot at the head of his army.

This thought brought more anguish than Merlin had anticipated. He knew that he was useless to Arthur as he was, and he knew that the best way to serve him would be to regain his magic. Still, for the first time in many years, Arthur would ride out to battle without his man-servant. The dead emptiness inside Merlin where before there had been the gentle hum of power seemed more pronounced at this moment than at any other in the last two days. His head throbbed again, dull pain radiating from deep within his skull down his spine as he stood before Arthur.

Standing before his King in correct servant posture with hands clasped behind his back and eyes turned to the floor, Merlin waited. “I think you’ll find that’s everything, Sire.”

“Impressive. Very impressive.” Arthur stood with arms crossed as he shrewdly surveyed Merlin across the table. ‘Something off here.’ He thought.

Merlin looked up “Thankyou Sire.”

“What are you after?”

“W….After?”

“Come on Merlin, you’re the worst servant in the history of the world. Now, suddenly, this? What do you want? Can’t be money” with a wry thought to the evening at the Tavern.

“You’ve already won most of mine! What, a night off then?”

Merlin could not meet his King’s eyes. “I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed for your journey to Camlann, in the days ahead.”  ‘Since I won’t be there to look after you.’

“Thankyou….wait. What do you mean my journey?” Arthur locked his gaze on Merlin, willing him to look up.

Merlin turned awkwardly on the spot, hating what he was about to do, but resolute in his decision. It took all his strength to raise his eyes to Arthur’s. “I’m…sorry. I won’t be coming with you.” Arthur’s face registered disbelief as the words sank in, and Merlin continued “Not this time.”

Pale-faced and trembling, Merlin’s burning blue eyes slid aside, blinked, and slid back. “I’m sorry” he wavered. “I have an urgent errand to run for Gaius. Vital supplies that I can’t obtain here.”

Turning away to give himself time to think, Arthur considered what Merlin said. ‘Plausible, but unlikely.’ Was his assessment. ‘I have never known Gaius to be this unprepared.’

“Vital supplies” he stated, querying.

“Yes. It’s not that I’m….” Merlin couldn’t finish the sentence.

“No, fine.” Arthur’s brow was screwed up in puzzlement. He was surprised at the size of the hole Merlin’s absence would create. This behaviour was entirely out of character for his servant. He’d known Merlin to run openly into battle at his side with no more armour than a cloth shirt, lending the encouragement of his presence and dry wit alone. ‘Perhaps his courage has finally worn out, after this last defeat at Stowell. Perhaps he is unwilling to face Morgana again. Perhaps…there are so many ‘perhaps’…’ Anger began to birth itself within Arthur, at what he experienced as betrayal in this hour of need.

“No, no.” Arthur shook his head “that’s fine.” Both he and Merlin purposely overlooked the simple fact that, as King, he could order Merlin to attend and that Merlin would have no choice to obey. It had been a long time since Merlin’s service needed to be governed by orders, and neither of them wanted to make the situation worse than it was. If Merlin did not want to accompany his King, Arthur would not command it. “It’s fine. I understand.”

“Arthur...”

“You know, Merlin. All those jokes about you being a coward. I never really meant any of them.”

Merlin stood straighter, relief filling him. Maybe Arthur did not blame him for this choice.

Arthur continued “I always thought you were the bravest man I ever met.”

A brief flicker of a smile in Merlin’s eyes.

“Guess I was wrong.” Face filled with disappointment, Arthur dismissed Merlin by the simple expedient of turning and walking away. It was obvious he didn’t want anything more to do with his servant.

Heart pounding, full of pain, Merlin turned and left the royal chambers. The tears that had filled his eyes at his Master’s hurtful words spilling down his cheeks now that Arthur could no longer see him. Closing the heavy door, he braced himself against it, taking a deep breath, and turned to gather his belongings from Gaius’ chambers.   ‘I am still with you Arthur. Even if I am not at your side I am with you. Trust me, this is not a betrayal, just the only way I have of helping you right now.’

Fully cognizant of the fact that if he failed in his mission, then Arthur would likely die, alone, without him, and the dream of Albion would be no more, Merlin girded himself for the difficult task he’d chosen for himself.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Sitting easily on his familiar brown gelding, Merlin cantered behind Gwaine on their journey to the Valley of the Fallen Kings. The horse belonged to Arthur’s personal stables, but was reserved almost exclusively for Merlin’s use. It was well-bred, and had good paces and stamina, a must for anybody who needed to keep up with the King of Camelot on his frequent journeys. Even knowing that he needed to travel rapidly to finish his mission, Merlin felt somewhat guilty using the horse. He’d decided he would send it back with Gwaine when they reached their destination.

Shame at how he’d had to leave Arthur filled Merlin’s belly. The tears had passed, but the anguish remained. He fixed his eyes on Gwaine’s shoulders ahead, doggedly encouraging his horse onwards. He must succeed! This was his only chance.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin and Gwaine had tied the horses before proceeding on foot. The gorge they trod was narrow, just wide enough for two abreast, and damp, filled with the smell of growing things.

Chatting idly, they did not hear the two bandits who leap out from behind a tree, intent on robbing them. Gwaine swung automatically into action, tacking one marauder, then the other. The song of clashing metal and the grunt of fighting men filled the gorge, as Merlin watched helplessly.

One of the men scuffled past Gwaine’s guard while the knight was busy dealing with his mate. Spying Merlin, the bandit advanced, raising his sword to behead the warlock. Terror filled Merlin such as he’d never experienced before. Never had he been so naked in a skirmish, so dependent on another. Time was when, with a though, he could fell any man.

Dropping to his back to avoid the sword’s path, Merlin curled into a ball, raising his arms to protect his head. “Gwaine!” he shrieked.

Turning rapidly Gwaine brought the pommel of his sword down heavily on the bandit’s unprotected head, before reversing his blade and skewering the man behind him. As suddenly as it began, the brawl was finished, and silence descended once more.

Panting and trembling, Merlin lay on the ground beside the two fallen bandits cursing inwardly. He hated being this vulnerable, this useless.

Gwaine stepped towards his friend, inquiring “You okay?” The shriek Merlin had let out led Gwaine to think the other man had been injured at the very least. Merlin nodded shakily. Smiling wryly, Gwaine extended his arm and lifted Merlin to his feet. He’d never seen Merlin behave like this. Although not a warrior by any means, he usually showed more fortitude than this.

Not meeting his friend’s eyes, Merlin answered “Y… yes, thankyou.” Clearly very shaken, the young man looked towards the bandits. Were those tears Gwaine could see?

Brusquely he clapped Merlin on the arm. “There’s no thanks about it. It’s the least I could do.” Wiping his bloodied blade on some nearby moss, Gwaine sheathed it before turning to resume their journey along the floor of the small ravine.

Continuing to tremble, Merlin shook himself off before following. He certainly hoped there would be no more encounters before they reached the entry of the Cave.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Some hours later, the two friends approached a muddy hole in the side of the gorge. It was just taller than Gwaine, meaning Merlin would have to stoop to enter. The sun didn’t reach down to the forest floor here, and the air was cool, raising Goosebumps on Merlin’s arms. Eyes fixed on the familiar entrance, Merlin took the lead for the first time all day.

“I’ll make my own way from here.” He declared, moving forward purposely.

Gwaine was confused: this was the most confident he’d seen Merlin all day. Head cocked in inquiry, he questioned “Sorry?”

“You needn’t come any further.” Was Merlin’s short answer as he squatted on the wet ground. Gwaine watched as he removed a pitch-covered torch, along with flint and iron, obviously preparing to make a light to enter the black hole. “I’ll be fine.”

“But….how will you get back to Camelot?” asked the puzzled Knight. Merlin’s behaviour all day just did not make sense. “There are bandits everywhere.”

Without turning, Merlin answered flatly “Once I have what I’m looking for, I’ll be perfectly safe.” A wry snort from the squatting Merlin. “I promise you.”

“What are you looking for?”

A few silent breaths and the other answered, again without turning. “I can’t tell you that Gwaine.” Merlin was transfixed by the sight of that muddy-looking dark hole.

Suddenly swinging around, Merlin pierced Gwaine with an intense gaze. “You’ll just have to trust me.” There was no pleading, no ordering. Just a simple statement of fact.

Bewildered, Gwaine nodded infinitesimally. He did not understand, but the years of close friendship, almost brotherhood between the two, allowed him to acquiesce.

Seeing Gwaine’s agreement on his face, Merlin added “You should get going. Arthur will need you by his side.” The unspoken ‘He needs you more, Merlin’ echoed back and forth from the damp walls of the ravine.

Both men drew in and released breaths, mist trailing from their mouths as they surveyed one another. Somehow, without speaking it, each understood that this was a pivotal moment. A moment such as came only rarely in a man’s life: a moment fraught with farewell and change.

“Look after yourself Merlin.” Nodding again, Gwaine suddenly drew his sword and tossed it effortlessly into the air. Catching it by the blade in his gauntleted hand, he proffered it. Teasing, he warned “You do know to use the sharp end, right?”

Grinning his familiar mischievous grin, the leaner man accepted the gesture as it was meant and took the weapon. “Yeah” he laughed, nodding.

The moment of camaraderie extended, and the two men clasped arms. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Was Gwaine’s benediction.

Merlin smiled a gentle smile, not voicing his ‘And so do I, you’ve no idea, Gwaine’ and nodded once more. Striking flint against iron, he nursed the spark into a flame, and soon had the torch blazing.

Gwaine stepped back, allowing Merlin to proceed onwards alone into what waited for him. Watching his first friend in Camelot disappear into the darkness, holding aloft the burning torch, Gwaine found himself uncommonly emotional, a large lump in his throat and unaccustomed tears on his cheeks.

The light from the torch faded entirely, and with no further need to stay, Gwaine retraced his steps to the horses.

-----------

(1): part of the prophecy spoken by Lochru to Merlin in ‘Arthur’s Bane, Part One.’ Season Five, episode one.
(2) ‘The Crystal Cave’ Season Three, Episode Five.

Chapter Text

Chapter: Four. Most dialogue taken directly from 'Diamond of the Day'

Head down, Merlin held his torch out to the right as far as he could to avoid blinding himself. He was now reduced to crawling on all fours, or technically all threes, as one hand was engaged holding the light. It would have been so much easier if he was able to create his floating blue bubble that would follow him, lighting wherever he needed. Being without magic was annoying.

Stopping for a moment, Merlin quieted. Last time he’d been here, the power of the place had radiated through him. Closing his eyes, Merlin reached for the sense of his magic within him. He’d avoided doing this for the past few days, trying to avoid the pain that failure brought. Surely here, where he’d nearly been knocked off his feet by the potency of feeling a few years ago, he would be able to sense something.

Panting, he eventually gave up. He was as blind, as dumb and unfeeling as before. Sighing, he continued on, having no other course of action to choose from. Reaching a place where he could thankfully stand, Merlin arched his back to remove the kinks. A breeze wafted past him gently, then more strongly, snuffing his torch.

“Emrys….” A taunting voice echoed.

“Over here, Emrys.” From a different direction. The voice was Morganas, and turning, Merlin drew Gwaine’s sword. He doubted he would get close enough to use it, but it was his only method of defending himself. Blinded in the utter darkness, he taunted. “I see you, Morgana.” This would be his first meeting with his arch-enemy since she’d found out he was Emrys, her nemesis. In a perverse way, Merlin was looking forward to it.

Morgana’s taunts continued, switching from one place to another in the cavern, and Merlin demanded “Face me, Morgana! FACE me!”

A few seconds later, he mocked “Why do you hide? Are you still afraid of me?”

Finally revealing her position behind Merlin, Morgana spat “I fear no-one. Least of all you.”

Gauging the distance by voice alone, Merlin whirled, bringing his weapon to bear as he did so. He was rewarded with a grunt from his enemy as she fell back, cradling an arm across her waist where he had wounded her. Arthur would have been proud at the elegance of his footwork, the speed of his attack, and the strength he was able to put behind it.

Holding the sword to keep her at arm’s length, Merlin watched as Morgana straightened with a laugh. Chortling in joy she declared “You have defied me for the last time, Emrys” and backed slowly away though a natural archway. Unsettled, Merlin watched, numbed, as Morgana suddenly extended her arms, and shouted aloud a spell. In the darkness, the golden flare of her eyes was plain to see as she conjured down the ceiling.

Coughing, Merlin backed away. Dust rose as huge rocks and small pebbles fell, roared and rattled. Instinctively he backed as far as he could, protecting his head with his hands, waiting for the noise to stop. Using his sleeve, Merlin tried to filter particles from the air as he breathed shallowly, lungs objecting to the rock dust.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

North of Camelot, Sir Leon and Sir Percival crouched on a ridge, overlooking the pass beneath them. An army of Saxons passed there; well-provisioned and far larger than they had anticipated.

“We must get word to Arthur. They will reach Camlann by sun-down tomorrow. And they outnumber us five to one.” Was Leon’s assessment.

Nodding curtly, Percival spun in place, and crawled quietly to the horses.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Bruised and battered, Merlin came back to himself. Either his eyes had acclimatised, or the Cave was not as dark as he thought, for he could make out the vague shapes of rocks and walls surrounding him. He could almost feel the weight above pressing down. Stilling again, he reached for his magic. Again nothing. Frustrated, he decided that he’d better do what he could to escape in the natural way, since the super-natural seemed to have deserted him.

The Cave was cold, and Merlin was sure that, if he could see, there would be ribbons of mist rising from his breath. Shaking, fighting his cold-locked body, he scrambled to his feet. Working by feel, sound and limited sight, he attempted to scale the loose-packed rock-fall sealing him in. He succeeded mostly in dislodging small pebbles and raising more dust. Panicking, he scrabbled desperately at the wall, lifting nails and peeling skin away as he did so.

Losing the few feet of height he’d been able to gain Merlin collapsed to the base of the rocks. Sobs broke from his chest, the agony of defeat rushing through him. With nobody near, nobody to see or hear him, he gave vent to his feelings. Not only the fact that he was locked away from his goal, but the incredible grief he’d endured and hidden for the last days. Of all the people he knew, only Gaius could have any inkling of what Merlin had suffered. And even Gaius could not really understand: compared to Emrys, Gaius’ magic was a short-lived spark against the power of the sun.

Morgana had won. She’d stripped him of his power, and entombed him, still alive, in his grave. Mordred was leading an army on his King; towards a place that had been foretold would be Arthur’s doom. And there was nothing. NOTHING. He could do.

Howling in agony, Merlin pounded his fist against a boulder, splitting the skin open and splattering the rocks with his blood. Resting his torn cheek against the stone, exhaustion, pain and grief pulled him into a type of slumber.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Gaius sat, making remedies using his portable physician’s kit. His hands performed the functions automatically, as his mind was occupied by thought of his ward. Guinevere sat beside him, rolling linen into bandages.

Footsteps, and Gaius looked up into Arthur’s face.

“Vital supplies.” The King stated with deliberation.

Gaius needed no further explanation: he’d seen the depth of Arthur’s pain at Merlin’s abandonment. Eyes flicking towards Gwen, Gaius pulled out his best ‘innocent’ expression. He’d gotten very practised at this particular affectation since taking on Merlin’s care all those years ago.

Stalling, Gaius answered the unasked question: “I’m sorry Sire, I must take the blame. I cannot treat the wounded without sufficient medicine.” Gaius could tell that Arthur was not convinced.

Arthur grimaced, and moved away. Gwen chimed in, “I’m not sure he believed you, Gaius.” Sighing, she added, “I’m not sure I do, either.”

Challenging the older man, she stated “I know how devoted Merlin is to Arthur. He would never leave him, not at a time like this. Not for a mere errand. Not unless there was something else.” Gwen pled for the truth with her eyes. “Something he doesn’t feel able to talk about?”

Torn, hurt by the disappointment and confusion displayed by the two Royals, Gaius was sorely tempted to reveal, at least to Guinevere, the true state of things. Leaning forward, he spoke in a low voice “My Lady, there is something else. Something of the very greatest importance. And I dearly wish I could tell you what it is, but I cannot. For reasons that affects us all.”

Gwen nodded, unhappy, but accepting. “Then there is nothing more to be said.” Internally, she continued to wrestle with the problem. ‘What could be so important that nobody can know? What is it that must be kept in secret? What would cause Merlin, the most loyal man I have ever had dealings with, to desert Arthur now?’ Gwen continued “Except, whatever it is, I wish him luck.”

‘No more than I, My Lady.’ The elderly physician sighed, and returned to his work. He expected many casualties on the morrow.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Waking, Merlin had no way to gauge how much time had passed. Looking about his prison as best he could, be once more applied himself to the task of escaping so he could help Arthur escape his prophesied fate. As he glanced around, he noted a patch on the opposite wall. Not so much a patch of light, but a place of slightly less darkness than the surrounding space. Having no better goal at the present, he staggered to his feet to investigate.

Pain lanced through every part of his body as he scaled the fallen rubble. He sported a multitude of strains, bruises and scrapes. He knew he had grazes over his face, as he could feel the stickiness where blood had dried, and the enormous pain of his split right had was a massive handicap. Still, he struggled on. Until his feet gave way beneath him once more, and he fell to the floor of the Cave, exhausted by the effort and pain.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur, Leon, Percival & Gawain rode to survey the proposed battleground. Camlann was a small field perhaps 100 feet across, nestled between walls of granite. The far wall rose sheer, the workings of past mining visible along it. Arthur thought it was entirely probable that the very stones of Camelot had been mined from this place. To either side, more sloping banks of scree rose, dotted with grasses which helped anchor the rocks.

“It ends here.” He stated. “Whether life, or death, it ends here.” Wheeling his horse, Arthur moved to make a minute examination of the ground. Every advantage possible would be taken.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

A musical chord in the darkness brought Merlin away from the wandering thoughts and images behind his eyes. It was a sound he had heard before, but only rarely. The sound of Crystal singing. Groaning, he opened his eyes, and was greeted by an outcropping of the precious substance. He was not yet in the Cave itself, but in one of the offshoots. Resting, he sighed at having reached one of his goals.

“Merlin…” a voice whispered. A familiar voice. In the times he’d heard Crystal Song, he’d never heard it form words before. Groggy, he opened his eyes and spoke the first word his brain sent to his lips: “Father.”

Rolling his head towards the sound of the words, he beheld what he’d never dreamed was possible. The father he’d known for less than two days stood before him, whole, strong, and shining, in the midst of the Crystals growing from the walls. Merlin was not sure if Balinor glowed from the Crystals, or they glowed from Balinor, but the light was bright, and somehow warm in it’s silvery character.

“My son.” The shade greeted, smiling.

“Are you here?” Merlin rasped, voice and throat damaged by dust and hours of weeping. “Are you real?”

The cryptic answer came “Dead or alive, real or imagined, past or present. These things are of no consequence. All that matters is that you heed the words of your Father who loves you.” Balinor’s voice was gentle, the familiar lilting accent giving a friendly feel to the words. “Do not let go, Merlin. Do not give in.”

“I have no reason to go on.” Breathing was painful; were there broken ribs as well? “The battle is already over. Morgana has won.” Tears once again leaked from his eyes, wetting the dirt floor.

“Only if you accept defeat.” The shining visage replied. “But if you fight, if you let hope into your heart Morgana cannot be victorious.”

Despair filled the young man once more, and he ground out “What hope is there without my magic?”

Smiling, Balinor knelt beside his son. He must be real: Merlin could see his breath in the Cave. “Merlin. You are more than a son of your father. You are a son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of the world. And you were born of that magic.”

More tears gathered and fell, as Merlin struggled against the pain in his chest. His eyes were drawn to his Fathers: brown, full of wisdom and power, they were hypnotic. Merlin found himself unable to look away, unable to discount these strange words.

“You are Magic Itself. You cannot lose what you are.”

Daring to hope, Merlin asked the question which haunted him. “How do I find myself? Again?”

The strong, dark voice sounded once more, strengthened by the background of Crystal Song: “Believe, Merlin. Believe what your heart knows to be true. That you have always been. That you always will be.”

Merlin echoed the words out loud, confirming something he had begun to suspect. “I always will be.” The thought was a blessing and a curse at the same time. While he could not be killed by Morgana, or any other mortal person, witch or sorcerer, he would still lose that which he loved most. He would outlive all those who made his existence worthwhile. Outliving Gaius was a matter of form, and to be expected. But to watch strong Arthur, beautiful good-heated Gwen, and fun-loving Gwaine age, grow old and leave him while he stayed behind might be more than he could bear. He had no wish to live to be as old as Kilgarrah.

Interrupting this train of thought, Balinor once again spoke: “Rest now, my son. You shall awaken into the light.”

Comforted, resting on his Father’s words, Merlin once more slipped into darkness. Only this darkness was warm, healing, and wholesome. The sound of Crystal Song strengthened, running through his body as he lay on the floor of the Cave, fine vibrations barely discernible. A single note, of unearthly beauty, which grew into a chord. Another note began, from another corner, and harmonies, interwoven, filled the silence. Merlin recalled a saying from when he was a young child: that if you listened hard enough, you could hear the music the stars made as they moved in the sky. (1) Merlin believed that, right now, this music could only be made by something as incredible, as original and enigmatic as the movement of stars in the sky.

The sound grew, note upon note, chord upon chord, until the mountain fairly vibrated with it. A cacophony of sound, far beyond the ability of mortal ears to hear and endure, it somehow brought peace to the wounded man. Ice-cold in clarity, each note individual and distinct, yet woven into an almost living entity, it was the sound of Magic Itself. And he that was born of Magic bathed in it, taking it into the very pores of his body, where it permeated every sinew, every cell, and every molecule.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Taken from Mary Stewart’s Novel “The Crystal Cave” published 1970. Book One in her “Arthurian Saga” which consists of The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills, The Last Enchantment, and followed later by The Wicked Day.

Chapter Text

Dialogue taken from Diamond of the Day Part One

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Chapter: Five

Sound embraced Merlin, lifted him in it’s arms, and held him close. Sound healed Merlin, brought back the strength and wholeness of his body. The Crystals Sang, and worked their impossible task, because it was Emrys who was in need. Time had no meaning here; past and present blended into a continuous stream. Merlin Emrys rested, rocked in the cradle of the earth. The diamond had been dulled and marred by injury and evil intent. Now he was being restored. Not entirely whole yet, but showing, once more, the many facets of his complex being.

The Song continued as long as Emrys had need in this stage of his living.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Resting on the powdered-rock floor was more comfortable than Merlin would have thought. Keeping his eyes closed, smiled in memory. Balinor, his Father had been here. Balinor had spoken to him, and told him to rest. Could it be that easy? Could regaining his magic be as simple a thing as surrendering to the Powers of the Earth? Entombed, surrounded as he was, this had been his choice. He held on to the hope that all might not be lost, and surrendered.

Groaning, Merlin moved slightly. Pain was now just a memory. Beginning at the head, he assessed himself as he would a physician treating any trauma patient, cataloguing what he found. His headache was gone, grazes to his scalp and face appeared to be healed. Cautiously moving his jaw and neck he found no sign of stiffness. Taking in a deep breath, he revelled in the ease in which his lungs inflated, restricted no longer by the broken cage of his ribs. A hand to his abdomen showed no rigidity: no internal bleeding, that was good. Noting he’d moved his right hand with no problems, he switched to his left with equally encouraging results. Feet and legs next, and they moved strongly and well.

Now for the final test: Taking a breath and sinking inside himself, he felt for his core, his magic. It was with joy that he realised he could feel again! The Cave was alive with power, and it thrummed through him, golden and weighty, contained by his fragile skin. Merlin sat quickly, a smile gracing his face. Tears gathered once more; tears of relief.

Tucking his feet beneath him, Merlin attempted to form his magic to his will. Cupping his hands, he focused on life. He shaped it in his mind; white gauzy wings, delicately veined and covered in glowing powder. A slender body between them, the large multi-faceted eyes and fragile antennae, all supported by the brittle-seeming legs. Focusing on the image, Merlin felt the power gather gently, felt the gossamer wings tickling his fingers. Opening his hand he released the butterfly into the air, rejoicing at this success as it fluttered away to begin it’s life.

Some would call it a small magic, but Merlin knew better. Calling lightning down from the sky, pushing objects away using a cushion of air, or controlling the earth by moving rocks or water was not as difficult as this: it did not require creation. These were the gifts granted him from the Sky, the Air and the Earth.

Conjuring a being from nothing, imbuing it with life and with movement was a far more challenging task. There were few sorcerers who were capable of it. Emrys was one of them. Basking in joy for a moment more, Merlin stood purposefully. The time for resting was done. The time for doing was now.

Flinging out a hand, he connected with the invisible strings of power that emanated from the Crystals around him. Concentrating a moment, he flung out his other hand, and focused on the nearest group. Fire! Sound! Fear! Screams! All these things bombarded him, breaking his focus and connection to the Crystals. Breathing deeply, he relaxed and centred himself once more. Fear and uncertainty was not an option. The last time he had seen in the Crystals had brought confusion and pain. The last time was no longer relevant. He had to know where Arthur was, and how he fared. Nothing else mattered.

Turning to face the Crystals in front of him, Emrys held out his hands and once more made the connection:

…Arthur was in his travelling tent, sitting at a table, head in hands. Gwen came to talk to him. After several moments, Arthur bent and swooped his wife into his arms, taking her across to the comfortable bed.

…Mordred rode a black horse, heading rank upon rank of warriors as they splashed through the mud on their way towards an ambush point.

…Gaius rested on a camp bed, surrounded by empty stretchers in the Hospital Tent. Rows of bandages, tinctures and medicines stood ready.

…Morgana stood on a precipice overlooking a narrow Gorge. She watched, in the darkness, as her army took place below her.

…a white dragon turned it’s head as though hearing a call, and launched into the air. It’s flight was clumsy and unbalanced: one wing would not stretch out properly.

…an army in red was facing an enemy on two fronts: the larger force in front, commanded by Mordred, the smaller behind, striking at the vulnerable rear.

…a hidden path curled around behind the battle-ground, showing signs of recent passage.

…a sword, reflecting sunlight as it was plunged into Arthur’s side.

Gasping, Merlin broke away from the scattered visions, pulling his focus back within himself. ‘I must warn Arthur of the ambush,’ Not stopping to think what he was doing, Emrys once more reached out and formed Magic to his will.

Focusing on the nearest Crystal he saw Arthur asleep, twined with Guinevere after their loving. “Arthur.” He spoke, knowing the message would go through. “Arthur, I’m sorry I had to leave you. I didn’t want to. One day you will understand why. Your plan is a good one and you may yet save this Kingdom but you must beware. Your army’s flank is vulnerable. There’s an old path over the ridge at Camlann and Morgana knows of it. She means to trap you, Arthur. Find the path, or the battle will be over before it’s begun. Find. The. Path!”

Continuing to watch, Merlin saw Arthur start from his sleep as though struck. Kicking the coverings away, he left a bewildered Gwen and raced outside, throwing on his surcoat as he did so, and drawing his sword. Scrying further, Merlin saw the army roused and beginning to ready for attack. He watched as Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine in charge of a small powerful fighting unit, moved out to stop Morgana’s planned ambush.

He saw Arthur in full battle gear, lofting his sword above his head. The King’s sword Excalibur, covered with familiar raised-gold etchings, which, in the Old Tongue spelled ‘Take Me Up’ on one side, and ‘Cast Me Away’ on the other. The sword which Merlin himself had wielded on occasion, and which could kill those that were already dead. (1) The sword which his own love Freya had kept safe in the Lake (2)(1) and which Merlin had later placed in the Stone for Arthur to remove at the right time. (3)

Satisfied that all was well for the moment, Merlin stepped back from the Crystal. A sound behind him caused him to whirl around, only to see Balinor once more standing before him.

Since his healing Merlin had come to understand that although this Balinor was his father, he was also a manifestation of the Old Religion, brought about by the Cave herself. The Cave had chosen a face that Merlin loved and would listen to. Balinor was speaking as the earthly father who loved him, but also as a physical representative of Magic Itself.

Addressing the manifestation, Merlin thanked him: “Thankyou. For your help, and your guidance.” ‘Both of you.’

“I only offered a hand. You stand tall on your own two feet Merlin. You always have done.”

“As did you, Father. I follow in your footsteps.” ‘I follow both the mortal man and the Power of Magic which you represent, and which runs through me.’

“Your journey has only just begun. You wield a power you cannot yet conceive of.” Emrys’ Father turned, and looked toward the inner part of the Cave before he continued. “Only in the heart of the Crystal Cave will your true self be revealed.”

Emrys turned with him, and focused on a pathway which had only now become visible to him. Now that he saw it; bright, shining and calling to him, he could not understand how he had not seen it before.

Balinor the Father and the Mentor spoke again; “Move towards the light. Your Destiny awaits.”

Merlin took a step forward, then faltered.

“Do not be afraid” Encouraged the shade. “Trust in what you are. Trust in what will be.”

Resolute, Emrys stepped forward, shale crunching beneath his feet as he moved towards his future. Stopping a final time, he acknowledged Balinor a final time. “Goodbye Father.”

“There are no goodbyes Emrys. For I will always be, as you will always be.”

Emrys heard the sub-text clearly: ‘The Magic which is me will never fade. It shall guide you and protect you all your days, which will be long upon the earth.’

Merlin and Balinor, Emrys and Magic smiled collectively, enjoying this communion together. Merlin understood that this would be the last time he would look upon the likeness of his Father. Emrys knew that there were many tasks to perform before he would again be able to be one with Magic as he had in this sacred place.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The climb was not easy for Merlin even though it was eased by his magical rather than a physical light. Not knowing the way he should go he chose the simple expedient of focusing on the strongest thread of magic and following it. In this way he was soon standing on the threshold of and underground bowl. The Crystals here were massive, growing in intricate patterns from the wall, floor and ceiling. The chamber was almost round, with a small clear space in the middle. Emrys knew instinctively that this was where he would take his place.

Power throbbed through the chamber, wave upon wave upon wave. The Crystals here did not sing, but emitted an unearthly light that seemed to penetrate to his heart.
Making his way to the centre of the Chamber Merlin settled down amongst the sharp Crystals as easily and comfortably as a dragon curling into its nest of gold. This was where he belonged. Closing his eyes, Emrys surrendered himself to the mighty force surrounding him.

Bright white light penetrated his brain, and washed throughout his body. Brightness that was hot and burning, and cold and freezing at the same time. The power of the Cave entered him, not comforting as during his recent healing, but almost brutally.

Arching back and crying out in shock, Merlin felt his very self dissolve into Magic. His scream reverberated around the Cave, echoing through the underground caverns and out through cracks and fissures in the rock.

Legends would later speak of the ‘Cry of Emrys’ that echoed across the land and bathed it with his anguish. Druids all across Albion stilled their hands, momentarily transfixed by the image of a figure bathed in pure energy writhing in pain. Magical folk and beings alike felt the shockwave of Magic that was released to race across the surface of the earth, and trembled; some in fear, others in awe. Songs were created, and poems written to mark the moment. The prophecies had spoken true: Emrys had come into being.

And still Emrys screamed and writhed. Beyond the capacity of human lungs he cried out, body tortured and twisted as he endured the onslaught. His human mind fled as Emrys was born anew. Understanding that he could take any shape he wished, Emrys chose to appear as a slim, lanky human youth, with an angled face, messy hair, sticky-out ears and deep blue eyes. In this form he would be recognisable to all those he needed to interact with. It would also save him the need to become familiar with a new form, for there were tasks to perform which would not wait.

Merlin’s human body re-formed, and gravity prevailed once more. He crashed to the floor of the Cave, gasping in shock and overload. Trembling and sweating, he bowed his head, trying to take inventory of what had happened. Extending his limbs, he examined himself.

He looked the same, but knew he was different. Magic did not run through him now; he ran through it. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could sense himself as a great glowing sphere, radiating power. Opening his eyes, he was stunned that his skin did not glow the dim eeriness of the Cave. He was grounded, connected to the world around him, which was in turn imbued with Magical power in every shape. Every leaf, every twig held it’s own forcefield. Life buzzed with it, and Emrys found himself tracing the very insects as they flew through the world above. A herd of deer grazed, taking nutrients from the grass, and he sensed the wolf pack which stalked it. Nature was perfectly balanced, and he was part of it.

Rising effortlessly to his feet, Emrys strode from the Central Cavern. It was now his Time. Arthur needed him: Albion needed him. Resting one hand on the wall of the Cavern, he sensed the tap-root of a tree extending down past the wall. Smiling wryly, he flexed his fingers, summoning a 6-feet section of the root to himself. Bleaching and drying it instantly to a white finish, he formed the top into a gnarled knot, and had a Stave. After all, what was a Wizard without a Staff? Lying so many years close to the Centre of Magic itself, Emrys knew this Staff resonated with it, and that it would help him to access Magic and shape it in the world above.

For Merlin knew that he had no further need of spoken incantations to control his Power. New spells, yes, he would incant until he had the feel of them. Complex rituals likewise may require the focus of his spoken voice. But there was not a spell, not an act of magic he had performed in his lifetime that he could not now perform with his internal will alone.

Assuming the familiar form of Dragoon, Merlin Emrys exited the Crystal Cave. No cavern could now hold him against his will, and rocks and dirt blasted out before him in a rain of debris as he exited into the light of day. Focusing on the destination showed him in the Crystals, Merlin flexed his mind, and vanished.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Three, Episode Thirteen ‘The Coming of Arthur Part Two’
(2) Season One, Episode Nine ‘Excalibur’
(3) Season four, Episodes Twelve & Thirteen ‘The Sword in the Stone Part One & Two’

Chapter Text

Dialogue taken from Diamond of the Day Part Two

This chapter rated for descriptions of violence: graphic descriptions of battle and violence. Things begin to really deviate from Canon in this chapter, although the overall plot remains similar.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Chapter: Six

Packed into a narrow gorge, an army fought. Disciplined ranks had long since degenerated into a mêlèe. The breaking dawn light showed scattered red cloaks, dark as blood-clots, surrounded by grey-clad enemies; for every Camelot warrior there appeared to be ten Saxons. Numbers alone would dictate the end of this battle.

Even though Morgana had been deprived of her out-flanking manoeuvre, it seemed likely that she would still prevail.

Arthur moved with his usual speed and grace, ducking, throwing, slashing, and twisting. Not a wasted movement, he cut a swathe through the horde that surrounded him. There were too many enemies to ensure a kill with each strike, so he contented himself with putting as many men out of commission as he could before moving on to the next. Each downed warrior meant one less for his Knights to deal with. The King was a fighting, killing machine, thought pared down to instinct, as his battle-honed muscles did what they’d been trained to do.

On a similar mission, a dark-haired young man worked his way through the struggling multitude. Mordred had one goal, one mission, and he followed this with single-minded intensity. He searched for Arthur, dealing with enemies as they came at him, but otherwise ignoring them.

Perched above the Pass, Morgana observed. Earlier she’d released her magical cry for Aithusa, and the white dragon should soon appear. No doubt she’d been delayed by the pulse of Ancient Magic which Morgana had detected not long ago. It had felt vaguely familiar, a flavour she knew. Shaking herself off, the High Priestess had dismissed the odd occurrence: she had more important things to focus upon.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Straightening from delivering a blow to the head of the warrior he’d just felled, Arthur was distracted by a noise he’d not encountered before. The roar of noise around him, and the metallic stink of blood and spilled entrails faded as he glanced towards the sky. The first word that came to his mind was ‘Wyvern.’ He’d faced those creatures before, and the cry they made was similar to the one he now heard. Drawing breath to order those men close to him to take cover close to the walls of the pass, he realised that he was mistaken.

No wyvern had a wing-span that great, and their colour was usually a dull brown. This winged being glinted in the sun just now rising on the horizon: glinted pure white. Realising his danger, Arthur dropped to his knees, raising his mail-clad arm to cover his head. The men surrounding him did likewise, barely avoiding the jet of flame expelled by the White Dragon who strafed them. Stunned, they watched as the beast banked awkwardly, and began to turn to make another pass.

Whirling and striking again, Arthur dealt with what enemies he could, while keeping one eye on the sky above.

Morgana smiled in satisfaction. There was no way she could lose.

Mordred strode onwards, finally spying Arthur ahead of him. Issuing orders, he readied a phalanx of men to charge the King, distracting him so that Mordred could challenge the man who’d killed his lover.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Dragoon appeared suddenly beyond the ridge of the Pass with a soft ‘pop’. Taking a moment to gain his footing on the loose scree, he proceeded to the top, overlooking the battle. Calmly he surveyed the swirling mass of men below him, noting Morgana’s position by the faint glow of dark power that emanated from her. Dismissing her for the moment, he turned back, seeking Arthur in the throng beneath him.

The Magic was confused, unfocused here. Too many emotions, too much movement, too much pain, and blood, and death. Emrys would need to rely on his natural senses to find the man he sought.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur spied the co-ordinated rush of men towards him, egged on by a figure behind them. Setting his feet deep and digging into a defence stance, he took a breath and prepared to deal with the attack.

A flash of white light, so bright that Arthur could almost see through the men, and they were flung off their feet. Untouched by the untoward event, the King glanced around. It seemed only Saxons had been affected: his men stood undisturbed beside him. The blast sounded again, and the remaining Saxons behind him also fell to the ground as if struck. The sudden silence was eerie and unsettling.

Instincts on alert, Arthur lifted his eyes to the ridges above him, and scanned for anything new. There, serenely surveying the field, stood Dragoon the ancient sorcerer. A light breeze wafted his white hair away from the man’s face and ruffled his red robes as he rested one hand on a Mage’s Staff. Stunned, Arthur had not thought the old man possessed this level of power.

For a moment Arthur could have sworn that the Sorcerer locked eyes with him, before once more raising that Staff. Without a word spoken, lightning forked from the Magician, spearing down into the writhing mass of men. Once again came the blindingly white light, and enemy soldiers were blasted from their feet. Arthur could not tell if they were dead or merely stunned, but he found it in himself to be thankful for Dragoon’s timing.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

High above the struggle Merlin watched and waited. He’d not called down lightning since the time he’d slain Nimuè on the Island of the Blessed, but found that he’d not forgotten how. Indeed, the magic seemed effortless. Using the tree-root as a focus he merely had to think of where he’d like the forks to strike, and the lightning manifested. Not wishing to kill this time, he’d chosen the flashy display to shock and unsettled men locked in a killing craze. It appeared he’d achieved his aim as the battlefield fell unnaturally quiet.

A group of warriors rallied and gathered themselves, attempting to co-ordinate an attack, and Merlin dealt with them summarily. He was focused now on Morgana.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Confused and furious, Morgana screamed against the elements her rage. “Emrys!” the sound was dragged out, echoing in the silence. It was NOT possible: it couldn’t be possible. Except that her eyes and magical senses informed her of the truth.

Emrys, Merlin, had escaped his tomb, and appeared here to defy her.

Gathering herself, the Priestess focused her Dark Magic on one task: kill Merlin.

Feeling the power being gathered against him Merlin again brandished his staff, sending bolts of spitting power towards the witch. Morgana was hurled backwards to land on the scorched earth.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin surveyed Camlann once more, loosing another volley at the outer edges of Morgana’s army.

A familiar cry from above alerted him to the fact that Aithusa was here, and about to lend her aid to the Saxons. Pinning the young dragon with his gaze, Merlin fell into the Dragon Tongue and viciously reprimanded the beast, commanding her to leave. The roaring language echoed across the landscape, and friend and foe alike watched in disbelief as the dragon faltered in the air before turning clumsily and leaving.

Arthur once more found his gaze pinned by Dragoon. He stared, mouth open, at the incredible display of power released so casually. Breaking free only with effort, he brandished Excalibur, the familiar cry “For the love of Camelot” rallying his men to rout the invading army. Merlin loosed one final bolt of lightning to hurry the retreating men on their way before leaving his vantage-point. His job was done for the moment.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Brought from the Hospital tent by the feeling of magic in the air, Gaius watched Merlin with pride. Never had he witnessed such a display, and he was awed and cheered. He would need to have Merlin tell him the story of his adventures soon. Pivoting to return to the wounded, he tripped over Gwen, who had followed the Physician outside. Dressed in her travelling clothes of leggings and tunic, she stared, stunned, at the Mage standing above.

“Who is that?” she inquired.

Nodding with pride, Gaius simply answered “Someone truly remarkable.”

Deducing that Gaius knew the man, Gwen followed the Physician back inside. There were still the wounded to treat, and questions could wait.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

After making his way down the slopes onto the battleground itself, Merlin picked his way over the dead. The stench was unbelievable, and sadly one with which he was familiar. The foul odours of spilled intestines, fear, sweat, vomit, and blood combined in an horrendous reek that was only to be found when many men had died violently in battle. It was not the first time he had encountered it, but would hopefully be the last.

Stepping carefully, Merlin made his way through the littered bodies. His gazed was fixed to avoid slipping in puddles of half-clotted blood, or catching his feet in tangled entrails and other organs spilled onto the ground. Moving as rapidly as he could, he made his way towards the central area where he’d last seen Arthur.

The silence was oppressive, and the warlock shivered, overcome by the aftermath of battle. It was always so; after the incredible effort, after strength wore down, and adrenaline subsided came the quiet tranquillity which haunted the slaying grounds. Next would come the stretcher-carriers, as they searched for wounded. After that would be a race between looters and carrion-eaters, battling each other for prized scraps. Shuddering, he moved onwards.

Merlin had chosen to remain as Dragoon for the moment: Arthur would accept the aged sorcerer as the wielder of magic far more easily than his awkward servant-boy. As Dragoon, he was also free to offer further magical help if it was required.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Camelot’s King was on clean-up duty. Arms leaden and aching, he dealt with those enemies who persisted in attacking. The rout he’d left in the capable hands of his trusted Knights, but he himself wanted to ensure that the battle was truly over. He was also hoping for a word with Dragoon, if the Ancient Sorcerer deigned to approach him. Damned if Arthur the King would go looking for a worker of magic. But he could wait here, to see if the other appeared.

Rushing to a fallen soldier, Arthur clasped the man’s hand, trying to assess the damage. The question of whether the warrior would live or die was answered with a gush of frothing blood that flooded from his lips, down his chest. Not flinching, Arthur held the man’s blue eyes as his life flooded out along with his blood. The King could not prevent the death, but he could, at least, offer the comfort of his presence.

Taking a moment to rest beside his comrade, Arthur was alerted by the shiiing of a sword drawn from it’s scabbard. Turning, he came face to face with Mordred. His former Knight bore down on Arthur, his eyes deadened and flat. Sighing, Arthur knew that only one of them would walk away from this confrontation.

Once more he grasped Excalibur, hands numbed, gauntlets sticky with blood, and prepared to fight. Fatigued, his stance was uncertain as he repelled Mordred’s first strike. Even a man in his prime cannot fight on for hours without losing his edge.

Mordred, on the other hand, was relatively fresh, having spared himself for this fight, allowing his men to battle for him. Stepping back delicately, Mordred balanced himself. He would not lose.

Dulled and heavy, Arthur moved away from Mordred’s next attack, only to fall victim to the shining blade in the next second. Gasping, Arthur felt the length of Mordred’s weapon penetrate his side, slipping in beneath Arthur’s mail shirt. Staggering back, Arthur knew the blow was mortal: there was no hope after such a wound. Refusing to allow the man before him to continue on his chosen path of hate and destruction, Arthur rallied once more.

Mordred, too, knew that the wound he’d dealt was fatal, and dropped his guard. Locking eyes with Mordred, Arthur lunged forward blade-first. His aim was off, and instead of killing the younger man, he succeeded only in injuring him. Mordred fell, succumbing to blackness, and the King turned to make his way from the area. He had no intention of dying here, so near to his enemy. Guinevere would be in the Hospital Tent, and he desperately needed to see her, to look into her soft brown eyes once more.

Knees buckling, Arthur staggered away, Excalibur used as a crutch. Gasping once more, he clamped his left arm to his belly, attempting to slow the flow of blood. Several steps later he admitted defeat. Here he would die, alone. Gwen would not get her goodbye, but at least Camelot and his people were safe.

Sinking to his knees, the King sobbed in a breath, collapsing onto his un-injured side. Conjuring an image of his beloved in his mind, Arthur resigned himself to the last moments of his life. Indeed, he could feel that life leaving his body slowly; trickling away and soaking into the earth beneath him. Grimacing he reflected “From dust we come, and to dust we return.” He’d never imagined the old teaching to be so literal.

“Gwen…” he whispered softly. Imagining the touch of her skin from only hours ago, he conjured her familiar scent. Smiling, he curled his legs under him, unconsciously mimicking the position in which he’d twined around her in their travelling bed. “My Gwen…”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

It was here that Merlin came across him. First seeing the fallen Mordred, he’d lifted his eyes to scan the ranks of men, now clay dolls, that littered the ground. Dread and nausea filled the Sorcerer, and flinging aside his staff he rushed to his friend’s side.

“No. Not Arthur. It can’t be. It’s not allowed to be! Not after everything. He cannot die!” Dropping beside the King, Merlin’s training took over. Assessing the man, he felt that he was warm: either alive, or only newly dead. The limbs were supple, moving easily, and he raised Arthur’s head, feeling for a heartbeat or a tell-tale breath.

Long moments passed, and the cold sweat of terror covered Merlin’s skin. He could easily face down a rampaging dragon, assess and manage a roaring battle. But the thought of Arthur’s death was enough to undo him. Sobbing quietly, Merlin continued to examine his King.

There! He lived still, but only just. Not thinking of the impossibility of the act, the aged Dragoon scooped up Arthur into his arms. Unconsciously calling on the magic than ran through him, he strengthened muscles, sinews and bones. And so, a frail man of more than eighty summers lifted a young heavily muscled warrior in full armour, and carried him effortlessly away.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Burdened as he was, Merlin did not see the female shape that moved towards the fallen Mordred, nor sense her magical presence.

Morgana had woken, and come to find the young boy she’d taken under her protection so long ago. Terrified of the power so casually displayed by Emrys, she shielded herself from him and watched events unfold from a niche in the rocky wall nearby. She must see if Mordred lived.

Shaken, she waited until Emrys had borne away the wounded Arthur before approaching the druid boy. Establishing that he lived, and could be healed, she sobbed quietly in relief. Mordred was the only one who loved her, who cared for her. Now that Emrys had taken away Aithusa’s loyalty, Morgana was abandoned. Perhaps one day, they would be able to make another bid for the throne of Camelot, but it would not be for many years. Arthur was nigh untouchable, protected by the enormous power of Emrys.

Together, she and Mordred, two magical creatures would live in exile, and comfort one another. Encircling her arms around Mordred, the witch spoke aloud the teleportation spell.

Chapter Text

Dialogue taken from Diamond of the Day Part Two

Merlin Carried Arthur for two miles in his arms. He wanted to be far enough away from the body of the Camelot Army to avoid detection, but close enough for Gaius to find them. Finding a secluded place in a small dell, he set his burden down, reclining against a fallen tree. Taking time to ensure that the new position would not interfere with the King’s breathing, he set about making a fire. This, of course, was little challenge: a spell called forth several rocks to form the perimeter of a crude fire-pit, while another collected some green wood. A third spell dried and arranged the fuel, and a fourth set it alight. This was done rapidly, and with barely a thought: it needed to be done, therefore it was.

It was not until the fire was well-established and Arthur resting that the warlock realised he had left his Tap-Root Staff back in Camlann. In his concern for his friend, he’d flung aside the white rod and failed to pick it up again. Sighing, he relegated the loss to the back of his mind for the present.

The warlock also chose this time as the best to return to his usual appearance. He chuckled to himself, remembering several years ago when he’d found himself unable to reverse the aging spell, and had almost been executed as Dragoon. Even up to a few months ago he’d been unable to perform the spell without the potion that Gaius brewed. Now, the alteration needed but a brief focus of will, and a golden flare of his irises.

Once the fire was well established, and Arthur was as comfortable as it was possible to make him, Merlin settled to his next task. He needed to contact Gaius and let the old man know of their position. Great Sorcerer as he was, Merlin needed supplies and transport if he was to heal Arthur. Settling himself cross-legged in front of the fire, he closed his eyes and reached for his magic. He’d never performed this particular magic before, but knew that it was possible, and that it would work.

Merlin opened his eyes and focused on the burning base of the camp-fire before him. Envisioning his old friend, he reached out for the other man, projecting an image of himself as he did so. Feeling his way across the life-force network of the land which surrounded him, Merlin drew closer to his goal. Gaius face blurred slowly into focus, looking down at some task him hands were performing. The background came into focus, and Merlin saw that Gaius was working in the Hospital Tent. A limb lay before him: a vicious axe-wound in a soldier’s arm. The bone was clearly visible beneath mutilated flesh, and Gaius was removing dirt and debry from the wound. Bone chips glinted in the torchlight, and Merlin knew that the task would be long and complicated. It may be possible to save the arm, although no doubt the man would have reduced use and much pain for the rest of his life. The only good thing being that the wound was in the man’s left arm, leaving the dominant right hand intact.

Merlin waited, content to leave Gaius until he could be interrupted. An hour later, and all that was left was closing the surface layers of the wound. Merlin ‘tapped’ Gaius gently to gain his attention, and called his name *Gaius*. Starting, the physician looked around, seeking the source of the sound.

*Gaius, it’s me, Merlin. I need to talk to you.* Realising that the call came from within, Gaius stepped back from his stitching, and focused on his ward. As he did so, a young man in a small clearing came into focus, his face highlighted by the fire in front of him.

*Merlin! Where are you, where have you been?*

*I’m with Arthur, I have my magic back.*

Gaius snorted *That’s an understatement. I’ve never known you to use this method of communication before!*

Merlin could see the eyebrow and Gaius’ sour look, and snorted himself. *Yes, there is a lot to tell. Right now I need your help. Arthur is wounded, and I need supplies. We need horses, food, blankets and equipment. Can you get it?*

*Yes, of course* the older man answered. *But…*

*We are here…* and somehow Merlin projected the information into Gaius’s mind, showing their location and how to get there.

Gaius absorbed the information, and promised to leave as soon as possible, bringing all that Merlin had requested.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin broke the connection, and turned back to Arthur. The King was pale, a cold sweat covering his face, and the laboured breathing had increased. Although a powerful sorcerer, Merlin was still a young man in the middle of his 3rd decade. He was far more stable now than when he’d first entered Arthur’s service, but his emotional strength reflected the relatively few years of life experience he’d had. Not to mention that the past week had been dealing with one crisis after another, and his resilience was somewhat reduced. Seeing Arthur like this was unsettling for him, frightening if Merlin was honest with himself. The young man was shaken, and very much in need of reassurance, which he hoped Gaius would be able to supply.

Settling himself beside the King, Merlin extended his hands over him. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes and ‘examined’ the wounded man, placing Arthur in a light trance to stabilise him as he did so. He could sense strained tendons, a few torn muscles, in both the sword- and shield-arms, along with a myriad of cuts and bruises. This was nothing more than Arthur would usually sustain in a sword-fight, or even a hard training session. These slight injuries were healed quickly and without fuss. The generalised exhaustion throughout Arthur’s body would take time to resolve: there was no magical cure for restoring the body’s reserves.

Focusing on the main wound on Arthur’s left upper abdomen, he traced the wound’s path. Mordred’s sword had passed nearly all the way through Arthur’s torso, and there was extensive muscle damage. Internal bleeding from the spleen, and some lung damage were a major concern, and the large intestine had also been damaged. Focusing his power, Merlin sent a golden warmth into the wound, repairing damage. The superficial problems were solved first: deep tissue bruising and bleeding, and the tearing of the bowel were dealt with: there would be scar-tissue, but for now this would ease Arthur’s discomfort. Focusing on the lung and spleen next, Merlin dealt again with bleeding: tying and sealing the severed blood vessels, he cauterised the torn organs with a burst of heat, before laving the areas with magic to reduce swelling and pain. As he healed Merlin could detect a familiar ‘flavour’ in the wound: something he’d come across before, but could not immediately place.

Delving deeper, Merlin came to a part of the penetrating wound that was more ragged than the rest. Abandoning all other efforts, he focused on this one area. There was something here… Casting deeper, Merlin came across a bright shining piece of magic: something foreign that should not be here in Arthur’s body. Focusing, he ‘tasted’ the brightness: metal, shining, sharp. Visualising it, he detected a roughly triangular piece of metal, that had moved upwards several fingers-breadth from the main wound. Watching it, he noted that it was continuing to move, very slowly, away from the primary wound. Projecting the trajectory, he saw that it would intersect the heart, and eventually cause Arthur’s death if it was not halted.

Curious as to the behaviour of the piece of metal, Merlin analysed it. It appeared to be a piece of the blade that had been the cause of the main wound. ‘Tasting’ again, his mind was flooded with a picture of Authusa, and a sword held before the young dragon as she breathed on it. ‘So that’s it’ the warlock mused, ‘a blade forged in a dragon’s breath, which can destroy any living or unliving thing.’ Withdrawing, Merlin healed as much as he was able, and sat back to think. Taking several paces away he kept Arthur at his back and pondered the problem he’d been presented with. He’d attempted to ‘tug’ at the fragment of sword with no success: powerful though he was, the young warlock was not able to remove the piece using his magic. Cutting it out was likewise not an option: the fragment was too deep, and Arthur would never survive the attempt. Unable to close the wound, Arthur continued to lose blood, although at a far slower pace than before.

He owed it to Aithusa’s relative youth and inexperience that Arthur was not already dead. The sword she had burnished had supernatural powers but was nowhere near as powerful as Excalibur, which had been forged by Kilgarrah who had been living for more than 1,000 years. All Kilgarrah’s wisdom, as well as his power had been poured into the blade he’d forged at Merlin’s request, and the result showed in Excalibur’s makeup. Aithusa was just over three years old, and had suffered greatly during that time. This had diminished what she was able to bestow on Mordred’s blade. In addition, the blade Merlin had selected was the best he could lay hands on, forged by Tom the Blacksmith, Guinevere’s father. It was a blade of almost perfect balance, elegant in construction, which was why Merlin had deemed it good enough to receive Kilgarrah’s ministrations.(1) In comparison, Morgana had not had access to as fine a sword-smith, and had made do with what she had available.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

His name called softly from behind, and Merlin turned to see that Arthur was waking. Standing, he moved rapidly back to his friend’s side, “How’re you feeling?” He dropped to his knees, looking into Arthur’s pain-filled eyes. Now came the time for explanations.

Arthur stretched a hand out to Merlin, trying to sit simultaneously. He stopped the movement abruptly with a pained cry, grabbing at his servant’s shoulder as he attempted to muffle further cries, biting his tongue.

“Lie back.” Merlin urged, “Lie back!”

“Wh..where have you been?” Arthur gasped.

Guilt filled Merlin’s face: if he’d been present, if Morgana hadn’t trapped him, Arthur might never have been wounded. “It doesn’t matter now.” He side-stepped the question. Last time he’d spoken with his king there’d been much tension, and un-spoken disappointment. Merlin wanted to leave that aside for now, and not stress the wounded man any further.

Moving slightly Arthur sobbed out “My…my side!” He clamped his arm tight against his body.

“Well, you are bleeding.” Stated Merlin.

“Oh, that’s a alright. I thought I was dying!” Arthur panted, attempting to reduce the pain he saw on Merlin’s face. His hand clenched hard on Merlin’s shoulder as the pain peaked again, causing him to cry out involuntarily. Merlin clasped the arm, providing what comfort he could.

Merlin’s pained face betrayed the words he’d choked back: ‘You might yet,’ and his eyes teared up. “I’m sorry.” His self-blame was overwhelming, “I thought I’d defied the prophecy. I thought I was in time.” The tears broke free and rolled down his face.

Arthur looked on in confusion: Merlin’s words made no sense. Rolling his eyes he inquired weakly “What are you talking about?” His idiot servant was spouting inane words.

Sniffing, Merlin knew that the time had come: Arthur needed to know who Merlin really was, while he was still alive and able to understand. Given the severity of the wound, Merlin knew that death was a probability rather than a possibility. Drawing in his breath in a series of short jerks, he continued: “I defeated the Saxons. The Dragon. And yet. And…and yet I knew it was Mordred I must stop.” The words came haltingly, as if his throat was fighting to keep them inside.

Arthur was more confused than ever. Fighting for lucidity, he patted Merlin’s shoulder and commented “The person who defeated them was the Sorcerer.”

Holding his King’s eyes with an effort, Merlin whispered “That was me.” He watched in unbearable pain as Arthur’s brows drew together in confusion as he absorbed the words. Merlin could no longer contain the pain spearing through his chest, and sobbed out loud.

The more distressed Merlin became, the calmer Arthur was. Looking at his manservant, whom he’d never seen this distressed, he intoned “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Merlin continued to sob, sniffling as his nose began to run. Still he refused to drop his gaze from Arthur’s, although the urge to look away was sorely testing his will. Even the most difficult casting of magic was not this demanding. He desperately regretted causing Arthur this pain, but just as desperately needed his acceptance. The two conflicting desires were tearing Merlin apart.

Looking more concerned than confused now, Arthur demanded “This is stupid! Why would you say that?” This was a poor time for Merlin to be pulling a prank.

Merlin attempted to speak, choked, and tried again wiping his face on his sleeve: “I’m a…a Sorcerer. I have magic.” ‘Please believe me, Arthur. Please accept me. This is who I am.’  He wanted to speak the words out loud, but was unable to. Continuing to weep, he awaited his friend’s response.

Arthur’s countenance now displayed the beginnings of fear; why was Merlin persisting with this, now of all times? There was no way this could be true. Could it? But Merlin was continuing, wrestling for some control over his voice. “I use it for you, Arthur.” Gulping he went on: “Only for you.”

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice was stern “You are not a Sorcerer. I would know!” His strength was coming from some hidden reserve.

Realising that further words would be useless, Merlin decided on a demonstration: “Look. Here.”

Turning slightly to face the campfire by Arthur’s feet, Merlin ensured Arthur could still see his face and extended his arm. He didn’t really need to do any of this for the simple spell he intended, but he wanted it to be obvious that it was he, Merlin, performing Magic. Fascinated, repelled, and dreading, Arthur’s eyes were riveted on the fire as Merlin intoned “Straia Draca”, his eyes flaring gold for a split second. Stunned, Arthur saw the up-ward shooting sparks stop their dance, and form into a perfect replica of a golden dragon, wings extended. The small beast flexed its wings, head rising and falling in concert with the movement, then disappeared.

Nausea struck deep into Arthur’s innards, coldness travelling outwards to his limbs, and his wound spasmed once more. ‘No! It wasn’t possible! Not Merlin!’ His eyes travelled unwillingly once more to his friend’s face. Only…was Merlin still his friend? What was he? Some aberration, some filthy magic-user! But Merlin was good, kind, and loyal. He’d followed Arthur to the ends of the earth, and had laid down his life for his King on more than one occasion.

Merlin turned slowly to observe Arthur’s response, tear tracks dried by the heat of the fire. Fixing his eyes once more on the injured man’s he waited…

Grunting, Arthur turned his head away, trying to assimilate this undisputable proof. Pained, he looked back into the face above him. Struggling, he pushed at Merlin weakly with his arm, pleading “Leave me.” He attempted to turn his back on the servant, but the effort caused yet another spike of agony.

Merlin’s face betrayed concern and fear. Was Arthur really rejecting him? After all he’d done for the man, after all he’d been through. Reaching out, he attempted to re-establish contact. “Arthur…”

The King interrupted, fending Merlin off “Just…You heard.” Anger and betrayal wear clear on his face. If he’d had the strength, he knew he’d have struck the other man. “Just. Leave. Me.” Withdrawing from Merlin’s touch as though it might contaminate him, and with a mammoth effort punctuated by moans of pain, Arthur succeeded in rolling to his side: rolling away from his supposed friend to present his back in a gesture of rejection.

Arthur did not grant friendship lightly, even to a nobleman. To have granted it to this commoner had been an incredibly difficult path, fraught with doubt as he challenged all that he had been taught throughout his childhood. Having granted such a gift, now to find he’d been deceived for years was more than he could bear. Sinking into the physical pain, Arthur used it to blunt the emotional turmoil he was enduring. Panting, he listened as Merlin rose and moved towards the fire.

The Warlock swore he could feel his heart shattering in his chest: Arthur could not accept who he was, would not accept his magic. Not only had he failed his destiny by protecting the Once and Future King, but now he’d deprived the man of the comfort of Merlin’s presence. It was clear Arthur could no longer abide his servant, and Merlin could not see that changing any time soon. ‘Two sides of the One Coin indeed!’

He sniffed, holding his breath to stifle the sobs that were knocking at his lips, and remembered Kilgarrah’s words so many years ago: ‘A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole’ (2) Thinking that he’d just proven that wrong, the servant resigned himself to a sleepless night.

Dead emptiness filled Merlin’s heart. He’d always known there was an excellent chance that Arthur would respond this way when he finally unveiled his true nature. There’d always been a small sliver of hope, tho, that Merlin might find acceptance for the way he’d been born. ‘It’s not as if I chose to be this way!’ he groused to himself. ‘And I haven’t even touched on all the rest: the prophecies, the uniting of Albion, myself as Emrys, and all the other things. I don’t suppose there’ll be the chance to, now.’

Resting, he listened as Arthur’s breathing slackened into a pained sleep. He just wished Gaius would hurry up and get here. Right now he could use the older man’s wisdom and support.

(1) Series 1,Episode 9: ‘Excalibur’
(2) Series 1, Episode 2: ‘Valiant’

Chapter Text

Dialogue taken from Diamond of the Day Part Two

Queen Guinevere wiped tears from her eyes after receiving Sir Leon’s report. All had returned to Camelot except Arthur. The young Queen had spent so many of her days waiting: waiting for reports of her husband, waiting to enfold him in her arms once more, waiting to rejoice with him that he’d survived once more. Surely there were only so many times he could survive: his luck must to run out some time soon. Gwen did not want to think about what she would do if he was never to return.

She could be Queen with Arthur beside her, but without his authority, she was nothing but a serving maid. True, Arthur had crowned her Queen of Camelot, and Gwen felt she’d done well fulfilling the role with Arthur by her side. But if her were to be gone? What would she do? Who would respect her without the King’s might by her side? What would happen to the people she’d sworn to govern if everything was to fall apart?

‘No. I must be strong. Somehow, I must go on.’ The refrain beat at Gwen’s brain, and she longed for Gaius with one of his foul-tasting but effective headache remedies. But Gaius was missing as well, and nobody had seen when or how he’d disappeared.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Sitting by the fire, Merlin trembled with nerves and fear. Gaius had arrived in the night, and had set off at first light to look for herbs. Arthur had woken several times, restless with pain and emotional conflict, but had continued to reject Merlin’s help. Merlin could do nothing but watch the stew he had set over the campfire: dried meat padded out with a few edible plants he’d found nearby.

Ears straining, Merlin caught the soft sound of foot-falls deadened by leaves as Gaius made his way back to the makeshift camp. Bolting to his feet, the Warlock ran to greet the physician.

“Any change?” Gaius enquired, studying Merlin’s face for any hint of Arthur’s condition. Merlin could do nothing but shake his head.

“Let me see” Gaius continued, taking his place by Arthur’s side.

Merlin, spying the spray of greenery in Gaius’ hand asked “Is that all you’ve got?”

“The hills are crawling with Saxons.” Was the reply.

“..but no Yarrow? No Ladies Mantle?” demanded the other man.

Brandishing the herbs Gaius answered “I got comfrey.”

“You should have got Sticklewort! There must have been sticklewort.” Anxiety made the usually polite young man sharp and demanding.

Trying to re-direct his ward, Gaius suggested that Merlin water and tend the horses after their long journey. Resigned, Merlin turned to obey.

As soon as he was out of sight, Arthur opened his eyes, and pinned Gaius with a glare: “He’s a Sorcerer!” the King revealed, grasping Gaius’ knee tightly. He paused, waiting for Gaius’ shocked reply.

Gaius pursed his lips, and nodded. The reality slammed into Arthur’s head, and he answered himself in defeat “You knew.”

Gaius leaned close “Arthur. He is your friend.”

“I want him gone.”

“There is no need to fear him.”

Thinking, trying to find a way to send the warlock away, Arthur suggested “Have him take word to Camelot; to Guinevere.”

“You cannot…”

Arthur broke in “I need a physician now, not a Sorcerer.”

“Merlin can do far more than me. Far more than you can ever imagine. Arthur, he doesn’t just have magic. There are some who say he’s the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth.”

Brows drawn together Arthur tried to process what Gaius had said. ‘Merlin? The greatest sorcerer ever? That clumsy, idiotic, couldn’t lie to save himself (except he did!) boy?’ There was no way for Arthur to reconcile this.

“If you are to stand any chance of survival” Gaius continued “You’ll need Merlin to help you.”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Speaking later, as Arthur rested, the Sorcerer and the Physician compared their impressions of Arthur’s wound, and his chances. Gaius’ impression was the same as Merlin’s. Although the powerful Emrys knew that his assessment was correct, it was comforting to hear the experienced Physician Gaius confirm what he already suspected: “It would take a power as ancient as the Dragons themselves to thwart the sword fragment’s magic.”

Thinking long on the problem, Merlin came up with a suggestion: that only the Sidhe possessed such magic. Gaius revealed that in his studies on the Isle of the Blessed he learned of another Isle: set in the midst of the Lake of Avalon. Gaius believed that Arthur’s only chance lay in taking him there. Merlin, dipping into the new stream of Magic in which he now moved was forced to agree.

The only problem would be getting Arthur to consent to such a journey, and then to entrust himself into the care of one of the dreaded Magic Folk that he’d been taught to dread all his life.

Gaius decided to go speak to Arthur while Merlin tended to some other business.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Walking away from the camp, Merlin sought for a quiet section of the forest, preferably with a pool of water. He intended to contact Gwen by magic, and inform her that Arthur lived, and of their plan to heal the King. With Gaius to assist in caring for Arthur, Merlin was able to get some much-needed rest. With a clearer head came the realisation that Queen Guinevere would be worrying about the absence of her husband.

One of the most difficult parts of being queen for Gwen, had been the need to stay behind in Camelot while Arthur rode forth on various dangerous quests. The people needed to see her strong and confident, even when she feared for her husband’s life. Guinevere had performed this task flawlessly, and it was only her closest friends that were aware of the pain she endured each time she bid Arthur goodbye. Merlin & Gaius were, of course, two of the people in on this secret, and Merlin could no longer deny Gwen the comfort of knowing that Arthur was safe.

He’d discussed with Gaius the pros & cons of using Magic to contact Gwen. Gaius, for somebody who’d strenuously urged Merlin hide his magic at all costs, was surprisingly supportive of Merlin’s inclination. He was of the opinion that Gwen may not be as shocked by Merlin’s revelation as the young warlock thought. Neither man was keen to prolong the queen’s suffering for longer than absolutely necessary, hence Merlin’s search.

The sun had climbed a further two handspans above the horizon before Merlin found what he was looking for: a gully between two hills, the bottom rich with rotting leaves and ferns. A small stream ran sluggishly along, its bed studded with rounded pebbles. Dropping to the ground, Merlin crossed his legs tailor-fashion, and focused on the rippling water. He yearned once again for his Root Staff: the magic inherent in the wood could have been of great use here. Drawing a deep breath, Merlin fixed his eyes on the water before him, and focused on the sensation of using his magic to speak with Arthur through the Crystals in the Cave. He needed to capture the feel and transfer that power to the pool of water before him.

Surprisingly, the initial scrying came easily. Rapidly Merlin saw Gwen, dressed in her Royal Purple, as she conversed with Sir Leon. Relying on sound alone, Merlin saw that she appeared distressed, and Leon seemed to be reassuring her. He smiled at the earnest expression on Sir Leon’s face. Originally one of Uther’s Knights the mature warrior had helped to train Arthur, and had transferred his allegiance to the young King whole-heartedly. A gentle man, Leon had a sturdy sense of duty, and Merlin was heartened to see him assisting Gwen while she was grieving so.

Gwen appeared to be in her private chambers, and Merlin waited until she was alone again. The young man’s heart ached as he watched his friend dissolve into tears as the door shut, and she was left alone again. Covering her face with her hands, Gwen bent forward and wept heartily, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Merlin watched and waited. Eventually Gwen collected herself, and went to sit at her dressing table, playing idly with the trinkets that lay there. Deciding that there would not be a better time, Merlin Emrys gathered his magic and focused.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

*Gwen.* The distraught Queen looked around her chamber; surely she was alone.

*Gwen.* There, she’d heard it again. Somebody calling her name, who sounded suspiciously like Merlin. But he hadn’t been seen since before the army had left for Camlann.

*Gwen. Look at the mirror.*

Hardly realising she was doing so, Guinevere looked at the sheet of reflective glass before her. Something was moving! Shying like a horse startled, she realised she could see a figure inside looking back at her, and stepped away, stumbling on her stool as she did so.

*Gwen. It’s alright. It’s me, Merlin.*

“What? What do you mean, Merlin?”

Thoroughly confused and spooked, Gwen took a step forwards, trying to see and understand. Merlin was in her mirror. He seemed to be sitting on the ground in a forest: she could see fern fronds waving behind him. But, how? Shaking her head, fear filled her mind and Gwen backed away once more, her hands outstretched, trying to ward off what was happening. “No! No, it can’t be!” turning her head to shout towards the door “Leon? Are you there?”

*Shh, Gwen, trust me. It’s alright. I have news for you. Arthur’s alive.*

Still trembling, Gwen flicked her head back towards the mirror. “Alive? Where is he?” Love and concern for her husband almost over-rode Gwen’s fear of the obvious magic being used.

*We’re not far from Camlann. Gwen, Arthur’s badly injured. Gaius is here. We’re doing all we can.*

To Gwen, that did not sound good. ‘We’re doing all we can’´ was too often what was said when somebody was not expected to live. Not sure what was worse, her fear for Arthur or her fear of the mirror Gwen stood in place, pale, trembling, and tear-streaked.

“But… I don’t… How are you doing this Merlin?”

Sighing, Merlin answered *It’s a long story Gwen. I’m a Sorcerer. But I promise I won’t ever hurt you or Arthur. I’m the one you saw at the battle.*

“You? You’re the old man? That’s why you weren’t with us when we rode out!”

*Oh, Gwen. I’m sorry. Sorry for deceiving and hurting you. If there’d been any other way...*

Gwen’s fear rapidly diminished as she attempted to comfort her old friend. “Hush, Merlin, It’s alright. I know you wouldn’t hurt us. It all makes sense now; why you left. You can count on me, I won’t tell anyone.”

The compassion in Gwen’s warm-hearted response to his shocking news was such a contrast to Arthur’s rejection that Merlin felt his eyes tearing once more. His King had rejected him, but his Queen still accepted him, and was still his friend. *Thanks, Gwen. That means a lot. I promise I’ll let you know what’s happening. I need to find a way to heal Arthur; I’m not sure how long it will take. Goodbye Gwen.* Merlin broke the connection, and sat quietly, head hanging down towards his knees. If only Arthur could bring himself to accept the magic as well.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

An hour later and Merlin returned to their camp. Meeting Gaius as he walked past the horses, he asked the old man how things were.

“No change physically, although I think he’s resting a little easier. He has agreed to go with you to seek a cure, though.”

“He has? Well, that’s good news, anyway. I spoke to Gwen, let her know that we were safe, but Arthur was wounded. I told her it may take a while, but that we were trying to heal him.”

“You spoke to Gwen? How…” Gaius’ eyes widened in surprise.

“When I was in the Crystal Cave I used the crystals to speak to Arthur, to warn him about Morgana’s ambush. Just now I tried the same thing using a pool of water and the mirror in Gwen’s chambers. It was a shock to her, but she seemed to accept it better that I’d thought”

“You never cease to amaze me, Merlin! You were the reason Arthur roused the army in the middle of the night?”

“Yes.”

“And you used water, just now, to contact Gwen in Camelot? Well, things are certainly going to be different now, I can see.” Thinking, Gaius cradles his jaw in his hand. Merlin stood quietly, waiting. “You know, the way Gwen reacted when we saw you as Dragoon fighting at the Battle, I half suspected she knew something then. She kept asking me if I knew the sorcerer, and then she asked if she knew him. She kept saying how unlike you it was not to be there with Arthur.”

“Gwen’s a smart lady” Merlin smiled. “Now, I’ve got to do one more thing before I can leave with Arthur. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Merlin stepped away from the horses, flared his eyes, and vanished.

Gaius gaped in shock, staring at the empty piece of earth where Merlin had stood until a second ago. “Well. Things really are going to be different now.” He leaned against a nearby tree, and settled in to wait.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin re-appeared in his small room back in Camelot. He smiled to himself; this method of moving about the countryside was certainly useful! Falling to his knees, he reached under his bed, reaching for a long cloth-wrapped parcel. If he was going to the Sidhe, he would need all the help he could get dealing with the fickle creatures.
Reaching out, he grasped the Staff he’d kept hidden for so many years, and drew it forth. Merlin rapidly unwrapped the cloth he’s used to protect it from dust and casual glances. Once more he felt the foreign power running through the Staff. Sidhe magic, which he could bend to his will.

For some time after he’d defeated Sophia and her father, he’d practised with the Staff. It had taken some time, but he’d succeeded in getting it to accept him as its new owner. Merlin had found it useful at times, but on the whole preferred to rely on his own brand of magic. Now, he hoped that seeing him in possession of one of their Staffs might make the capricious creatures accept him more easily.

Smiling wickedly as he thought of Gaius’ surprise when he reappeared, he flexed his will once more.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Barely three minutes after he’d vanished, Gaius was startled by Merlin’s return, precisely in the place he’d vanished from.

“What? How did you do that? Where did you go?” the older man demanded.

Chuckling Merlin answered “When we have time, Gaius, I’ll explain everything. For now, just know that I not only got my magic back in the Crystal Cave, but learned a few new things as well. As to where I went? Why, to Camelot of course. I needed my staff.”

“Camelot? You’ve been all the way there and back again? In three minutes?” Gaius was flabbergasted.

“Yes. It’s a method of transport I learned I could do. Unfortunately it only works with those who have magic, otherwise I’d take Arthur to Avalon this way rather than wasting two days on horseback.”

Shaking his head, Gaius followed after Merlin as he walked over to where Arthur lay quietly, still propped against the log Merlin had placed him against when they arrived last evening.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin placed his Staff on the ground before approaching Arthur; there was no need to introduce another source of contention into their relationship just now. Drawing in his breath, Merlin mentally prepared for the painful conversation he was about to have.

Chapter Text

Dialogue taken from Diamond of the Day Part Two

Hesitantly, Merlin approached the resting King. “Arthur” he called gently.

Arthur’s head turned towards him, and Merlin was unsettled by the blank expression in those eyes. “We need to leave at first light.”

“I’ll decide” Arthur replied in a flat, dead tone. Merlin knew that the king was wanting to re-establish his power and authority over his servant, but this stubborn pride would put his life at risk.

“I can’t let you die.” Merlin reminded him of just what was on the line here.

Arthur turned away, answering without change in face or voice “It doesn’t change anything” before closing his eyes and dismissing Merlin once more.

Gaius’ voice came from behind Merlin, “Let him sleep. It’s late, you cannot travel tonight.”

Merlin nodded and turned away in despair. Arthur would not forgive him this, not even on his death-bed as he was.

“You were right to tell him.” Gaius offered the only consolation he could.

Face crumpled in pain, Merlin merely nodded again and moved away. Right now he had no more tears to shed, but his eyes burned none-the-less. Merlin felt empty, aching, and dried up. Emotionally exhausted, Arthur’s rejection cut deep.

He settled down next to the fire, and served himself a bowl of the stew that he’d prepared earlier. The hot savoury food settled the grumbling in his stomach, but did little to mend his heart. How he wished that Arthur could see that he, Merlin, hadn’t changed at all. That he was the same person now as he’d been as he faithfully served his King, and before that, the Prince. Merlin hadn’t changed, just Arthur’s knowledge of him had changed.

And that new knowledge appeared to have altered everything. Lifting another mouthful, Merlin continued to muse on the situation. What good was being an all-powerful sorcerer if he was punished for it? What use were his gifts if his friend, his soul-brother, refused to accept him. Merlin couldn’t help who he was. There were many times that he’d thought that, given the choice, he would have chosen to be just another ordinary boy, clumsy and magic-less. But in his more honest moments, he acknowledged that he could no more be Merlin without his magic than he could without without his legs, or heart, or eyes. Magic was just who he was, and his experience with it through the years had shaped him into who he was today.

The wisdom and understanding that Arthur had occasionally commented on had been hard-won by Merlin as he was forced to make decisions that no person should ever have to: decisions on whether to interfere and save a life, or wait and watch somebody die. Decisions on when or whether to step out and risk his life in order to put into place events that would bring about a better future. Decisions on which advice to listen to, and which path to walk. Decisions to not allow the power he wielded to forge him into the twisted and tortured person he could see Morgana becoming. Decisions to sit back and watch friends and loved ones risk their life and well-being when he knew that he, himself, could resolve the situation with a few words.

And the most difficult decision of all: to trust Arthur with the truth of who Merlin was, hoping that his friend would be able to see him, Merlin, rather than just another evil magic-user.

‘Well, no matter who he thinks I am, I’m still Arthur’s servant, and I have a job to do. If he cannot accept my magic, at least he’ll have to accept my help and care over the next few days.’ Sighing once more, Merlin scrubbed out the used bowls, and settled himself onto his bed roll. Tomorrow would be another difficult day.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Morgana sat in her tumble-down castle, rage running through her. She called her captains into her presence , demanding to know where Arthur was. Fearful, and trembling, they reported that although they’d scoured the country-side near Camlann, they had not been able to locate him.
The youngest of them paid with his life for this unwelcome news.

“Emrys.” The name had become a curse word to Morgana, and her hatred continued to grow.

Mordred was settled in an upper chamber, under the care of some Druid healers. Although they may not agree with Morgana’s political choices, they would not leave an injured man to suffer. Mordred would recover, and the Priestess promised herself that Arthur would pay dearly for injuring the younger man, her friend.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

With a grunt of pain Arthur settled into his saddle, relying on Merlin’s wiry strength to keep him stable until he found his balance. It was so humiliating to be this dependent on another, specially him, Merlin! Who used magic! Arthur refused to look his servant in the eyes, preferring to ignore the man to help deal with the betrayal in his heart.

Merlin steadied his King until his feet found the stirrups, then moved towards his own horse. Arthur had yet to look at him with any other expression than the blankness which chilled Merlin’s heart. There was nothing he could do except wait.

Arthur paused a moment, before removing the Royal Seal he wore around his neck on a leather thong. “Give this to Guinevere.” At Gaius’ look of pain, Arthur continued “If I am to die, I can think of no-one I would rather succeed me.”

The old man’s face creased in understanding, and he grasped his King’s hand. It was a mark of enormous trust for Arthur to hand over the symbol of his power as King to him for safe keeping.

Watching, a part of Merlin concluded that it was also a way of ensuring that the Royal Seal did not fall into the hands of a magic-user. Not so long ago, it would have been him that Arthur trusted with the Seal. But, alas, no more. Shaking his head, Merlin watched with shadowed face, attempting to hide the enormous pain within.

His heart heavy for both the wounded knight and Merlin, his protégé, Gaius moved towards the dark-haired man.

“You know he was betrayed?” Merlin asked him. “The girl Eira cannot be trusted.” This was something else he’d learned in the Cave.

Nodding, Gaius agreed. “I know.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt.” Merlin could not abide the thought of somebody else he loved suffering. He was already at his limit.

Nodding, Gaius accepted the sentiment, and reminded Merlin that Arthur had little time left. “At best, two days.” Merlin turned again, only to be called back. “Merlin.”

The warlock was stunned by the magnitude of pain displayed on Gaius’ face. Beyond tears, the other man reached toward him, and enfolded him in a rare hug. All that could not be said aloud was said in the simple comfort of human contact. Merlin was heartened to know that here was one person who would never reject him.

“I’ll have your favourite meal waiting for you. Now go, look after him.” Merlin’s unspoken comment ‘I will, if only he’ll allow it’ echoed in the air as Gaius stepped back and watched quietly as Merlin moved to the heads of both horses and lead them away, taking the first steps of what would be a lonely journey.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Guinevere watched from her window over the courtyard as Gaius’ horse came to a stamping halt later that day. She raced down the stairs, unmindful of her dignity, as she greeted the old man. Gwaine stood at her side, offering what support he could.

“Gaius, tell me…”

Placing a hand on his Queen’s shoulder, Gaius looked into her brown eyes, and reassured her “He is alive. Merlin is caring for him.” He extended the Seal towards Gwen with a slight bow; “He wanted me to give you this, My Lady.”

Gwen’s heart sank as she recognised the Seal. Arthur would not part with this unless his recovery was uncertain.

“Where is he?”

“There is a place where he might be saved. Merlin is taking him there.”

Turning to Gwaine, she ordered “We must send the Knights. Ready as many men as you can.”

“No, My Lady.” Gaius interjected. “Morgana’s forces are still searching for Arthur. Two men travelling alone stand a much better chance of evading her. Especially if they don’t know where they are heading. You must trust Merlin.” Gaius’ direct look reminded Gwen of whom they were conversing. Nodding, Gwen acknowledged that if anybody could keep Arthur safe from Morgana it would be Merlin.

Bowing to the Queen and Sir Gwaine, Gaius moved off towards his chambers to rest.

Gwen turned, and thoughtfully moved back towards her own rooms. Disciplining herself to think, once more, as a Queen she began to consider ways in which she could give the two men what protection was possible. The only thing she may be able to offer them was time: could she lay out false information, and prevent or delay Morgana’s pursuit?

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Several hours later, after they had all eaten and rested Guinevere called Gaius to her once more, needing the wisdom and advice of the older man.

In their discussions that evening, Gaius revealed Merlin’s betrayal by Eira. He explained that Merlin had seen in the Crystal Cave as the blonde woman had reported to Morgana. This betrayal had directly led to his confrontation with the witch, causing Morgana to lock him underground in the Cave. Perhaps they could use the young woman once more to lay a false trail? Gwen, her heart heavy, sent for Sir Gwaine to attend her and the physician in her chambers. She had no wish to cause the loyal Knight pain, but the safety of their King and her husband may depend on it.

Several minutes later and Gwaine had joined his Queen and her advisor. They began, as gently as they could, to relate Eira’s perfidy. The Knight’s distress, as he realised that the woman he’d given his heart to was in Morgana’s service was difficult to watch. But, in the end, the stalwart man did what was needed, and left to deceive his lover. His only comfort was that she had first deceived him, but that did not make his task any easier.

It was with unaccustomed tears in his eyes that Gwaine spoke to Eira, and planted the false information they needed Morgana to follow. If he hadn’t known of her betrayal, he would not have been able to pick it from her reaction; her behaviour was flawless. She appeared as concerned, as loving and supportive as she had since Gwaine had rescued her from the raid in Stowell. Fortunately Gwaine was able to pass off his emotion as concern over the still-missing and gravely injured Arthur. Turning slowly, the devastated Knight readied himself for bed. Gwaine settled under the woven covers in his nightshirt, and held Eira to him for, perhaps, the last time. Feigning sleep he pretended not to notice as Eira moved softly to dress and then leave the room several hours later.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin & Arthur had ridden out of the forest, and now crossed undulating rich grass-land. Merlin had taken control of the journey and Arthur did little to argue the point, preoccupied as he was with the grinding pain radiating through his body.

It was strange to watch his suddenly-competent servant riding ahead of him, setting the pace and direction, making decisions without consulting his King. This was a side of Merlin he’d never seen before, not in all years since Uther had first made him manservant to the Prince as reward for saving his life nearly a decade ago. (1) Arthur snorted, sourly reflecting that no doubt Merlin had used magic then, too! ‘Just how many times has he used magic right under my nose, and I never saw it?’ Arthur didn’t know whether to be more angry at Merlin for the deception, or himself for not seeing it. How many different facets did this man actually have? Arthur sternly repressed the admiration that was beginning to develop in his breast. ‘No! Nobody with magic could be trusted. Not even Merlin!’ Repeating the mantra to himself, Arthur valiantly maintained his beliefs, even in the face of the evidence in front of him.

“Saxons.” The warning from Merlin caused Arthur to lift his head and look about. Two horses were cantering up the gentle slope towards them. Supressing a groan, Arthur swore quietly to himself. It was more than he was capable of to dismount his horse, let alone deal with enemy soldiers. Feeling helpless, and frustrated with it, Arthur halted his steed and watched silently, waiting to see what Merlin would do. Fleetingly, he wondered if the warlock had ever felt like this in the past: forced to sit idly by and watch as Arthur dealt with physical threats.

Merlin dismounted quickly, and grabbed a blanket he’d slung across his pack-saddle for just such an occasion. Flinging it around Arthur, he concealed his king. “Keep your head down,” he ordered. “I’ll deal with them. Don’t speak.” The terse words falling easily from his mouth, not really considering that he was giving orders to the King, and that Arthur was obeying him. A job needed to be done, and as always, Merlin volunteered himself fort the task, and took the action needed.

Arthur watched as Merlin rapidly scanned the area, before focusing on the section of forest off to one side. Merlin dipped his head in an odd little gesture, and a plume of smoke appeared in the distance, looking for all the world as if there was a poorly-tended campfire there: Merlin had just worked magic! Feeling more unsettled and useless by the second Arthur grasped the edges of the blanket and drew them close around him. At least he would not need to feign being ill; his posture in the saddle alone attested to his poor state of health.

Arthur watched, amused, as Merlin’s demeanour abruptly changed. Slightly hunched, and with a worried air, he hailed the approached soldiers.   “Help us! Please, you have to help us.”

The Saxons pulled their horses up, snorting, and both men dismounted, approaching on foot. The second man drew his sword, while the first took the point, focused on Merlin.
“Please, we were ambushed.” Merlin continued, almost sobbing in his feigned distress.

Arthur was astounded at his servant’s acting abilities. How many times had he accused Merlin of being an idiot, of being unable to think to save his life? And how often had Merlin claimed (and proven) to be a terrible liar. And yet here he was, totally convincing, taking on two armed enemy soldiers with nothing more than his voice and a hastily-cobbled together plot, acting as though his life depended on it. Which, Arthur mused, it did. And his own with it. This appeared to be yet another hidden facet of the mystery who was Merlin.

“By who?” the soldier demanded, answering Merlin’s question while warily looking around the area as though expecting attack.

Raising hands helplessly Merlin answered “These two men…”

“What did they look like?”

“Ahh, one was a knight.” Turning, Merlin ran his eyes over Arthur, checking that he was alright and that he was playing his part. Without batting an eye, he noted the pommel of Excalibur in plain sight beside Arthur’s right knee, and turned back to the Saxons. “They stormed our camp,” he gestured towards the smoke in the distance.

Turning, the two men followed Merlin’s arm, focusing on the forest. Quickly, Merlin danced over to Arthur’s horse, and tucked the blanket around the king’s sword, concealing it from view. Resting his hand on Arthur’s knee as though checking him, he then moved back towards the Saxon soldiers.

“You’re sure it was a Camelot Knight?” the first man questioned. He appeared suspicious.

“Yeah.” Merlin nodded vigorously, and continued his helpless and frightened act.

The man placed his hand on Merlin’s chest, pushing him backwards as he advanced. Still trying to avoid confrontation Merlin gave ground as the man approached their horses. Reaching Arthur the soldier quickly reached out and grasped the edge of the blanket enshrouding him, whipping it back. The Saxon hissed in a breath as he identified the famous blade that he’d caught a glimpse of earlier. Suppressing a grunt of pain and frustration Arthur waited to see what Merlin’s next move would be. It appeared their ruse had been detected.

Both soldiers stepped back and drew their blades, preparing to attack: they’d found the enemy their female Commander had been searching for since the Battle ended. Morgana would be sure to reward them, and they looked forward to delivering their two captives.

Realising abruptly that his attempt at subterfuge had failed, Merlin flung out both hands towards his enemies, dropping his subservient mien as he did so. No word or incantation was spoken, but with an enormous blast of power Merlin lifted the two full-grown and armed soldiers effortlessly off their feet. Both men shouted in shock as they were propelled bodily through the air several feet, to crash with great force upon the ground, laying unmoving and unconscious. It was all Arthur could do to steady his horse as the animal reacted to the sudden noise and movement. The Saxon’s mounts turned and galloped off, leaving their riders injured and without transport.

Arthur watched in amazement and shock at this casual demonstration of the power Merlin wielded. “You’ve lied to me all this time.” The accusing tone was more than the warlock could bear.

Merlin closed his eyes in pain, and turned to face his king. He really hated using his magic this way, regretting also that the first powerful magic Arthur watched him perform was violent, intended to cause harm to others, even though he had not killed with it. Merlin lowered his head in defeat, and decided not to answer to defend his necessary actions, nor to comment that he’d only done it to protect Arthur. Heart aching, Merlin turned to mount his horse again. They needed to move on as quickly as possible.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Series one, episode one ‘The Dragon’s Call’

Chapter Text

Dialogue taken from Diamond of the Day Part Two

Several hours later found Merlin and Arthur continuing on their journey. Merlin was in the front, and had taken Arthur’s mount’s reins in hand. The King was too exhausted to manage more than remaining in his saddle: unable to think clearly enough or move strongly enough to guide his horse. He’d dropped the reins on his horse’s neck, relying on its instinct to follow the animal in front. Merlin had noted his friend’s mount falling behind, and had circled back. He noted Arthur’s posture; leaning forward on his horse’s neck, and the slack reins. Without saying a word, he’d reach over and grasped the leathers, pulling them gently forward. Directing his own horse with body and one hand, he’d moved off, chucking to Arthur’s horse and guiding it along.

It would be an hour before dusk began to fall, and he wanted to find a more secure spot before they stopped for the night. This time of year the nights were long, and they would need to push on for as long as they could to make as much distance as possible. Merlin had no intention of allowing Arthur to die if they fell short of their goal. ‘I will see him healed!’ he vowed silently. He did not even dare to entertain the thought that he might fail. Arthur would live. He must live, even if he, Merlin were to be banished afterwards. ‘Banishment would be the kindest I can expect: more likely it will be a pyre in the courtyard to ‘purify me of the magic’ the young warlock mused, remembering back to the time he was convicted by the Witch-Finer Uther had hired. (1) Then there’d been the time he’d nearly been tethered to the stake, with the torches about to set fire to the kindling which would consume his body in agony. Shuddering, Merlin recalled the no-win situation of being being unable to free himself as Dragoon without putting Guinevere in danger. Unless he’d wanted to witness his friend’s agony and live with her death, he himself would need to die. Much preffering the second option, he had allowined himself to be helplessly led towards the pyre. (2) Even knowing that the choice was his, he could recall the terror running through his body. At that time he had been unable to transport himself bodily.

Even though he’d understood, since his first day in Camelot, that the punishment for being a magic-user was death, nothing had prepared him for the actuality of being imprisoned in the dungeon, knowing they were building a platform surrounded by wood on which he would be burned the next day. The nightmare of being wrestled towards that pyre in front of the whole of Camelot was not something he was likely to ever forget.

With banishment from Camelot the best he could expect, and an agonising fiery death the worst, Merlin vowed that he would leave Arthur before he allowed that to happen. With his new powers he would still be able to protect Albion through scrying the King, although this would not be his first choice. It would be hard to be one side of a coin, a soul-brother if he were many miles away, but it seemed that there was little choice.

Sighing, Merlin urged his horse onward with his legs, asking the beast to keep going for a while yet: they must cover as much ground as possible.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Two hours later, and Merlin was relying on his mount’s night-vision to keep them from logs and holes as he searched for a resting-place. It was not quite full dark, but night was approaching. Spying the beginning of a forest ahead, Merlin urged both horses towards it. They would be able to hide here, at least.

Finding a leaf-strewn patch of ground, surrounded by a circle of trees, Merlin stopped and dismounted stiffly. Commanding the horses to stand in the Old Tongue under his breath, he turned to assist Arthur. It wasn’t so much a matter of lifting Arthur from the horse’s back, as controlling his fall. Finally having settled the king against a tree, Merlin turned to make camp. Without magic he sighed to himself, since Arthur responded so negatively to the reminder of what Merlin was capable of.

Bustling around, Merlin collected dead-fall and twigs, and piled them to make a fire. Grasping his flint and iron, he set about trying to create a spark to ignite the fire. Chick, chick chick, went the flint, creating small, useless sparks of light. Merlin was entirely unused to starting a fire by this mundane method, and his lack of practice showed. Moving his head away from the fumes in disgust and frustration, Merlin persisted for Arthur’s sake.

Watching, irritated and helpless, from his tree several feet away, Arthur finally commented; “Why don’t you use magic?”

Not looking toward the pale-faced sweating man, Merlin answered listlessly “Habit, I suppose,” before flicking a gaze over his right shoulder. Arthur caught his gaze, silently daring him, and gestured towards the pile of wood.

Merlin breathed deep, and without word or gesture, bright flames danced upwards filling the clearing with flickering light and beginning to warm them. Subdued and uncomfortable, Merlin remarked “It feels strange.”

“Yeah.” Arthur grunted a response. He found that he couldn’t lift his eyes from the fire: it didn’t look like a magical fire, in fact it looked just the same as any of the other thousands of campfires he’d seen, even though the flames had been conjured from thin air. It made him wonder how many times previously Merlin had used magic to light their camp-fires if it was done so silently and effortlessly. If he hadn’t been watching clearly, he knew that Merlin needed only to time the sudden kindling of the flames with a strike of the flint to camouflage the sorcery. Just how often had Merlin worked magic in front of him, and Arthur’d been too blind to see it?

Merlin moved towards the packs, looking for dried meat, grain, and a pot to make a quick travelling broth, feeling Arthur’s gaze burning into his back.

“I thought I knew you.” The blonde commented, almost conversationally.

Merlin stood, holding the blanket which had been packed over the cooking supplies. ‘So, we’re finally going to discuss this.’ And, taking the opportunity, he answered “I’m still the same person,” while unrolling the blanket on a bed of leaves.

“I trusted you.” Arthur commented in that awful flat tone he’d used since last evening, the tone that chilled Merlin’s blood, filled with repressed anger as it was.

Looking up and seeing the pain and confusion in his friend’s face, Merlin offered the only words he could think of; “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too” Arthur’s voice was filled with defeat, mourning the loss of brotherhood, the creation of a breach that would never be healed. He felt as if he’d lost part of himself.
Heavily, Merlin stood and moved towards Arthur’s feet, beginning to remove the sodden boots. There was no way that Arthur could tend to the simplest thing, injured as he was, and Merlin, the loyal servant, did as he always had and cared for his master.

Feebly, Arthur tried to move his leg from Merlin’s grasp, “What are you doing?” he asked peevishly.

Assuming a matter-of-fact attitude, Merlin answered “They need drying,” and continued with his task, setting the boots beside the fire. Standing he moved to retrieve the cooking pot, and begin the broth. Arthur watched, brows furrowed, as Merlin bustled about, no different from any other journey with the two of them camped out on some quest or other. Such a familiar routine, and yet so different now.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

From a tower in Camelot, a rook winged its way through the sky, a message tied to its foot.

Sir Gwaine, watching from the shadows, stepped forward and challenged his lover.

Startled, the girl whirled to face the Knight; “I…I was just…”

“Sending word to Morgana.” Guinevere also stepped into view, her face hard with anger.

“No! Milady, I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t betray you or the King.”

Coolly Guinevere replied “And you didn’t. You can go to your death safe in that knowledge.” The harsh words sounded foreign, coming from lips that had always before spoken with compassion. “Your note will send Morgana to Brynefydd, and all the while the King will be travelling in the opposite direction.”

Eira was taken, crying and appealing to Gwaine, to the dungeons.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur rested as best he could, on his blanket which was laid on a shallow trench filled with bracken and leaves. In between tending the fire, making the broth, and seeing to the horses, Merlin had set up camp. In addition he’d gone foraging for herbs, and brewed some sort of potion. Sweat beaded Arthur’s brow, as he squirmed to try and get more comfortable, each movement increasing the fire in his side. Strangely, the pain seemed to be higher now than it had initially, almost as if the wound was ‘growing’; pain now consumed most of his chest, interfering with his breathing. Dismissing the thought, Arthur grunted, trying to avoid alerting Merlin to his difficulties.

Merlin, meanwhile, had finished the broth. He’d been concerned for some time now with dehydration adding to Arthur’s injuries. He knew the man would not tolerate solid food, but by creating a soup out of dried meat, with grains added, he hoped to get some nutrition into the King, as well as fluids. He planned to feed Arthur small amounts frequently in order to keep him alive until they arrived at Avalon. His trained physician’s eye revealed how much the king was failing, and how much the chronic severe pain was sapping his strength. Merlin’s managed to forage a few herbs which he’d brewed into a pain relieving potion. Because of Arthur’s internal bleeding, he’d been careful to steer away from Willow Bark and focused on whatever he was able to scavenge, which wasn’t much.

Fretting, Merlin considered every way possible to achieve their journey quickly and more comfortably. Calling Kilgarrah came instantly to mind: he knew the Great Dragon could carry both men across the land in a few hours. But the last time he’d spoken to Kilgarrah, the dragon had revealed that he was close to death. Merlin had noted the stiffness to Kilgarrah’s wing-joints, and his unbalanced and painful flight and knew that the dragon only spoke the truth. Besides, he didn’t think Arthur would cope well with seeing again the large beast he was convinced he’d killed all those years ago.

Magical teleportation was only safe for those who wielded magic, so that method was also out.

The only other methods remains were on foot or horseback. Sighing, Merlin scooped out a portion of the broth, and set it aside. He then removed the finished potion from the fire, and placed it on a flat stone prepared earlier. He would see how Arthur stomached the broth first, before offering the medication.

Moving towards the injured man who’s eyes remained stubbornly closed, Merlin squatted down balancing the broth on one knee. Cradling his king’s head in one hand, he offered a spoonful of the liquid, telling Arthur as he did do “This’ll be good for you.” There was no response. “You need to eat!”

Arthur opened his eyes, and rolled his head towards Merlin, a peevish & angry expression on his face. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “Why are you still behaving like a servant?” ‘It would be so much easier to hate you if you weren’t.’ Merlin’s actions continued to confound the king: they were completely foreign to what his concept of a Sorcerer was.

Merlin refused to rise to the bait: he had a job that needed doing, and he would accomplish it. Placing the bowl down, he decided to take the opportunity of Arthur’s lucidity to continue their conversation.

He leaned forward and looked into Arthur’s face with an expression of acceptance, and yes, almost of joy: “It’s my destiny,” Was the simple answer.

Merlin paused then continued on, a light filling his expression “As it has been, ever since the day we met.”

Remembering fondly, despite himself, Arthur reminisced “I tried to take your head off with a mace.” Something of their usual banter was beginning to emerge, and Merlin found it comforting in its very normality.

Smiling slightly Merlin jauntily replied “And I stopped you. Using magic.”

Eyes opening wide in feigned offence, Arthur challenged “You cheated!”

Grinning openly, Merlin huffed out a laugh “You were going to kill me.”

Glaring as best he could, Arthur replied “I should have.”

Abruptly Merlin sobered at this reminder of how precarious his position currently was. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he offered.

Unsure where to go next, Arthur sighed, eyes dropping away from Merlin’s.

The servant leaned close, manner suddenly deadly serious, and all joking finished. “I do this because of who you are.” Blue eyes met blue in an intense moment of connection between the two men. “Without you, Camelot’s nothing,” Merlin continued.

Pressing his lips together Arthur replied “There was a time when that was true. Not anymore. There are many who can fill the Crown.” Once more Arthur’s thoughts drifted towards Guinevere, and his heart ached for her. He felt her absence so deeply.

Smiling gently and shaking his head Merlin contradicted “There’ll never be another like you, Arthur.” Unexpectedly grateful for his servant’s support, Arthur smiled. In this moment Merlin was just Merlin; gawky, caring, and unexpectedly wise. He was not a strange being, or an all-powerful enchanter. He was the other half of himself, his soul-brother with whom he’d faced innumerable dangers, and whose absence caused him to feel somehow unfinished. If he’d been capable of movement, Arthur knew he’d have clouted Merlin affectionately on the back, or laid an arm along his shoulders.

Overcome with emotion, Merlin looked away, needing something mundane to focus on. Lifting the bowl of broth, he placed it back on his knee and filled the spoon again, cradling Arthur’s head with his other hand.

Wanting to continue this rare moment of honesty and connection he added “I also do this because you’re my friend. And I don’t want to lose you.” Tears threatened once more as Arthur obediently accepted and swallowed the broth. Spoon by spoon, the level in the bowl lowered until Merlin judged the king’d had enough. Waiting a half hour while he ate himself, Merlin then dosed Arthur with the potion he’d brewed. He was waiting for Arthur to slip into sleep so that he could magically probe and heal him once more.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Morgana smiled in satisfaction as she retrieved a message from a Crow’s leg. Eira’s note told her exactly where Merlin and Arthur were headed. She would now be able to avenge Mordred’s wounding

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Gwaine watched in agony as the woman he loved was led to the gibbet. This would be the first time that Guinevere, as Queen, had executed somebody. He knew that Eira’s betrayal deserved this punishment, but his heart ached just the same.

Percival stood, stalwart as always, beside his friend. There was nothing he could do to lessen the anguish Gwaine felt, but he stood, nonetheless, and heard the soft ‘thunk’ as the noose took the full weight of a falling human body.

Turning to Percival, heart full of anger and yearning for revenge, Gwaine suggested they meet Morgana on the false path they had sent her, and finish her once and for all.
A short time later, two mounted Knights left the castle at a gallop, heading towards Brynefydd.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur was deeply asleep, and Merlin settled himself comfortably cross-legged beside his friend. The potion should keep the man unconscious for some time, giving him a window in which to work.

Drawing a breath he centred himself and connected with the life-force surrounding him, immersing himself in the living power of the forest. Merlin smiled, rejoicing in the current of power that ran through his body, entering him from the ground below, the air he breathed, and the sky above. He allowed the flow to fill him, cleansing and strengthening, humming along his veins and causing muscles to twitch and his eyes to blaze with energy. Laughing, exulting in the sensation, he relaxed into it taking this time for renewal of himself. He was Emrys, yes, and he was magic, but he was also a young man, hurting and alone, and he desperately needed this respite.

Some time later, Merlin emerged from the river of power running through him, becoming once more aware that he was a man, sitting on the ground beside his gravely-wounded friend. He focused on Arthur’s body, seeing where the injury was.

Extending his hands over Arthur’s body, Emrys directed some of the energy within him towards the other man. His aim was to reduce the swelling and inflammation, and repair the ragged path torn by the sword fragment’s continued migration upwards towards Arthur’s heart. The fragment had damaged lung and connective tissue on its journey, causing massive damage. There was no way he could remove the fragment or halt its movement, but he could at least heal what it had done. Re-directing fluid from within the damaged lungs Merlin eased Arthur’s breathing, and boosted boosted circulation where he could. Blood loss had continued, but was slowed compared to the initial stabbing injury.
Finally satisfied that he’d done what he could, Merlin withdrew. Although unable to heal Arthur, he’d at least done his best to ensure he would survive another day.

(1) Series Two, Episode Seven ‘The Witchfinder’
(2) Series Three, Episode Ten ‘Queen of Hearts’

Chapter Text

Early morning and the two friends were awake. Arthur was feeling well-rested but still racked with pain. His chest pained him profoundly: an aching, wrenching pain, deep inside. He was unaware that without Merlin’s much-despised magical intervention he would already be dead, but he was fully aware of the seriousness of his condition.

Once again Merlin squatted to feed the King what broth he could tolerate, intent on providing him with energy enough for another day in the saddle. His boots had dried well over night, and Merlin gently coaxed Arthur’s feet into them.

“Merlin!” the king grumbled, barely above a growl.

“What?”

“My boots: They’ve shrunk overnight. They’re squashing my feet.” There wasn’t much force behind the complaint, and Arthur was unable to hold his head upright for long, but the familiar tone brought relief to the sorcerer. Merlin began to think that perhaps he might have gained back a little ground with Arthur after their talk last evening.

Ducking his head down, Merlin muttered “Prat!” as he finished the task, then moved to pack the saddle-bags.

“Oy! I heard that!” Arthur retorted feebly.

“And you were meant to!” was the reply. Grinning, Merlin returned to prop Arthur up on a log then continued with breaking camp. By now being aware of Arthur’s condition at all times had become second nature, and Merlin wasn’t even conscious of how often he cast his gaze over the other man, assessing him rapidly from a distance.

Arthur found the whole situation galling; it wasn’t right that Merlin should be the one in charge, the sure one making decisions. ‘That Merlin should be stronger than me,’ The king groused silently, then snorted when he acknowledged the irony of that thought: ‘Merlin has always been stronger than me. In many ways.’ Arthur vowed never to disclose this revelation to his servant, not wanting to risk inflating the other’s ego. Wryly, he then admitted to himself ‘Although, the way I’m feeling right now, there may not be much time left to inflate or deflate his ego.’ The knight had watched enough men die from battle-wounds to know that he was closer to death than life right now.

Glancing back towards the log, Merlin was in time to watch Arthur suddenly sag forwards, head going towards his knees.

“Arthur!” he called out, jogging over and grasping the man’s arm to pull him upright again. Examining the man’s face, he was appalled to see the sheen of sweat and the pale greyish colour. Arthur was in the early stages of shock, and that was decidedly not good. Encouraging the other man he continued, commanding Arthur “You need to hold on. One more day!” He wiped Arthur’s face, removing the sour sweat of malaise. At the same time his other hand surreptitiously rested on Arthur’s neck counting his pulse. The man’s heart was racing, but still beating strongly. The time to worry would come when the heart beat lightly and fast as shock worsened. Calculating, Merlin decided that there was yet time to take Arthur to Avalon, but there must be no interruptions along the way.

The blank look on Arthur’s face concerned Merlin, and he reached for the water-skin behind him.

“Why did you never tell me?” Arthur questioned, suddenly and, surprisingly, without malice.

Not pretending to mis-understand, Merlin held his friend steady and looked him in the eyes. “I wanted to, but…” his words faded away.

“Why?” prompted Arthur, swaying in place.

Wryly, Merlin answered rapidly “You’d have chopped my head off!”

Arthur nodded, acknowledging that Merlin had a valid point, and accepted the mouthful of water offered him, dribbling a little as he did so. Having just spent some time considering this very question, he answered honestly “I’m not sure what I’d have done.”

Merlin nodded: Arthur had just made his other point for the ongoing deception practiced: “And I didn’t want to put you in that position.” With that short statement, Merlin displayed a profound understanding of Arthur’s character: that the King needed to be certain about every decision he made or he would not be able to rule with the strength, honestly and conviction he had always wielded. To be divided inside about such a fundamental issue would have threatened Arthur’s internal stability. So, to save the dilemma, Merlin had removed this potential stumbling block from Arthur’s shoulders, and taken it onto his own.

Raising his head once more, Arthur held his servant’s eyes, trying to fathom the man’s reasoning. “And that’s what worried you? Not the threat of death, not the fear of pain or condemnation or shame, but the worry that I would be put in a difficult position?”

Merlin simply nodded and continued “Some men are born to plow fields. Some live to be great Physicians. Others” with a gentle look at Arthur “to be great kings. Me.” He looked down, then back, honesty and acceptance almost beyond bearing in his expression. “I was born to serve you, Arthur. And I’m proud of that. And I wouldn’t change a thing.” Utter conviction was in Merlin’s tone and voice. There was no doubting that he meant every word.

Arthur stared, humbled and incredulous at the same time. Never, in all the time he’d been a knight, nor in any of the battles into which he’d led men knowing some would die had he ever encountered such loyalty and passion so quietly and earnestly expressed. And that it was Merlin, clumsy, idiotic, Merlin who could hold such depth of emotion and such conviction inside, hidden all this time, truly astounded Arthur. Where had such faith come from? How had he, a mortal man, earned it? Arthur thought, with shame, of the offhand and belittling way he had often treated Merlin in the past. How had the other man borne it, knowing what he sacrificed every single day, and rather than receiving praise for his actions, received only condemnation?

There was no reply Arthur could make; no words to speak in the face of such sentiment.

Reading his King perfectly and understanding where Arthur’s thoughts had gone without need of a single word, Merlin gently broke the mood, redirecting with an: “You ready?” He placed Arthur’s arm around his shoulder lifting him bodily from the log, and supported him to the waiting horses.

Nodding, Arthur co-operated, grunting in pain as he was moved: what else was there for him to do but to travel forward, and place his trust, his entire life, in Merlin’s hands?

Goodness only knew how often his life had already rested in that gentle but sure grasp in the past, and had been entirely safe.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Rain was falling, saturating the earth beneath her boots. The mud clung to Morgana’s hem, dragging against her legs as she moved along the path. She had a small party of her men with her for protection. Although, laughing, she knew there was little danger that could come against her that she was unable to overcome with ease. Being an all-powerful High Priestess did have its uses after all.

All-powerful? Emrys seemed to be incredibly powerful, especially of late. How had he escaped from the Cave? With his magic gone, he should have remained there until he died, then rotted away, his remains desiccated underground for centuries.’ The riddle that was Merlin took more of Morgana’s thoughts and energy than she wished. Her fear of him was now even greater than when she’d first been warned that he was ‘both her destiny and her doom’ (1) She was wary of the Sorcerer, but also determined to rid the world of both him and Arthur.

Watching from a tree above, Gwaine nudged Percival, indicating that their quarry was close. They might be mad, going against a Sorceress, but this did not hinder the brave Knights from seeking justice in ridding the land of this abomination clad in a woman’s form. They watched as Morgana sent her party ahead to give warning of Arthur’s supposed approach. It was a simple task for the two experienced and battle-hardy men to silently dispatch the enemy soldiers, leaving them only the Witch to deal with.

Gwaine moved behind the once-princess, challenging her with his presence. She turned, smiling a malicious expression as she contemplated how she would make this man suffer for his presumption. Sir Percival grasped this moment to leap from above, catching Morgana in his arm and driving his sword into her belly.

Both men felt no joy but much satisfaction at the cry of pain the Witch released into the damp air. The next moment both men were blasted backwards to land on the wet leaves of the forest floor: Morgana may be injured, but she was by no means helpless.

Smiling in satisfaction the Witch addressed the fallen Knights: “Did you really think you could outwit me?”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin, once more in his now-familiar position in the lead, raised his hand, signalling Arthur to come to a halt at the same time bringing his own steed to a stand-still. His senses, acute after spending so much time with Arthur hunting, had detected the smoke of a nearby campfire.

“Saxons?” Arthur inquired. The word was becoming a frequent and familiar one between the two men. He then watched from behind as Merlin dipped his head in that odd little gesture which indicated magic had been used, and waited for his manservant to answer him.

Shaking his head, Merlin replied with certainty “They’re long gone.”

Unsettled by the Warlock’s absolute certainty, Arthur dared ask the question “How do you know?”

Glancing back, Merlin answered matter-of-factly “I can see the path ahead.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur suddenly understood how Merlin had lead them out of danger time and again in the past, purportedly relying on nothing more than instinct. ‘Instinct my arse! The bugger could always see what was ahead, and choose the best path. How well he has hidden this particular skill!’

Unsure whether to be impressed or exasperated, Arthur stated “So you’re not an idiot. That was another lie.”

Deciding to let this one slide, Merlin defused the situation, grinning, and answered “No! It’s just another part of my charm!” He smiled his goofy smile, controlling his horse as it  moved restlessly beneath him with little thought or effort. Now was not the time to go into the various ways in which he had deceived his friend and King over the years.

Nodding, and accepting the salve to his pride, Arthur urged his own horse forward to follow Merlin’s as they moved off.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Coughing, Gwaine came awake. He looked about, confused, trying to ascertain where he was, and why he could hardly move. He was sitting on the sodden ground, water seeping through his chain-mail into his drawers, both hands tied to posts set deep into the soil. Morgana’s unwelcome voice sounded a question: “Tell me where the King is?”

Looking his captor in the face Gwaine answered forthrightly “I’d rather die.” He spoke little more than the truth. The betrayal he’d suffered at Eira’s hands, or, rather, voice, left him feeling as though he must redeem himself somehow. If that redemption came at the price of his life, then so be it.

Morgana answered, the lack of emotion on her face making her words even more chilling: “You shall have your wish. Once you have told me.”

Unbidden, Gwaine’s thoughts flew back to the time he’d been held in the dungeons for Morgana’s sport, forced to fight for food to survive. (2) He had experience of Morgana’s brutality, and held no hope for his survival. His only hope lay in the fact that he might not betray his King.

Morgana continued on: “Not even you, Sir Knight, can resist the charms of the Nathair.” Cold sweat broke out along Gwaine’s body. He remembered what Sir Elyan had relayed about this particular method of torture. (3) Shuddering, Gwaine watched as a midnight-black head appeared in the box Morgana held when she lifted the lid. The brave Knight trembled once more as Morgana, with sibilant words, commanded the serpent to move toward the captive.

Utter terror began to shut down his brain, and Gwaine focused on one thought only: “I must not betray Arthur. I must not betray Arthur. I must not betray Arthur! I MUST NOT BETRAY ARTHUR!” After that, thought became somewhat disjointed, and he was conscious only of the fact that he was screaming.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Percival woke to pain in his arms and shoulders. Closing his eyes, he took stock of where and what he was: a man, hanging suspended by his arms. Lifting his head to survey his surroundings he noted that first he was alone. Second, his wrists were tied to two trees, and he was spayed open, fixed by stout ropes to two young trees. His feet dangled many feet above the forest floor. Either he had been placed here by several strong men, or sorcery was to blame for his predicament. Grunting, Percival acknowledged magic was the more likely.

He was in the process of tugging on his bonds, testing their strength when his ears were assaulted with the sound of human suffering. Focusing on the atrocious noise, Percival recognised Gwaine’s voice, corrupted almost beyond recognition by suffering.

Drawing a breath to set his diaphragm, Sir Percival, strongest of the Knights of Camelot, looped his hands around the ropes and pulled, applying pressure. Initially there was no loosening of his bonds, only an intolerable pain across his chest, and in hands where the rough bonds scoured his flesh. Hearing once more his friend’s anguish, Percival bellowed aloud with the incredible effort, eyes p popping and straining every muscle as he fought.

First one, then the other hand was released, and the Knight found himself face down on the damp leaf litter, arms aching, and voice raw. Which gave the experienced tracker a wonderful view of Morgana’s trail, left as she returned to the imprisoned Gwaine in order to pursue her favourite occupation: delivering pain.

It did not take Percival long to work his way towards Gwaine: the other Knight sat, leaning forward against his bonds with head bowed. Percival dropped to his knees, raising Gwaine’s head with the tenderness displayed between brothers who’d faced death together many times. There was no shame, no need to hide feelings. Both men had experienced the depths of suffering that only seasoned warriors could, and had no qualms about baring their inmost feelings to the other.

Noble Gwaine’s tormented gaze rested on his friend’s face, and he gasped out his vital message: “She’s riding for Avalon.”

Tortured face reflecting the agony of watching his friend’s pain, Percival comforted as best he could. “Gwaine…” he whispered.

“I failed…” the dark knight lamented.

“No! You haven’t. Gwaine….” Percival watched, powerless, as his friend and brother shuddered once more, and, without a tear shed, departed his damaged body forever, closing his eyes in relief as he did so. That such a man should come to such an end was more than Percival could support. His blue eyes filled with tears and he bent his head forwards, brow meeting brow, in the last gesture of comfort he could offer.

“Gwaine…” a final whisper was heard, shuddering from the mighty Percival’s lips as he mourned his lost comrade alone in the forest and the gentle rain fell from above. Sobs grew slowly, and Percival’s great shoulders heaved in anguish. His friend had begun a journey on which he could not follow. His one duty now was to return Gwaine’s body to Camelot for burial.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Series Four Episode One ‘The Darkest Hour Part One.’
(2) Series Four, Episode Thirteen ‘The Sword in the Stone Part Two’
(3) Series Four, Episode Thirteen ‘The Sword in the Stone Part One’

Chapter Text

Riding ahead of Arthur through the sparse forest, Merlin’s sharp ears caught the sound of shouting. Having just passed an abandoned fire a few hours before he feared they may have come up on the Saxons who’d left it. He threw up his hand, signalling Arthur to stop, reining back his horse at the same time.

Pre-occupied with just remaining in the saddle Arthur was oblivious to the human sounds. His heavier horse, bred to carry a knight in full armour, halted just after Merlin’s lighter animal stopped. Wearily watching his servant, Arthur waited for Merlin’s next move.

Abruptly nudging his horse with one foot and bringing the reins around, Merlin headed into a thicker copse of young trees and bushes “In there,” he commanded. Arthur followed, observing offhandedly that Merlin showed more skill on a horse now than he ever had in the past. Considering all the time the two men spent on one quest or another, the King had always been privately amused at his servant’s lack of horsemanship. It seemed that this, too, had been an act designed to draw attention away from any competence Merlin may have in any arena. Being known at the fool, the clown who could always be relied on for a laugh had certainly been effective camouflage!

The two men concealed themselves just in time; they watched a small company of mounted soldiers canter past them heading towards the very place they’d just left the trail. Merlin held his horse still, urging the animal not to fidget as he raised himself in the stirrups to gain a better view. Examining the trail, he saw that his and Arthur’s trail was clearly marked with the prints of two shod horses. It would not take a genius to follow the hoof-marks to their current hiding-place. Glancing quickly about he whispered under his breath, causing a flurry of fallen leaves to tumble across the earth, settling quickly over the tell-tale spoor. Several seconds later the lead horseman cantered into view, obviously looking for clues of the two men’s presence. A flash of Merlin’s eyes and the bushes across the way moved and rustled, followed immediately after by a stand further away again, creating the impression of a large animal moving away through the forest. Calling in triumph, the Commander signalled to his company to follow him, and the party headed off into the trees, away from their quarry.

Arthur watched, bemused, at the subtle but effective methods Merlin had employed to derail the search party. Fixing his eyes upon the warlock he commented dryly “You’ve done this before.” Merlin momentarily looked back at Arthur, face expressionless, before turning once more to check that the last of the soldiers were indeed following the false path.

“All these years, Merlin.” Arthur shook his head, “And you never once sought any credit.” The statement was made flatly, but with a sense of mockery and wonder, as if such behaviour were totally outside the King’s experience. And perhaps it was: All his life Arthur had been forced to use his every action and decision, indeed, almost every moment of existence, to prove to his father, his people, and more importantly to himself that he could be The Man, The Leader, The King that was required. Every instant he had spent measuring himself, evaluating whether he had reached the standard set before him; assessing whether he had proven loyal enough, brave enough and skilled enough to fill the role that had been prepared for him before he was even born.

In a flash of insight, Arthur saw that one of the major reasons he’d enjoyed his connection and friendship with Merlin to such a degree was that the younger man had never put any of these expectations on him. Merlin’d accepted Arthur for who he was, good and bad, and stood by him all the way. Not that he’d ever condoned Arthur’s poorer choices or behaviour; no, he’d stood toe to toe with the Royal and challenged him when needed, but without losing one iota of the respect in which he’d held his master, and without belittling him in the eyes of the public or himself. Only with Merlin had Arthur ever been able to be just a man: an ordinary, flawed youth, struggling to make his mark on the world into which he’d been flung. The dark-haired servant had shown no compunction about treating Arthur with the same easy friendship he offered everybody, and was happy to knock the Royal down a peg or two when he required it.

Only with Merlin had Arthur ever experienced true acceptance and friendship. And only now did he recognise the incredible sacrifices Merlin had made over the years to preserve this unique and special relationship.

Nausea rising within, both from his wound and the roiling emotions within, Arthur saw that by rejecting Merlin’s gifts and his core identity at the same time, that he’d thrown all this in jeopardy. By reacting guided by the tenets he’d been taught as a babe Arthur had effectively hurled back into the man’s face all the loyalty, the selfless service, and the unmatched bravery so freely offered.

Arthur finally, sickeningly, fully realised the magnitude of what Merlin had risked by confessing himself a Sorcerer, and why he’d waited so long to do so.

Arthur could now see that Merlin was, indeed, the strongest and bravest man he’d ever known. Not fear of death, not fear of rejection, not public opinion, nor even the esteem of the person he’d most valued in the world had ever stood in Merlin’s way. These considerations had never stopped the Warlock doing what he thought was right and good.
There were not many men in the world who could say the same, and Arthur acknowledged, in all honesty and in humility, that he, himself, was not one of them.
Before him stood a man unlike any other, and a far nobler one than King Uther’s Royal-born son. This irony was not lost on Arthur, wielder of mighty Excalibur; that a base-born bastard should outshine in character and purpose a Royal King and Knight.

Inwardly chuckling at this incongruity Arthur continued to study his friend. For, despite all, Merlin was still his friend, and had just proven it once more. There were so very many facets to this rough diamond of a man that Arthur literally found himself blinded and gasping. There truly was, and never could be, any person like Merlin, not only because of the power he wielded, but because of the character within, which could never be corrupted.

Merlin the Multi-Faceted looked back at his monarch, continuing the conversation Arthur had begun a lifetime ago. “That’s not why I do it,” his quiet controlled voice filled the silence with certainty, and the blue eyes held Arthur’s own with a gaze that was painful to the King. ‘No, you do nothing for reward or self-aggrandizement do you Merlin?’ Arthur commented silently.

Smiling slightly Merlin chucked to his horse, and moved off, “Come on,” he urged his Liege, and led them both towards the next stage of their journey.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Daylight was waning into dusk, and Arthur was exhausted. Reeling in his saddle both from the pain of a piece of metal hewing its way through flesh and bone, as well as the pain of recent revelations, he was reeling in the saddle. Dropping the reins, Arthur locked both his hands in his Charger’s mane, clinging tightly. Another man, perhaps not so used to long days on horseback, would have fallen many hours ago.

Each time a hoof thudded into the soft turf below him Arthur felt shock reverberate along his body. Soon there was nothing in his world other than the rhythmic ‘thud thud, thud thud’ of his horse’s ceaseless walk. Arthur’s entire existence narrowed to one fact alone: “I must not fall off, I must hold on; I must not fall off, I must hold on.” The refrain echoed in time to the animal’s stride and his own racing heart was a counterpoint in tempo.

Looking back to check on Arthur, Merlin was immediately struck by the man’s poor condition. Shock was advancing, and quickly. Flinging himself to the ground, he raced back to Arthur and pushed him gently upright. Semi-conscious, Arthur whispered “I can’t go on.”

Panicked, Merlin tried not to further distress the man, stating “But there’s not far to go” ‘No! You can’t give in now! Please no!’ The pained words, although unspoken, were loud in both their ears. “We need to reach the lake before dawn.” Merlin was almost pleading.

Shaking his head, Arthur breathed “No. Merlin, no,” on a whisper of sound. Knowing that he was far beyond his tolerance, Arthur was preparing to accept death. It was only for the sake of his faithful friend that he’d steeled himself to hold on for this long.

Acknowledging that his King could honestly go no further, Merlin nodded, still holding the other man in the saddle. Eyes red-rimmed he answered “All right. We rest for an hour.”

Arthur knew in his heart that an hour would be nowhere near long enough: he could feel death’s heaviness dragging at his limbs. Nevertheless, the Knight drew yet another breath into labouring lungs and flopped his head forward in a half nod, acquiescing to the short rest. If he got off his horse now Arthur knew he’d never get back on, and their journey would end here in this lonely and secluded place: He would never again see brave Camelot glinting white in the sun with her banners cracking bravely in the breeze. He would never again hold sweet Guinevere in his arms and feel her heart beat against his own. He was not destined to have one more chance to inhale her sweet, spicy scent, and to tell her that he loved her more than life itself. He would not be granted the privilege to tell her goodbye. He would never look into the eyes of a child and see both himself and his lover there looking back at him in trust and wonder, and be filled with the knowledge that the Pendragon line would continue.

These thoughts rolling through his mind, Arthur allowed his weight to topple him from his perch, and felt Merlin’s wiry strength grasp him around his torso. A pained, strangled sound escaped the King, and tears spilled down Merlin’s cheeks at the agony his friend was enduring.

Merlin knew, keep down, that Arthur’s time was nearly gone. Struggling to support both his own spirits and Arthur’s body, he snuffled as he lowered the Knight to the forest floor. His journey, their journey surely could not end like this. There was so much left to do: so much to say, and experience. Not even half the things he’d dreamed of accomplishing at the side of his King had come true. And now it was ending…

Grunting, Merlin dragged Arthur to the side of the track, and propped him against a fallen sapling.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Morgana’s horse thudded along the forest path, tearing up great clots of earth as it laboured under her violent urging. She knew where Arthur and Merlin were, thanks to the- now dead Gwaine. And her heart thirsted for revenge.

How dare they almost take Mordred from her? How dare they rule the Kingdom that should be hers? And, most of all, How dare Merlin be Emrys!

Fury and hatred filled the Witch’s mind, corrupting her thoughts and blanking out fear. She no longer recognised Emrys as her mortal enemy, as the All-Powerful Sorcerer of Legend. He was but an hindrance and an obstacle to be overcome. Surely she, as High Priestess, could overcome Merlin Emrys with ease.

Then would she rule triumphant, with Mordred at her side, and all living men and beasts would pay homage to them both.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Holding the waterskin, Merlin trickled a few drops into Arthur’s mouth. Once more resting his fingertips against his friend’s neck, the Warlock assessed his pulse. Light, fast and thready beat Arthur’s heart: so fast now that the blood barely circulated. The man’s eyes rolled in his head, and the coma preceding death was not far minutes away. Despair etched on his features and in his heart, Merlin screamed silently inside.

“Merlin…” Arthur’s voice sounded and he rolled his head on his neck to look into his friend’s face. “Whatever happens…”

“Shh!” Interrupted the Warlock brusquely, “Don’t talk!”

Smiling wryly, Arthur fell back on a familiar argument: “I’m the King, Merlin. You can’t tell me what to do.”

Reaching desperately for some normality Merlin bantered back, arguing; “I always have.” The humour had a ragged desperate edge. “I’m not going to change now.” ‘Just because you’re dying.’

Face displaying a rare gravity, Arthur continued. “I don’t want you to change.”

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat, and his gaze was locked with Arthurs.

“I want you to always be you.” The King was gasping, speaking each word singly before drawing a breath for the next. Tears gathering, Arthur lifted an arm painfully, and gestured “I’m sorry for how I treated you.” His eyes closed and his head slumped forward onto his chest, as neck muscles refused to obey his orders.

Stunned, shaken, Merlin grasped Arthur’s chin and lifted his head back, whispering “Hey, does that mean you’re going to give me a day off?” Errant tears slipped silently past his jaw, absorbed into his neck-cloth. Blue orbs rolling, Arthur joked back at him: “Two!”

“That’s generous.” The Warlock breathed, and suddenly found himself supporting Arthur’s weight entirely, as the man finally fell unconscious. Caressing Arthur’s hair gently, he breathed into his ear “Get some sleep” before standing to bring the horses closer.

Gazing into the distance, Merlin could feel how close they were to their destination: it was only a matter of a few miles before the lake shores would be visible. “Avalon. We will get there.” He vowed to himself.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Mist circled at knee height, and Merlin judged time by the position of the moon and stars. Just as he was about to rouse Arthur and resume their journey the tethered horses startled, whinnying and trampling in fright. Throwing up their heads, the beasts broke the reins and galloped away into the night.

“Woah. WHOAH, WHOAH!!” Merlin’s cries went unheeded, and he watched, desperate, as their transport vanished into the dark.

“Hello Emrys.” A cold, hate-filled voice behind him explained the horses’ sudden flight.

Not needing to turn to know who addressed him, Merlin answered without looking. “Morgana.”

A flick of her head, and Merlin flew through the air, to collide heavily against an outcropping of rocks. Arthur started awake, blearily watching events that he could barely comprehend let alone intervene in.

Mocking, his sister advanced on him “What a joy it is to see you, Arthur.” A cruel laugh sounded. “Look at you” the witch continued. “Not so tall and mighty now.”

Morgana knelt in the mud, leering in satisfaction. “You might have won the war, but you’ve lost the battle. You’re going to die at Mordred’s hand. And he is going to live. And then we, he and I together, will rule Camelot, and there is nothing you can do to stop us.”

Face pale and cold, heaviness dragging at every inch of him, Arthur watched but could not bring himself to reply. “Oh, don’t worry dear brother. I won’t let you die alone.” Morgana’s feigned concern was putrid. “I’ll stay and watch over you…as the wolves gorge on your carcass and bathe in your blood!”

Merlin lay quietly on the ground several feet away, listening. As he rested, he sent magical tendrils into the life-force of the forest, and began to draw Power to himself. Quietly and steadily, he filled himself: This time there was be no doubt as to which of them would win. Taking his time, the Warlock saturated himself in golden energy; far more than he’d ever dared tap before, adding the forest’s life to the unfathomable energy of Emrys himself. Forest creatures quieted, feeling the localised effect. Owls ceased to hunt, mice froze in place, herds of deer shifted restlessly in slumber, and rabbits shivered in their burrows beneath the earth. The very leaves on the trees stilled in the night as the air herself trembled, and the stars sang in the sky.

Barely able to contain the intensity, his limbs trembled and a glow emanated from his skin. As once before, in the Crystal Cave, he sensed himself as a boundless globe of might: unmatched by any being before or since, inimitable, linked to all of Creation: a part of something far larger than could easily be understood.

Pulsing, radiating light, Merlin Emrys got to his feet, and quietly addressed his foe. There was no anger in his tone, only a grief that things should have come to this: “No. The time for all this bloodshed is over. I blame myself for what you’ve become.”

Unnerved, Morgana staggered back a step, green eyes wide in fear and awe. From his seat on the ground, Arthur’s voice sounded, unnoticed: “Merlin…”

The warlock advanced slowly, compassion on his glowing face.

“I am a High Priestess. You cannot kill me.” In this moment Morgana stated what she hoped rather than believed to be true, attempting to rally her courage and power.

“Oh, but I have no intention of killing you.” Merlin answered calmly. He watched as Morgana’s face showed triumph, even as she staggered back another step, almost stumbling on Arthur’s outstretched legs as she did so. Her eyes appeared a deeper green than ever, almost blackened with evil and malevolence in contrast to Emrys’ clear bright blue, enhanced the nimbus of power which surrounded him.

“Even now, Morgana, I cannot bring myself to end your life. It is not for me to take your soul. But I also cannot allow your evil to rampage, unchecked, across the land.”

“So what will you do, Emrys? Entomb me underground as I did you? If you managed to escape from the earth, know that I, too will find a way!” Morgana’s bravado knew no bounds.

“No. Nothing so merciful, Morgana. I will scatter you upon the wind; break you apart and fling your atoms into the sky. I can think of no greater punishment for someone who yearns to rule over all life than to be consigned to existing as spirit, unable to affect the mortal world. Like my Freya, you will be forever connected to this world, but not be part of it. Unlike her, you will have no way to communicate with any of us: condemned for all eternity to utter loneliness.” By now, tears were rolling in earnest down Merlin’s face; a steady river of grief. “Once, many years ago when I first came to Camelot, I began to love you for your beauty and your kindness. But your actions soon destroyed that, and all I have left now is sadness. I should have never allowed you to delve this far into evil.” Each word was spoken deliberately, with dread calmness which only made Merlin’s speech the more horrifying. The halo of Power around him continued to grow, pushing outwards in a luminous globe.

The full horror of Emrys’ planned sentence slammed into the witch with devastating force. She flung both arms outwards, hurling her magical force at the Warlock. “Noooo!” she shrieked, an endless string of sound tearing at her throat.

Her flush of power was as a moth’s wing battering a storm, when flung against that which Emrys had conjured. Without so much as a twitch of effort his globe formed into a lance and surged forward. It struck Morgana full on the chest, cutting short her shriek, before it continued on through her body, engulfing her in an aura of pure magical energy. Suddenly all was still, and silence reigned absolute. A grey formless cloud dissipated from where Morgana had stood before streaming away into the night: the Witch was, at last, gone.

Lowering his arms, Merlin sobbed out loud, a harsh hacking sound ripped in agony from his body. He allowed his Power to dissipate, and once more an ordinary Dark-haired man stood in the forest. Slowly, the sounds of crickets and night-creatures resumed, and the woods returned to normal.

Turning to Arthur, he saw that the King remained semi-conscious. “You brought peace at last.” The other man observed.

Chapter Text

The horses were gone, and Arthur lay on the ground, staring at Merlin in shock, and barely conscious. Never had he dreamed that such power was possible, let alone that his close friend could wield it so effortlessly. Pain had moistened his brow with a cold sweat, and his breaths gurgled their way in and out of his lungs. The king’s face was an ugly shade of grey, which the physician in Merlin catalogued as a combination of blue from lack of oxygen, and pale from pain and failing circulation. What little strength Arthur had was directed to sustaining life only. They both knew that there was likely little more than an half hour left for him to survive in this mortal world.

Morgana’s grey formless mist had made its way into the ether scant seconds ago: banished even as Merlin had disassembled her physical body. She would never be able to directly interfere in the world of men again, but would be condemned to always be present, to always observe the life in which she could no longer share. This was her punishment for the hatred she’d poured out on Camelot and all those who supported her. Merlin prayed that, formless spirit as she was, Morgana may still learn some compassion, and perhaps eventually discover the peace and harmony that was denied her in life.

Falling to his knees with a soft thump, Merlin stretched his hand out over Arthur to feel where the sword fragment was, using the last of his recently-gathered power . Several second’s concentration revealed it less than a finger’s breadth from the base of the man’s heart. Indeed, even as he watched, the jagged metal moved once more and Arthur shuddered. Each frantic beat of the man’s heart and the lower border of the organ was now brushing against the sharp metal, lacerating the outer muscle. It would not be long now before the great ventricles were breached, and the noble heart would be damaged beyond all repair, signalling the end for his friend. Body racked with sobs, the faithful servant hauled his master up beneath the arms and began to drag him towards the Isle of Avalon, the middle of the Great Lake which he hoped would spell life for his friend.

Arthur was now a dead weight and Merlin’s muscles burned under the strain. Desperate, the warlock searched for a clearing: any clearing large enough to permit a Dragon to land. He’d sworn he would not call Kilgarrah who was old and close to death himself. But, in extremity, Merlin did as he’d learned to do over the years, and screamed out for the help he knew would come, even if it should cost the great beast’s life.

For the second time in his life Arthur’s ears were assaulted by the enormous roaring sound of Dragon-Tongue. This time, tucked against the Warlock’s chest, he could actually feel the reverberations as the unnatural language exploded from his friend’s body. The effort appeared to be too much for Merlin, for Arthur next found himself laying on the ground, the servant’s body trapped beneath his own where they’d fallen together.

“We have to make it to the lake.” Merlin appeared to be saying it more for his own benefit than his King’s.

“Merlin, not without the horses.” Arthur’s voice unexpectedly strengthened, and he spoke clearly again. “It’s too late. It’s too late.”

Merlin’s frenzied panting filled the clearing as Arthur’s deep voice continued; “With all your magic, Merlin, you’re not going to save me…”

“I can! I CAN! Watch me!” and the warlock struggled to heft his friend once more.

“Merlin, just…..just.. hold me” Arthur’s strength was nearly gone now. Conversely, in these last moments, it was Arthur supporting Merlin in a way he never had during all the years they’d known one another, living and working together. Knowing he had little need of his remaining strength, he drew himself together for one last effort: there was something he must say to this man who cradled his dying body so tenderly in his lap.

Voice soft, but compelling at the same time he continued. “Please; there’s something I want to say.”

“You’re not going to say goodbye!” Merlin denied what was happening: It just couldn’t be this way. It wasn’t possible that he was about to hear Arthur’s last words. The Once and Future King, his Destiny could NOT be dying. Not now, not so young, not with so much left for them both to accomplish. It was inconceivable that Arthur should leave this world such a scant time after coming to see, if not to accept, who Merlin truly was. The warlock found himself wanting to shut his ears, to not listen to these words. He wasn’t ready!

But once more acting with courage and loyalty, the words on the tip of Merlin’s tongue were choked back. If his friend wanted him to listen now, without interrupting, then he would listen. Heart breaking, the dark man calmed his breaths, tears now a constant steam down his face and dripping to moisten Arthur’s head below him. He embraced his soul-brother, imparting what comfort he could, and disciplined himself to listen.

Twisting his neck, Arthur’s pain-filled eyes locked onto Merlin’s. Words were expelled with difficulty, a few at a time because his breath was so short: “Everything you’ve done. I know now. For me. For Camelot. For the Kingdom. You helped me build…” each sentence punctuated by a gasp, Arthur paused for breath.

“You’d have done it without me.” Even now, at the end of all things (1) Merlin still had need to support and to comfort his friend, to downplay the role he’d held throughout these several years of toil, struggle, triumph and defeat.

Smiling, Arthur shook his head and continued: “Maybe. I want to say. Something I’ve never s…said to you before.” Now, and only now did Arthur’s eyes redden, and moisture gather there. He swallowed, and grunted in pain.

Voice hushed, muffled and thickened by tears, Merlin asked gently “What?”

“Th..thankyou.” Painfully Arthur raised his hand, and clasped it behind Merlin’s neck in a sign of affection and camaraderie. All other movement was beyond him now, and his eyes began to glaze and lose focus, his breathing becoming even shallower.

To Merlin, that one simple word, so hard-won and filled with pain was a blessing such as he’d never hoped to receive. Arthur knew! He saw him, Merlin, and he accepted all that he was, and all that he’d done. Shuddering incongruously in joy and relief at this moment, Merlin bent his head down and rested it on Arthur’s breast. Never had there been such a moment of utter and complete understanding, connection and acceptance between two men. Never had so much been communicated with a single word: a benediction for years of mis-understanding. A recognition of two lives lived, each one for the other: both richer by far for the experience. They were, indeed, two sides of one coin; two parts of a whole, and so much part of each other that they could not be separated. For a long moment, Merlin feared that he would follow Arthur into death, simply because life without the other man would be incomplete.

The weight of Arthur’s affectionate hand on Merlin’s neck suddenly increased as the king lost control of his body. Merlin jerked his head up barely in time to see the lids sag closed over his friend’s eyes, and the breath whistle softly out of his nose as the arm fell to the ground, making an appallingly quiet thud as it landed in the dirt.

Whispering, the Warlock placed his hand on Arthur’s cheek “Arthur, no!” he commanded. Cupping the pale cheek, Merlin lay Arthur’s head down on the ground, trying again to rouse him, but to no effect. Panicking, Merlin threw back his head and howled in agony, a wordless cry of grief that he poured into the night sky. Retaining just enough coherence, he placed his head down once more on his friend’s breast: not to give or receive comfort this time, but to listen for a heartbeat. Impossibly, he could hear one: absurdly rapid, with hardly any force behind it, yet the fluttering persisted. Listening further he could hear the faint whistling bubble of breath entering and leaving fluid-filled lungs.

Alone, bereft and despairing, Merlin cried to the skies, venting his anguish and grief as never before in his life. He hardly heard the familiar swish-thump as Kilgarrah’s great wings beat the air as his feet landed on the soft turf, and heard the Dragon’s words: “Ah, young warlock. I am sorry.” There was no doubting the dragon’s sincerity: his large golden eyes were filled with sorrow and compassion as he gazed down on the two small creatures on the ground in front of him.

“No!” bellowed Merlin, “He’s not dead yet! I can still save him! I CAN!”

“I’m sorry, Merlin, but I do not see how. Perhaps it is best…” the rich tones of Kilgarrah’s voice caressed the air, but Merlin was in no mood to listen.

“Kilgarrah! I would not have summoned you if there was any other choice. I have one last favour to ask: Take us! I command you, to take us to Avalon. NOW!”

Nodding his acquiescence, Kilgarrah lowered his great head so that Merlin could mount, dragging Arthur’s body as he did so. Never sure how he managed it, the warlock scrambled up onto Kilgarrah, just behind the head spines, balancing Arthur in place before him as he did so. “Right. We’re settled. Now GO!” There was no hint of Dragon Tongue in the command, but Kilgarrah hardly needed it: he could feel Merlin’s desperation and obeyed without demur.

Clumsily and painfully, the aged Dragon launched himself upwards, his wings creaking audibly as they took the strain of flight.

Flying with Kilgarrah was usually a moment of extreme joy for Merlin: nothing could compare to the freedom, the power of being carried by such a majestic creature through the air. It was a treat that Merlin did not often grant himself, loath as he was to abuse the privilege by bending a fellow sentient being to his will. This time, as the transparent wings beat unsteadily Merlin barely noticed. His attention was focused on the body in front of him, both arms locking Arthur tight to the Dragon’s neck. Not able to hear above the rushing wind, he could still feel the feeble beat of Arthur’s heart in his palms, and see the pulse beat in his neck. The warlock focused totally on these paltry signs of life, as if he could, by will alone, keep Arthur with him in the world of the living.

It was with a shock that Merlin realised they were descending. Raising his head, he noted that Kilgarrah was bringing them to land in a roughly rounded arena, that looked oddly familiar. The Great Dragon settled to earth with a moan and a shudder; this flight had taken a massive toll on the beast at his immense age. Panting, trembling, he lowered his head once more to the earth to allow his Dragon-Lord and the burden he carried to dismount.

Merlin somehow scrambled down from his perch, bringing Arthur with him. Stepping slowly, bearing his friend’s weight, he examined the flat grassy plain on which he found himself, and instantly realised why it felt familiar. It was a replica, down to the size and including the stone altar in the middle, of the area on the Isle of the Blessed in which he’d faced Nimuè and defeated her those many years ago.

Not thinking, but drawn by instinct, he placed Arthur supine on the altar. Checking him, he saw that his friend was comatose: occupying that state which precedes death by minutes or hours, and from which the dying do not rouse. Merlin looked around, taking stock of the intricate pathways which spelled runes in the Old Tongue and which snaked their way around the monolith. Glancing back at Kilgarrah, he was startled to see that the Great Dragon had not yet raised his head from the earth upon which it rested. In fact, Kilgarrah lay there, panting and trembling, wings sprawled, almost as though he would never rise from this place again.

Even now, in great extremity, Merlin felt compassion for Kilgarrah his Kin. Realising that this last Call had been too much for his ancient brother, he approached him with palm outstretched, and laid his hand against the beast’s face. “I’m sorry. But I had to bring Arthur here. I have to save him.”

“I understand, Young Warlock” the Dragon answered, voice a whisper. “I knew the cost, and am happy to pay it, for your sake.” Merlin bowed his head, saluting the noble beast, tears once again wetting his face.

“Do not weep, Merlin, for this day would always come, and I am honoured to spend it with you.”

Snuffing back the tears and mucous, Merlin nodded his thanks. “And now, I must do what I came here to do. I must save Arthur.”

“And how will you do that, Young Warlock? Do you have the power to give life back once it has gone?”

“No,” whispered the man, “but I learned, long ago, in a place exactly like this, that I have the power to Shadow Life and Death. I cannot give Arthur’s life back to him, but I can trade my life for his.”

“You speak of the Old Religion; of the Cup of Life and of the Balance that must be maintained?”

“Yes.”

“But I do not see any Cup here, Young Warlock.”

“Nor was there last time, when I traded Nimuè’s life for Gaius’.” Merlin smiled bitterly at the memory of that painful time. “This is another of the Powers I have: to call down the Lightning, and exchange the Life Force of one person for another. I have done it before, and now I will do it again. This time it will be my life that is given.” Merlin smiled with satisfaction. This time he knew that he would succeed.

“No!” Kilgarrah found strength to lift his head from the earth, and bellow his negation to the sky. “You cannot do this thing Merlin!”

“I must. It is my destiny. Arthur must live.”

“And so must you. Can you not see this? Arthur cannot be who he is meant to be without you beside him!”

“But Arthur must live, and there is no other way.” Merlin was settled; sure and decided.

Dropping his head back to the earth, Kilgarrah shuddered once more “Then take my life, Merlin. I give it to you for this great purpose.”

Shocked, the warlock stumbled back, shaking his head frantically. “No! I can’t! I won’t! Don’t ask me to kill you. Please!”

“Merlin. Look at me,” the Dragon continued gently. “I have taken my last flight; I will not rise from this place again. Age has finally caught up with me: after more than one thousand years on this earth it is time for me to leave. Without your help I will linger here for some time, alone, unable to leave until I die. Do not leave me to this unkind fate.”

“But…you can’t! And anyway, it has to be a human life, doesn’t it?”

Kilgarrah chuckled, truly amused at his warlock’s naivety. “Merlin, Merlin. How little you still truly understand. Even with your new great Powers, which I can see running through you as clearly as I can see the grass beneath me, you have so much to learn. And learn you will. You can now step forward into your Destiny and fulfil it as never before, with the fullness of the Magic that you now wield. As a Sentient Being, as a Creature of the Old Religion my life is more than enough to trade for the young Pendragon’s.”

The Dragon paused for a moment. “And this is why you, also must live. Do not de-value your importance by throwing your life away. Allow me this final gift of service to you, Young Warlock.” The great eyes pinned Merlin’s mercilessly, and Merlin was forced to concede Kilgarrah’s argument. He could feel that what the Dragon said was true.

Nodding, Merlin moved back from the Dragon and positioned himself between the great beast and Arthur, who rested still on the Altar stone. He closed his eyes, preparing to plunge himself into the Living Magic of this place, when Kilgarrah’s final words came to him: “Look to young Aithusa. You named her well: she is indeed the Hope for a New Age. And now with Morgana gone, she may yet be redeemed. This is your task, Dragon-Lord.”

Merlin dropped his head into a bow; “Thank-you” he intoned with gravity and respect. Immersing himself in Magic’s River, Merlin raised both arms; one toward Kilgarrah, the other toward Arthur. A great grinding crash sounded, and rain poured down from the dark clouds which had been summoned. The warlock lifted his head, and his eyes flared a deep gold, as he fixed his gaze on the Dragon. Lightning fell, bolt after bolt after bolt, decimating the creature where he crouched. Turning away, Merlin focused on his King, eyes continuing to flare as he focused the immense power he was channelling. A stream of white-hot energy poured from his palm, striking the unmoving body laying on the Stone.

The graven runes on the sides of the Altar flashed and glowed, bathing the Arena in strange moving shapes and Merlin continued to feed energy into Arthur. Shuddering with effort, Merlin maintained the flow, until he felt that his task was accomplished, and that the Once and Future King lived once more.

Convulsing, he cried aloud in torment, allowed both arms to fall and dropped to the ground panting and utterly spent. Heavy rain continued to fall on the bent head of the warlock as he gathered himself. Raising his head with difficulty, Merlin focused first on the area of ground where Kilgarrah had once stood. Gone was all trace of the Great Dragon: only a black greasy smear remained on the scorched grass to mark that he had ever been in that place.

Staggering to his feet, Merlin moved jerkily across to Arthur: the King slept, as peacefully as in his great bed in Camelot. His face was coloured a delicate pink and his skin was warm despite the deluge beating down upon him. Arthur’s breath came deeply and regularly, and the death-rattle sounded no more. Stooping, Merlin picked up a small gleaming piece of metal from where it rested at the base of the altar: no more than the size of his thumbnail. The piece of enchanted blade had been expelled from the King’s body, and now lay harmless in the Warlock’s palm.

Relief poured through Merlin, and he sobbed aloud in joy: Arthur lived! The next moment he was overcome with grief: Kilgarrah was no more! Torn between the two violent emotions, Merlin collapsed against the plinth, resting his back against the rough stone. He now waited: for the Magical rain to cease, for the sun to rise, and for Arthur to wake.

Thinking, he sat and reviewed the last few days. Eight days ago he had stood with Arthur in the Tavern of the Rising Sun playing dice (and cheating awfully). Since that evening, there had hardly been time to draw breath: first the attack by the magic-devouring sleel, then the attack on the garrison of Stowell, followed by the preparations for battle. Visiting the Crystal Cave, battling Morgana, recovering his Magic and then moving into a new level of Magic altogether. Stopping the slaughter at Camlann and then carrying Arthur away from the battlefield. Revealing himself wholly and fully to his King, and being rejected for it before getting them both safely across many leagues of land on their journey to Avalon. Facing Morgana once more and banishing her for ever into a non-existence, then to receive absolution from Arthur for Merlin’s necessary deception throughout the years of service he’d given his King. Finally arriving on Avalon with Kilgarrah’s help, only to face the reality of his Winged Mentor and Brother’s death in order that his human soul-brother might live. It was no surprise that Merlin found himself exhausted.

The rain gentled, and the warlock slipped into sleep resting beside his friend.

For the moment he could rest; his tasks accomplished and Arthur and Camelot safe.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Quote from ‘The Return of the King’ by JRR Tolkien

Chapter Text

Chapter: Fourteen

The first thing Arthur became aware of was hardness and cold, and damp. Muzzy, he thought only that it was a shame that death should be so uncomfortable. His next thought was that if he was indeed dead, then surely he shouldn’t be feeling anything at all.

Drifting, he allowed reality to creep in slowly. Several minutes after first becoming semi-awake, he cracked open his eyes, somewhat amazed that he could see at all. He found himself staring into an endless blue sky, decorated with tiny dots of cloud, which appeared like waves lapping on a lake. His felt clammy, his mail shirt and the clothes beneath soaked through with rain that had obviously fallen overnight. Hardly thinking what he was doing, he rested one hand behind him and sat up, noting that he was laying on a stone slab of some kind.

Shock percolated through his body, slamming his heart into overdrive as the King moved easily and without pain for the first time in several days. Reflexively he whipped his left hand to his body, pressing hard against his recent wound. Nothing. No pain, no burning. Testing his lungs, he breathed as deeply as he could, drawing sweet –scented air deep into newly repaired tissues, rejoicing in the ease it was accomplished. Rolling his shoulders he stretched in pleasure; never before had simple movement been so agreeable. The absence of pain was akin to ecstasy.

Propped with both hands behind him, he took stock of where he was. It appeared he was laying on a raised stone table, almost an altar, in the centre of a grassy arena. Crumbling ruins of grey mossy rock surrounded the almost perfect circle of green, which was lined with paved paths, covered in some ancient writing. Arthur swung his legs over the side in preparation to standing to explore further.

“Owww! Watch where you’re putting those great smelly feet of yours.”

Merlin! Arthur, in the joy of his awakening, had momentarily forgotten his manservant. Leaning forward, he spied a dark head just beside his heavy boots, one hand vigorously rubbing the crown. Apparently Arthur had connected rather heavily with Merlin’s noggin as the young man leaned against the side of the table.

The other man tilted his head backward, looking up, and Arthur was treated to the unusual sight of an upside-down Merlin grin.

Lost for words, Arthur opened his mouth and said the first thing that came to mind: “Ahh…Merlin? Where..?”

Chuckling, the warlock answered “Once again I save your Pratly life and the only thing you do is groan and blink stupidly.” And he scrambled to his feet, towering over Arthur as he did so.

Propelling himself from the stone, Arthur lunged forward and slapped Merlin upside the head with an audible crack causing his hand to sting in the aftermath.

“Hey! What was that for?” Merlin complained, rubbing his abused scalp again.

“For disrespecting your King.”

“What about disrespecting the Sorcerer?” Merlin was only half joking.

Arthur blinked, reality suddenly crashing in. He stood, nonplussed, fully realising that the powerful man before him could consign him to dust without breaking a sweat.

“Come on!” Merlin called, and turned, sprinting away into the morning light.

“Merlin! You’d better explain all this!” Arthur had no choice but to follow the lithe man as he dashed off.

Just able to keep him in sight, Arthur found Merlin standing at the edge of the island, looking intently at the restless water. Not until this moment had Arthur realised they were actually on an island. Glancing out over the water, Arthur noted that there appeared to be moving dots of light different-coloured light dancing over the expanse. As he listened, he was aware of a strange humming and whispering, almost out of range of his human hearing.

“Hmm…..” Merlin mused aloud, “forgot something. Be right back!” Flashing a broad smile at his King.

Arthur watched as Merlin’s irises glowed gold, and then the man….vanished! Looking around, Arthur could see no trace of Merlin; he’d been abandoned in a strange place, obviously swarming with magic, by a fickle sorcerer who was more interested in playing jokes than dealing with the serious issues which they faced.

“Merlin! So help me, you’d better explain what the hell’s going on here!” he shouted into thin air. Who knew if the other man could hear or not? Stomping about, Arthur rested himself down on the sloping bank. It wasn’t as though he had much of a choice but to wait, anyway.

A few minutes later Arthur was startled by Merlin reappearing at the edge of the lake. The man was burdened with his rucksack, supplies, Arthur’s sword and another anonymous slender parcel wrapped in cloth. Leaping to his feet, the King cried out in frustration “Will you stop doing that!”

“Sorry” Merlin really wasn’t, “It was the quickest way to go and get our things. You know, at the campsite where Morgana caught up with us. I needed a few things, and I didn’t think you’d want your sword laying about for just anybody to find. After all, I did promise the Dragon that, since he burnished it especially for you, that I wouldn’t let anybody else use it.”

“Wh…Dragon?” Furrowing his brow, Arthur vaguely remembered a dragon. Massive, flying through the air, with himself absurdly perched on its neck. Arthur automatically extending his hand, accepting Excalibur back from Merlin, and tucked the great sword through his belt. Feeling somewhat more reassured for being armed, he looked up wanting to pursue the conversation about dragons.

“Anyway, that can wait until later. I’ve got stuff I have to do right now. Excuse me!” Moving like a whirling dervish, Merlin danced up the bank and dropped his burdens, retaining nothing but the slender wrapped package, before returning to the edge of the Lake.

“What stuff?” Arthur was wary, looking at the other man in mistrust.

“Oh, talking to the Sidhe of course.” Merlin was unwrapping his bundle, which turned out to be a long elegantly-carved staff, set with a blue stone at the top.

“Shee?”

“Not Shee, Sidhe!” the Warlock answered absently, as he ran the Staff through his hands. “We’re on their Island, and they’re not happy. I need to talk to them. And for that I needed Sophia’s Staff. Although it’s really mine now.”

“How do you know they’re not happy? Did they tell you?” mocked Arthur, crossing his arms in front of him. ”And, by the way, what are they?” Throwing his hands up in frustration, the King demanded some kind of sense from this mad Merlin.

“Oh, sorry! I forgot you can’t see them. Hold on, and I’ll speed you up.” The nonsensical words were followed by another of those odd little head movements that Merlin made when working magic, and Arthur was suddenly surrounded by the oddest sensation. It felt as though the entire world had suddenly stopped. Except that it hadn’t, really. Moving through treacle air, he followed Merlin’s gaze which was fixed once more on the flitting lights over the water. Except that they weren’t lights anymore; they were tiny blue people with wings. Gaping, Arthur mused aloud “Fairies?”

“If you like,” answered the warlock. “Now be quiet, I need to concentrate.” And Arthur was abruptly dismissed. Unused to the phenomenon, the King didn’t quite know how to handle it. Stumbling, he took a half-step back, and prepared to observe. It was ironic that he failed to notice that he and Merlin had apparently swapped positions. Merlin, in charge standing in front, Arthur just behind and to the right, waiting.

One of the blue people approached and hovered in front of Merlin. Arthur noted that he seemed to have fangs, as well as odd spikes protruding from his jaw and brow. The ears were pointed and ridiculously long, and were those antennae delicately probing the air?

“So, Emrys. We meet again. What do you here, on the Isle of Avalon? This is not a place for men.” There was no mistaking the threat in the words.

At the sound of the familiar name, Arthur started. ‘Emrys. Again with this ‘Emrys’. What does it mean?’ Consigning himself to the necessity of waiting, the King remained silent and alert.”

“Ah, but I am not a man, am I?”

“No, you are not.”

“I am Merlin, a Creature of the Old Religion: A Son of the Earth, the Sea and the Sky. I was born of that Magic. (1) And thus I have as much right to this place as you and your people do.” The words were not spoken with bravado, but as a simple statement of fact, much as Arthur would have claimed being the rightful King of Camelot, and the best warrior amongst the Knights.

Arthur watched as the strange blue fairy bowed his head, accepting Merlin’s claim. ‘Just how much is there about Merlin that I do not know?’

“But even so, Emrys, you have no right to interfere with the Sidhe.”

“I did not come to interfere. I came here in need of the Magic of this Place. There was nowhere else the ritual could have been completed. A life for a life.” Merlin paused, his demeanour taking on a gravitas unlike anything the King had seen. “And if I did choose to interfere, there is nothing you could do to stop me.” At this, the warlock brought forth the Staff he was holding, and a bolt of pure energy poured from the blue globe, impacting on the Surface of the Lake with a crackling hiss.

Both Arthur and the Elder flinched at the raw power spewed forth.

“You see,” with a smile Merlin continued, “I have earned the allegiance of a Staff of the Sidhe Nobility. No doubt you recognise it as being once wielded by the Lady Sophia. I would advise you not to cross me.” The dark head lowered and blue eyes narrowed. There was no mistaking the implied threat.

“Peace, Emrys. I have no wish to war with you.” The Elder held his hands out flat, placating the angry Warlock. The Sidhe evidently acknowledged Merlin’s right to rule, and was not willing to rile the man and risk the consequences.

“Nor I with you. But I will not brook further interference with the World of Men! Too many times have you desired power over the Mortal World, and too often have your people attempted to rule through Arthur. No more!

“In thanks for the use of the Isle of Avalon and its Ancient Powers I grant the Sidhe the right to rule themselves as you see fit. I will not interfere, that is not my intent. But I will not tolerate your games any more. I will be watching and aware until the End of Time. And you know that I can do what I say. If, at any time I am distracted and unable to watch, know that Freya will watch for me, and she will inform me. You cannot hide from me, no matter how you try.”

“Freya?” the Elder inquired.

“You will know her better as ‘The Lady’: The Lady of the Lake. She is eternally tied to the Water and the Magic within it, which is the source of the Power of the Sidhe.”

“You know the Lady?”

“It was I who brought her to the Lake and bound her to it.” (2) A twisted smile graced Merlin’s features, “Yes, I know the Lady.” A melancholy had settled over the warlock; a sadness that was palpable.

“You are powerful indeed Emrys.” The Elder bowed once more, and with a flash of light, vanished.

Stunned, Arthur stood in silence, watching his friend. Merlin rested his Staff on the ground, supporting himself with one hand. His head was bowed, and he gazed unseeing at the sunlight glinting on the waves. For a long moment the warlock did not move, until suddenly, rousing with a shudder, he turned to face Arthur once more.

Quietly, awed by what he had witnessed, the blonde man dared to break the silence: “Merlin? What was that all about?”

Sighing, Merlin smiled crookedly, his face full of sorrow. “Not now, Arthur. I will explain it all to you, I promise, but not right now. Please?”

Subdued, Arthur simply fell in behind the other, following him as he led the way up the embankment. Absolutely befuddled, Arthur helped Merlin to gather the supplies he’d dropped on the ground before following him toward the ruins.

“Time to find some shelter and food, don’t you think Arthur?” The King followed along with Merlin’s mercurial change of mood. “I bet you’re hungry: haven’t eaten properly since before the Battle, yes? What do you feel like? I bet there are deer here, in fact I know there are; I can sense them. So, you feel like a roast haunch, with tubers baked in the fire?” Merlin cocked his head and offered a cheeky grin.

The water sprang to Arthur’s mouth as he imagined such a feast: he was indeed very hungry. “That does sound good, Merlin.” He clapped the man on the back. Together the two set off to appease the mundane needs of their bodies.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin chose one of the semi-gutted buildings to set up camp in. Three walls and half the ceiling remained intact, and the cobbled floor was strewn with leaves, twigs, and small branches. “Yes, this will be lovely. Very cosy.” He mused, speaking softly to himself.

Surveying the dilapidated ruin, Arthur snorted and placed his hands on his hips. “Cosy? Are you mad, Merlin?”

Wickedly wriggling his eyebrows Merlin answered “Yes, cosy. Once I’ve made a few adjustments.”

Mocking, the King gestured a Knightly bow; “Adjust away then, Sorcerer.”

Merlin stepped into the middle of the room, absently holding the Sidhe Staff. “Hmm….” He appeared to be studying wreckage. “Yes, a quick clear-out.” The leaves and twigs disappeared with a gesture, the larger branches stacked neatly beside the crumbing fireplace in the back wall. “Now for a scrubbing” and the grime of ages vanished from the floor, walls and what was left of the ceiling. “Next, some weatherproofing” a shimmering barrier filled in the rest of the roof and reinforced the walls, insulating the interior, “Aaaand fix the fireplace.” Another wave of his hand, and the broken bricks surrounding the orifice moved into place, neatly repairing themselves.

Turning to observe Arthur’s face, Merlin chuckled. He was obviously enjoying showing off for the other man.

“Well,” grumped Arthur. “You may as well do it properly. Light the fire!”

Laughing in glee, the warlock sent the branches into the fireplace, and the room was immediately illuminated with a warm glow. “I’ll just get some larger pieces of wood, then we can go hunting.”

“You? Volunteering to go hunting?”

“Well yes; how else are we going to get that roast haunch of venison? But this time, we’ll hunt my way.”

So saying, Merlin stalked off outside once again, leaning his Staff against a wall as he did so. Arthur turned to follow, then abruptly ducked as several large chunks of wood came hurtling in the door to stack themselves by the fire. “Hey! Watch it!”

Popping his head around the doorway, Merlin realised what had happened “Oh. Sorry” was his sheepish response. Pausing to arrange a couple of the larger pieces of wood on the fire to ensure it would still be burning when they returned, Merlin heard grumbled comments about ‘bumbling idiots’ and ‘clumsy twits’. Refusing to rise to the obvious bait, he set off again, calling Arthur to follow as he did so. Arthur paused only long enough to grasp his cross-bow from where the equipment had been dropped, and followed obediently.
The two men walked for several minutes, seemingly aimlessly. Merlin would pause every now and then, turning his head as though he were a hound scenting the air. Grunting in satisfaction, he pointed, saying “This way” before setting off again with purpose.

“Have you been here before Merlin?” inquired Arthur.

“Here? No. this is the first time I’ve set foot on the Isle of Avalon. Although I have been to another island, that was a bit similar.”

“Then how do you know where you’re going?”

‘Oh, that’s easy. I’m going to where the deer herd is.”

“I know that, Merlin. But how do you know where the deer herd is?”

“I can sense them. They’re part of the life force of the island, and I only have to concentrate and I can feel them. It’s something I’ve only just learned to do.”

Eyebrows raised, Arthur didn’t comment, continuing to follow behind the warlock. Before long, they rounded an escarpment, and Merlin gestured them to duck down. Crouching behind some sheltering ferns Arthur saw a small herd of 30 or so beasts grazing. There was a mature buck, with a good head of antlers surrounded by a score of his does. Mixed in were some of last year’s fawns, now semi-grown. Gesturing towards the fine buck, Arthur whispered “That one,” and raised his bow, arrow already nocked and primed.

Merlin shook his head, “No. We don’t need that much meat. I’ll take one of the male yearlings.” And with that said, the closest animal shuddered in place, dropping quietly to the ground, it convulsed for several minutes, hooves digging furrows in the soil before laying still. The rest of the herd took to their heels and vanished over the next ridge.

“But… What?”

“I stopped his heart. Quick and painless.” Merlin replied, moving towards his prize.

“But why a yearling, why not the buck?”

“Lots of reasons. We really don’t need that much meat, and the younger ones usually taste better. Also, this disturbs the balance less. The buck will need to lead this herd for many years yet, taking him would cause unbalance. This yearling would likely not survive anyway; before spring he would be driven from this herd, and may well be killed by other youngsters, or taken by a wolf.”

Arthur grunted once more.

“Here: you take the carcass back to camp and butcher it, I’ll find search out some tubers and stuff to go with it. You can also strip off your armour and dry out before the fire.” Merlin had noticed Arthur’s increased shivering, as his damp clothes chilled him.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Two hours later, Merlin & Arthur were settled comfortably in front of the fire, watching their food cook on the spit in front of them.

Merlin dropped the bantering tone he’d employed all morning; “Now, I expect you have some questions.”

Huffing out a breath, Arthur nodded. “Just a few…”

(1) Merlin Season Five, Episode 12 ‘Diamond of the Day Part One.’

(2) Merlin Season Two, Episode 9 'The Lady of the Lake'

Chapter Text

The spitted haunch of venison sizzled, fat dripping down into the flames causing them to leap hungrily. The room filled with the most delicious aroma of roasting meat as Merlin prepared the vegetables for baking later on, wrapping them in large green leaves to protect them from the ashes in which he would place them when the meat was cooked further.

Settled on their blankets spread over the cobbled floor in front of the fireplace Merlin & Arthur looked frankly at each other. For now they were safe and warm, and food was readying for them. For the first time in many days they had the time and luxury of talking unhindered. Both felt the tension of the moment: the shaky truce they’d forged in the last 24 hrs was about to be tested, and neither knew what the outcome might be. Merlin’d found a wineskin that Gaius had included in their original supplies, and the men were sharing it in silence.

Clearing his throat and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, Merlin began “You should know, Arthur, there’s some bad news from Camelot. I’ve let Gaius know that you’re well, and that we should be home within a few days, two at most.”

Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, the King asked “And just how did you let Gaius know? Carrier pigeon?”

Smiling Merlin answered “No, a quicker and more reliable method. Mind-speech…”

Eyes rounding, Arthur interrupted “But…”

“Arthur!” the voice held authority, “Relax and I’ll tell you. The time for secrets is past, and I’ll tell you all that you need to know. And probably more than you’ll wish to know.” The warlock paused, thinking, before continuing; “Be prepared, it is a very long and strange tale.”

“Knowing you Merlin, I somehow expected that.”

“Yes, well. First mind-speech. It’s a thing the druids do, and I learned from them. Well, sort of, anyway. Some magic-users can do it, and others can’t. Morgana never could, thankfully. It’s when one person speaks directly into the mind of another. Usually it’s just words, but lately I’ve learned it can be ideas and concepts too.

“Anyway, there was a young druid boy one day who was hunted in Camelot and was afraid; one of his gifts was mind-speech. He called out in fear, and I heard him. And then I answered him back the same way, without even thinking about it. It wasn’t for a few minutes that I even realised what I’d done, it was so instinctive. It is, apparently, one of my gifts. I can contact Gaius this way, any time I need to, and my power is strong enough that he can talk back to me even though it’s not one of his magical gifts. Guess that my being Emrys has some benefits,” Wryly, then more cheekily; “Didn’t you wonder how he found us after you were wounded, and how he knew what supplies to bring?”

“Not really, Merlin. I was too pre-occupied with dying! And with finding that my servant had been lying to me for years!” Arthur’s response showed that he hadn’t yet dealt with all of his anger on the subject of his servant and friend’s deception.

“Yes, well. Anyway, I called Gaius again while I was foraging for roots to cook earlier, and let him know we were on the Isle of Avalon, and that you had been healed. He promised that he’d tell Gwen.”

Nodding, Arthur replied “Thankyou for that, at least,” but found himself unable to meet Merlin’s eyes.

“So,” Merlin continued, “What would you like to know?”

“First: what is the bad news from Camelot?”

Merlin’s face dropped, and he began fiddling with his shirt once more. Looking up, he announced softly “Gwaine’s dead.” Tears gathered in the warlock’s eyes, as he contemplated the loss of his faithful friend. He knew that Gwaine would have done anything for him, and it seemed the Knight had, in the end; paying the ultimate price in order to protect his friends.

“Dead? How? The battle?”

“No. He made it back to Camelot safely, Arthur. I’m sorry. It seems that he and Percival went on a mission to stop Morgana from following us too quickly. They thought that by facing her they could distract her long enough to help us, to give us more time. They managed to take out Morgana’s men, but then she captured them. Percival was tied, suspended between two trees by rope a little way off, and he could hear Gwaine screaming in the distance. By the time he got free it was too late.” Tears of grief were pouring down Merlin’s face, and he began to sob.

“Morgana’d tortured Gwaine, and he died soon after Percival found him. He died ashamed of himself. Under torture he’d told Morgana where we were; that’s how she found us. Gwaine’s last words to Percival were ‘I’ve failed.’ ” Leaning forward, Merlin covered his face with both hands and, bony shoulders shaking, began to weep in earnest.

Arthur himself was shedding tears by this time. That such a noble knight should meet death in such a way was incredibly unjust. But then, the King had often found that life was unjust. Poor noble, fun-loving, brave Gwaine.

“Percival held him, and tried to tell him ‘no’, but he died too quickly.” Merlin wrapped his arms around his knees, and rocked in place, grieving. Shuffling sideways, Arthur offered him the comfort of his presence.

Slowly gaining control, Merlin wiped his face on his neck-cloth before glancing sideways at the Blonde man. “Aren’t you going to tell me that ‘no man is worth my tears? ’ (1) ”

Laying a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, Arthur replied gently “I was a lot younger then, and I was also wrong. No, Merlin. There are some men that you should never feel shame in weeping for. Gwaine is one of them.” Allowing them both a moment, Arthur handed over the wineskin before moving to throw more wood on the fire.

“Careful,” Merlin reproached, “You don’t want the flames getting too high and scorching our dinner.”

“Believe it or not, Merlin, I’m not a complete idiot when it comes to cooking.”

Rolling his eyes Merlin muttered “That’s debatable” under his breath, while wiping his face again.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Anyway; moving along. Percival brought Gwaine’s body to Camelot and there’ll be a funeral when we get back. Gwen’s arranging it. Now, what else do you have questions about?”

Arthur reached for the wineskin, and, taking a mouthful, replied: “That vanishing thing you did, when you went back to our camp this morning? What’s that all about?”

Merlin nodded, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Yeah, pretty impressive hey? I only just learned I could do that.”

Looking singularly un-impressed, Arthur answered roundly “Pretty off-putting, too!”

“Yeah. Sorry. Well, it’s all to do with me being Emrys…”

“What is with that, anyway?” the King interrupted once more. “Gaius mentioned something about it, and Morgana before you….you know. Then that blue fairy-thing this morning…”

“If you’d be quiet for long enough, I’d tell you!” Merlin was beginning to get frustrated. Arthur really could be a dollop-headed idiot at times; angry that Merlin’d kept things from him, but not shutting up long enough to allow the explanations that would clear the air. Snatching the wineskin away from the King, he gulped down a mouthful before beginning: “It’s a name the Druids call me. Emrys has been mentioned in legends for centuries, and the druids teach all their children about them, and they’re handed down through the generations. It was the first word I ever heard through mind-speech, too. It’s what the little druid boy called me.

“It means that I’m powerful. Really powerful,” Merlin sighed: It was a burden that often weighed heavy on him. “In fact, the Legends say that Emrys is the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth, or who ever will walk the earth.” Merlin stumbled to a halt, not sure how to go on.

“Well, after what I’ve seen the last two days, I’m hardly going to argue the point. Although how you can be so powerful, and so klutzy at the same time beats me!” Arthur couldn’t resist the opportunity for a jab at the sorcerer, all-powerful or not!

“Right. Well, thanks!” Shaking his head, Merlin continued “The Legends say that Emrys will bring Magic back into the land. Also,” Merlin’s voice gained strength and his head raised up to pierce Arthur’s blue eyes with his own, “That I was destined to serve the Once and Future King, and that together we would unite Albion, and bring about a reign of Peace, such as has never been seen. That noble and commoner alike will be respected and free, and nobody would be persecuted for who they are, or what they believe in.”

The words resounded in Arthur’s skull in a most profound manner. It was almost as if he’d heard them before, although he could have sworn he hadn’t. The ‘Once and Future King’; what a thing to aspire to he mused. Maybe it would be his and Guinevere’s son? Would Merlin still be serving the Pendragon line that far into the future? Arthur rested his elbow on his knees as he pondered.

Seeing the King so caught up in thought, Merlin moved off to tuck the vegetables he’d harvested into the embers of the fire. A quick glance showed that Arthur was not yet ready to resume their conversation, so Merlin turned to experiment with a bit of magic he’d been mulling over for some time. He hadn’t been looking forward to spending the night bedded down on hard stone, no matter how warm the room was. Moving aside a little, he focused on a piece of ground beside the fireplace. Extending his hands, he concentrated and felt down into the floor, seeking to change the very nature of the substance. With a soft “Ah!” he pulled and twisted, then stood back to survey the results. The floor didn’t appear any different, but when he poked it with his shoe, the hard-seeming flags ‘gave’ a little. Merlin grunted, satisfied. Their beds at least would be soft tonight. Moving to the opposite side of the fireplace, he repeated the process, before moving to spread their bed-rolls over the areas.

Arthur interrupted Merlin’s domestic duties, asking “So, anything else I should know about Emrys?”

“Well, yes. A few things. I’m a Warlock. It means that I was born with magic, with far more magic than most sorcerers gain even after years of study.”

“What? I thought nobody could have magic without study. That’s what my father said anyway.”

“Yes, and Uther was such an expert on all things magical!” The snide comment was out before Merlin could censor it. “I…I’m sorry Arthur. I shouldn’t have said that.” Merlin looked down, shame-faced.

“No, you’re right Merlin. My father was blind when it came to anything magical: it’s like he lost all sense when confronted with anything related to sorcery, and he could be rigid in dealing out punishments for users, much as it pains me to admit it. Anyway, go on. So, you were born with magic? Must have been hell for your mother!”

Laughing, Merlin answered “It was! I was moving things around with my mind before I could talk! Mother often said that I’d drive her to drink. Thankfully she was too poor to afford any drink!” Sobering, he continued.

“In the Crystal Cave I learned some new things. It was only three days ago, and it’s too long a story to go into right now. But that was when I came into the fullness of my powers: I haven’t been as strong as I am now for very long, although even before that I was still stronger than any other sorcerer I’d met. Even Morgana.” Pausing, Merlin took another mouthful of wine. “Anyway, Magic came alive while I was in the Cave and took on a face I knew: the face of my father. And he told me: ‘You are more than a son of your father. You are a son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of the world. And you were born of that magic’ (2)

Arthur watched the dark-haired man as he recited the words that had been spoken to him. There was a look of awe on the narrow face, and the blue eyes were focused on something that Arthur could neither see nor fathom. Merlin’s expression suddenly changed, and was now sombre and pain-filled; a sorrow such as he’d never seen on any man’s face, as the young warlock drew breath to continue with his story. “So, because I was ‘born of magic,’ I will always be. (2) Barring injury or illness, I will persist to the end of time. And even when ill or injured I’m far more resilient than the average person. Not that I don’t feel the pain, of course. My body still feels and reacts like any man’s.”
“I don’t understand, Merlin. Explain what that means.”

Tilting his head Merlin gazed, unfocused, around the now-warmed space, talking as though he were sorting something out for himself even as he explained it to the other. “It was how I was able to tell the Sidhe Elder that I would always be watching them, and also why he believed me. And Kilgarrah knew, too.”

Suddenly back in the room once more, intense blue eyes pierced Arthur. “I will never die, Arthur. I will ‘always be’. Merlin looked away, allowing the information to sink into both their minds.

A silence fell, which Arthur did not know how to break. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. ‘Merlin is this powerful? How can one man hold all this inside of him?’

After a time, Merlin continued on: “You know, I’ve spoken with three Immortals since I Came to Camelot. Well, what you would call Immortal. The first was Kilgarrah, the Great Dragon. He lived to be over one thousand years.”

“Wait, you spoke to a Dragon?”

“Yes, Arthur. Another story for another time.” Merlin paused once more. “You know, I have no wish to live for a thousand years.”

“What? Why? Most men would kill to have that! Men have spent their lives trying to slow aging, and prolong life.” Arthur was truly puzzled at Merlin’s sentiment.

Ignoring the comment, Merlin went on. “The next Immortal I spoke with was Nimuè. She was alive long before you were born, Arthur; she was a High Priestess of the Old Religion. Eight years ago when I killed her, she still looked like a young girl; so young and innocent. But she was twisted, bitter and evil. All she wanted was more power for herself.” Suddenly fearful, Merlin looked up at Arthur, “What if that happens to me, Arthur? What if power twists me, too?”

Gaping once again, Arthur blurted “You killed Nimuè? Eight years ago?”

Side-tracked, Merlin answered “Yes. It was around the time you were bitten by the Questing Beast. (3) Do you remember?”

“I will never forget it. You vanished for two days! And after behaving very strangely, I might add! Well, more strangely than usual.” Merlin just looked at Arthur, waiting for the pieces to fall into place. “Wait, that was where you disappeared to? To kill Nimuè?”

“It was a little more complicated than that, but, essentially, yes. In order to save your life there had to be another life paid in exchange. It ended up being hers. After she tried to take my mother’s, life, and then Gaius’. She was so twisted by the power she held, so sure that everything she did was right, and she wouldn’t listen to anybody. So, that was my second experience with an Immortal.” A pregnant pause filled the space before Merlin continued.

“My third experience talking to an Immortal was the Fisher King. You remember, that time we were in the Perilous Lands? (4) “

At this, Arthur interrupted once more, loudly exclaiming “Wait, there was no Fisher King. Not when I was there, and I’m pretty sure you never went there any other time, Merlin!”

“Oh, he was there, Arthur. Only you didn’t see him. He was waiting for me. He’d been waiting for three hundred years, sitting in that throne room, holding his Trident. He’d been holding on for me: to talk to me. When I finally arrived, the only thing he asked from me was to die. His Kingdom had faded, his lands rotted. There was nobody left whom he loved, nobody to talk with. Nobody he could share experiences with. His family was no more, his friends were centuries gone. Everything he had striven for, all that he had ever built and achieved had crumbled to dust. All he could do was wait, holding that damned Trident in solitude and silence, and watch the spiders spin webs over his flesh. ” Merlin bowed his head, memories overwhelming him. Combined with the too-fresh emotion of Gwaine’s recent death, and the loss of Kilgarrah, tears once again overwhelmed the young man.

“All that time, Arthur, and he was so sick of living that the only gift I could offer him was death. Can you see, now, why I have no desire to live until the end of time?”

The blonde man sat, silent, unsure what to do or say. These were concepts he’d never thought of, let alone needed to deal with. And here was Merlin, his manservant, clumsy, and stupid, yet discoursing on these weighty issues as if it were the most normal thing in the world. No wonder Merlin’d displayed an air of wisdom about him occasionally through the years. The wonder was that the warlock had not let it show through more often than he had! It was amazing that the man was even sane, let alone as faithful, loyal and un-corrupted as he was.

That Merlin, all on his own, had already wrestled with these concepts of Life & Death, of Immortality, of Corruption by power was beyond comprehension. How could two men share so many adventures together, yet have two totally different experiences? It beggared belief, yet somehow Arthur did not find himself doubting Merlin’s word.

Rising, Arthur moved the meat, turning the other side towards the fire. Turning to warm his back, he surveyed the Warlock sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Merlin…” words failed him along with his voice.

“No, it’s alright Arthur.” Merlin heaved an almighty sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m usually better than this. It’s just been, you know, a hard few days.”

Nodding, Arthur offered “Harder for you than I, it seems. And I was the one dying.”

“Yeah, well…” Merlin turned his face away. “So, have I answered most of your questions now? Or is there something else?”

Pacing, Arthur considered. There was one thing he needed to know: “Merlin, how did I get healed? Why did we need to come here to do it? And how did you get me across the Lake?”

“I think…I think I’m going to need to answer that one on a full stomach.” Merlin rose surprisingly gracefully from the floor, and crossing to their supplies, grabbed two plates on which to serve their meal.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Two, Episode Thirteen ‘The Last Dragonlord’
(2) Season Five, Episode Twelve ‘The Diamond of the Day Part One’
(3) Season One, Episode Thirteen ‘Le Morte d’Arthur’
(4) Season Three, Episode Eight ‘The Eye of the Phoenix’

Chapter Text

The tall warlock handed Arthur a plate loaded with food. “Here. Unless you’ve got your meat knife, you’ll just have to use your fingers.”

The blonde man grunted in thanks, and retrieving his knife from his belt pouch, began to eat with relish. “Mmmmm. No matter what else I call you, Merlin, you always have been a decent cook. Especially around the campfire.”

Mouth full and grease running down his chin, Merlin nodded. It had been days since he’d had a meal such as this, and he wasted no time digging in to the feast. “Comes of living with Gaius for so many years. Have you tasted that man’s stew?”
Merlin paused, and groaned aloud “Oh, no.”

“What?”

“He threatened to have my ‘favourite’ food ready when I returned. It’s this soup stuff, thickened with oats. Not very appealing, but it was the first thing he served up when I arrived from Ealdor. I’d been walking for days and I was starving so I guzzled it all down. Even had seconds! Ever since then he makes it for me on special occasions.” Merlin’s sour expression expressed his thoughts having to face this particular ‘welcome home’ gift from his foster father and mentor.

Arthur burst out laughing, spraying half-chewed meat over the floor. With a grimace, followed by a glow from Merlin’s eyes the mess was banished, to Arthur’s bemusement, and they continued eating and chatting about inconsequential things until Arthur prompted Merlin about continuing their discussion.

Nodding, Merlin swiped his sleeve across his mouth before taking some water from the freshly filled water skin. “Why Avalon?” repeated the warlock, “Because it’s a place of Old Magic and I couldn’t trade your life anywhere else.” At the remembrance of Kilgarrah’s passing, Merlin was once again subdued.

“Don’t you mean ‘save’, not ‘trade’?” questioned Arthur.

Looking directly into his King’s face, Merlin replied “No. I meant trade.” He paused. “Another of my skills, Arthur, is the ability to Reflect the Power of Life and Death. It used to be done only by the High Priests and Priestesses of the Old Religion, and only at the centre of a gathering of great power. This particular skill was the trademark of everything they were, and could only be accomplished after years, a lifetime, of preparation and study. The Isle of Avalon is one such place the ritual can be performed. The Isle of the Blessed is another: and that’s where I learned I could do this. Nearly ten years ago I learned it, by instinct and accident when I killed Nimuè.” Merlin faltered to a stop, recalling the crushing sense of responsibility that had all but destroyed him in the days after Gaius had explained the magnitude of his accomplishment.

Arthur remained silent, mouth gaping, stunned. What was there to say? That Merlin, while a teenager had done something accidentally and by instinct that a powerful sorcerer would spend a lifetime studying to master. It was beyond his comprehension, and it appeared Merlin also had trouble accepting it.

Sighing, the warlock looked down. “It was after you were injured by the Questing Beast. I touched on this before, remember?” Arthur nodded before Merlin continued: “The Beast was conjured by Nimuè, in order to take your life. In order to save yours, another life needed to be offered in its place. That is the Law of the Old Religion. Balance must be maintained: a life cannot be created without another life be taken. Gaius told me this, and with you dying I travelled to the Island of the Blessed to save your life, and offer mine in exchange. Nimuè agreed, and gave me the cure which I then brought back to Camelot. And you lived.

“That night I went to bed waiting for the bargain I’d struck to be completed, and I did not expect to wake up again.” Sighing heavily, he went on. “But I did wake. I woke to see that my mother, collapsed on the floor of Gaius’ healing room. Deathly ill, she’d had travelled to Camelot for help. That… that twisted sorceress had betrayed me!” Rage burned hot in Merlin’s eyes. It was not an expression Arthur had ever seen on his friend’s face before, and it chilled him.

“So I went back to that place, the Island of the Blessed,” Merlin’s voice showed he had experienced the place as anything but a blessing; “to force Nimuè to stick to the bargain I’d made, and to take my life. Only Gaius suspected what I would do, and had got there before me. He was dead, Arthur, laying on the ground with that witch chanting over him. I was so angry! I’d never felt that angry before. And before I knew it I called down the lightning. Nimuè was dead, and Gaius was alive.” Arthur shivered at the thought of what it would be like to be hated by this gentle-seeming man who wielded such power so casually.

“So when we came to the Isle of Avalon, and it was a replica of the Isle of the Blessed, I knew I could trade your life once more. It was the only way to save you.”

“Yes, but whose life did you trade?”

Merlin shrank into himself a little, hugging his knees once more; “I killed my friend, Kilgarrah.” Salt water gently overflowed from blue eyes: it seemed there was no end, today, to the tears Merlin would shed. Or perhaps he’d just been holding on to them for so many years now, that they all broke free at once.

“Who’s Kilgarrah?”

“He’s the one who told me of my Destiny. He’s the one who showed me my purpose in life was to serve and protect you, Arthur. He gave me a reason to be the way I am, when before I’d seen my magic as only a burden and a curse. He called to me the very first night I was in Camelot, and we have been friends ever since. Ten years! We didn’t always see eye to eye, but he did guide and teach me.” Tears furrowed his face continually: “He was over one thousand years old. And I killed him.”

“Yes, alright. But who is he?”

“Kilgarrah is the Great Dragon, Arthur, who used to live in the caves under Camelot, and who later escaped. I am a Dragonlord, sire. The last Dragonlord, and I have the power to call and control dragons. That’s how we got to Avalon. I called Kilgarrah, and he came and carried us both.”

Utter silence fell. Merlin sat quietly, grieving, and Arthur sat with mouth agape, trying to assimilate this new information. It was too much all in one go. Not only was Merlin a sorcerer, but he was the Most Powerful Sorcerer ever. And he was pretty much Immortal. And he could control Life and Death. And he was a Dragonlord! Overwhelmed, Arthur Leaped to his feet and stalked through the doorway. He needed time, space to think, and he needed to be away from Merlin right now. The warlock let him go.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

It was several hours before Arthur returned. By then Merlin had cleared the remains of their meal, and washed the plates. The remainder of the deer was cut either into chunks wrapped in leaves and baking near the coals of the fire, or into small tongues drying to replenish their travelling rations.

Arthur dropped quietly to the floor, for once not making noise or clatter, and not issuing orders or barking questions at his servant. He waited until Merlin settled on the flagstones in front of him, and drew a deep breath; looking at the Warlock seriously and with compassion he began “I know there’s a lot more to this story than you’ve told me, and one day I want to know all the details. But this time is not about me, it is about you: what you’ve done over the years, what you’ve accomplished, and how you’ve done it. I didn’t realise, before, how much you have invested in Camelot, and how much you’ve given to help me build it. In my arrogance, I assumed it was myself, with the might of swords and the Knights that had united the land. I now see how very mistaken and ignorant I have been. Now: Go on with what you were saying before, about why you brought us here.”

It was the most straight-forward, unassuming and humble speech Merlin had ever heard the King utter. Dipping his head in acknowledgement, the ready tears trickling again, Merlin continued.

“Kilgarrah was old, as I said, and he was dying. I hadn’t called for his help before because he was so close to death and I didn’t want to force him to come to me. Did you know that when I command a Dragon in their Tongue as a Dragonlord, they have no choice but to obey me? I could tell them to do anything and they would have to do it, no matter if it meant their death, or the death of every living thing on the earth. As Kilgarrah taught me, it is not a gift to be misused.” Sombre silence fell, and the two men sat together, contemplating the use and misuse of such authority.

“Anyway, he flew all the way here, so old and dying as he was, and he carried us to Avalon because I asked him.” Merlin was trembling with emotion. A little wiser now, Arthur did not move or offer comfort; he just waited until the warlock had gained enough control to continue.

“When we arrived he was nearly dead. I intended to trade my life for yours, but Kilgarrah wouldn’t hear of it. He asked me to use his life instead. He didn’t want to linger on the Island, unable to take flight again, alone and dying, slowly starving to death. He wanted to end his reign quickly, and for some purpose other than plain old age and infirmity.”
Shuddering, Merlin paused.

“So I called the Lightning again. And I burned him up.” The warlock sobbed openly, resting his face on his crossed arms “And then he was g…gone.” Merlin buried his face in his tunic, wiping tears and snot over his sleeve. Great shuddering breaths racked his body, and Arthur’s chest hurt in sympathy just watching.

Merlin continued on a shaking breath: “But you were alive,” and the familiar wide Merlin-grin appeared, albeit shakily, washed bright with emotion and suffering.

By this time dusk had fallen. Filled with good food and mediocre wine, and exhausted by emotion both men settled down for the night after the fire had been stoked to continue drying the meat overnight.

Merlin particularly enjoyed Arthur’s yelp as he crawled into the bed he’d prepared earlier for him. “Merlin! What? This stone’s soft!” Arthur leaped off the floor, upright before he’d registered that he’d moved. Literally rolling on the floor, incapacitated by gales of laughter, Merlin couldn’t answer for some time.

“Merlin.” Pause.

“Merlin!” slightly longer pause.

“MERLIN!”

The warlock’s mirth was only checked after Arthur’d lobbed both his boots and the empty rucksack at him. Merlin, unable to stop laughing for long enough even to avoid the missiles, eventually reined in his glee sufficiently to allow speech: “Sorry, but your face! It was so…so...”

“Merlin. What did you do to the floor?” The King demanded in his serious voice.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of sleeping on hard ground. And hard stone appealed even less. So I kind of…” he wiggled his fingers in the air, “And made the floor nice and cushy and warm for sleeping on. I thought it’d be nice for a change.”

“You do know you’re a great, big girl don’t you Merlin?” Arthur grumbled, and he prodded the offending surface carefully, not yet ready to trust something that looked like cold hard stone, but felt and behaved like a feather-filled mattress.

Muttering to himself, Arthur moved himself onto the soft surface and drew his blanket over him. Closing his eyes it was difficult to believe that he wasn’t bedded down in his chambers in Camelot, full and comfortable after a feast day. Merlin heard further mutterings, some of which were imprecations against ‘meddling sorcerers’ and others which were pleas to never let the Knights know in case they demanded Merlin pander to them the same way.

Despite the ill humour, Merlin didn’t fail to notice that it was not long before his King’s melodious snores filled the warmed room. Rolling over and burrowing down into the comfortable flagstones, Merlin was soon drawn rapidly into sleep himself, undone by sheer exhaustion.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Morning broke softly, the pre-dawn light glowing through the magical barrier that covered most of the roof and half of the walls. It was a novel experience: being at once encased and safe but surrounded by nature. Arthur lay comfortably on his back, idly watching the birds as they hopped about over his head, catching insects as they foraged. After some time his bladder reminded him that it was time to move, and he reluctantly forced himself from his comfortable nest. Snorting softly, he mused on how ironic it was that a bed of stone should be comfortable enough to make him reluctant to leave it.

Business finished the king returned indoors, and moved to stoke up the fire again. He’d neglected to put on his boots and his feet were dampened with dew. Sitting down, he extended his bare feet towards the fire and reflected. Merlin’s untidy black hair was visible, poking out of his blanket, but nothing more could be seen. The even quiet breaths reassured Arthur that the other man remained asleep.

The last few days had been incredibly confusing. Everything he thought he knew, all that he’d based his Kingdom on had been turned upside down. He was honest enough to realise that it was only his injury and dear-death state that had afforded him this opportunity to come to know this new Merlin. ‘Except it’s not new, it’s old. I was just unaware of it before.’ If he’d been at full strength during the revelation and the days following, Arthur knew that he would likely have reacted even more poorly than he had, most likely imprisoning him for execution. Not that Merlin wouldn’t have been able to escape, but Arthur now understood that his nobility would not allow Merlin to use his magic to defy the King in such a way. As it was, injury and circumstance had forced his dependence on the Sorcerer. By Arthur literally having his life in Merlin’s hands ‘and not for the first time, apparently’ he’d been able to observe the choices Merlin’d made, and the way in which he’d used his magic.

The man was immensely powerful that was obvious. Some of the things he’d spoken about and done were beyond even the wildest tales Uther had frightened a young Arthur with. The fact that Merlin had dropped a deer from 20 paces by stopping its heart, and had used neither word nor gesture to do so was chilling, and demonstrated what the warlock was capable of, if he was so inclined. When the enemy soldiers had approached them on the hillside Merlin could easily have killed them, too. But he chose not to. He’d waited, trying subterfuge first; giving them the enemy the benefit of the doubt before resorting to force. And even when he’d chosen to act against them, he’d only incapacitated rather than killing. This same choice was demonstrated again with the troop of horse who’d nearly found them yesterday. Merlin had simply hidden them both, before re-directed the threat, using magic to confuse and mislead rather than kill.

And what was it he’d said to Morgana before scattering her to the winds? “I blame myself for what you’ve become.” Did that mean that Merlin’d had opportunities in the past to stop her, and had chosen not to? Knowing his friend’s good heart it was entirely possible. ‘And when did I begin thinking that a Sorcerer could have a good heart?’ The revelation blind-sided Arthur. ‘I have always been taught that any who wield magic are evil and corrupt. And yet, here is ‘simple’ Merlin; loyal and strong-willed, who wields more magic that any other in history. And he is not corrupted, and has not taken the path of evil. In fact he forcefully opposes those who would use their power for personal gain. All that he has done, and he has never once demanded recognition.’ The thought threw Arthur’s neatly ordered world upside down, and he knew he would need much time to reflect on this issue before he could make any sort of sensible decision. And surely the things Merlin shared with him throughout yesterday were just the tip of the iceberg. There would undoubtedly be more tales, and further astounding works to learn of. Most of what had been discussed had seemed to happen in the early years of their partnership. Arthur was well aware that the last three or four years had yet to be touched upon. If they ever were.

A soft snort from the other man alerted Arthur that the sorcerer was waking. Merlin turned and stretched, groaning as sleep released its hold on him. ‘Just like any other non-magical person.’ A deep breath followed by a sigh, and Merlin’s blankets were thrust aside, greeting Arthur with his usual irrepressible grin: “Morning Sire.”

Face unusually sober, Arthur returned quietly “Good morning, Merlin.”

Catching the mood instantly, the sorcerer sat up, brow furrowed with concern. “You all right?”

Nodding, Arthur rubbed a hand over his face before answering. “Just thinking.”

Huffing out a laugh, Merlin returned “Yeah, there’s a lot to think about, isn’t there?” And sprang out of bed. He ran outside, presumably on the same errand that Arthur had already completed, and returned quickly. Sharing out the cold roast and vegetables from yesterday, Merlin checked the drying venison, before turning each piece over with a flash of golden irises. “Should be done in another couple of hours. We needed to replenish the travelling rations, anyway.”

The two men sat and ate in silence. It was an unexpectedly comfortable silence, born of shared experiences and the aftermath of intense emotion.

Arthur eventually shattered quiet with yet another question: “Who’s Freya? I heard you mention her to Morgana, and again to the Sidhe. Who is she Merlin, and why do you call her the Lady of the Lake? And why will she watch for you?”

The warlock’s relaxed air suddenly vanished, and melancholy radiated from him. “It’s a very long story Arthur, and not an easy one. But yes, it’s time you knew.”

The king nodded but did not reply verbally. He waited as Merlin gathered his thoughts, determined to let the other proceed at his own pace.

“Freya was a druid girl I met in Camelot many years ago. (1) It was only a year or so after I began serving you. She was young, and she’d been caught by a bounty-hunter. He had her in a horse-drawn cage, filthy, cold, and with a straw bed. He was going to present her to your father for the money he could make.” Shaking his head, Merlin continued. “I was so young, so foolish, and when she looked at me and her eyes met mine through the bars of her prison, there was…something. I can’t describe it! I knew that I couldn’t leave her there. She was so young, and under all the dirt and the ragged clothing, so beautiful!

“I sneaked out that night and freed her. We ran, and I hid her in the passages beneath the citadel. She was so frightened Arthur, and I just knew she wasn’t evil. It could so easily have been me in that cage, shackled, terrified, and expecting a fiery death.” Merlin shuddered, remembering the intensity of that time.

“I remember her.” Said Arthur; “I remember searching for her when the bounty-hunter raised the alarm. She was cursed, wasn’t she? She became a ravening beast, and killed every single night: human beings, Merlin! Why did you release her, when she caused such damage!” Arthur was angry remembering the stress and danger of that time; remembering fighting the beast and driving it off before it could kill once more.

“It wasn’t her fault! She didn’t choose to kill, she hated it so much! And also, at first, I didn’t know. I told you; I was younger and inexperienced.”

Nodding, Arthur gestured “Go on, then.”

“I hid her for two days, bringing her food, and candles. I stayed and talked to her when I could. She was so good, so wonderful, Arthur. I’ve never met anybody like her, before or since. I could be me with her; I didn’t need to hide my magic. She thought I was special.” Merlin’s face was creased with joy, and wonder, and at the same time, with grief and pain.

“She told me that a witch had cursed her many years ago, and condemned her to kill every night when she transformed. She told me of the horror of transforming back into a girl, still standing over the torn, bloody carcass of her latest victim. She told me of stumbling away to throw up in some corner, overcome by the horror and sickness. She told me she’d killed her parents and her brother.” Tears fell silently from blue eyes as Merlin continued, lost in remembering. “But by then I didn’t care what she was. You see I…I loved her.” The warlock sobbed out loud, “She was the first person I ever loved: she was good, and beautiful, and sweet and smart.” Words failed for a long while, as Merlin attempted to regain control.

Arthur sat, shocked, appalled and touched mightily by this tale of tragedy. His eyes moistened as he listened and watched his friend’s anguish.

The warlock raised his head, meeting his friend’s eyes; “I planned to run away with her, you know.” The warlock’s face took on a gentle expression of joy: We would leave Camelot and find a place to live. We would build a house beside a lake surrounded by mountains, and we would live apart from others where she couldn’t kill any more, and she would be safe.” There was now a wistful twist to his smile. “I was prepared to leave everything behind me, to take the chance of living an ordinary life with the woman I loved. But that, of course, could never be.” Suddenly bitter Merlin’s voice continued. “No! Destiny couldn’t abide to let me have even that much happiness!”

After a considerable pause, Arthur prompted “What happened?”

Pinning his eyes on the king, Merlin answered simply “She died. While I held her, beside that lake surrounded by mountains: this Lake, Arthur. The Lake of Avalon.

“I had two days of happiness, hidden as it was from the world, before she died. She was injured in her Bastet form by you Arthur, as you defended Camelot, as you needed to do. She came back to the safe place under the citadel while she was still the beast injured. And she knew me, even in that form. She was no threat to me. We could have been happy, Arthur, I know it!” Again Merlin was overwhelmed with emotion, and Arthur settled back and let him cry.

It seemed that there really was very little that he knew about Merlin. He assumed the boy was too clumsy, too gawky and silly or innocent, or blind to ever find anyone who would love him, or to ever want to find love in that way. Guilt overwhelmed the King as he of is Guinevere, and the comfort and support she brought as his wife. He could not imagine never experiencing the richness that their deep love over the years had brought. But Merlin could, Merlin had: having tasted the first beginnings of joy it had then been denied him.

Shuddering, Merlin drew in a long breath before continuing with his narration; “She was dying, and she knew it, so I took her to the lake and held her there on the shores while she died. Afterwards I placed her in an old wooden dingy I found. I made a bed out of ferns for her to lay on, and dressed her in the finest silk gown I could find. She deserved that respect after all she’d suffered. And then I sent the boat out onto the lake and used my magic to burn her to ashes. And then I left.”

Stunned, Arthur recalled “That’s why you were so withdrawn for that week after the bastet left Camelot! It wasn’t anything to do with whatever disagreement we’d had, was it. Merlin shook his head, but did not answer for some time. He allowed tears to cleanse his grief: this was the first time he’s spoken of Freya since her passing, and he found that sharing the story helped more than he’d ever thought possible. There was a lightness in his heart now, where before thinking of his lost love had brought only sadness. Relating this grief to Arthur, who listened, and appeared to understand, helped heal Merlin of a long-held grief.

“It wasn’t until more than two years later that I learned Freya didn’t really die. I bound her, somehow, to the magic of Avalon and her spirit has resided in the Lake ever since. (2) I have spoken to her twice, and seen her, briefly, once since then.”

Quiet descended, as both men sat in silence, meditating on the past. Each man focused internally on their thoughts.

Merlin was reflecting that in all the long years ahead of him there would always one person who would not age or fade, and who would be happy to talk with him. He realised that he would never be entirely alone, even unto the end of time.

Arthur wondered how much of his life the other had lived in secret, and how many of the hurts and joys Merlin had never had opportunity to share with anybody.

Abruptly making a decision, Merlin leapt to his feet. “It’s time I went and spoke to her again. Come along Arthur, and I can introduce you!”

The dark-haired man had vanished out of the door before Arthur could draw breath, either to refuse or accept the invitation. Sitting, gaping like a fish, he eventually followed the warlock, interested despite himself, to meet this mysterious Lady of the Lake.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Two, Episode Nine. ‘The Lady of the Lake’
(2) Season Three, Episode Thirteen ‘The Coming of Arthur, Part Two’

Chapter Text

The two friends exited their shelter, and headed once more towards the Lake’s edge. The sun was out and drying the dew although dampness still persisted on the grass within the shadows thrown by trees and buildings. Arthur watched silently as Merlin stopped on the small rise before the bank fell down to the water and removed his boots. Socks were peeled off, and his serviceable brown trousers were rolled up to his knees.

“I’ve never done this before. But it feels like I should be in contact with the Lake if I am to summon Freya.” Merlin commented.

Arthur simply nodded: he had no knowledge at all about such things. If Merlin wanted to go barefoot that was fine with him. A thought struck him: “Wait. What do you mean you’ve never done this before? You said you’d spoken her in the past, and seen her.”

“Yes, but both times she came to me. I didn’t call her.”

“So there’s a spell you’re going to use? To call her?”

“Mmm…I suppose so. I’ll have to construct one.”

“You can do that? I thought all spells were learned by study from others.”

“I can make my own spells Arthur, I’ve always been able to. Sometimes I don’t even need a spell. But for this I will. Once I’ve done it, though, I know that I’ll be able to summon her any time I want and I won’t need words. My magic will know the feel of what I need to do, and just do it when I will it to.”

Arthur’d never heard of skills like this. Then again, he knew so little about sorcery. But he was willing to bet that this was yet another way in which Merlin differed from the average magic-user.

He watched as the warlock moved forwards slowly, almost as though sensing his way towards the Lake. Merlin kept moving until the cool water lapped about his calves, then stood still. He closed his eyes and tilted his head forward lifted both arms, palms down, toward the water. A tingle of anticipation filled the watching King; He was about to witness powerful magic that had never been performed before. Instead of feeling fear, Arthur was filled with a sense of wonder, and did not think to question it.
Arthur became conscious of a series of muttered words floating on the still air; Merlin was chanting something.

“Ic I clipe forÞwíf, iwan ùre sylfum. Ic I clipe forÞwíf, drotigen eac mec” (1) Merlin’s voice began almost inaudibly, the strange words holding an intensity that raised the hair along Arthur’s flesh. As the phrase was repeated: “Ic I clipe forÞwíf, iwan ùre sylfum. Ic I clipe forÞwíf, drotigen eac mec”, the litany gained strength and, with a final repetition, Merlin was fairly roaring the syllables out over the water.

Arthur waited; he could almost see Merlin’s authority radiating outwards. The warlock lifted his head and calmly scrutinised the surface of the Lake, waiting for his response.
Several feet away the glassy surface began to roil, as though a giant’s campfire burned on the Lake’s bed. Both men fixed their gaze on the commotion: Arthur with awe and tension, Merlin with a calm surety. A dark focus to the disturbance enlarged, and a black head appeared followed, slowly, by a serene face and a slender body clothed in amethyst robes with a deep red cloak floating to her feet.

Freya appeared very young, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. She was pale of face with dark hair flowing past her shoulders. Her features were long but elegant, bestowing a delicate beauty. Her eyes were soft, of an indeterminate colour, and focused now on the sorcerer who had summoned her. The Lady extended her hands and stepped lightly across the surface of the water, approaching Merlin.

“My love…” she reached the waiting man and grasped his hands in greeting, her cool flesh contacting his warm palms with a tingling sensation. “I can sense your power Merlin. You have grown much since we last talked.”

“Freya.”

Arthur had never seen this particular expression on his servant’s face before. He settled himself on his haunches, squatting quietly at the top of the bank as he observed the pair.
Merlin spoke quietly “Thank you for responding. Thank you for showing yourself to me,” and bowed his head.

“None of that, now, my love. I will always come when you call me, my Merlin.” Her hand reached to the point of his chin, raising his face towards her. “It is a pleasure for me to see you once more.”

Merlin was trembling, barely able to answer so overcome with joy was he. This was the first time he’d laid eyes on Freya properly since her death so many years ago. The past two times he’d seen her it had only been a hand, or a glimpse of her reflected face. And yet here she was in her entirety, and Merlin hardly knew what to say or how to react. He raised an arm, tenderly tracing a finger down the side of her face. Reaching her cheek, he cupped it gently before swiping the pad of his thumb across her lips. Delicately thin lips they were, yet so kissable, and Merlin was swept away in an avalanche of memories, reliving again the taste and the feel of his love. His first and only love.

Drawn as if by a magnetic force, Merlin found himself leaning forward into Freya, not caring that there was no warmth in her flesh, nor caring that she smelled of the clean lake-water rather than the pungent earthy scent he remembered. Smiling Freya met him half way, cradling the back of his head as their lips met. It was a kiss of friendship and of gentle love rather than the passion one would expect from two people long-estranged, now reconciled once more. Merlin drew back, then closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his Lady’s. There the lovers stood, arms about each other in silent communion for many minutes. Merlin’s tears fell gently, seeping down his face and mingling with those shed by Freya before merging with the Lake water surrounding their feet. It was a time of healing, and a time of grieving for both of them.

No words were needed to express their thoughts or emotions. It was almost as if they could communicate directly mind to mind, two Immortal beings together. Time passed, and the two dark heads remained close as they stood, surrounded by the magical waters of the Lake of Avalon. Quiet descended, as if all nature gave her blessing on these two and the limited time they had together.

Whispering, caressing Freya’s head, Merlin spoke “I wish, Freya, oh how I wish…” he stumbled to a halt, unable to finish his sentence, for down that path lay madness. He could not afford to spend time investing in ‘might have beens’ and ‘if onlys’.

He shook his head, and with a tremendous act of will forced his thoughts down another track: “Do you remember, my love, the plans we made? That we would move far away from the dwellings of men, and live alone in the forest, supported by nature herself. We would live free, and use our magic together, and nobody would interfere. It would have been perfect, Freya.”

The Lady laughed softly, her rich contralto voice caressing her love’s ear as she spoke.

“I remember, Merlin. I remember so much. I remember a frightened girl in a cage, who found safety within a pair of so serious blue eyes. I remember sitting and talking in the catacombs with candle-light playing on our faces. I remember strawberries, and a beautiful red rose-bud. But most of all I remember your love and your care of me.”
Once again silence fell: Arms now twined around waists, and their heads rested on one-another’s shoulder as they stood, cheek to cheek, together in this moment as they had always yearned to be. Many more minutes passed, until Merlin began to feel the cold creeping up his legs.

Merlin’s strong masculine voice broke the silence, a whisper of sound; “But it was not to be. If not for you, Freya, as Lady of the Lake, I could not have led Arthur to the throne. If not for you, Camelot would have been lost. But, oh, I wish…” His hand stroked her hair, from the crown of her head to the middle of her back, and the Lady sighed in pleasure.
“Oh, Merlin. I still love you, and I always will.” The words were soft, meant only for him in this moment. “But no. We were not to be, as much as I would have wished it. Destiny had other plans for us both. This way my love, you need never be alone; I will always be available to you, no matter how many years you will spend on this earth.”

“Freya.” The young man sobbed, finally finding his voice. “My Freya. It is so good to see you once more.” He lifted his head, scrubbing at his cheeks as he did so. “I have changed much, Lady. And mostly I just wanted to see you. But there are also some things we must discuss.”

“I know Merlin, I have been watching you. For all the lakes and rivers of the world are windows for me to see into the Mortal Realm: now that you have called me, you may seek me in these other places too. I know the things you have done, I know the power you wield, and I know who you are, Emrys.” Chuckling now, Freya continued. “You see, I knew you were special when I first met you.”

Merlin’s gentle laugh broke free, “Yes, I remember you telling me. And I didn’t believe you then.”

“No. But you have now come into your full powers. You are the Great Emrys indeed. What would you have me do for you?”

“There are several things, Lady. I have had dealings with the Sidhe, and have commanded them not to interfere in the Mortal Realm any more. I have told them that I will watch them forever, to ensure that they do not break this agreement. I have also informed them that you would watch for me, if I was ever unable to.”

“Consider it done, Emrys. It is good to know that they will no longer interfere with or harm the world of men. They are far too fond of their own power, and have always craved more. It is well that you have put a stop to it: they are dangerous and vengeful. Have no fear, I can contain them if need be. My powers are bound to the Lake of Avalon, which is their Source. It may be difficult, but I can cut off the flow of magic which sustains them if they ever renege on your agreement.”

“Thank you Lady. I confess that I had hoped for something like this. The other matter has to do with the witch Morgana. I have not killed her, but I have destroyed her body so that she can no longer interfere with Camelot and Arthur. Her spirit floats about this world, and will do so for all eternity. As two immortals, spirits bound to the water and the air, you will likely come across her at some time. I confess that I hope she may find some wisdom and healing with you, and redeem herself in some way.”

Merlin paused, then continued on; “She is evil, and not to be trusted. But time may yet change this. Watching the world through the ages, but not able directly to affect it may mellow her. But only if she has somebody to guide her. I can think of nobody whose courage and gentleness is more suited to this than you.”

“I am aware of Morgana.” The Lady answered. “And I am aware of you, too Arthur Pendragon.” The Lady’s gaze suddenly flicked to pin the Royal blue eyes with her own. Her next words were spoken directly to the King: “I know of your destiny, and how it is bound with Merlin’s. I look forward to the peace and unity you will bring to the land together. I look forward to the return of Magic.”

Arthur bowed a courtly gesture, and acknowledged Freya. “My Lady. I take this opportunity to thank you for all you have done for Merlin, for myself, and for Albion. I understand we are all greatly in your debt.”

“The fates have willed it so, Arthur Pendragon, and there is no debt. All that needed paying was paid long ago by the compassion of Merlin, the Emrys. Be sure, Arthur Pendragon, to look after him well. There is not another in the Kingdom, no, the world, that has his genuine and noble heart.”

Arthur bowed once more in reply, feeling that words were not needed. The weight of the Lady’s gaze, while gentle, was formidable and wise beyond all knowledge. He found the experience quite disconcerting.

The piercing gaze left Arthur, and he found he could breathe once more as Freya turned her attention back to Merlin and addressed him, continuing their previous conversation: “Morgana has not come near me yet; she is still too consumed with anger and with adjusting to her new state of being. In time, when it is right, I will contact her and I will bring what healing I can. The Vilia can assist me with this: they can, for a short time, leave the running waters in which they dwell in order to travel through the air. Be assured I will send them when it is right.”

“The Vilia! Then it was you who sent them to heal me after I was injured by the dorocha!” (2) Merlin’s eyes opened wide in shock. It had not occurred to him that the Water Spirits were in any way connected to the Lady of the Lake.

“Of course! I could not leave you to suffer and die my Merlin. Not when you had already saved me with your love so long ago.” Freya trailed her hands along Merlin’s face, caressing him softly.

“Thank you. I was only half-aware at the time; my soul and my body were frozen by the dorocha’s touch. I recall being placed beside some waterway, and then being drawn to touch the water with my hand. But beyond that I remember nothing other than waking the next morning, feeling well and whole. It was Lancelot who told me of the Vilia, and that they had healed me and watched over us that night.” Merlin placed a gentle kiss on his Lady’s lips, conveying his gratitude.

“I will always watch over you, Merlin. And I will always help you in any way I can. I am ever in your debt my love.” The affection was plain to see in Freya’s face. “Please call on meat any time you are in need. Even if only to talk.” Their time together was almost over, they could both feel it. Merlin still had tasks to perform and a limited time in which to accomplish them. Each holding the other in a close embrace once more, they sought to extend the moment, knowing that this was all they could ever be to one another.

“It is good to know, Lady, that you will always be there. My long years would be unbearably lonely otherwise.” Teardrops once more decorated Merlin’s face. Freya leaned forward and kissed each pearl away, causing the warlock to shiver as she did so, raising his hands to cup her shoulders.

“I love you, Merlin. Now and always.” Her voice was a whisper as she began to fade and return to the water from which she came.

“And I love you Freya.” Merlin’s voice caught in a sob. “Both now, and always.”

Their lips met once more in a long farewell kiss, and then Freya disappeared, falling back into the Lake and leaving the warlock standing knee-deep in water, his hands clasping only air to his body.

Arthur watched as Merlin composed himself with difficulty, great shuddering breaths released one at a time until he was more settled. He then slowly turned and waded from the Lake, sitting beside him on the bank to replace his footwear.

“So, that is Freya.” He mused aloud. “The Lady of the Lake.”

“Yes.”

“And she owes you a debt.”

“So she says.” Merlin chuckled. “I always felt it was the other way around,” and he dashed a few more drops from his face.

Nodding, Arthur forbore to answer. There was nothing he could add, except “Thank you for allowing me to be a part of this.”

Startled, Merlin’s blue eyes glanced upwards, shock on his face. Arthur rarely thanked him for anything. And never had he imagined receiving thanks for exposing the King to magic.

“Well.” Standing and brushing himself off, Merlin moved on brusquely “Now we need to work out how we’re getting you back to Camelot. I’m sure Gwen is worried, even though I’ve talked with her…”

“What? You talked with Gwen, too? I thought it was just Gaius you could mind-speak with, because he had magic?” Arthur was stunned once again at what Merlin had revealed.

“Well, yes, I did talk to Gwen. But not the same way as Gaius. I used the mirror in her chambers.”

Eyes narrowed, Arthur growled at Merlin “You spied on Gwen using the mirror in her chambers, Merlin?” Suddenly the warlock knew he was on dangerous ground. Arthur had grasped his sword reflexively and stalked towards the other man, danger in every line of his warrior’s body.

Merlin held both hands up in surrender, backing away from the enraged royal. “Well, yes... only I didn’t…it wasn’t…” He stopped and drew a sobering breath. Here he was, the Great Emrys, intimidated by a mortal King in a snit over an imagined slight.

“Arthur!” The warlock spoke firmly, “Yes, I contacted Gwen using her mirror, and spoke to her. It was to tell her that you were alive, you great dingle-twerp! You know me, I do not spy.” Hands on hips, Merlin faced off against his liege-lord.

Realising he’d over-reacted Arthur relaxed a little. “Dingle-twerp? Dingle-twerp? I’ll have you know I’m the King of Camelot, not some random word you picked out of the air!”

“I did not pick it randomly! I spent a long time coming up with that name. And it suits you perfectly.” Merlin grinned, before lighting off up the hill with an enraged Arthur racing behind him bent on capturing the offending man.

Arthur hollered after him “So what does it mean, Merlin? The same thing as clot-pole? Or dollop-head?” Arthur’s yelling was suddenly replaced by cursing, as a tree-branch that had definitely not been there a half-second before appeared to ensnare his feet, sending him tumbling head over heels.

Laughing at the success of his magical prank, Merlin evaded the other, thankful that their relationship had, for now, returned to normal. Or what served as normal for them anyway.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

“So, we need to get you back to Camelot. And fast, or rumours of your death will spread and destabilise the kingdom.” Merlin mused after the two had caught their breath and stood together in the courtyard where the Table waited. “I have an idea, but you may not like it, Arthur.”

“What is it?”

“We can travel by Dragon.”

“Dragon? But I thought there was only one, and you said you’d killed him.”

“Yes. There was only one.” Merlin stressed the past tense.

“What do you mean was? Where did another dragon come from?”

Merlin chuckled. “From where all dragons come: Summoned by a Dragonlord from their egg.”

Eyes popping open wide in realisation, Arthur blurted out “The Tomb of Ashkanar! (3) You got inside before it collapsed, and retrieved the egg!”

Ruefully, Merlin nodded. “Actually, it was me retrieving the egg that made it collapse. The whole tomb was a trap, which Ashkanar had created to make sure the egg was protected through the ages.”

“And you both triggered the trap, and escaped it?”

Merlin nodded.

Sighing, Arthur replied, spreading his hands in a fatalistic gesture “Why am I not surprised.” And swore he heard another muttered “Dingle-twerp” from Merlin.

The warlock stepped away from Arthur and turned his head to the sky, inflating his lungs. For the second time in his life Arthur was treated to the sound of a Dragonlord summoning a dragon:

“O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes!” (4) The unnatural sound was no less unsettling for being experienced previously.

“What did you just do?” the King inquired, curious to expand his knowledge.

“I summoned Aithusa. She’s the only dragon left, now. She will respond to my call.” Merlin seemed assured of this, and promptly dropped down cross-legged onto the grass to wait. Arthur had no choice but to follow suit.

It was about a half-hour later that Arthur spied a familiar winged shape in the air, descending rapidly. Despite understanding that the dragon was under Merlin’s total control, adrenaline spiked through his body and he leapt to his feet, ready to defend himself. His only clear memories of dragons involved attack: once at Camelot in a battle that lasted several days, and the other a few days ago on the battlefield of Camlann.

“It’s alright, Arthur. She won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Looking sideways at the other man, Arthur sincerely hoped so. All his fear faded, however, as the creature landed on the ground in front of Merlin and executed a bow by lowering her head.

“Merlin! How are we going to ride that?” The idea was laughable, and Arthur glared at the Dragonlord in front of him.

This dragon was nowhere near as large as Kilgarrah. In fact, in comparison she was downright puny. There was no strength of limb or wing, and the beast appeared twisted and misshapen. Hardly larger than a sturdy cart-horse she creature appeared weak and ill. Her scales were mere patterns on her hide, and held neither strength nor luster. Opening her mouth, she emitted a strange chirring mew. Merlin moved forward confidently, laying his hand on the side of her head and looking into her large glassy-blue eyes. “I know you cannot talk, Aithusa. But I have a task for you, if you will accept it?”

The beast nodded, appearing to understand what was said to her.

“Yes, I know you are brave, Aithusa. But first there is something we must do. I will not command this of you; it must be your own free will.”

Arthur nearly swallowed his tongue: was Merlin mad? Even though undersized the white dragon had been able to inflict plenty of damage on his men during the battle. A dragon of any size, left to its own choice, was a terrifying thought.

“I would like to heal you, Aithusa, if you would allow it. I am Dragonlord, and I am also Emrys. I command a Staff of the Sidhe, and I have access to the mighty Blade forged by Kilgarrah, which still holds his magic. By combining these, I hope to be able to restore you to what you should have enjoyed before your growth was corrupted when you were trapped in that pit by Sarrum. (5)

“I warn you, Aithusa, before you make your decision, that I have not worked this magic before. I feel that it will work, but I cannot guarantee it. I will give you some time to consider your decision.” So saying, Merlin turned his back on the white dragon, and returned to their shelter, Arthur following behind.

“Can you really do this, Merlin?”

“Yes.” Was the immediate answer, followed by a more reserved “Well, I think so.”

“How do you know that? Has this ever been done before? By anyone?”

“I don’t know Arthur. I don’t think so. It is rare for a dragon to be mis-treated so as to need this kind of intervention. Their innate magic would normally prevent it.” Merlin was moving about the room, re-packing their bedding and supplies as he spoke. The now-dried deer-meat was packed into the leather satchel designated for travelling rations, and the rest of their things were placed into the rucksack.

“Then how do you know it will work?”

Merlin stopped for a moment, answering briefly before returning to his task, as though his words resolved all doubts, as perhaps they did: “I am Emrys.”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) “I implore you Great Lady, reveal yourself. I implore you Great Lady, that ye converse with me.”
Spell translations taken from OldEnglishTranslator.co.uk. I give any Old English scholars free permission to laugh heartily at my efforts: I have no doubt that my syntax & word choices are appalling! But, after all, it is only a story.
(2) Season Four, Episode Two ‘The Darkest Hour Part Two’
(3) Season Four, Episode Four ‘Aithusa’
(4) Taken from ‘Merlin.wikia.com’
(5) Season Five, Episode Eight. ‘The Hollow Queen.’

Chapter Text

The room was cleared, and the magical barriers and enhancements had been removed. Once more the ruin was only a ruin. Merlin and Arthur moved back outside, taking their supplies with them as they moved to hear Aithusa’s decision. Arthur had Excalibur tucked through his belt, and Merlin held his Sidhe Staff loosely in his hand.

The white dragon stood quietly, patiently awaiting their return.

“Aithusa.” Greeted the Dragonlord, “Have you come to a decision?”

The dragon bobbed her head, nodding “Yes,” growling and churring as she did so.

“Very well then. Do you wish me to attempt to restore you?”

Again Aithusa bobbed her “Yes”, this time her vocal sounds stronger and more purposeful.

“You understand that there is no guarantee? That you may in fact be harmed by this? That I have not performed this magic before, and neither has anybody else to my knowledge?”

“Yes” came the answer.

“Let us proceed, then.” Turning to Arthur, Merlin held out his hand. “I will need your sword, Sire.”

“What? Why?” Arthur was clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

Laughing, Merlin answered “It’s all right, Arthur. I promise I won’t hurt the sword. It’s full of Old Magic: Kilgarrah himself burnished it many years ago at my request. As I remember, he wasn’t very impressed with the idea at the time!”

“Kilgarrah? Wait, you created this sword? What about that legend you told me, about it belonging to King Brutus and used to bring peace to Albion in the past? (1) Was that all lies?”

Looking abashed Merlin answered “Welllll…the bit about the Legend of Brutus was true.” He offered, attempting to disarm Arthur with his cheeky grin.

The King growled in displeasure, but did not argue the point. At the time he’d needed the impetus believing Merlin’s story had given him.

“And no, I didn’t really create the sword. Kilgarrah did. Well, he burnished it when I asked him.” Knowing Arthur would want more details, he proceeded to sketch the sword’s history. “So, Kilgarrah is a Creature of the Old Religion, and was powerful and full of magic when he created the sword. I will need that magic if I am to influence Aithusa, another Creature of the Old Religion.”

Arthur nodded, seeing the logic of Merlin’s request, and handed Excalibur over albeit with some reluctance.

Merlin took the sword and began to draw a circle in the earth with it, marking a ring around where Aithusa stood. When the circle was finished he marked two more circles, one larger than the other inside the ring each side of the young dragon. He then planted the sword point-first in the ground within the smallest circle.

Next Merlin grasped his Sidhe Staff, and using the un-decorated end worked another circle, just inside the first large one. The two smaller circles were also enhanced: the one holding Excalibur marked on the outside, the other on the inside. Finally, he thrust the Staff upright in the earth in the middle of the empty circle, the blue stone glowing palely in the sunlight. As he worked he explained to Arthur and Aithusa “The Sidhe are also Creatures of the Old Religion. By including their Staff in the magic I add to the potency and enhance the spell. Affecting the magic of Aithusa will be no easy thing: Dragons were in the land long before men, and were the original founders of the Old Religion. It will take the combined force of as many different aspects of Old Magic that I can gather in order to accomplish this.”

Merlin finished scribing on the ground then moved into the circle himself, adding “I, too am a Creature of the Old Religion, and as such can add to the different elements gathered here in order to effect the changes required.” So saying directly in front of the dragon, ensuring he was equidistant from the Sword and the Staff. “Are you ready Aithusa?”

The White Dragon graciously inclined her head to the Dragonlord, who raised both his arms in preparation.

Turning once more to focus on the man watching all of this, Merlin commanded “Whatever you do, Arthur, do not touch myself, the Circle or Aithusa until the spell is complete. This much magic would undoubtedly burn you. I have no wish to return you to Camelot blind, deaf and half mad.”

Worry creasing his face, the King asked “You do know what you’re doing, don’t you Merlin?”

“Yes. Well. I think so. I am making this up as I go along. It seems right, anyhow.” Pausing a moment, the warlock appeared to look inside himself. “Yes, it does seem right. Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?” Arthur quickly scurried backwards a score of feet, not wanting to be within range.

Extending his fingers light began to gather in his palms even as it also did above the sword and the staff. Suddenly bright coruscating arches flashed through the air joining Merlin to the two powerful talismans, linking the Warlock to them both. Power arced over and around the young dragon, who stood, calmly, amidst the maelstrom. Focusing, Merlin linked himself mentally with the life of the Island of Avalon which surrounded him. Vibrating and intense, he revelled in the astounding sensation of being a part of all Creation.

At first it began with a gentle sound, like thunder rolling, or an army of mounted warriors approaching from miles away. Gradually the sound grew, the deep tones beyond human hearing at first, then moving up the scale into audible range. Infinitesimally the earth herself began to tremor. The tremors increased to a faint shivering as the deep notes continued to swell. The bright lines of power linking Merlin to the Sword and the Sidhe Staff grew and thickened: the sword’s light a rich red, and the Staff’s a pure blue. Merlin’s own light was a deep powerful gold, and together these colours braided themselves into a living moving cord. As the earth’s movement increased further the circles scribed into her began to give off a light of their own. A pure white fountain of magic spasmed up from the earth, hurling itself skyward and obscuring all within the circle.

Shutting his eyes against the display Arthur dropped to his knees no longer able to keep his footing. The quakes increased another order of magnitude, and the roaring of the earth from which the Island was formed filled his brain, forcing him to clamp his hands over his ears. A gale of wind hurled itself into Arthur’s face, scented with lightning, and he ducked his head down between his knees for protection. Wryly he thought that Merlin’s warning not to approach the Circle was entirely unwarranted: there was no way he would go anywhere near the incredible amount of energy in play here! Only a fool would approach, and Arthur was no fool.

Within the Circle, Emrys stood with eyes closed and hands raised. He was encased, cocooned, in Magic. The deep power within the Warlock spewed forth, joyously rushing to meld with the Old Power that surrounded him. Ecstasy possessed Merlin as he struggled to contain and control the separate Magics and at the same time meld them into a Force that he could use. Once again he drew power from the Life that surrounded him, and could feel each individual spark as it joined in: sparrows settling quietly, the deer nestling into the grass of the meadows, insects stilling, and rabbits coming to an unaccustomed halt wherever they happened to be.

Panting with effort, Merlin submerged himself into the language of the Old Tongue and composed his spell, needing to speak forth his commands in order to shape that which he now wielded:

“Aithusa þu you orðest drýlác þæm ieldum ond þu you bregdan þá biliþ þára sceafta.” (2)
“Béo ymbhammene innan strenge ond gehælednesse. Aithusa þu you geþicgan se ellencræft.” (3)
“Béo hælþe edstaðelunge.” (4)

The last phrase was repeated several times, commanding health, salvation and wholeness for the young dragon.

And, as Merlin spoke, so it was. The coruscating energy bands latched on to the dragon’s body, shielding her from all sight, even that of the spell-caster’s. By force of will alone Emrys held his concentration, and control of the Power, using his mind to channel the incredible forces that ran through and around him flowing from the earth herself. He combined and shared power from the Staff and the Sword and deposited its enhanced blessing on the frail twisted body of Aithusa.

The Island shook, the trees and grass bent as before a great gale, and the air itself trembled with power. If Arthur had not already sought refuge, burying his head in his lap, he surely would have done so now. No mortal could have witnessed such an outpouring of might and survived unscathed.

Slowly, gradually, the maelstrom quieted. The earth tremors eased, and the bright colours faded. The screaming of energies summoned lowered in volume as the powers returned, dormant, to where they slept. Calm and peace established itself, heightened now after the furore just conjured.

Hesitatingly Arthur raised his head to survey the area in front of him, hardly knowing what to expect. Initially, the tableau appeared unchanged: Merlin stood firm with arms raised before a white winged shape. The sword and the staff stood planted in the ground, only the markings on the earth had been erased, as though they had never been.

Looking closer Arthur noted that Merlin’s gaze appeared fixed on the altered Aithusa, and the warlock gave a nod as if pleased with what he’d wrought.

Stealthily Arthur moved quietly closer, to see what it was his friend had achieved. He was just in time to steady Merlin as the man fell to his knees with a grunt, face pale and hair matted with sweat. The men knelt on the damp grass together, observing the changes in Aithusa: The Dragon stood proud and tall, a very different creature now. Although nowhere near as large yet as Kilgarrah, her frame was strong and sturdy. Whereas before she’d been the size of a large cart-horse, she now towered above such an animal easily, closer in size to the ‘ellyphant’ of the southern lands, of which Arthur had heard tales.

Her neck was long and graceful, spines curving from the dorsal ridge. Her head was no longer lumpy and misshapen, but elegant, the muzzle soft-looking, and her armour-plated skull highlighting the serene beauty of her azure eyes. Four robust limbs ended in strong claws: the hind legs settled comfortably like a cat, while the front reached straight and true to the earth. Her body was rounded, filled with muscle and covered in overlapping diamond-hard scales which glittered, reflecting sunlight as she drew breath in and out. Her wings were broad, the delicate membrane between the spines semi-transparent in the sun as she raised them above her head. Her muscular tail uncurled from around her front feet and lashed at the ground, tearing great furrows as it did so.

In joy, in exultation, Aithusa the White Dragon, Hope of Albion raised her head towards the sky and emitted a great jet of flame, and roared her presence into the heavens.

Merlin reached a trembling hand to the dragon; “Go, Aithusa. Hunt and eat. You will need food now after such a trial as this. Go, and let me recover as well.” Groaning, the warlock collapsed to his side in the grass, grasping his head with both hands as though afraid movement would detach it from his body.

Concerned, Arthur bent over and gently shook his friend by the shoulder. “Merlin? Merlin!”

Another pained groan was his answer, followed by horrid retching sounds. Arthur quickly and gently raised the man’s head and directed the foul stream of stomach contents safely away from them all as Merlin’s body contracted violently and he vomited until there was only bile left. Shuddering, the warlock lay his head back down on the green sward, moaning piteously once more.

“Merlin! Wake up! Are you all right? What happened?” Arthur was now frantic as Merlin refused to answer, and lay panting instead, face pale and beaded with perspiration.

“Relax, Dragonlord’s Companion,” Came a melodious voice from above; “The Warlock needs time to recover from this great working.” Arthur had forgotten the transformed dragon in his concern about Merlin. He jerked his head up as his eyes frantically sought Aithusa’s.

“You can talk!” the man was stunned.

Laughing gently Aithusa answered “Of course, Friend of Dragons. It was always meant to be so. Only the hardships and deprivation I experienced when just hatched caused my stunted and twisted state. Emrys has restored me to what I should always have been.”

“But what of Merlin? What’s wrong with him?” Arthur laid a hand back on his friend’s shoulder, preparing to shake him into wakefulness once more.

“No!” came the sharp command from above. “Do not disturb the Warlock. He needs to rest. Jostling him like that will only increase his pain, and cause him to vomit once more. He may be Immortal, Friend of Dragons, but his body is still only human. His magic and his will are strong. Stronger than even I had known. It was his mind that held together the disparate magics and melded them into a unified force to accomplish his will. His body has suffered, though, and needs time to repair. His brain is inflamed; one half of his skull screaming in pain and causing the sickness he now experiences. Rest is the only cure. When he wakes, offer him cool water, in sips only, lest his body reject it again. Be reassured, though. He will recover, and fully.”

Arthur nodded, agreeing. The movement caused him to discover that he himself sported a headache as a memento of being present at the transformation, and he winced.

“And now, Friend of Dragons, I must leave for a while. The Warlock was correct: I need to hunt and to feed myself. My new body requires sustenance to enable me to carry you both home to Camelot. Rest assured that I shall return soon.”

So saying, she spread her mighty wings and leapt into the air. Her first great down-beat sent a gale of wind into Arthur’s face, laden with dust and small pebbles and he squinted his eyes against it. Once more Aithusa roared with the joy of living, and sailed off through the air on her errand.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur calculated by the movement of shadows that about three hours had passed since Aithusa left. He’d dragged Merlin away from the foul puddle the man’d created and brought him to the lee side of a low wall. Unfortunately the movement had triggered another bout of groaning and vomiting, and it was some time before the Warlock lay still again.

Arthur remembered back to the times his father had been brought low by what Gaius called a ‘migraine’, which had resulted from a battle-wound to the head when a sword-cut had left a great scar above the former king’s right eye.  Recognising the similarity of symptoms Merlin was now displaying, he decided to treat the Warlock in a similar way. Recalling that Uther would shudder with cold, he positioned his slight friend to allow the sun to warm him. Recalling that light aggravated his father’s condition, he then draped his own cloak over Merlin’s head to provide shade, first padding a good amount underneath as a pillow. He just hoped the vomiting had finished, as he had no desire to have Merlin foul his cloak with noxious substances. These treatments seemed to ease Merlin, and he’d drifted into a more settled slumber.

Glancing sideways at the recumbent form, Arthur was alerted by a low groan; “Ar..ter?”

Moving quickly to prevent Merlin from sitting up, he placed a retraining hand on the bony shoulder. “Shh. It’s alright Merlin. Don’t move, you’ll only make yourself sick again. Here, have some of this.” And he peeled back the concealing cloth and held the open mouth of a freshly-filled waterskin to Merlin’s lips.

“Mmm” was Merlin’s reply, and the man opened his mouth to accept a few sips.

“That’s all for now” Arthur took the skin away. “What else can I do?”

“Can you make Willow-bark tea?” Merlin whispered.

“I don’t know. How do you make it?” Arthur turned his head away from Merlin’s breath, screwing his face up at the foetid smell.

“Find a willow, and take a layer of bark from it, where the growth is new. Heat water over the fire, then place the inner part of the bark into it after it’s boiled. Let it steep for a few minutes then remove the bark. It’s a good remedy for headaches.” And Merlin closed his eyes once more.

With a concrete task Arthur felt more settled, although brewing potions was not something he’d ever thought he’d do.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

An half-hour later on, and a bitter brew steeped in one of their cooking pots. Merlin stirred and woke again, struggling slowly upright. He remained pale, but was no longer trembling. After he had tolerated several more mouthfuls of water Arthur offered him the tea. Sipping cautiously Merlin tested the strength, before taking three large, measured swallows.

“If you have a headache have some yourself, Arthur. Two mouthfuls should be enough for you.” And the Warlock lay down once more.

Following Merlin’s advice, Arthur downed two mouthfuls himself, gagging at the taste, and followed the potion up with a hefty dose of water. After a few long moments he did notice the dull throbbing in his skull lessening somewhat.

It wasn’t long after this that the sound of large wings beating the air alerted the two men that Aithusa had returned.

Once more Merlin moved upright. It appeared the concoction had helped him, too, as he moved with more ease, and his shoulders were not drawn so tight with pain. He still appeared far from well, though.

The White Dragon greeted Merlin first, bowing her head. “My Lord.” She acknowledged before turning to Arthur “and my Lord’s Companion.” Arthur bit back the comment that by rights, he was the ‘lord’ and Merlin the ‘companion’, but he supposed that the Dragon saw things in a different light.

“Are you ready to journey to Camelot?”

Nodding slowly and with care, Merlin replied “We are, Aithusa. And we thank you for your willingness to carry us there.”

In a surprisingly rich laugh, the Dragon replied “After all you have done for me this day, even if you were not a Dragonlord, I would gladly consent to do all that I could for you.”

Graciously inclining his head, Merlin replied “Thankyou Aithusa. Now, let me just contact Gaius, and tell him we’re on our way.” And he closed his eyes.

Arthur watched with interest, curious to witness this thing called ‘Mind Speech.’ He was, however, rather disappointed as it appeared Merlin did little but sit quietly for several minutes.

*Gaius* Merlin sent out a cautious call. Since the recent magical overload he was reluctant to over extend himself and force this contact. *Gaius? Can you hear me?*

*Merlin! Whatever is the matter?* the concerned reply came back. Gaius could feel the pain and distress in his ward’s mental voice.

*It’s all right Gaius. I’m fine. Merely a migraine.*

*But you were never prone to those before!*

*No, but I never transformed a Dragon before either! Just a case of Magical Overload. It will settle soon enough.*

*Merlin! You ought to be more careful. And there is nothing ‘mere’ about a Migraine!*

*If I could laugh right now without my head exploding, I would Gaius” came the wry comment. *I know there is nothing minor about it, believe me! I am just pleased there was nothing worse. This, I know, will heal.

*Anyway: my real reason for contacting you is that Arthur and I are returning. We should be home in Camelot within the hour, if not less.*
*An hour? You must be close then.*

*Not that close. We’re still on the Isle of Avalon.*

*And how, may I ask, do you intend to travel from there in less than an hour?!* Merlin could almost see the raised ‘Eyebrow of Disapproval’, along with the ‘Hands crossed on Chest’ stance.

*Ah, that’s my secret! But you might want to clear the main courtyard.* And with this cryptic comment, Merlin broke off contact.

Opening his eyes and addressing Arthur and Aithusa in the more conventional manner he announced “Gaius is expecting us within the hour, and he will have the Main Courtyard clear for us to land.”

Eyes opening wide, Arthur yelled “You mean to land a Dragon in the main courtyard of my Castle?”

Assuming an innocent air, Merlin replied. “Why, yes, of course My Lord. She’s not too big for the courtyard. Why, what’s the problem?”

Sputtering helplessly, Arthur couldn’t answer. So Merlin did for him. “Besides, I can’t wait to see all their faces when we arrive.” The wicked Merlin grin was a little strained, but as full of devilment as ever.

Giving up, Arthur shook his head and released a chuckle, going to gather their belongings. “Yes. That will be interesting.”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Turning to glare at Arthur, Merlin huffed in exasperation “I swear you were less trouble to transport when you were unconscious!” The awful pounding in his head continued, abated only slightly by frequent applications of his magic. Self-healing had never been one of his strong points, although his healing spells over all had improved mightily.
Arthur was sitting directly behind Merlin, cinched between Aithusa’s neck spines, his legs locked around her neck at the ankles. If not for the armour-like scales that lined her hide the young dragon may well have been half strangled by the vigour of Arthur’s hold. His arms were fastened to Merlin’s shoulders in a death-grip as the White Dragon soared effortlessly along, his eyes shut tight as his blonde hair whipped in the wind stinging his cheeks.

Merlin had assumed his accustomed seat on a dragon, safely ensconced directly behind Aithusa’s head holding onto her horns lightly for balance. As usual, he found flying on a dragon an exhilarating experience. Of course it helped that, as a Dragonlord, he was attuned to his mount during flight and could anticipate her movements before she executed them. Moving and swaying gracefully, he was a part of the flight, not just a passenger. Even if the movement did add to his nausea. Several times the Warlock swallowed hard to prevent his gorge from rising once more: he did not think Arthur would enjoy being in his slipstream were he to lose control of his stomach.

Arthur, of course, did not have the advantage of communication with his mount, and was therefore slightly more unsettled. He growled in Merlin’s ear as the warlock turned to berate the king for his clumsiness. It was a refreshing difference as far as the warlock was concerned, and one that he did not plan to let Arthur forget. Ever.

“Arthur, just relax. I promise you won’t fall. You’re perfectly safe.” Merlin was in no mood to cosset his friend.

The King refused to un-scrunch his eyes, and roared back at point-blank range “I will never forget this, Merlin. NEVER!”

Sighing, the Warlock turned to face forwards again. In a fit of pique, he used mind-speak to urge Aithusa into executing a shallow dive, which of course she performed with relish. Dragon and Dragonlord were rewarded with a howl from their passenger, and Merlin swallowed hard against the nausea that the movement caused him, aggravating the pounding headache he was fighting. It had been worth it though, or so he told himself.

Aithusa was smaller and younger than Kilgarrah, the only other dragon Merlin’d ever had experience riding. As such she was a little more reckless in the air, and able to turn, dip and bank much more quickly. Dragon and Dragonlord linked minds, communicating constantly with one another. As soon as possible, they planned to repeat the experience, without their passenger, and when Merlin was not feeling so unwell!

The trio had been in the air for about 15 minutes, and already could see Camelot in the distance. Mounting the white dragon had taken more courage than Arthur had anticipated: leading his knights into battle was easier! Merlin had seemed indecently pleased, eye sparking despite the paleness of his face. Perhaps it was the thought of being home again that brought the man such comfort.

Arthur had never had difficulty riding at all, until now. The gait of a horse was as familiar to him as his own walk, and he’d never needed to focus on it before. The strange up-and-down motion of Aithusa’s head as she counterbalanced her wing-strokes was an altogether different experience. Added to the fact that she had the habit or turning her head and neck towards where she was going before executing the turn. The constant ‘flump, swish flump’ of her wings was foreign, as was the sight of safe ground so many leagues below them.

Take-off had been terrifying: the dragon had leapt skyward with a mighty shove of her legs which forced Arthur’s head down into his neck, eliciting a grunt of discomfort. Merlin, who’d clearly been expecting the manoeuvre, had merely rolled with the motion, clamping his jaw tight against it. The first mighty downstroke of Aithusa’s wings had seemed to throw the King into the air, stomach somersaulting as the dragon defied gravity. Arthur knew that this was an experience he would not be keen to repeat. If he hadn’t been worried at being thought a big girl he was sure that he’d have buried his face in Merlin’s back and held it there for the entire flight. As it was, he contented himself with shutting his eyelids, squinting slightly every few seconds just to make sure that no, he wasn’t dreaming, and yes, he was astride a dragon’s neck flying through the air.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Four, Episode Thirteen. ‘The Sword in the Stone Part Two’
(2) Aithusa, breathe in the magic of ages and be transformed into your destiny.
(3) Be surrounded in strength and healing. Aithusa take this power that is offered.
(4) Be healed and be whole again.
Spell translations taken from OldEnglishTranslator I give any Old English scholars out there full and free permission to laugh heartily at my efforts: I have no doubt that my syntax & word choices are appalling! But, after all, it is only a story.

Chapter Text

Less than 10 minutes later (although Arthur would swear the flight had taken several hours) Aithusa began losing altitude as she neared the City of Camelot. Merlin directed her to head for the main courtyard, picturing it in his mind for her benefit.

Merlin turned towards Arthur, speaking past the wind-sound “Nearly there Sire. Only a few minutes now.”

Arthur merely gritted his teeth and nodded.

As they neared the courtyard Merlin could see several people running frantically about the Courtyard, apparently disturbed by the incoming dragon.

*Just hover for a moment before landing, Aithusa. We need to be sure that there are no horses or other livestock that may take fright and trample the people. We also need to give the people time to get out of our way, although it seems that Gaius has made sure that there are no drays or carts left laying about.*

*Silly horses! Don’t they know I would never eat them? Not when there are nice fat deer in the forest, which taste MUCH better.*

Shaking his head slowly so as not to rattle his brain inside his skull Merlin answered *I don’t think the horses really understand that. They are only dumb beasts, acting on instinct. Not like you at all.*

A few moments of hovering later Merlin continued *You may land now, Aithusa. Do you think you will have enough room?* The dragon had been hovering above the level of the surrounding buildings.

*Easily. I am not THAT big, you know. Kilgarrah himself could have landed in here.* Merlin chuckled weakly at the thought of mighty Kilgarrah, the Great Dragon himself coming to rest on the flagstones of Camelot.

*I am afraid he had no great love for Camelot itself, after his run-ins with her Knights, for all that he respected Arthur and worked to bring him to the throne so that he could achieve his destiny.*

*I do believe you may be right, My Lord.* was Aithusa’s reply as she lowered herself slowly. Merlin elbowed Arthur in the ribs in warning that they were about to land: it would not do the King’s reputation any good if he were seen to be worried and unsettled when they arrived; he needed to project an aura of authority and calm if they were to carry this off.

With a final beat of her wings, Aithusa extended her legs and landed with a heavy thud on the stones of the courtyard. Merlin turned to hook his arm beneath Arthur’s, providing the King with enough leverage to dismount gracefully. Arthur stood, trembling slightly, at Aithusa’s left shoulder as he waited for his servant to dismount. He hoped that none of the watching audience would notice the tremor of neither his limbs nor the relief with which he felt terra firma beneath his feet once more.

Merlin landed lightly on the cobblestones, wincing in pain as his head protested the rough treatment. He was grateful that he hadn’t eaten since early morning; with a full stomach he was sure he’d have disgraced himself. He stood leaning against the White Dragon’s left foreleg, both for support and to demonstrate to the watching crowd that she was no threat to them as she allowed and even welcomed his touch.

By this time the servants who always waited on the steps for arriving dignitaries had dashed inside, to alert their masters that “A great dragon was outside. HUGE, it was, as bright as the snow and strong enough to kill them all with one swipe of its wings. It had teeth as long as your arm, and the King was there too, and Merlin!”

Only half believing the story, courtiers began walking with quick steps towards the entrance way ready to berate the servants for their exaggerating. It was comical indeed to watch some of these pompous members of court as they strode confidently on to the receiving stage only to come to a dead halt, mouths gaping foolishly as they saw for themselves that there really was a ‘Great White Dragon’ in the courtyard. The unsettled men formed a small clot of people, all jostling together to avoid approaching the terrifying sight without being obvious about it. Despite the discomfort of his flight, Arthur had to admit that the shock value was highly enjoyable, and allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction at the drama unfolding.

Casting a look around the large open area, Arthur smiled to see a flock of towns-people gathered behind him at the rear. Usually when visitors arrived the towns-people flocked into the quadrangle, jockeying to get close in order to learn who had arrived, where they had come from and what their business was. This time the only jockeying for position was from those in the front ranks as they sought to burrow further back into the crowd, only to be denied this shelter by the people in the second rank who had no wish to become dragon-fodder.

The absolute quiet coupled with the shaken visage of every man, woman and child present was amusing, to say the least. Merlin would have taken enormous satisfaction at being the only person in Camelot who was perfectly relaxed and comfortable around the ‘great white beast’ if he’d been well enough. Ill as he was, he was still able to enjoy a snicker or two. The crowd stood well back, hardly close enough to hear anything, as they gave the Dragon and her passengers a very wide berth.

Arthur turned to share his enjoyment of the situation with Merlin only to note that the warlock had his eyes shut, his face the same colour as Aithusa’s hide as he leaned against her shoulder. The King moved rapidly towards his servant, extending a hand before Merlin collapsed in a very undignified heap. “Merlin! You don’t look well, here let me…”

Moving his head in an infinitesimal amount, Merlin refused; “No, Arthur, I’m well enough for now. Go and greet your wife and your court. Gaius will see to me in a moment.” Reluctantly Arthur nodded and turned to obey.

By now Gwen, Gaius and the Knights had gathered on the top steps. Gwen, regal and composed as ever in her magnificent purple gown, appeared unaffected by the unsettling sight which stood before her, and extended her hand to Arthur as he nonchalantly ascended the steps. Her calm was a very thin façade, however: The Queen would normally have raced pell-mell towards her husband, overjoyed to have him safe after yet another foolishly dangerous escapade, but the presence of Aithusa quelled her enthusiasm somewhat. It wasn’t until Arthur was several feet beyond the dragon’s reach that she allowed herself to be caught up in her husband’s strong embrace.

Silence reigned as those gathered watched the touching reunion, and their focus moved away from the huge dragon for a moment. Until his arrival none had been sure that Arthur actually was alive, despite the reports of his recovery circulating the Court. Actually having him here, seemingly unharmed was reassuring. Merlin knew that the more fertile imaginations of the simple people would already be composing stories to be told and repeated for generations, of how Merlin and the Dragon had snatched Arthur from death’s very jaws, and delivered him safely home to his beloved Queen so that he could reign forever more. Wryly Merlin mused that even the most talented bard would be hard put to come up with anything close to the true state of affairs. He locked his knees against collapse and prepared himself to wait until Gaius was able to retrieve him and take him to lay down in his chambers. Squinting against the painful sunlight, the mighty Warlock was, for the moment, as helpless as a babe.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur buried his face in Gwen’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent. Over the last four days there had been moments when he’d never expected to see his love again. Gwen stood, head tucked beneath Arthur’s chin, as she clung to him with a strength and need rarely displayed in public. She shuddered as she drew in a breath. “I’m so relieved that you’re all right! I half expected to never see you again.” Tears wetted Arthur’s shirt, making a slightly cold patch.

“Shh. It’s alright Gwen, I’m safe.” He placed a kiss amongst her raven curls, tightening his arms about her slender body. “I’m back now, it’s all over.” And who could blame the King if a few drops of salt water dribbled down his cheek to sparkle like jewels in Guinevere’s hair.

Gaius, judging that the pair had been allowed sufficient time to greet one another, stepped forward announcing for the Court to hear; “It is good to see you again Sire. It seems you are well again.”

“Thank you Gaius. Yes, I am fully healed.” The King answered loudly for the benefit of all those watching as he stepped back from Gwen. He gestured towards Merlin, who still stood leaning against the dragon’s shoulder. “Thanks to Merlin here, who healed me. But that is a story for another time.” Arthur had no intention of going into details in such a public place, and prayed that Gwen, the Knights, and Gaius would take the hint.

Gaius nodded and stepped aside, granting the Knights access to greet their returned King. As a group, the King & Queen, the Knights and the courtiers headed up the stairs and into the Castle, chattering in excitement. There was many a backward glance at the ‘ferocious beast’ on the ground, but none dared to voice their concerns. Not yet anyway. They all headed for the Council Chambers where Arthur planned to give an abbreviated version of their adventures. The more detailed story would be left for those closer to him, and at a more private moment. Right now he needed to fulfil the role of Victorious Warrior.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin sighed in relief as the crowd trailed inside. He was well aware of the mistrustful glances hurled his way by most of those gathered, but was feeling too sick and dizzy to care. Spots were beginning to swim before his eyes and the nausea had returned with a vengeance. His left temple throbbed with an unbearable pain in time with his heart-beat, and all he wanted was to lay down on his familiar bed. He leaned against Aithusa’s shoulder heavily, thankful for her support; without her he knew he’d have fallen many minutes ago. Closing his eyes, Merlin waited.

He gradually became aware that somebody was gently shaking his shoulder, and that a familiar refined accent was saying “Merlin, can you hear me?” into his ear. Opening his eyes, he looked into the familiar rheumy blue eyes of his foster-father.

“Gaius,” he breathed. “I really don’t feel well.” For Merlin to admit such a thing openly was testimony to how truly awful he must be feeling. Huffing in concern Gaius placed an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and began to assist him towards their chambers. It was only mid-afternoon, but the Warlock felt as though it was much later. Merlin paused to speak over his shoulder to Aithusa, swallowing hard against nausea; “Thank you for carrying us here to Camelot. You may go to feed or rest where you see fit. Do not attack the city or any of the people of Camelot, and do not take any of the livestock here or in the farmlands surrounding. You may hunt in the forest if you need to. I will call you soon.”

Nodding her head in acknowledgement, the Dragon rose from her place and headed off, emitting a roar for effect as she did so, watching as the puny people around her flinched and scurried away from her. She was not immune to the atmosphere, and played up to it with glee. If not directly instructed by her Dragonlord, she may well have entertained herself with a few mock attacks on the humans surrounding her. As it was, she contented herself with a bellow, enjoying the fullness of her voice as she left this place of men. Just after she’d hatched Kilgarrah had shown her his favourite roosting-place. It was a ledge high on a nearby mountain that basked in the mid-day sun. She planned to take refuge there and wait for her Lord’s call. Having just fed, and revelling in her new strength and endurance, she indulged herself with some acrobatics high above the city for some time before heading off to her refuge to sleep.

Legends would be told for many a year of the White Dragon who’d danced above the City of Camelot on the day of their King’s return.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Gaius guided Merlin along until they reached his rooms. By this time the sorcerer was staggering, barely able to keep his feet. He acknowledged that while perhaps adrenaline had played a part in getting them to Camelot so soon after him working such mighty magic, now the adrenaline had worn off leaving him weak and more unwell than ever. He felt decidedly poorly.

The last few feet up the stairs to his own room were made with the elderly Gaius supporting most of the young man’s weight. Merlin collapsed on to his bed and fell sideways, retching and gagging as the biliousness once more overcame him. Panting and trembling from the unaccustomed effort, Gaius scrabbled under the bed for the night bucket and held it in front of Merlin’s face. Whether it was the smell from the bucket or perhaps the thought of the foul object, Merlin promptly gave up the fight with his stomach and began heaving violently. Every retch caused the young man to groan as pressure inside his head increased to such an extent that he thought his eyeballs would explode. Given the flashing lights he saw dancing, perhaps they already had.

Nothing but bile and spittle was ejected, and an eternity later he lay, pale, sweating and trembling slumped across the bed. Gaius left to empty the befouled bucket and returned shortly with a smoking herbal posset. “Here, Merlin. Breathe in the vapours, it will help.”

Not daring to nod, Merlin inhaled obediently, finding that the fumes did indeed help settle the nausea. Gaius then offered a few sips of sweet well-water to clear his ward’s mouth of the foul taste. Sitting in silence he waited until Merlin’s pained breathing settled somewhat and his trembling eased.

“Here. Take this Merlin. And for goodness’ sake, don’t throw it up again! It’s the mixture I used to give Uther when he suffered from migraines after his head wound. It is made, mostly, of poppy juice imported from Constantinople. It should help.” (1)

Merlin accepted the dose of the surprisingly sweet, thick syrup, and did his best not to gag it back up. He yearned for the deep slumber that the poppy juice would bring him, knowing sleep was the only permanent cure. It was with great relief that he felt himself begin to float away, borne on the gentle wings of the opium flower. He was home and safe, and for now could give up and relax.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Meanwhile in the council chambers, Arthur was briefing Guinevere and the Knights on his unorthodox arrival. After the initial formal greeting, he’d dismissed most of the court and retained only Gwen, Percival and Leon.

“Merlin is a Dragonlord and a Sorcerer.” Feeling that blunt honestly was the best policy, he made the statement boldly. Surprisingly, Gwen smiled and nodded seemingly unfazed, commenting, “Dragonlord? I didn’t know that, although I did guess about the magic when he spoke to me using my mirror.” Gwen’s sweet smile had a wry and teasing edge to it.
There was a stunned silence from the Knights, and the King went on to explain. “This is how he was able to help us win the battle, to drive off the dragon that attacked, and to save my own life. Yes, Merlin was the Old Sorcerer who stood on the ridge over Camlann, and defeated the Saxons almost single-handed. He’d disguised himself, not wanting to be known as a magic-worker then.”

Arthur paused, pacing a short way from the table before returning. “Although I have never heard of such a thing, Merlin tells me he was born with magic, and that he was able to enchant objects before he could walk, or even talk.” Arthur paused, allowing the information to soak in.

He continued in a firm voice of command; “I do not believe Merlin is evil, and I will not tolerate any mistreatment of him because of this.” He fixed a stern eye on the three most powerful people of his Court, besides himself, before adding more quietly but with no less authority; “Do I make myself clear?” If he could have these three on his side, Arthur knew that having the rest of the Court accept Merlin would be much easier. He already counted on Gaius’ help without needing to ask.

Arthur had no intention of causing Merlin any more distress than the young man had already suffered. These last few days had been something of a revelation for the young King, forced as he had been to not only confront the reality of Merlin’s abilities, but to re-think his entire philosophy on magic in the process. Nobody who had suffered as Merlin had, and had continued to make the choices and take the actions he had could be evil. Therefore, there must be a side of magic that wasn’t evil. Arthur was prepared to wait, to watch an experience before making any final judgements, and he needed the support of his closest friends and advisors as he did so.

Dumbly, mouths open, the three nodded before Arthur continued on: “Merlin’s father was the Dragonlord Balinor, who died just after Merlin and I met him when Kilgarrah was attacking Camelot.” Belatedly, Arthur realised that none of them knew who Kilgarrah was and he hastened to clarify. “Kilgarrah was the Great Dragon who escaped from the caves below the citadel. Merlin found out that Balinor was his father just hours before we left on our quest. With Balinor’s death, the powers of Dragonlord passed to Merlin and he was then able to control and defeat the Great Dragon, although he told nobody of that fact due to fear of being punished.” (2) Details were left purposely unclear by Arthur. There would be time enough for full explanations later.

“He is unwell at present, because he performed a Great Magic on the Isle of Avalon in order to heal Aithusa, who had been corrupted by torture and mis-treatment. He will need to rest with Gaius for some time before we can talk with him.”

The Knights and Gwen stood and gaped at the King, not sure what to make of this abrupt change-of-heart. Was this the same Arthur who insisted that Magic was evil, and no magic-user could be trusted?

“Now, tell me how things go here.” Arthur assumed a voice of command, and obviously expected his Knights to obey this change of subject. On more familiar ground those in attendance relaxed somewhat, as Sir Leon took up the gauntlet, and stepped forward to report.

“Sire. All the army is now returned to Camelot. There were fewer casualties than one would expect, given the number of the enemy we faced.” Leon plunged on; “If not for the sorcerer’s…Ah, Merlin’s… timely intervention, we would likely have many more dead and injured.” Leon stopped, waiting for Arthur’s response.

Arthur merely nodded: “Yes. I agree, Sir Leon. He did us a great service there, and prevented many an injury. We are in his debt.”

Breathing deep, Leon glanced sideways at Percival before he continued: “Ah, yes, Sire. The most severely wounded are set up in rooms on the ground floor. Gaius is overseeing their care. I have placed all the court servants at his disposal to assist with treatments as needed.”

“Well done, Sir Leon. Without his apprentice for aid, Gaius must have been sadly overworked.”

“Indeed Sire, he was.” Leon gave a small bow before moving on to the next topic. “We also have some grave news, Sire.” The Knight’s eyes became suspiciously bright, and Sir Percival suddenly found that his boots were of utmost interest. “I regret to inform you that Sir Gwaine has been killed. With your permission, we have scheduled a ceremony for this evening.” Leon’s voice was gravelly with emotion.

“Yes, so Merlin informed me” was Arthur’s subdued response. Seeing their gaping eyes and mouths, the King took pity on his men: “Merlin was able to communicate with Gaius while still on Avalon, and told me of brave sir Gwaine’s end.” The blue eyes moistened with remembered grief.

Sir Leon glanced towards Sir Percival, asking without words if the taller Knight wished to continue the story. Shaking his head, Percival declined the honour, and returned to studying his footwear. Drawing a steadying breath, Leon went on his voice thickened with unshed tears; “Yes, Sire. Then you will know that Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine set out to meet Morgana, intending to distract her from following your and Merlin’s path, and that Morgana captured them, and tortured Gwaine to death?”

Percival abruptly turned and left the chamber, without waiting for Arthur to dismiss him. It was a breach of etiquette entirely out of character for the stalwart knight. The other three people chose not to comment on it, and let the man go. Soft-hearted Gwen watched the strong Knight’s grief with tears softly running from her chocolate eyes.

Nodding, eyes flat and sad, Arthur asked “Yes, I am aware. And you have scheduled his funeral for this evening? Very well then.” Taking three paces away, and then back again, he addressed Leon “I leave it to you to gather the men, Sir Leon. I will meet you in the courtyard at the appointed time. A half hour before sunset?”

Executing a bow, Leon nodded briskly and departed to follow his orders. He found that doing something was better than doing nothing.

At last alone with Guinevere, Arthur Turned to his wife and extended his hand. Shall we retire to our chambers Gwen? I believe we have much to discuss. And I admit that I find myself in need of a rest after the excitement of arrival.”

Eyes gleaming with both tears of grief and an expression of mischief at the same time, Gwen laid her delicate hand in her husbands, and allowed him to lead her from the room.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Poppy- juice, or opium, was imported as a medicine from the lands around northern Africa or the ‘Middle Eastern’ countries. Constantinople was one of the largest cities of commerce based in that region then. I’m unsure of the dates, however. Poppy juice (much later used as the main ingredient in a drug called ‘laudanum’) was used to treat just about anything, and unfortunately many an unsuspecting patient became addicted to the drug, which is, in effect, morphine.
(2) Season Two, Episode Thirteen ‘The Last Dragonlord’

Chapter Text

Gaius had spent the hours since Merlin’s return working with the wounded on the lower floor of the keep. He’d stationed a junior servant in Merlin’s room with the instructions to offer the man cool water when he woke and then to immediately run and fetch Gaius. And under no circumstances to touch anything! Cowed by the Court Physician’s fierce tone, the young boy had nodded frantically and promptly plonked down on the stool by Merlin’s bed, attaching himself to the seat with both hands as if to reassure Gaius that he had no intention of moving from the spot.

So it was later in the evening that a weary Gaius was leaning over a bed, investigating a gruesome abdominal wound when he felt a sharp tug on his robe. Turning, he saw Merlin’s young watcher standing with tongue pressed between his teeth. “Sir? M...Merlin’s awake now. He had some water.”

Smiling, Gaius laid a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, you’ve done well. You may return to the kitchens now, and help with the preparations for the feast. Oh, and before you do, please bring some broth and bread to my rooms.”

Nodding in gratitude, the boy vanished towards more familiar tasks.

Gaius turned back to refresh the dressing of honey and comfrey leaves, checking the unconscious man’s condition with a practised eye. ‘Pale, sweating, but no sign of infection yet. With luck he will pull through.’ Within a matter of minutes he was heading back to his chambers.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin had woken from a deep sleep, feeling much refreshed. A nervous young lad had immediately bounced from the stool on which he’d been perched, and grabbed a mug of water, thrusting it at the barely-awakened man. Merlin had nodded and smiled, rejoicing that the movement came so freely, and accepted the mug. “Thank you.”

The boy had flashed a brief nervous smile, before muttering something about “Get Gaius” and dashed out of the room. Surmising that his guardian would soon appear, Merlin swung his legs slowly over the side of the bed. No pain or dizziness ambushed him, although he felt somewhat washed-out. Emptying the mug in careful swallows, Merlin moved towards the main room and took his familiar seat on the bench before their table.

It was not many minutes later that Gaius appeared and surveyed Merlin quickly. “Migraine’s gone, then.” He observed shortly, taking note of the improved colour and posture of his ward.

“Yes, thank you.” Was Merlin’s answer.

“Well, stand up then!” Gaius commanded. Bewildered, Merlin did so, only to be enfolded in a bone-crushing hug.

“Merlin.” The old man whispered. “Thank heavens you’re home, and safe.”

Sighing in contentment, Merlin wrapped his arms around Gaius’ shoulders, relaxing into the embrace as he did so. Now he truly felt that he was home.

The moment was interrupted by a quiet knock on the door, and Gaius moved to answer it. “That’ll be the broth I ordered.” Indeed it was, and the tray was placed carefully on the wooden table, Merlin taking up his place again.

Gaius ladled a moderate portion into the familiar wooden bowl, and motioned for Merlin to eat. “I thought this would be good to start with, not too difficult to digest.”

Nodding, Merlin agreed, and took a spoonful of the savoury liquid. “Thanks Gaius, it’s exactly what I want.” And he tore off a small piece of bread to sop in it.

Eyeing his ward frankly, the old man observed “So, Arthur knows everything.”

Nodding, Merlin added “Yes. Well, not everything, but enough. It seemed the best time to tell him all of it, while we wouldn’t be interrupted, and so close to him being healed.” Sighing, Merlin placed the soaked bread in his mouth and let it dissolve slowly. He still looked troubled. “He knows about my magic, he knows about Emrys, he’s spoken to the Lady of the Lake, and he watched me heal Aithusa. And he rode on a Dragon back to Camelot.”

“Hmm.” Was Gaius’ non-commital reply.

“It only wants now for us to know what his decision will be. I don’t think he’s afraid of me. Or he wasn’t, on Avalon. I’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.”

“Well. Waiting is nothing new for you Merlin.” Gaius smiled wryly. “But I agree. The next move is Arthur’s. We will need to be patient. So, tell me about Aithusa, and how you landed yourself with the mother of all migraines?”

Chuckling, Merlin took another spoon of broth, and launched into his tale.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Gwen gently closed the door behind her, leaning on it as she watched her Husband move toward the side-board and the jug of wine there. He poured himself a goblet, lifting an eyebrow to Gwen in question, which she answered with a smile and a silent shake of her head.

“So,” she began, clasping her hands loosely in front of her as she stepped delicately towards Arthur. “Merlin has magic.” It was said matter-of-factly, almost conversationally.

“Yes” replied Arthur in a darker tone “Merlin has magic.” Silence fell as the two Royals silently contemplated the ramifications of those three words.

Gwen propped herself on the foot of the bed, resting her slipper-shod feet on the blanket box there. She patted the space beside her, inviting Arthur to settle in it.

Taking a large mouthful of the rich red wine, Arthur moved to settle beside his wife.

“What are you going to do about it?” Gwen inquired.

“I’m not sure yet.”

Wanting to push her husband into making a decision, Gwen questioned sharply “So, you will arrest him? Confine him to the dungeons to be burned at the stake?”

“No! Of course not!”

Smiling, Gwen nodded. She’d got him to voice this much, helping Arthur to expose the decision she knew he’d already come to, deep within himself.”

Arthur shook his head, smiling wryly. “Besides, there is no prison anywhere that could hold him if he did not wish to be held. The power he commands is…” the King paused, lost for words to describe the strength of magic Merlin commanded.

“Okay.” Gwen continued her prodding. “So then you will banish him.” She made the comment a statement, as though it were the only other possible outcome, and watched with pleasure as Arthur once again shook his head in denial.

“No. I don’t think so.” Arthur sprang from his seat, pacing back and forth across the open chambers. “If you had seen him, Gwen, there on the Island. If you had heard the things he has done, the tasks he’s performed, and the sacrifices he’s made. If you knew how much magic is a part of him, how it is as natural to him as breathing!” The King re-lived again the two brief days on Avalon after his healing, lost in awe and wonder.

“Then you shall accept him. And announce his magic to everybody.” Gwen stood and moved towards her husband.

Laughing, Arthur said “There will be no need of announcing. He has been using magic in front of me as though it is the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps it is, for him. And after our arrival on Aithusa? No, his skills will not need to be announced.” He paced some more, swallowing more wine. “Yes, I will accept him. How can I not? He is my friend. More than that, he is my Soul-Brother. I would not be here without him, Gwen.” The serious tone of the conversation subdued both of them, and they locked eyes, blue on brown, in perfect understanding and accord.

Gwen smiled in satisfaction: her task was complete, and Arthur knew his own mind. Subtly she had guided him to voicing his thoughts clearly and thus had steered him towards a decision without imposing her own ideas, in effect exposing to the King what he had already decided.

Smiling in acknowledgement of her tactics, Arthur changed the subject: “I presume you have ordered a feast to be shared after the ceremony for Gwaine’s funeral?”

“Yes, I have My Lord.”

“Good. Then we will…” and the King proceeded to give his orders for the wake.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

It was an hour before dusk, and all had been made ready in the Courtyard. A pyre stood, several feet tall, ready for lighting. Resting on the top lay Gwaine, dressed in his Pendragon Red cloak, which fell in elegant folds down the sides of the stacked brushwood. He had been prepared with care, and his chainmail, sword and armour gleamed in the late sun. His sword lay within reach of his right hand, and a crossbow towards his left. At his feet was a leather pouch, well packed with provisions to see him on his Journey, and his closed eyes supported the two coins of the Ferryman’s Guerdon. Washed, his hair was arranged to fall softly, just as it had in life. Four guards of Camelot stood in honour at the four points of the compass, waiting. All that wanted now were the people to witness Gwaine’s send-off.

Slowly they came, in small groups or singly to take their places. Softly, with barely a whisper the courtyard filled with people: commoner and noble alike, who came to honour this Knight.

Rank upon rank filled the open space, townspeople in orderly rows in the background, while the soldiers and Knights of Camelot formed up in bright cloaks closer in. The Courtiers appeared, each dressed and prepared with care. The only place left open was directly in front of the pyre, just down from the entranceway to the Castle. This was where the King and his cohort would take place, as those who were closest to the deceased.

Slowly the small group advanced, their steps amplified by the hollow beat of the ceremonial tambour, struck with sheepskin-covered mallets. Each beat of the drum resonated dully, enhancing the gravity of the occasion.

First came King Arthur, with Queen Guinevere on his arm, resplendent in ceremonial robes and wearing their Crowns. Following these two came Sir Leon and Sir Percival: the last of the original Knights of the Round Table. Cloaks swirling, their mail and armour polished and mighty swords hanging on their belts, the two renowned Warriors came to a halt behind their monarchs, then fanned out sideways, taking position beside two braziers set at either side of the bier.

Finally came Gaius, the Great Physician, followed by Merlin, King Arthur’s servant and Apprentice Physician. The old man stepped slowly, head bowed by more than just grief; the toll of caring for the recently-wounded clear on his brow. Merlin stood tall and straight as ever, appearing recovered from whatever ailment had afflicted him earlier. Solicitously, he assisted Gaius without appearing to do so, maintaining his elder’s dignity on the solemn occasion. Gaius wore one of his usual dignified Physician’s Robes, while the young man sported his usual attire of plain red tunic of rough-woven cloth, brown trousers and blue neckerchief. All present were recently bathed and scrubbed, faces ruddy from their ablutions.

The cavalcade came to a halt, and King Arthur moved on a pace alone, to address the crows. His voice carried sure and strongly into the evening air, schooled from childhood to project clearly to the back of even the greatest hall.

“We are here today to honour Sir Gwaine.” Several heads lowered, and quiet snuffles could be heard from the gathered crows. “Most of you knew him only as a Knight of Camelot and a protector. Some of you knew him as an amiable drinking-companion. Those of us who had the honour to serve with him, knew him as one of the bravest and most noble Companions of the Round Table. Never did Gwaine let circumstance or fear darken his mood, and ever did he seek to encourage and elevate the mood of others. Never was he without a word of levity, even in the most dire of situations.” Several titters and snorts came from the knights and soldiers gathered: Gwaine had rarely kept his mouth shut, and had been known for his appalling jokes and never-ending chatter.

“Bravely did Sir Gwaine serve in the recent Battle of Camlann. It was thanks to his efforts that Morgana was denied the success of her flanking manoeuvre. Leading but 100 men, Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival out-fought her surprise attack, and saved many lives and perhaps the outcome of the Battle.

“With the Battle over, he returned to Camelot only to continue to serve. With myself gravely injured and helpless, he was instrumental in deceiving Morgana and giving Merlin and I time to get to safety. But that was not enough for this noble Knight. No, Sir Gwaine once more rode out to do battle and uphold all that Camelot stands for. He was intent on finishing the evil of the Lady Morgana once and for all, and set out with Sir Percival to waylay her. In so doing, Sir Gwaine gave his life, but also gave myself, in Merlin’s care, enough time to seek healing. Without his sacrifice, I would not stand here before you.”

During this speech, both Sir Leon and Sir Percival had taken hold of the great Longbows which had been set beside the braziers, ready with oil-soaked arrows to hand. Glancing at one another, they simultaneously picked up the arrows and lighted them. Nocking the arrows they drew back the taut bowstrings, and waited for the command from their King.

“And so, my people, we come here to honour the Bravest Knight of them all, who gave his life to protect others.” Arthur bowed his head, and the flaming arrows were released, arching towards the pyre.

One on each side of Gwaine’s body they landed, igniting immediately the fuel-soaked wood which blazed up in orange flames. The red-orange of the pyre matched the red-orange of the setting sun, and the people of Camelot stood in silence as Sir Gwaine was given a well-deserved and majestic send-off. Black smoke rolled into the air, obscuring the sun, and the previously lighted torches around the courtyard threw shadows on the people as they began to move silently towards their homes.

The crackling and popping of the wood covered the shuffling sounds of the peasants’ shoes, and the Courtyard slowly emptied. Soon, all that were left were the ranked soldiers and knights, as well as the pathetically small group of six friends who stood as silent witness. Guard-captains gave the order, and as one the massed soldiers turned to their right, and marched away, boots sounding in unison.

Arthur had stepped back towards Guinevere, and held the sobbing Queen in his arms. She did not care that her falling tears spoiled the silk of her gown, too consumed in her grief. There had been too many funerals lately: first Sir Lancelot, held without his body, as he had sacrificed himself to close the Veil and save them from the Dorocha. (1) After this had come her own brother Elyan, killed while rescuing her from Morgana’s clutches. (2) Gwen’s grief at Gwaine’s death was a combination of these, as well as the knowledge that it had been her orders that had induced the Knight to set off on his fateful final mission.

Arthur, understanding the burden of bearing the guilt of somebody’s death, held and comforted her as best he could. It was no easy thing to be responsible for ordering another to die in your service, even if the cause was righteous. The young King’s rarely-shed tears mingled with those of Guinevere, and they were tears of strength and respect, rather than of weakness.

Sir Percival stood quietly in the shadows, observing the last of his friend and comrade dissolve in smoke and heat. The fire was well alight by now, and the smell of oil, burned wood and charring flesh filled his nostrils. There was no scent like that of a funeral pyre, and it was one that once experienced, was never forgotten. Watching, the gentle Knight allowed his tears to roll unhindered down his face. He was haunted still by Gwaine’s last words, by the sadness in his eyes as he confessed his failure aloud. Sir Leon moved quietly and stood beside his giant-like friend. He did not need to speak or touch to provide comfort, and Percival accepted his presence with gratitude.

Gaius stood stoically beside his ward. The elderly man had witnessed many such funerals in his long life, and though he might not shed tears, he nonetheless felt the loss of Gwaine’s bright personality, and mourned the loss of one more bright, strong young man in the world.

Merlin stood beside his mentor, unashamedly weeping. His thin shoulders shook with sobs as he thought back over his friendship with the unconventional Knight. There had grown a bond between the two young men that was unique and special. Unlike the bond between Merlin and Arthur, the friendship of Gwaine and Merlin had been based more on equality. Gwaine never looked down on the taller man for not bearing arms or being a warrior, yet respected him for who he was. Gwaine saw behind the deflecting masks that Merlin threw into the faces of those around him in order to deceive them into thinking he was more foolish than he really was. Gwaine saw Merlin as somebody to trust and respect, as somebody with wisdom, and the ability to make hard decisions when the need arose, and the ability to stick by those decisions no matter what.

Together the two young men had played and wrestled like young puppies, relieving the tension of serving a demanding King, each according to their own abilities. On occasion they had celebrated at a tavern together, sampling the wares indiscriminately, although Gwaine could out-drink anybody, and Merlin rarely allowed himself to become intoxicated for fear of losing control of his magic. Gwaine’s loss was a hole punched in Merlin’s gut, and he allowed himself to fully grieve the loss of his idiosyncratic friend. If there was one Knight who he’d wished had known of his magic apart from Lancelot, it was Gwaine.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Full dark had fallen by the time Arthur gathered together the watching group to move inside. Looking up at Sir Leon, he nodded at the Knight’s silent communication that neither he nor Sir Percival would be joining the crowd in the Great Hall. He understood that the warriors who’d served together would honour Gwaine in their own fashion: over a barrel of mead, and silently wished them well.

Scrubbing his cheeks, the King turned, and escorted his Queen into the Hall for the feast. Gaius and Merlin fell into place behind the Royal pair, Merlin using his neckerchief to remove the traces of moisture from his face. He walked beside Gaius, keeping one eye on Arthur, ready to take up his accustomed place behind the King to serve him once the Feast had begun.

Aware of his foster-son’s likely thoughts, Gaius gently tugged on Merlin’s sleeve and whispered into his lowered ear “You don’t have to serve tonight Merlin. Arthur has given you permission to sit by me for this feast.”

Nodding, Merlin accepted the unlooked-for reprieve. He had to admit that sitting would be good tonight: although the migraine no longer troubled him, he still felt tired and heavy, and serving tonight would have been an effort. Catching Arthur’s eye, he nodded his thanks. Settling into his seat, Merlin was surprised to see the King lift his goblet in salute to him before signalling for the first course to be served.

Merlin ate sparingly, enjoying the unique opportunity to observe the feasters from a new perspective: as one of them. He did not expect the courtesy to occur ever again, but was grateful for the experience. It was odd for the warlock to have somebody serving him for a change. No sooner had he taken a mouthful of wine than his goblet was re-filled. No sooner had he consumed the morsel of food he’d chosen than another platter was offered. Merlin knew this was standard serving practice, indeed he had performed the duties so often himself that they’d become automatic. But this was the first time he’d been on the receiving end, and he found the role-reversal somewhat unsettling.

Looking left towards the Head Table, Merlin was in time to see Arthur grasp his goblet and rise to his feet. Silence fell as the company waited for the King to speak. Raising his full goblet, Arthur simply said five words: “In memory of Sir Gwaine.” Before drinking. The gathered people, Merlin included, rose to their feet and repeated the toast in unison. “In memory of Sir Gwaine.”

Merlin sank back down onto the hard bench, only to realise that Arthur was still standing, obviously intending to continue speaking.

“This feast is in celebration of Sir Gwaine’s life, and the acknowledgement of the hole that will be left behind at his passing. It is also celebration of Victory. For the Army of Camelot has prevailed once more upon the battlefield.” There was a generalised murmur of agreement before Arthur continued.

“I would also take this opportunity to thank those people who have assisted in this victory: each and every warrior, soldier and servant also played their role, and it is this co-operation, each person serving as they know best, that we have prevailed.” Arthur’s eyes sought and pinned Merlin’s and the warlock felt himself flush in pleasure and embarrassment. Although not named publicly, Merlin knew that Arthur was, finally, aware of and thankful for his own unique type of service. With this semi-public acknowledgement, Merlin knew that Arthur had chosen to not persecute him for having magic. He was safe, here in Camelot. Sighing deeply, the young warlock shared a secret smile with Gaius, who gave Merlin his crooked grin, and motioned for him to listen to the speech.

“I give special thanks to all those who served in the Hospital Tents, tending unceasing to our wounds and injuries. In particular I mention Gaius, our Court Physician. We are fortunate indeed to have someone of his skill and reputation to care for our ills.” Gaius bowed in thanks as Arthur and Guinevere led the room in a round of applause.

“I would also like to take this chance to thank the healing skills of one who has long been apprenticed to our Physician.” Was there the faintest stress on the word ‘healing’ or had Merlin’s ears deceived him? “For ten long years has this person learned beside the greatest Physician Camelot has ever known, and has in his own right, treated many of you. His skills are well-proven, and after discussion with Gaius himself, we have decided to award the title Assistant Physician to Merlin!” A round of applause broke out, led by Queen Guinevere herself, and echoed by the courtiers and the servants standing behind the chairs. Arthur raised his voice to be heard above the tumult. “Without Merlin to heal me of my injuries after this Battle, I would surely have died. With this promotion, I acknowledge his skills, his loyalty and his service.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open in shock. This was the last thing he had expected. Gaius thumped him joyously on the back, causing the young man to stagger. Raising his goblet, Merlin only just remembered to salute the King in gratitude before drinking, then to salute the rest of the court.

Arthur’s voice rose once again. “In order to mark his new position, I provide the Official Robes of the Assistant Physician.” With a flourish, Arthur indicated a pair of servants standing behind Merlin’s bench. They advanced, carrying between them an open robe in plain blue fabric, identical to the colour of his usual tunics. Extending his arms, Merlin allowed the servants to slip the robe over his arms, finding that it was short-sleeved, and fell to his feet, obviously tailored specifically to his measurements. It was designed to be worn open, more like a jacket than a robe, but would serve to identify him in a crowd. Plain and un-adorned, the fabric was of good quality, the neck and arms were well-hemmed. Circling slowly, Merlin felt the garment move with him, but not hinder him in any way, extremely pleased that he would not have to wear the restrictive robes that Gaius preferred.

Bowing once more to the King and Queen, Merlin resumed his seat, taking a mouthful of wine as he did so to cover his embarrassment. Cocking an eye at Gaius he questioned “Assistant Physician?”

Chuckling, the older man replied “Well, you have been my apprentice for ten years, and are already more skilled a Physician than many of the charlatans who pretend to that title.”

Nodding, Merlin accepted the truth of that statement. “Only because you persisted in teaching me and pounding knowledge of anatomy and herbal lore into my head!”

“And an onerous task that was! I truly despaired that I would ever make a Healer of you.”

“Grasping his mentor’s hand in gratitude, Merlin replied “Thankyou Gaius. For everything,” with eyes that shone with tears and overflowed down his face.

Gaius reached up to ruffle Merlin’s hair. “You are most welcome, my boy. I look forward to having another trained pair of hands to lighten my load. You can start in the morning!”

Nodding, a mischievous look on his face, Merlin asked “And did my ears deceive me, or did Arthur just give me tacit permission to use Magic?!”

Refusing to comment, Gaius merely replied “Now that is something you will need to discuss with the King.” Before turning back to the food on his plate.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Four, Episode Two. ‘The Darkest Hour, Part Two’
(2) Season Five, Episode Six ‘The Dark Tower.’

Chapter Text

Merlin yawned and stretched, pleased to be waking in his own familiar bed, looking once more at his own drawings of herbs tacked to the wall over his desk. Everything was so familiar it was almost strange. Rolling onto his side he gazed through the un-glazed window at the sky, trying to gauge what the weather would be. Although by no means luxurious, he was more than content to be back in his own bed. Little more than a padded canvas bag suspended by wide leather straps to a wooden frame, it was nonetheless more comfortable than his bed at Ealdor, and far better than sleeping on the ground on one of his and Arthur’s adventures. Chuckling, he mused that Arthur would no doubt demand he treat the ground the same way he had the flagstone floor on the Island of Avalon. Merlin admitted that that experiment with magic had been a success.

Stretching once more, the warlock levered himself out of bed and padded to his clothes-store. With little choice of variety he was soon clad in a red tunic and brown pants. Smiling, he reverently lifted his new blue Physician’s over-robe from where it hung and shrugged into it, pleased with the way it swirled around his ankles. He was glad that neither Gaius nor Arthur’d had the robe embellished or decorated in the way Gaius seemed to prefer; with embroidery of flowers across the back, or trim along the front. He much preferred the plain look, unaccustomed to wearing any sort of finery even if it was a marker of his new position. The unadorned familiar blue was comforting to him as well as appropriate he felt.

Smoothing the robe one more time, he turned to re-make his bed. Smirking, he resorted to magic, and within a blink of an eye (literally) all was tidy and in order. Laughing, the young man exited his room, tripping lightly down the stairs into the main chambers.

Looking up from serving porridge, Gaius remarked “Well, you’re in a good mood. It seems you slept well.”

“Yes,” sitting down at the table, “Very well Gaius. Thank you. That Poppy juice really helped yesterday with the migraine, and yet I still slept deeply last night.”

“Well, it’s been somewhat of an exciting time for you lately. No doubt you were tired.” The old man sniggered before settling himself opposite his foster-son. “That robe really does suit you, you know.” The fond smile brought a feeling of warmth and belonging over Merlin. He wasn’t used to receiving gifts, and still felt a little overwhelmed. Gaius set a bowl of warm cereal in front of Merlin.

“Thank you for it, Gaius. I know you must have had something to do with the planning. And the robe is just right: comfortable, and not too ostentatious, and I can work easily in it.”

Smiling, the older man agreed. “I’d been thinking about making you a Physician for some months now. You’ve served a longer apprenticeship with me than many others do, and are well ready for the job. There just hasn’t been a chance to make it official. The feast yesterday seemed the perfect opportunity.”

Nodding, Merlin shovelled a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. “You really think I’m ready?” he asked somewhat thickly.

“I would never have allowed it if I thought otherwise, Merlin.” Gaius was serious now. “Your skills are more than adequate: and I will be around for you to talk with and learn from. You will never stop learning the art of healing. Even I, as old as I am, still learn new things and new methods. That is the secret: never think you already know everything, and always be open to new ideas.”

Nodding, the young man continued with his breakfast.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The morning went quickly for Merlin. Arthur had released him from his usual servant duties in order to work with Gaius to treat the wounded from the recent Battle. Several large rooms on the Citadel’s lower floor had been turned into a makeshift hospital, and rounds were performed several times a day to check on the men’s well-being and see to their treatments.

As they’d walked into the first room Merlin’s nose was assaulted by the smell of sickness and fever; so many men together in a small space made for a ripe atmosphere. Gaius had patted him on the back and left him to it, moving into the next room along the hallway. Taking a steadying breath Merlin had moved to the first bed and begun to examine the man upon it. As he worked, he was assisted by one of the maid-servants that had been placed at the disposal of the Physicians, and Merlin found himself extremely grateful for another set of hands to fetch and carry for him. Remembering his own ‘fetch and carry’ days, which were really only last week, he was careful to solemnly thank each action performed at his request. He knew how much lighter such dreary work could be made by a little consideration and appreciation.

It was with joy that he delved into his very own ‘Medicine Bag’ each time he needed a preparation or tincture. Gaius had gifted him with it just before they’d set off from their chambers. “Here.” He’d said, thrusting the large object into Merlin’s hands. “You’ll be needing your own one of these. I can’t afford to have you stealing mine all the time!” And the suddenly crusty old man had stomped off down the hallway.

Merlin had sat down to examine his treasure: made from hardened leather, it was a similar size to Gaius’ own. The only immediate difference was the ‘new’ smell and the blue trim. No doubt to differentiate the two medicine bags, this one had been designed with two bands of blue colouring: Etched around the rim was a swirling carved design, and a blue dye had been laboriously worked into the marks causing a permanent stain. The same process had been performed along the wide shoulder-strap. Merlin noticed that the colour was ‘coincidentally’ the same blue as his new robe, and smiled in appreciation. Quickly Merlin undid the supple leather ties to examine the contents: all was there and accounted for, laid out in precisely the same way Gaius had his. No doubt over time Merlin would make his own adjustments and modifications, but for now the medicine bag was perfect.

Merlin had quickly secured his new possession, and thundered out of the door to catch up with Gaius. Coming up on the man, he fell into step beside him. “Thank you.” He said simply.

Bright-eyed, Gaius nodded briskly, and the two men proceeded down the hallway towards the waiting patients.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

It was three hours later and in his fourth room that Merlin came across the first major problem. The wounds and injuries until then had been straight-forward, horrendous as they were. Sword-wounds, mangled limbs, flesh hacked away by axes and broken bones abounded. Merlin unwrapped, examined, determined on treatment, mixed poultices, washed wounds, turned men who were unconscious, and directed the servants towards those who needed oral hydration. Forcing fluids into an unconscious person was always a dicey problem, as the risk of aspirating fluid into the lungs was ever-present. It became a juggling act, deciding which action contained the less risk: allowing the patient to dehydrate but avoid lung damage, or risk aspiration to enhance hydration and allow the patient a better chance of survival. Merlin had heard that some physicians introduced fluids into the body through the rectum, but Gaius said he’d never had much success with that, ending up only creating a foul mess that needed to be tended to as well as all the other problems. Merlin determined that this treatment would be a last resort.

Person after person was treated, wound after wound, and several hours later the young man stood, exhausted and aching, examining this latest patient.

It was the abdominal wound that Gaius had checked just before Merlin’s awakening yesterday afternoon. At that time the man had shown signs of healing, and was doing well. Today was a different story.

Panting, sweating with pain the soldier was obviously a very sick man. His breath was foul, an unpleasant acidic smell wafting past Merlin’s nose as he bent over examining him. Using a thumb to raise an eyelid, Merlin noted that the pupil contracted correctly as it should, but that there was no other reaction. ‘Coma, with severe pain and acidic breath’ he catalogued to himself. ‘breathing rapid, abdomen rigid to the touch.’ The signs were adding up to something Merlin did not like the look of. He called over his shoulder to the nearest servant who was waiting obediently. “Fetch Gaius, quickly.” The servant scurried off and Merlin began removing the dressing over the man’s belly.

The linen binding the wound was yellowed with secretions and blood as Merlin carefully lifted the poultice applied by Gaius. The wound was long, about 20cm, extending from one hip bone diagonally downward towards the other, getting shallower as it went. It was a typical slashing sword-wound, with the force of the swing piercing deeply at first, then petering out as the blade was drawn across the body.

Focusing on the near end Merlin applied his fingers and pushed gently observing for any discharge. This shallow part oozed a clear red-tinted fluid, something very common with superficial wounds and did not concern him over much. Merlin moved along the slash, feeling the rigidity of the stomach beneath as he went, moving towards the deeper end of the wound, careful of Gaius’ stitches as he went. More fluid oozed becoming tinted yellow with infection, and Merlin grunted as he mentally catalogued; ‘Infected, either from the blade or from his clothing.’ It wasn’t until he reached the far end of the wound that his findings really concerned him. The discharge here was of a different character, and the young physician leaned forward, bringing his sense of smell into play to aid his examination. Sniffing deeply as he gently expressed a brownish fluid from the puncture, he confirmed the worst to himself; ‘Bowel contents. The intestines have been breached, and the man is leaking both blood and faecal matter into his abdomen. He will not survive this.’

Sighing, Merlin stepped back and moved to wash his hands with a herbal astringent designed to reduce contamination. In such a case as this there was nothing to do but see to the comfort of the patient. A hefty dose of poppy juice or some similarly strong drug would either keep the man pain-free until he died, or even hasten his passing. This was not a practise Merlin liked; he hated taking life in any circumstances, but he knew the outcome for this person and would spare him that if he could. Pressure inside the abdomen would continue to increase until frank sewage flowed, ever more rapidly, out of the wound in the man’s belly, burning and rotting the skin as it did so. Pain and fever would render him incoherent to all but his suffering, and the swelling of his abdomen would hinder his breathing until the man died from one, or all of these. It was a painful, stinking and distasteful way to die, and could take many days.

By this time Gaius had arrived, questioning Merlin with a look. The younger man indicated his most recent patient, saying “His bowels are punctured by the sword wound, and are already leaking. His abdomen is rigid and he has high fever and great pain. We need to move him somewhere quiet to ease his passing.”

Rapidly Gaius assessed the man, agreeing with all Merlin’s findings. “You are correct Merlin. There is nothing a Physician can do here…” Merlin was vaguely aware of people passing in and out of the room, and some commotion in the hall behind him. Assuming it was the serving-maid he ignored her and continued discussing the patient with Gaius.

“What is the strongest drug you have?” Merlin inquired, preparing to dose the man into oblivion.

Gaius pinned Merlin with a gaze, and continued his previous statement. “…but there is something you may be able to do.”

Puzzled, Merlin looked up at Gaius. “But medicine has no way to heal this. He will die!”

Nodding, Gaius agreed, catching Merlin with a significant glare. “No, medicine cannot heal this. But you can.”

Eyes opening, Merlin finally understood what Gaius was suggesting, and moved closer to hiss into the elderly man’s ear. “You want me to use magic openly to heal this man?”

Blandly Gaius replied “Why not?”

“But..but magic is banned!”

“You used magic to heal King Arthur, did you not?”

“Yes, but that was different!”

“How?” the man challenged quietly.

It was clear to Merlin that Gaius had lost his mind, but that he also wasn’t prepared to back away from this ridiculous idea.

And yet…the more he considered it, the more Merlin knew he could heal the man and save his life as well as much suffering. And it wasn’t as if his magic was a secret from the King any more: last night during the feast Arthur had mentioned “Each man serving as best he might in his own way” while looking directly at him, Merlin. And magic was, after all, the way he served best.

Nodding, coming to a decision, Merlin announced “All right. I’ll do it. Just give me a moment to prepare.”

Nodding, Gaius stepped back, eager to observe as Merlin demonstrated yet more of his new magical skills.

The warlock glanced around until he found a stool in the corner and dragged it over to the bed of the wounded man. He sat himself upon the stool and closed his eyes, blocking out the sounds and smells which surrounded him. Focusing inwards Merlin visualised his Magic, golden and glowing and rich. Once, before his experience in the Crystal Cave, healing such as this would have been far beyond his abilities even had he studied the specific spell and practised it. Now, his magic flowed free and powerful, and the Warlock only needed to visualise what he wanted to achieve to make it reality.

He extended his hands over the man’s belly, feeling for the injury. There! A slight graze by the sword-tip had weakened the intestinal wall, nicking blood vessels as it did so. Initially the organ had held intact, but eventually the weakened spot had ruptured, releasing the poison within. Directing his magic Merlin closed over the hole in the delicate tissue, and sealed the blood vessels. Feeding power through into the inflamed organs, he released a cleansing force, removing all traces of faeces and infection that had seeped throughout the sack which held the innards in place. Carefully feeling into every ridge and fold lest any piece be left behind, Merlin cleared the infection away. When he was satisfied, he laved gentle healing through the man’s body, reducing fever, swelling, pain and inflammation. Lastly he focused on the superficial incision into the skin, knitting together the layers as he withdrew. A thin white line was all that was left of the horrific wound when Merlin had completed his work. The stitches, of course, would be removed manually.

By the time Merlin opened his eyes and sat back, the patient was also opening his, glancing around the unfamiliar room. “What happened?” he asked in a harsh accent.

“It’s all right. You were injured.” Merlin reassured, patting the man’s shoulder. “But you’re going to be fine now.” Standing, the warlock moved towards Gaius, directing the serving-maid “Give him some water. Only liquids for the next two days, until he uses his bowels normally.”

Gaius smiled in satisfaction. “Well done, Merlin! I know of none other who could heal such a wound, let alone do it without incantation or preparation. And for the patient to wake so quickly!” Gaius was inordinately proud, as well as lost for words.

Still aching from the efforts of the day, Merlin rubbed the sweat from his forehead and answered absently “Yes. Another of the gifts I learned in the Crystal Cave when I came face to face with Magic Itself. I no longer need to incant spells; only if they are new to me, or very complex.”

“And that healing wasn’t complex?”

“Not really. I did something similar for Arthur while we travelled: I felt the path the sword-fragment had made inside him as it migrated towards his heart, and then went inside to heal the damage and slow the bleeding. If I hadn’t he would not have survived the journey to Avalon.” Merlin’s recitation was interrupted by a loud sound from the doorway and he moved absently to investigate.

The mighty warlock and sorcerer stumbled to a shocked halt at what he discovered. There in the hall, peeking through the arched doorway stood King Arthur, Queen Guinevere and a selection of Courtiers. The group had obviously been making their customary visits to the wounded, dispensing comforts, praise and encouragement as needed. There was no possible way that each and every one of them hadn’t witnessed what had just transpired in the room.

Arthur stepped forward, and Merlin trembled. “So,” observed the King. “The man will make a full recovery?”

Nodding, Merlin replied woodenly “I believe so, Sire.”

Arthur reached out and clapped his former servant on the shoulder. “Well done, then. I am grateful for that, and I’m sure his family will be as well.” Turning, the King addressed the waiting courtiers “Let us move on to the next room then, and leave the medical men to finish up here.” Merlin observed the open mouths and shocked expressions on the gaggle of people with Arthur.

Arthur strolled away, calm and relaxed as Merlin watched gaping, and Gaius smirked. Like obedient ducklings, the other visitors trailed after their King, unsure of what to say, or whether to say anything at all, although many were showing signs of indignation and outrage. ‘And so it begins’ Merlin commented to himself before whirling around on Gaius and shouting “You knew! You knew they were there, and still encouraged me!”

Chuckling, Gaius answered blithely “Of course I did, Merlin. I walked past them as I came to your summons. Don’t worry. I don’t think Arthur was all that concerned about your methods.” And he too exited the room, returning to his own patients.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

It wasn’t until several hours later that Merlin had finished his duties enough to allow himself some free time. He decided to ‘beard the lion in its den’ as the saying went, and marched off to Arthur’s chambers to have matters out with the King, new robe swirling pleasingly as he stalked through the corridors. He needed to know exactly where he stood before the scheduled council meeting.

For once in his life, Merlin knocked at Arthur’s door before entering. He even waited for the King to acknowledge his knock, and was proud of himself for remembering all the correct etiquette. Stepping cautiously into the room, Merlin called “Sire?” trying to locate the other man.

“Here, Merlin.” Came a voice from behind the dressing screen. Merlin straightened and moved with more confidence: this was a familiar situation. “Do you need help Sire?” questioned the warlock.

“Yes, do you know where my spare sleepwear is? That other servant can’t find it.” Huffing, Merlin moved to the carved chest of drawers, locating the garment within seconds.
“Here, Sire.” He handed the garment to the King. “Do you need help with it?”

“I can dress myself, you know!” Arthur barked back.

Adopting a sing-song voice, Merlin replied “That’s not what Gaius said.”

Soft cursing erupted from the King. “He said he wouldn’t tell!”

“Dingle-twerp! How could you not know the difference between your shirt and Gwen’s night-dress?” was Merlin’s response.

Arthur emerged correctly clad, and sat down at the table, motioning the dark man to follow suit. Merlin did so.

“I’ve been expecting you.” Arthur stated, all joking now finished. He poured two goblets of wine, and offered one to Merlin.

The new Physician took the offered goblet absently, toying with it as he looked up at Arthur. “So. What’s going on here? I gather I’m not to be arrested, executed, or banished?”
Offended, the King answered “How could you even think that? After everything?”

Quietly and earnestly Merlin replied “Arthur, it’s the reality I’ve lived with ever since setting foot in Camelot. Do you realise that the first thing I ever saw here was a man being executed for using magic?” (1) Sighing, Merlin took a mouthful of the wine. “I just…I need to hear you say it.” He couldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes.

Standing, the King moved towards his friend and sat on the edge of the table. He rested a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, looking seriously into the blue eyes as he did so. “Merlin, I am not going to have you arrested, executed or banished. You have saved my life, and the lives of those I value too many times for me to ever doubt you again. I don’t doubt that there are many more stories of what you have done over the years, and without ever asking for acknowledgement or reward, than were touched on while we were on Avalon. You need not ever fear for your safety or your life on magic’s account while you reside in my Kingdom.”

Merlin drew in a shuddering breath, overcome by Arthur’s patent sincerity: He knew the King meant every word he’d uttered just now. The sense of relief was so strong that for a moment Merlin felt dizzy. Until this moment, he hadn’t realised how much he’d needed to hear those words from Arthur. Ducking his head down, Merlin whispered a heartfelt “Thank you,” as a few unruly drops of moisture made their way towards his neckerchief from the corners of his eyes.

Smiling, Arthur moved back to his chair. “Did you doubt me, Merlin?”

“I…I don’t know what I thought. There have been so many changes, so quickly. I have waited years for this time, Arthur. I have put so much effort into hiding who I am, and this freedom is a lot to take in. It will take me a while to adjust.”

“I understand.” Arthur shook his head, “No, I don’t understand, but I will try to. I promise.”

Silence fell for a few heartbeats.

“Now, about earlier today,” the King went on, “You want to know why I said nothing about you using magic to heal that man when nothing else could, and he was doomed to a painful and terrifying death otherwise?”

Merlin nodded, and Arthur assumed an exasperated expression before continuing.

“Because, Merlin, I need you to use magic around this place if I am ever to change people’s minds about it.” Arthur stood once again, walking back and forth the length of the room as he spoke, airing his ideas at the same time. It was a familiar mannerism to the Warlock, and he sat back prepared to listen and guide as Arthur needed.
“I can’t yet legalise magic. It’s too soon! But I, we, can expose people to it and so begin to reduce their fear of it. Gaius had approached me several months ago about formally making you Assistant Physician. I chose to do it now because I cannot formally acknowledge you as a Sorcerer. No! Hear me out!” Arthur made a chopping gesture with his hand as Merlin opened his mouth to interject.

“You have earned the title and Gaius does need the help, but there is more to it than this. By appointing you as Physician I have elevated your status above mere ‘servant’. And as such, you will be recognised, as well as have influence over others. Do you see?”

Puzzled, Merlin shook his head.

“Hmm…how can I put it without giving you offense?” The King mused further, before deciding to just state his thoughts unedited: “As a servant, even personal servant to the King, you didn’t matter. Nobody but other servants needed to take notice of you, and then only when you were acting on my behalf. You had no status, no recognition, no importance. Any magic you performed then would be dismissed as easily as your death could be accomplished. As a Physician, with the approval and support of myself, Guinevere and Gaius, you will be taken notice of. Your choices and actions will have meaning. Now do you see?” Arthur was becoming passionate in his exposition, moulding the air with his hands as he spoke and striding about with fervour.

Nodding, Merlin gestured to the King to continue, understanding the point Arthur was trying to make.

“Having those courtiers witness what you could accomplish using magic was not planned, but it was fortuitous. I must remember to commend Gaius on his quick thinking. Anyway. The people of this Court, this Kingdom, have been indoctrinated for years that magic is, and must always be, evil. I need somebody who is both skilled and respected to demonstrate otherwise.

“I plan to call a meeting tomorrow to address this issue, as well as your control over Aithusa. I will also announce the end of Morgana. This way I can use your magic as a positive example. At the Round Table meeting I will be able to use this recent healing as well as my own recovery to sway the tide of feeling, added to these. I plan to publicly acknowledge your magic, but I cannot yet appoint you a position in my Court based on your magical power.”

“Ah, about that, Arthur? It might be best if you didn’t mention that I hold the power to Reflect Life and Death yet? That might be a little challenging for them to accept yes. Perhaps we just say that on the Island of Avalon I was able to use the magic of that place to heal you. It’s not too far from the truth, after all.”

Arthur nodded, agreeing with the warlock. “Yes, that would go over better. It will be challenge enough for them to accept you have magic without yet knowing the depth of your power, or that you are Emrys. Although I have already told Sir Leon, Sir Percival and Guinevere of the truth. With these three and myself behind you, I have been able to provide you with a solid core of support. There will be those who oppose this change, Merlin. Mark my words, it will not be easy. But I will not give up on this. Not after all we’ve been through. Not after all that you showed me on Avalon.” Arthur’s blue gaze was intense and direct. Merlin had not seen him this focused outside of the battlefield. In a way, this was yet another battle for Arthur to fight, but on the political stage rather than the physical one.

Smirking as he caught the subtlety of the King’s plan, Merlin murmured “It was Gwen’s idea, wasn’t it? To use my new position to help turn the tide of opinion?”

Arthur had the grace to flush. “Well. No matter whose idea it was, I need you to continue. Use your magic, Merlin. Don’t hide it any more. Show it for the force of good I know it can be.”

Shaking his head in amazement, Merlin commented “Do you have any idea how strange that sounds, coming from you?”

Snorting in amusement, Arthur dropped back into his seat filling his goblet once more. Cocking his head, he quipped back “Do you have any idea how strange it is hearing myself say such things?”

Merlin burst into delighted laughter. It seemed at last, that the Prat of a Prince had learned to laugh at himself.

Merlin took a drink himself, “May I make a suggestion, Sire?” he asked.

Nodding, Arthur answered “Of course.”

“May I suggest allowing me to send for the Druids Sire? Only their healers, to begin with. You know that the poorer people, those of the Lower Town, have always taken their sick and injured into the forest for the druids to treat, because they could not afford Gaius’ services?” the King nodded, and Merlin continued. “Bring them into the town openly Sire. This will make more of a statement that I could ever do. Having your invitation to practise Healing Magic will make your stance on Magic clear. The Druids are mostly good people, gentle, who have a reverence for life and want to use their magic only to serve others. With my new powers, I would only allow those whom I trusted to enter the city and practise. I would know which were trustworthy and which are not.” Merlin tapped the side of his head before continuing.

“Their work would ease Gaius’ load as well. He is struggling, Sire, more than he will ever let you know. The workload he carries is enough for two men, let alone one elderly frail one, no matter how skilled or dedicated. One, maybe two of the most skilled could work from the Citadel, offering treatment to the servants, or even a few of the Courtiers.” Merlin fell silent, allowing Arthur to digest this new thought.

“You know, Merlin, that could work. I, too, have noticed that Gaius’ strength has been failing him in recent months, but have not known how to broach the subject with him. This could serve two purposes with one action. Well done Merlin! You really aren’t as stupid as you look!”

“Dingle-Twerp!” Merlin repeated his new favourite insult.

Arthur responded by reaching forward and slapping the Warlock upside the head, before both men broke into companionable laughter.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Early next morning, King Arthur sent messenger-runners to the Council, requesting a meeting in the Round Table room for the early afternoon. Merlin received his summons with trepidation: it appeared that the time for explanations to the Court was fast approaching.

(1) Season One, Episode One. ‘Call of the Dragon’

Chapter Text

The next morning began very similarly to the preceding one. Merlin woke early and dressed in his new over-robe. He ate breakfast with Gaius, spending the time speaking with his mentor about the cases they’d seen the previous day. In this way they shared ideas, compared treatments and the efficacy observed. This was the way in which physicians compared cases, assessment methods and treatments used; they would debrief one another and defuse the tension and stress that developed when dealing with these life and death situations, as well as refining ideas and learning new skills. After breakfast was finished, the two men headed off once more to their respective sick-rooms. Each would treat and review the patients they’d seen the previous day, deciding which were recovered enough to be sent home, and which needed to stay for longer.

Three hours into the morning and Merlin received the message he’d been expecting: the Meeting of the Round Table was scheduled immediately after lunch, which traditionally took place at the noon-day bell.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

By the time Merlin peered through the doorway of the Meeting Room most of the seats were already taken by Knights, Courtiers, and nobles. Closing his eyes, Merlin backed away from the doorway, wishing to put off his appearance. He knew such feelings were illogical given that he’d been waiting for his magic to be brought into the open for such a very long time. However, now that the time of public revelation was at hand, he found himself almost wishing to return to his days of anonymity.

There was a buzz of chatter echoing between the stone walls of the room which the warlock was reluctant to interrupt. He knew that his appearance would cause many heads to turn, and he loathed being the centre of attention. Since his dramatic arrival in Camelot on Aithusa he’d been able to bury himself in the necessary work of doctoring which he’d used to force his mind away from the furore of his and Arthur’s arrival. The usually stressful work had been oddly soothing, and Merlin’d been able to lose himself in the performance skills that he was familiar and comfortable with.

Not that he wasn’t familiar with magic, of course, but it had become ingrained in him to work it in secret, behind locked doors so to speak. He remembered back to last week when he’d magically started that campfire at Arthur’s invitation, and how incredibly uncomfortable they’d both found the experience. And that had been with a man whom he considered his Soul-Brother! How would such a revelation go in front of the entire Court of Camelot, filled with people who’d known him only as a bumbling idiotic servant for the past decade? At least Arthur had built up some respect for him before the revelation of his true self: these people had nothing to go on but the public persona he’d taken such pains to develop. Sighing Merlin reflected that in this case, he was well and truly ‘hoist on his own petard’, and chuckled ruefully to himself.

Rapid footsteps clacked on the stone behind him and Merlin spun around to see, with relief, that Gwen was approaching. She smiled and greeted her friend and fellow-servant, extending her hands with her characteristic warm smile “Merlin!”

The young man smiled; no matter the changes in their respective situations Gwen never treated him any differently. He was incredibly grateful that she’d accepted his magic with so little fanfare.

“Gwen! I never had a chance to thank you, did I? For accepting me, and not being too frightened that time I spoke to you through your mirror? It meant more to me than you can know.”

Shaking her head Gwen replied “Oh, Merlin! I’ve known you long enough to know you’d never do myself or Arthur any harm, magic or no magic. And you forget that I originally came from a place where magic was accepted as a normal part of life. I admit it was a shock to see you watching me in my looking-glass, though!” She laughed outright.

“Well, you certainly accepted the news much more quickly than Arthur did!” was the grateful response. “And with a lot less angst! Even though I frightened a year’s growth out of you. It was just the quickest way to let you know Arthur was alive, and with me. I didn’t want you to worry any more than you had to. I have seen what worrying over Arthur’s wellbeing on his various escapades does to you.”

Nodding, Gwen silently acknowledged the truth of Merlin’s words. She then tucked his hand through her arm and led him inside the room with her. “Well, let’s leave that all for now, and focus on this meeting today. Arthur is already there, so we can start now.”

Nodding, Merlin walked beside his Queen grateful for her support. As they neared the table Gwen released his hand and took her customary seat at Arthur’s left hand, with Sir Percival at his right. Merlin moved to take his own customary place, standing well behind Arthur’s chair near the windows. He was aware of the eyes that followed him, some with curiosity, some with fear or anger, and some with no expression at all. Trembling internally he hoped that his trepidation wasn’t visible to anybody else. What kind of a powerful sorcerer was he to be frightened of a collection of people who didn’t even have magic? With a thought he could freeze them all in their seats, or could remove their voices from them. Or even, God forbid, take their lives. But it was not power over these people he desired. It was simple acceptance.

Ever since Merlin was a child in Ealdor he had known he was different. Needing to hide the largest part of himself, he had never experienced something that most people took for granted: simple acceptance. Ever waiting on the outside, he’d watched the games other children played, knowing that with a flash of his eyes he could so easily be the best, and be the strongest.

It was his mother who’d impressed upon him that this was not the way to win influence and respect, or friendship. This had been a painful and difficult lesson for the lonely boy, fraught with many tears, and much pain and confusion. In desperation, Hunith had resorted to instilling a sense of shame and fear in young Merlin in order to have him hide his magic and protect the child until he reached an age when he could understand, and make decisions for himself. Only as he’d matured into late childhood had he developed the understanding Hunith had always had: proving he could be better, stronger, and quicker than others through magic would not win him friends or respect. He would only garner anger and fear by employing such methods, as the other children grew to resent him for a power he could not help possessing, and which they could never hope to develop.
Magical superiority would never win friendship: only strength of character, kindness, compassion and personality could do that. Merlin began to understand that it was not so much what a person could do that was important, but why they did it, and how they went about living their life. This was an invaluable lesson for the warlock, and had proved its worth time and again through his life.

It was the loyalty, courage, and steadfast friendship which Merlin had displayed consistently through their years together which had brought Arthur to the place of being able to accept his magic when the time was finally right. The same process, much truncated, had won the loyalty of Lancelot when Merlin had refused the honour of the Griffin’s kill. (1) Thus, a childhood lesson had left Merlin with the precept from which he’d lived his life: win respect and loyalty for who you are, not what you can do.

Unfortunately the other side of the coin was that Merlin’s qualities were often overlooked, and true friendship and acceptance had been rare. In his twenty-four years of life, Merlin could count on both hands the people who had respected him for his character, and even fewer of those had known of his magic. So it was that the most frightening thing for Merlin was not necessarily the revelation of his magic, rather it was the possibility that these people, some of them friends, would turn away from him once they knew who and what he was. These thoughts of rejection left the young warlock feeling vulnerable, the emotions overpowering. And this is why he stood, pale, shaken and trembling, awaiting the judgement of these people who had become his family, and whose opinion was so important.

Arthur called the meeting to order by the simple expedient of standing up. Silence fell, and all faces turned towards the King. Merlin was still aware, however, of the surreptitious glances which were continuously cast his way. He lowered his face to the floor, feeling conspicuous in his Physician’s Robe.

“Companions” Arthur began, “I have called this meeting in order to discuss several matters and to give all of you an opportunity to discuss these which have no doubt been of concern to you. Who would like to begin?”

A score of loud voices filled the air, all clamouring to be the first to be heard. Arthur’s Round Table was an innovation in allowing each person to be heard as an equal, but the downside was that order could be difficult to achieve, and discussions lasted many times longer than in Uther’s time, when decisions were unilaterally made before being handed down to the court to be implemented with no debate allowed. Arthur’s system was more just, but also more time-consuming. Most of the time this was a price he was willing to pay, but at times such as today, the King sometimes wished he could revert back to earlier practises, and just tell these people what he’d decided, and have them obey without argument.

Randomly choosing a querent, Arthur pointed and said “Yes, Lord Melville. What do you wish to bring to our discussion today?”

Melville stood tall, puffing up with importance with being chosen first. “Well, I wish to address the dangerous and irresponsible stunt pulled by your servant two days hence, when he flew a dragon into our midst, recklessly endangering the people of Camelot! What did he mean by it?”

Arthur nodded, acknowledging that the matter needed to be discussed. “Yes, Merlin did fly a dragon into Camelot. Her name is Aithusa, and I give you my word that she is safe! Or did you not notice that I also rode the beast at no detriment to myself? It was, simply, the most expedient way for me to return to court and resume my duties at a time when unrest could have been costly.”

“Safe? Safe you say? How can such a creature be deemed safe?” A burst of voices echoed agreement with Lord Melville’s scoffing comment.

Arthur held up a hand, waiting until the noise died down before answering. “Perhaps Merlin himself can answer this,” and he gestured to the slim dark-haired man to approach the Table and address the gathered people.

Merlin drew a deep breath and stepped forward. He took a place slightly away from Arthur, not wanting to be seen standing in his King’s shadow as he spoke.

“I am Merlin, as you know. I have served as the King’s Manservant for four years, and before that I served him as servant to the Crown Prince.” He paused to gather his thoughts.

“I was born in a small village a moderate distance from here, and grew up with my mother only, never knowing my father. It was six years ago that I learned that my father was Balinor, the Dragonlord.” (2) Mutterings and shouts broke out around the table, and Merlin waited for several minutes until the noise subsided.

“I learned that Balinor was my father when Prince Arthur and myself were sent on a quest by King Uther to contact the last Dragonlord in order to defeat Kilgarrah, the Great Dragon who’d been imprisoned below Camelot, and on escaping, attacked the city in anger and revenge.” Once again he paused, allowing those present to remember the terror of those three nights of fiery, relentless attack by the great beast.

“We tracked down his whereabouts, then met Balinor and were able to persuade him to come with us back to Camelot. On the way back we were ambushed and attacked by bandits. We drove them off, but not before Balinor was fatally wounded while defending me.” At this, Merlin’s voice became husky, and the listeners quieted further so as not to lose a word. “By then, I had told Balinor he was my father, and he, in turn, had informed me that the gift of Dragonlord passed from father to son. It was only on the death of the father, however, that the son would inherit this gift.” The company could now plainly see the guilt and grief that filled Merlin’s face, and waited for him to continue.

“When Arthur and I arrived back in Camelot, we, accompanied by a group of Knights, rode out to confront the Dragon in one last battle. The Knights had sworn to vanquish the beast or die trying.” You could have heard a pin drop in the large chamber. “None knew of my father’s status save Gaius, who’d informed me of the truth, and, of course, myself.”

Gaius, seated at the Table, bowed his head in agreement.

“Kilgarrah the Great Dragon rapidly attacked the company of Knights and quickly rendered them unconscious. In my anger I rose up and stood before him, searching myself to see if I did, indeed, carry the gift of the Dragonlord. To my amazement, words I had never learned spilled from my mouth, and Kilgarrah landed before me and bowed in obeisance.

“I felt the power of Dragonlord within me and knew that the Dragon could not disobey me. I ordered him to leave Camelot, and to never attack her or her citizens again. And he left at once.” Straightening, standing with pride and power, Merlin declared to the Table “I am the last Dragonlord. As such, I have complete control over any and all dragons I come across, as well as some of their lesser cousins, the Wyverns. When I speak to them as Kin, as one of them, they cannot disobey me. That is how I was able to summon Aithusa, and to have her carry myself and King Arthur safely home in a fraction of the time it would have taken us to travel the distance by any other method.

“There was never any danger to any of the people of Camelot, or even towards any of the livestock. I have ordered her to never attack Camelot, its people, the outlying farms, or to take any of the livestock from these places.” Merlin finished his speech and, bowing, stepped back to his place again waiting for the inevitable questions. He lowered his head, breaking eye contact with those gathered, and still trembling, waited for their reaction.

Arthur stood once more, and all eyes were drawn to him. “I can verify that what Merlin says is true. I was with him when we met Balinor, though I was unaware of their relationship until recently. I have seen and heard Merlin call a dragon. I have heard the Dragon Tongue and seen its effect on Aithusa. And I can attest that she truly is safely in his control at all times.”

“Yes, but what if Merlin were to order this dragon to attack us? What would we do then? You know that your father banished all the Dragonlords. He did not trust them!” another voice from further to Melville’s left called.

Arthur’s eyes turned ice-blue and hard as he drew himself up to his full height. “I am NOT my father!” he spoke forcefully, “and I trust Merlin with my life, and with the safety of Camelot and all her people!”

He was echoed with assurances from Guinevere, Gaius, Sir Leon and Sir Percival. Faced with the stalwart support of the five most influential people in the room, including the King, those few who were ready to argue the point decided to leave the argument for another time, believing that the foolish Merlin would damn himself if given enough opportunity.

“But what about the magic?!” called a different Courtier, Lord Linderth, as he thumped his fist on the table in time to his words. “There are rumours that Merlin used magic openly yesterday, in full sight of others. Magic is banned in Camelot! “

“Yes, indeed.”

“Here, here”

“It’s true!” echoes came from all around the Table and Arthur drew breath, prepared to address this new concern.

He was interrupted as Guinevere rose instead, obviously planning to address the gathering, and fell back into his seat, listening as the Queen took up Merlin’s defence; “Most of you know that I came to Camelot as a child. I grew up in a place that was not affected by the Great Purge, and a place in which magic was accepted. We had Healers there, who could treat the most complex diseases, we had Agriculturists who blessed the lands to produce well, and we had Animal Husbanders who assisted their livestock to breed healthy beasts. Tell me how this magic is evil?” Her last question was more of a statement. “I have known of Merlin’s powers since just after the Battle of Camlann, and I have full confidence that he will not harm any person of Camelot with his magic!”

Once more a chorus of voices rose; some agreeing, some disagreeing.

Surprisingly, it was Geoffrey of Monmouth who rose to speak next, and all quieted to hear the venerable man’s words: “I have been record keeper and Cleric to Camelot for many years. I was a part of this Court long before the Great Purge, and can clearly remember a time when magic was used here freely, and with great benefit to all.” Geoffrey then glanced towards Gaius, and seemed to be asking him a silent question. The elderly Physician nodded, apparently answering in the affirmative to his friend and colleague.

Geoffrey continued “Indeed, I have known, and do know, many magic-workers who have only ever worked for the benefit of Camelot. One of these is my dear friend Gaius.” A roar of sound rose to the ceiling, and Geoffrey raised his voice above the tumult; “Yes, Gaius, for those of you who are unaware, studied magic as a young man, and is a sorcerer himself. When King Uther banned magic more than twenty years ago Gaius chose to cease using his gift and to hide it.

“Which of you here today dare accuse the Senior Physician of being evil? After he has served this City faithfully, doctored our ills, and saved many of your lives for more than thirty years! And if Gaius is not evil, then how can Merlin, the young man apprenticed to him for ten long years be evil either? I have had my suspicions for some years now about Merlin, and chose not to divulge them, and have watched him carefully instead.” He raised a hand and pointed directly at the warlock; “Never have I witnessed this young man working to the detriment of this great city, and many times have I observed his loyalty and his courage in service of King Arthur, and before him to King Uther.” Geoffrey nodded decisively and resumed his seat, apparently having said all that he intended to.

Merlin stood as though planted, only with great discipline preventing his jaw from sagging open to his chest. He’d never expected Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth of all people, to stand and defend him. In fact Merlin had always been somewhat in awe of the man, and half convinced that the Record Keeper viewed him as something of an imbecile at least, while being mistrustful of him at best.

Arthur rose once again, preparing to speak. “And what was the magic that this Sorcerer performed yesterday? What ‘evil spell’ was cast within these walls? The spell to heal a man who would otherwise have died a lingering and incredibly painful death! This is the magic demonstrated to you all. Further, I attest to you that I, myself, have been healed by his Magical skill. If not for Merlin’s magic I would not now be standing whole before you, but would instead be laying dead in the forest somewhere, injured beyond any hope of treatment due to the enchanted weapon that Mordred wielded against me. A sword that was enchanted to kill by Morgana herself, and given to be wielded by a former Knight, a man who chose to betray all of us in revenge, after this Court condemned his lover for treason.” The King’s voice thundered through the chamber, echoing as he made his points before he continued.

“To further illustrate my point I would relate some more recent acts of Sorcery ‘committed’ by him. These include disguising himself as an elderly man and coming to the rescue of Camelot’s army at the Battle of Camlann.”

“What? How could it be?”

“That old Sorcerer was Merlin?”

“But it looked nothing like him!” Comments and protestations flew thick and fast from all around, and Arthur waited patiently once more.

“Yes, that ‘old Sorcerer’ was Merlin. Do you not recall how he sent away the dragon which attacked our ranks, and bid fair to wipe us out? Who could do that but a Dragonlord, which we have today established Merlin is?

“He fought for us, overcoming but not killing the Saxons who outnumbered us ten to one! He then sought me out on the battlefield, and when he found me near death, carried me away himself in order to treat me and save my life.

“He protected me on that journey, using his magic several times, choosing once more to distract and mis-direct those who would have killed us rather than ending their lives as he was entitled to do in his King’s defence. Not once did he do this, but several times. Which of you warriors can claim that you would have shown such compassion and mercy were you faced with a similar situation? Would you not have reached for your weapons and struck down the enemy without thought? Merlin reached for his weapon – magic – and did not harm them.

“Indeed, the only person I have seen Merlin harm was Morgana.” Arthur paused to let this news permeate the Chamber. “Yes, Morgana gave chase to Merlin and myself on our journey. Injured and helpless to intervene as I was, I was forced to witness Merlin deal with the witch, and put an end to her evil. She is destroyed, and cannot harm us again, and it is thanks to Merlin that we are no longer plagued by her evil plotting.”

This time the voices that were heard throughout the Chamber were more subdued as conversations were held between neighbours discussing the possibility that never again would Camelot be threatened by the High Priestess.

Lord Linderth once again surged to his feet and raised objections; “That may very well be true, Sire, but how are we to trust this man? You cannot mean to bring magic back into Camelot, to legalise it once more! We will not accept Merlin as some sort of official Court Sorcerer! The idea is preposterous.”

“You raise a good point, Lord Linderth.” Arthur answered. “And I will answer you honestly. I do not mean to appoint anybody Court Sorcerer. Indeed, Merlin has only just been made Assistant Physician, and I think that is quite enough for him to be going on with for the moment.” Arthur’s smile drew forth several soft chuckles from the room. “No, he will remain a Physician. As for legalising magic, I am not suggesting that, either. I am merely suggesting that we do not persecute Merlin for having Magic, and that we wait and watch and evaluate his actions. Will that satisfy you?”

Linderth stood, silently considering his King’s argument. He was displeased with not prosecuting Merlin immediately, but was convinced that no magic-user could long restrain themselves from wrongdoing. The fact that King Arthur did not intend to elevate the sorcerer because of his powers, and that Magic would not be legalised wholesale mollified him somewhat. Nodding cautiously, he answered “I may be prepared to accept this as long as my colleagues are also prepared to. But I would add a few conditions.”

“And what would these conditions be, Lord Linderth?” Arthur’s tone was mild and reasonable, giving the other man assurance that he would not be dismissed.

“I would request that Merlin swear an Oath of Fealty to you. Also that he be watched closely for any sign of wrongdoing, and that the most severe punishment be brought upon him at the merest hint of any infraction.”

Arthur nodded, and turned to Merlin, gesturing the young man to his side. “Merlin, do you accept these terms? Will you swear a public Oath of Fealty?” Arthur knew that Merlin had no need to take such an oath, having already proven over and over again his loyalty to Arthur and the world he would build.

Smiling slightly, Merlin bowed formally answered clearly for all to hear “Willingly, Sire.” ‘As if there were ever any doubt.’

Arthur restrained his laughter, maintaining his serious public face; “And will you accept the punishment of the law if you threaten the wellbeing of Camelot, or wilfully harm any of her citizens without cause using your magic?”

“Yes, Sire.” ‘In order to shut this prating peacock and his side-kicks up, I’ll do almost anything, Sire.’ Merlin’s blue eyes gleamed with mischief that only his King was privy to.

“Very well. Then we will perform the Oath now.” Arthur could not hear Merlin’s internal dialogue, but going by the glint in those blue eyes he suspected that something snide was passing through his friend’s mind. He turned once more to address those gathered around the Table. “Are there any objections to this?

There was a universal chorus of “No’s” from around the Table. After pressing for some such assurance, the assembled Courtiers could hardly refuse, after all.

“Then we will move to the Reception Hall.” And Arthur moved back from the Table, he and Queen Guinevere leading the company towards the more formal room, and effectively ending this most contentious Meeting of the Round Table.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Twenty minutes later and all was assembled and ready. King Arthur and Queen Guinevere sat on their thrones, their Crowns of State on their heads formalising the proceedings. Merlin stood before them on the steps, hands folded before him as he waited patiently and without nerves. In truth, there was little for him to be nervous about. He was about to publicly state and swear to the tenets by which he’d lived the last ten years of his life anyway. Nothing would really change for the young Warlock, apart from the fact that he would no longer need to fear death for summoning his water cup across the room if he thirsted. A quiet excitement permeated his body, which he held back with more than usual strength. Now would not be a good time for his emotional control to slip, causing an unsolicited magical display.

In the front rows stood Gaius, smiling proudly, flanked by the most senior of the Knights including Sir Percival and Sir Leon. Behind these ranked the most senior of the Noblemen and Women, the Hall filled to bursting point as it usually was only for an event such as a Knighting or reception of royal dignitaries.

Arthur stood and stepped forward on the dais, and Merlin knelt before his Liege. Arthur drew his sword and placed its tip upon the stone floor, holding it upright in front of the dark-headed man. Merlin raised both hands, and laid them on the hilt of the sword that he himself had engineered and even wielded in the defence of Camelot, thus signifying his accord with all that his King stood for.

“Merlin, do you freely swear fealty to me as King of Camelot?”

“I do.”

“Merlin, do you swear to serve Camelot, Queen Guinevere and myself to the best of your ability?”

“I so swear.”

“Will you promise to never use your magic to cause harm to come to either myself, Queen Guinevere, the Lords and Ladies of the Court, the Knights, servants or any of the people of Camelot?”

“I will so promise.”

“Do you swear to strive for the betterment of this Kingdom, and to promote her safety and wellbeing with all of your strength?”
“I will so swear.”

“Then arise, Merlin, and may you be both blessing and blessed to those around you.”

The formal words were spoken with gravity and solemnity. King Arthur then gathered his friend close in a ceremonial hug, and the oath was complete. Merlin stood side by side with his friend and King and surveyed the people in front of him.

In a way nothing had really changed. But at the same time, in a way everything had changed. And he was both excited and concerned to see where this future would lead them both.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season 1, Episode 5. ‘Lancelot’
(2) Season 2, Episode 13 ‘The Last Dragonlord’

Chapter Text

Supper was a subdued affair in Gaius’ quarters. Merlin was emotionally drained and not inclined to talk. Gaius seemed similarly exhausted, and Merlin observed the elderly man surreptitiously from the corner of his eyes, alert for any signs that his mentor was ailing. He could detect nothing but the slight wheeze of the man’s breathing as he moved about the chamber, serving a simple meal for them both.

The huffing breath concerned Merlin, who could not recall Gaius breathing so heavily over such a routine task before. He resolved to keep a wary eye on his foster-father, and suggest appropriate treatment if the symptoms should increase. Shuddering, Merlin imagined the caustic comments which would be hurled in his direction if this were to eventuate; Gaius was not an easy patient. These thoughts accompanied the young man as he retired to his room for the night, grateful for the privacy of a closed door.

Since waking this morning, indeed, since returning to Camelot, Merlin had found himself under scrutiny of one sort or another, and the constant pressure had been trying. Settling against the wall he allowed himself the luxury of conjuring his ice-blue light globe and filling his little room with cool brightness. The relief from being observed was intense, and the young man revelled in the sensation of being alone and unobserved. Perhaps he could gather herbs and plants tomorrow and spend some time in the quiet green of the forest-land surrounding the city.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The desire for solitude, for respite, had not faded by morning and Merlin found himself offering, for the first time in Gaius’ experience, to spend the day gathering healing plants. With eyebrows raised the elderly man nodded, perhaps realising that his ward needed some alone-time in which to adjust to the recent changes in his life. Merlin observed that Gaius’ breathing seemed easier this morning, and he was content to leave the physician to deal with the few patients who would need his care.

Merlin joyfully slung his leather satchel over one shoulder, and, leaving his blue Physician’s Robe behind, headed to the kitchens to beg some food to take on his solitary expedition. Walking the familiar hallways only strengthened the warlock’s resolve to spend some time away from Camelot: fellow servants eyed him as though he were a viper ready to strike without provocation, and those few who did return his cheery greetings did so as briefly as they could get away with before hurrying off. While this state of affairs was trying, Merlin had to admit to a wicked sense of wishing to shock the servants with petty displays of harmless magic, such as flashing lights, or toads appearing out of thin air. Restraining himself only with difficulty he entered the hot noisy kitchens and quickly appropriated the food he needed before exiting once more.

It was as he drew near to the place outside of Camelot’s walls which he privately called ‘Kilgarrah’s Clearing’ that the thought occurred to him to summon Aithusa. He had, after all, promised himself the treat of flying with the young dragon properly one day. Stopping on impulse he threw back his head and roared out the familiar syllables that would bring the White Dragon to him, before settling comfortably on the grass and waiting.

Merlin decided to use the opportunity to learn more of his new powers, and closed his eyes in preparation for concentrating. He bowed his head and focused on the throbbing golden orb that represented his magic. He allowed the strong glowing sense of his magic to fill him up before directing it to travel along various blood vessels and nerve pathways throughout his body. Soon all that Emrys was aware of was a vibrating strength that longed to be released. Gradually he extended his senses outwards in a circle; becoming aware of the life around him. Below his knees the green grass smelled sweet, its slow ever-present growth soothing. Delving deeper, he sensed the myriad of insects and worms that lived and burrowed through the soil. ‘So many of them present in such a small area!’ Merlin marvelled at the beauty and intricacy of Creation. Raising his awareness skyward, but simultaneously maintaining a connection with the ground earth beneath him he sent his senses out into the forest. Beech, birch and oak trees abounded, each one drawing sustenance from deep within the earth; nutrients provided by last year’s rotting vegetation and distributed by the minute creatures merrily digging and burrowing through the rich soil.

Branches stretched forth rising to the sun, leaves rustling quietly as they were warmed, the tree-sap running through leaf veins. Higher he stretched, and he could sense the bird-life rustling and flitting through and around the branches. Occasionally a squirrel or other night-creature was found nestled safely in a hollow lined with dead leaves waiting for the cover of darkness to emerge and go about its business. Higher still Emrys reached, until he could feel the air currents moving just above the green canopy. Further up again and the air cooled; different layers moving in different directions, wafting the cotton-like masses of moisture which he realised were the clouds above. Revelling in how far he was able to thrust his awareness, Merlin focused his will into a single lance of power and hurled it forth into the heavens. Higher and higher the shaft went, until it was ultimately surrounded by cold and by blackness. He had discovered a vast emptiness far above the height that any dragon could ever fly; a huge vacuum of nothingness dotted here and there with large, cold hard bodies of rock and minerals which seemed to follow pre-ordained paths through the space above, twirling endlessly through the nothingness.

Merlin sat, lost in sensation, and communed with the universe. Eventually he began to retract his awareness drawing slowly back towards himself, which he could sense far below as a golden dot of power. Seeing the world and beyond it from this perspective changed Merlin’s fundamental view. All-powerful Warlock that he was, he was still nothing as compared the majesty and grandeur of all of Creation. The experience changed him; bringing wonder, awe, and humility at one and the same time.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

A sudden swish of wings from above and Merlin glanced up in time to see Aithusa land. He jumped to his feet and ran forward to greet the excited young dragon who’d lowered her head to the ground in the bow that her kind used when summoned. White diamond-hard scales reflected light across the clearing, and it seemed as if a multitude of miniature lights danced across grass, leaves, trees and dead-fall.

“My Lord” she greeted, her rich contralto voice caressing the air.

“Aithusa! It’s so good to see you!”

“It is good to see you well, Emrys. What would you have me do for you?”

“Today, Aithusa, I thought we’d just go for a flight together. Nothing onerous; just something for fun and relaxation.”

The white dragon’s eyes burned indigo with pleasure as she lowered her head to allow her Dragonlord to mount. It was the work of moments for Merlin to secure his leather satchel and scramble aboard. They both switched to the more private mind-speak. *Where do you wish to go?*

*That doesn’t matter, Aithusa. Eventually I want to go here,* and Merlin pictured a specific clearing beside a lake, *But until then, I just want to fly with you, to get to know your patterns, and to enjoy!*

The dragon emitted a growl of pleasure and flung herself into the sky, broad wings beating strongly as she did so. Without thought Merlin moved with her, absorbing the strong movements of launching. He then flattened himself closer to her neck so as to impede her flight less and asked *So, just how fast can you fly, Aithusa? I’m in the mood to find out.*

With another growl the dragon lengthened her body and began working the air furiously, gaining as much height as she could. *Then let us find out, my lord.* With a shout of joy, the two young creatures dedicated themselves to nothing more than pushing their boundaries together.

The next two hours flashed by as both dragon and lord learned what it meant to truly fly together. Establishing a mind-link which allowed communication without words, they dared one another to greater and greater stunts. Aithusa dove, twirled, formed corkscrews and banked sharply as her rider anticipated each change and moved with it. Strong muscles revelled in the challenge as Aithusa flew as she’d never done before, and Merlin exulted in the simple fierce joy of living.

Wind whipped into his face and he squinted against it, fighting the tears that streamed across his face and envying the dragon the transparent eyelids she could lower at will. A moment’s thought, however, and Merlin’s irises flashed gold creating a protective barrier that shielded his delicate eyes from the onrushing wind. With vision now absolutely clear he observed the carpet of trees and mountains so far below. This green carpet appeared to dance from one side to the other, left to right due to his mount’s gyrations. At one time, the sky became the ground, and the ground was a clear azure blue as Aithusa inverted herself totally. An instinctive application of magic fixed the young warlock in his seat and he merely sat enjoying his new perspective.

Joy and exultation filled two hearts that morning. It was a flight of discovery; of what was possible for them both, and of what each could accomplish together as the two minds became attuned. Merlin directed sometimes, inventing movements in mid-air that the dragon had never conceived of let alone executed, and the lithe beast threw herself into the convolutions unreservedly. Sunlight reflected from the overlapping scales which adorned Aithusa’s body; from the ground the display itself was invisible; merely the frequent glimmer of light could be discerned if anybody was inclined to stand and study the heavens for any length of time. And what would they have made of such a display? Light flickering amongst the clouds, seemingly reflected from nothing, and blinding the eyes of an observer should they be looking directly at the beast as she moved in the sunlight.
During this experience Aithusa began to heal emotionally as she’d already done physically. The last few days had been a time of resting and eating for her, and adjusting to her new strong body. Abundant prey in the forest and restful sleep high on Kilgarrah’s ledge had completed the transformation which Merlin had begun on Avalon. Her body had developed further; hard muscle rounding out her frame, and ligaments had strengthened from long hours on the wing. She was now a young dragon in her prime, and revelled in it!

Aithusa still missed Morgana greatly, having spent the first three years of her life with the young woman whom she’d healed from a grievous injury. In years past, the young dragon had felt alone as the elderly Kilgarrah found it more and more difficult to journey and explore with her as age stiffened his body. Spending time with Morgana had become a way of learning for the female dragon, and of passing the time. And then the Sarrum had captured them both and imprisoned them in that pit. (1) Enduring immeasurable suffering during this trial, an unusually strong bond had been formed between the unlikely allies. After finally escaping their cramped prison neither had been willing to leave the other, and their friendship borne of need had continued and even strengthened. By the time Morgana had moved to her northern fastness in search of the ‘Key to all Knowledge’ (2) the young creature had all but forgotten Merlin, the man who’d hatched her.

Grief and suffering had bound her strongly to the witch, forming a twisted relationship that was still, however, nurturing for both of them. Aithusa’s first encounter with Merlin in the tunnels below the fortress had confused the dragon; there was something familiar about the human, and she’d found herself reluctant to leave him when he’d asked her to. A bond had been quickly re-established between Dragon & Lord however, and it had required an order from him in Dragon-Tongue for her to abandon Merlin.

The next months had been a time of confusion for Aithusa as she followed Morgana from cave to hideout during the witch’s travels. She’d observed first-hand Morgana’s hatred of Arthur and Merlin, which had unsettled her greatly. Still, however, eager and needy for acceptance and fellowship the maimed Aithusa had followed Morgana though doubts had begun to form in her mind. Unable to communicate openly with her, the white dragon had maintained their relationship as best she could.

Forging Mordred’s sword had been done from obedience alone, as Morgana’s desires had become the only benchmark in the dragon’s world; there was nothing else worth striving for but making her human friend happy. When reprimanded by Merlin for her attack of Camelot’s army Aithusa had retreated in utter confusion. Hiding deep in their most recent cave she’d felt Morgana’s destruction, and mourned aloud for her friend, keening deep within the earth with grief. Feeling Kilgarrah’s death a scant hour later on had only further confused and unsettled her.

Merlin’s summons a day after these events had been unexpected and Aithusa had found herself in flight hardly aware of what she was doing, drawn by the ancient magic the Dragonlord had invoked. She was entirely unsure why she was being summoned, and in her grief, half expected some form of punishment from this human who could command her. To be offered a choice of whether she would like to be healed was the last thing Aithusa’d expected. Never had Morgana offered her choices: she’d spoken with the dragon, aired ideas and concerns, shared affection, food and shelter but had never actually asked her what she would prefer.

The fact that Merlin had allowed her to make a choice and then respected that choice had re-established Aithusa in her own mind as a powerful, independent being, and a noble Creature of the Old Religion rather than as a pet to do somebody’s bidding. The transformation Merlin’d wrought in her body, and the price the warlock had so willingly paid to do so had cemented their new bond.

Aithusa would always grieve for the friendship she’d developed with Morgana, and would always miss the witch, but this strong bond with Merlin was something new, and she was eager to delve into it explore it to its limits.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Several hours later and both dragon and Dragonlord’s muscles were burning with exertion. Minds linked, they mutually decided that this flight had achieved all that they’d desired and more, and headed toward the clearing Merlin had selected earlier. Aithusa landed gracefully, although tiredly, and took off once more, promising to return when, if, Merlin called her. She headed away to hunt and replenish her energy with a fat deer before sleeping the rest of the day away.

Drawing breath Merlin stood quietly and surveyed the clearing. The aspect was familiar, and brought a melancholy ache to his heart. He’d stood here several times over the years since he’d first laid Freya to rest, and each time reminded him of both what he’d had and what he’d lost. Kindling a fire with a thought, the warlock set about brewing a comforting herbal tea. As he went about these mundane preparations he sent out a mental call across the Lake of Avalon, letting the Lady know that he was here for a visit, and then waited. His business was not urgent, and the familiar scenery brought a tranquillity to his soul after the exultation of flying with the White Dragon.

It was not many minutes later that Merlin became aware that Freya approached, and he rose to greet her. Magicking off his shoes, socks and trousers, he waded into the water clad only in long undershorts and tunic to meet with his love. The coldness of the lake caused goose-pimples to form, and he drew in a shocked breath. A flash of gold and he insulated his skin against further heat loss before continuing on, stopping when the water reached half-way up his thighs in order to preserve the dryness of his remaining clothing. He came to a halt, bare toes clutching at the pebbles that lined the lake bed, and extended his arms. Freya smiled, and nestled against him, arms going about his torso in a hug of greeting. Merlin returned the embrace, burying his face in her neck in an attempt to hide the tears of joy on his face.

“Oh, my love.” Freya placed a finger under Merlin's chin and tipped his head back, gazing into his eyes. “No hiding, not here, not from me.” And she kissed him softly in comfort.

Sniffing, Merlin nodded, smiling ruefully. “I should know better, Freya. You always did accept me just as I was, flaws and all.”

“And how is this a flaw, Merlin? Your tears are a blessing to me, for they fall into my Lake, and thus you leave a part of yourself here for me to enjoy always.”

Teasing, the warlock answered “Only you, Freya, could find something positive in tearfulness!” Joining hands the two moved towards the shallows. As they neared the bank, Merlin sat tailor-fashion on the grass, allowing his lower legs to dangle into the water. Freya sat down in the water, needing to maintain contact with this element at all times, and they began to talk. Merlin filled the Lady in on the happenings of the past week, explaining the changes that Arthur was attempting to bring to Camelot and the changes and challenges they both faced in the endeavour. He spoke of their plan to allow Druid Healers into the city, to quietly begin tending to the poor thus slowly bringing magic-workers back into acceptance.

Friendship was renewed as the two simply spent time together, exchanging news and resting in the shallows. After a time silence fell, and Merlin absently played with Freya’s hand, running her fingers one by one through his own, massaging lightly. A wicked light dawned in the Ladys’s eyes, and she surreptitiously brought her free hand up, outside his line of sight. Rapidly she ran a fingernail up his thigh, beginning at the knee nearest her and ending just below the hem of his shorts, using just a touch of magic to ensure that he felt the cold trail she etched on his skin.

“Hey!” Merlin yelped, taken utterly by surprise, reflexively straightening his leg away from her touch.

Freya fell back laughing, slapping her hand down on the water and splashing in her joy. “Oh, Merlin, you should have seen your face!” she chortled.

“You could have given me some warning!” he complained.

“And deprive myself of the joy of your darling squeal? No way!”

“I do not squeal!”

“You did so, and it was delightful!”

Merlin shook his head in exasperation, conceding the point. Quickly cupping his left hand he flung a handful of water at the Lady, laughing at her in turn. She ducked, and they both listened to the musical ‘plink’ of the water as gravity returned it to the Lake.

Suddenly wistful, he looked into his love’s eyes and sighed. “You know, Freya, I often wish, all those years ago, that we’d taken the opportunity given us to love each other, more, uh, physically, if you know what I mean. But we thought there would be time for that later, didn’t we, and we wasted our time and missed our chance.”

Freya cupped his cheek as she spoke. “Not wasted, Merlin. No, never wasted. Nothing about those brief days were squandered. Even though we were not able to make love to each other then, your kindness and gentleness brought me to the place of being able, once more, to contemplate it with joy. As long as it was with you: it had been such a long time since the act of sex was anything but pain and degradation for me. I told you that you had healed me, and you did, in more ways than you knew.” She dropped her eyes, shaking her head in memory.

Shocked, Merlin looked in horror at the beautiful girl before him. “What? I…I had no idea!”

“Merlin! So innocent, both then and now. Yes, one of the ‘punishments’ Halig designed for me was to service him. He took his pleasure as often as he liked, and when we came to a town he would buy his place in a tavern by renting me out.” Indescribable pain filled the beautiful face as she remembered those weeks of imprisonment and the torture she’d endured. Tears ran down her delicate face and Merlin wiped each one away before folding her to his breast, offering the only comfort he knew.

Anger ignited in the warlock’s heart; so deep and so hot that he was surprised that Freya wasn’t burned by it as she leaned against him. “I will find him,” he vowed “and I will make him pay! For every hurt you suffered he will suffer ten, I swear this to you.”

Freya sobbed aloud, talking through her tears. “No, my love! Down that path lies destruction. Hate does not become you: leave it before your heart becomes corrupted.”

Trembling with anger, her lover held her tighter “I cannot! You should never have suffered in that way. If I could go back and…”

“But you cannot. Not even the powerful Emrys can change what is in the past. Leave it, Merlin. It was done, and it is over.” Freya lifted her head and gazed into the cerulean eyes before her, and expression of utter love suffusing her features. “You healed me, Merlin. Before you came I lived in total and consuming fear: both of the beast which I became in the night and the killings I was unable to control, and also of the men that used my body over and over again. I had not known a gentle touch for so long before you released me that I had forgotten what it felt like.

“Your chivalry and honesty healed me. Your love warmed and healed me. You actually cared that I was safe and well-fed. You hid me; provided me with light in the dark hours, seeing to my comfort and risking your own well-being to do so. You never forced yourself on me, only surrounded me with love and with acceptance. This is how you restored me, and this is how you saved me. That kiss that you gave me, there beneath the citadel, brought healing and joy. Touch had been pain for so long, and I was so afraid. But I could never be afraid of you in your gentleness and innocence.

“You thought only of giving, and in that you brought me to the place where I was able to look forward with joy and pleasure once more to the act of making love.” She stroked his face gently “But only with you, my sweet. Only ever with you,” and she leaned forward, bestowing a kiss of gratitude upon his plump lips. “So you see, that time was not wasted.”

Merlin broke away from the kiss, looking down at his hands folded in his lap, his face contorted with emotion. “Oh, Freya,” he whispered, “I never knew, never suspected. But I should have; the way you shied away from my touch when I loosened your manacles and also when I took you into the tunnels to hide. The fear on your face should have been a warning to me.” Memories of those days filled his mind’s eye, now with a new meaning. “I am glad, then, my love, that I never approached you that way: It would have only brought you even more distress. So no, those days were not wasted, were they?” He caressed her face with the back of his fingers, stroking gently. “Thank you for sharing this with me. You, too, are the only woman I have ever wanted to be with, the only one I could ever consider being so intimate with. Even now I have never…” his voice trailed away, unable to complete the sentence, and his face blushed a fiery red.

Surprised, Freya drew back to study him; “What, never? Even now you’ve never been with a woman?”

He shook his head slowly, “Well, first there was you, and we didn’t…and since then there’s hardly been time, has there? In all these years I’ve never had the chance to develop a close enough relationship with any woman to even consider it. There’s always been my work for Arthur as servant, my study with Gaius, the various expeditions as Arthur roamed the countryside trying to bring peace, and my destiny to fulfill. Then there’ve been all the times when I’ve needed to save his life or had my own threatened, and the time and energy I’ve poured into hiding my secret. No, I never wanted to, and, Freya, there has never been the opportunity.” Merlin smiled crookedly, shaking his head before continuing. “I don’t suppose there ever will be now, either. It is something only for others to experience, and is not for me.”

“Merlin!” Freya slapped his leg hard. “Don’t say such things! You’re young, only twenty-four! Don’t lock your heart away. Please. Surely now that things are changing you will have more time for yourself?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Merlin shrugged. “But who will look at me now and not see Emrys, the powerful Warlock and Dragonlord? Will there be anybody to look beyond that and see plain, ordinary human Merlin? I’ve seen what Arthur and Gwen share; I’ve observed the true love and respect that can grow between a man and a woman. Don’t get me wrong,” he hastened to interject, “I’m not jealous of what they have. No, I’m happy for both of them.” His face dissolved into a fond smile as he contemplated the joy his two closest friends had found in each other. “It is good to know that they have each other, and that they can enjoy and express the love that has been so hard-won for them both. And I do wish that one day I could have that, too. But it’s not likely, is it?”

Merlin paused, looking out across the expanse of water in front of him, at the mountains they’d once spoken of living beside. “No, I will learn to be alone, and be content with that.” He was unaware that silent tears once more tracked down his face until Freya kissed them away one by one.

“And then, there’s always been my fear that…you know.” He dropped his head in embarrassment, not sure how to continue.”

“Fear of what, Merlin?” She cocked her head in curiosity.

“Well, a couple of things, actually.” He chuckled. “First that I won’t know what to do…” he was surprised by Freya’s genuine laugh of mirth.

“I really don’t think that will be a problem, Merlin, not knowing you as I do. Your love, gentleness and concern for your partner’s well-being, as well as your care of her will more than make up for any, um, technical inexperience. ”

“And then I have always worried that I might, you know… lose control.”

Freya released a surprisingly girlish giggle, covering her mouth with her hand as she did so. “I think that’s sort of the whole idea.”

Merlin ducked his head down awkwardly, blushing so furiously his face was radiated heat. “No! Not that. I mean of my magic. Sometimes if I get angry, or worried, then my magic sometimes escapes. I remember Gaius thought there’d been an earthquake once, when really it was me being frustrated when trying to master a new spell up in my room. If that’s what happens when I’m angry, I’m kind of worried what might happen when… um during… ah, well, you get the idea.”

Smiling roguishly, Freya advised “Then consider that possibility a bit of added spice for the experience. It does seem, though, that any woman you did choose to be intimate with would need to have an understanding of magic, if not actually have magic herself.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, it’s a moot point, so not something I need to spend time and energy on right now. At the moment there are other things for me to focus on, like how to demonstrate that magic can be helpful for those in Camelot who’ve always feared it.

“Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult for the Great Emrys” Freya teased, “What if you were to…” and the conversation moved on to less emotionally charged ground.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Five, Episode Eight ‘The Hollow Queen.’
(2) Season Five, Episode One and Two ‘Arthur’s Bane Part One and Two’

Chapter Text

It had been two days since Merlin had approached Arthur in his room for their private discussion, and there was an influx of Druids expected into the city today, and Merlin would be the one to greet them. The forest-dwellers had reacted with enthusiasm to Merlin’s invitation, delivered by mind-speech. Indeed, Merlin swore he still carried the headache that their jubilant mental replies had caused him.

Gaius had been uncommonly placid when informed of this development; pleased for Merlin, and satisfied as though some long-term goal had been achieved, but otherwise less excited than expected. Merlin himself was feeling relaxed and mellow after spending the day with Aithusa and Freya. Gaius had ordered a meal from the Kitchens rather than prepare one himself as was his custom, commenting that after the hard work they’d both put in that day, they deserved the treat.

Merlin had smiled and agreed, and served his mentor at table. He had enjoyed the rich beef stew and fresh bread, washed down with a pitcher of wine. The fresh fruit had been a pleasant dessert and Merlin had all but licked his plate and bowl clean before returning the empty platters to the kitchen. When he’d returned less than 20 minutes later, it was to see that Gaius had already retired to bed, leaving a single candle burning. Merlin had paused long enough to assure himself that the elderly man rested comfortably, and retired to his room, lighting his own candles absently with a thought.

After changing into his loose sleep attire, he’d sat himself on his bed in order to contact the Druids using mind-speak. To say that they’d been excited was an understatement. Merlin smiled at the memory of the excitement his invitation had brought: the magical clan rejoicing that finally magic was making its way back into Camelot. The prophesies of generations were finally coming to pass, and freedom for all magical folk was closer.

For once, Merlin slipped easily into a deep sleep. It seemed as though Kilgarrah had been correct: it was though Merlin’s efforts that magic would come to be universally accepted.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The day of the Druid healers coming into the city dawned, and Merlin was excitedly preparing to welcome them. Morning brought the usual bustle and change: most of the injured soldiers had been sent home, and there were only a handful left. Gaius elected to treat these, freeing Merlin for his other duties. The druids were not yet to be presented openly to the King, but shown quietly to their workplace in the city, and furnished with the information they would need to gather ingredients for potions and preparations.

It was with excitement and a slight trepidation that Merlin made his way unobtrusively to just outside the main gates of Camelot, to await the Druids’ arrival. He’d slung his medicine bag over one shoulder and his leather collecting satchel over the other. While outside the city walls, he planned on gathering what herbs he could, not want to waste the opportunity.

He’d already half-filled his satchel with yarrow, rue, ragwort, dandelion shoots and willow bark. Standing, he noted some moss growing on the trunk of a nearby oak, and unsheathed his dagger to begin scraping it into a soft collecting-skin. Collecting moss was a tedious task, but at least here it could be done standing, which reduced the tension on his back and knees. When dried, moss made an excellent absorbent dressing for oozing wounds and would also benefit by working against infection. It could also be made into a soothing tea for stomach upsets.

Sound behind him caused Merlin to turn and glance down the road he was working beside. He smiled broadly to see a group of seven Druids in their traditional robes approaching him. Face breaking into a wide grin, he re-sheathed his knife and moved to welcome them, placing the gathered moss into his collecting satchel as he did so.

“Welcome! Welcome to Camelot. It is good to see you here.” And he extended his arms in greeting, his blue over-robe swirling elegantly with his movement.

The group came to a halt as one, and the most senior member stepped forward, obviously the spokesman. It was with embarrassment that Merlin watched the people drop to their knees in the road and cross their arms over their chests. The elder spoke: “Emrys! It is an honour to meet you. I never thought I’d live so long as to see the day when Magic was welcomed back into Camelot!” In each of the sorcerer’s minds was fixed the image they had been witnesses to a week ago: of the young Warlock encased in golden energy in some fastness of the earth. Emrys’ transformation had already become Legend, and the party were overwhelmed to be chosen to work with him.

Face red, and arms extended Merlin stumbled forward in embarrassment. “No! Get up! Don’t bow to me. You have no need to.” He gently grasped the leader by his elbow, and raised the him. No matter how many times he was greeted in this fashion, he didn’t think he’d become used to it. It made him uncomfortable to think that others wanted to bow to him: an ordinary peasant. The remainder of the group also stood, continuing to look somewhat overwhelmed.

Bowing, the elder replied “Forgive us, Emrys. We mean no harm, only to honour you. My name is Davydd, I am the Senior Healer. These are Armine, Paynel, Niniane, Merik, Jessamy, and Gobin. We come from many different Clans over this region. We were chosen as those both with the best healing skills, and also who would likely cope best with this new state of affairs.” Each Healer had nodded politely as their name was mentioned, but remained silent.

“Welcome Davydd, and everybody. Forgive me for not remembering all your names immediately, but I’m sure it will come in time. You’ve not left your Clans without Healers, I hope?”

Davydd laughed gently “No, indeed Emrys. Our people will not suffer for our being here, rest assured of that.”

Nodding, Merlin turned to lead the group into the City. “Come this way, then. King Arthur has set aside a building for you to use. It isn’t new, but it should serve for now.”

Merlin then headed off towards a poorer part of the town, towards a street that had once housed a market stall. Most of the buildings were closed and had been for some time, although many bore marks of being used as temporary lodgings. All that was left were the buildings themselves, and the rooms holding heavy wooden furniture, which had proven too difficult for the poor folk to remove or destroy for fuel. Gesturing, Merlin ushered them group past the stall out front and into the dwelling directly behind. “I’m afraid this is all we have right now” he apologised. “But there are enough rooms to sleep you all in, and I have made sure that you have fuel, as well as knives, bowls, other implements, and herbs as raw ingredients.”

Davydd nodded, appearing pleased. “It is more than we thought we would begin with Emrys. Thank you.” Two of the male druids, Merik and Gobin Merlin thought, moved towards the fireplace, dropping their packs on the slab table as they did so. One took some kindling and placed it in the fireplace and lit it with a flash of golden eyes. He then took hold of some larger pieces of wood, ready to add them when the blaze was well established. The other man picked up a nearby bucket and stepped out of the room, obviously going for water.

Seeing the casualness in which magic was used brought an expression of joy to Merlin’s face. Never in his life had he been part of a community where magic was accepted and freely employed: this was a refreshing change. The remainder of the group moved towards the other long table in the room, unloading their packs as onto it. Merlin watched as herbs, tinctures, pastes, dressings, teas, and many other substances appeared.

“As you can see, Emrys, we came prepared, and ready to work.” Davydd commented. By this time Gobin had returned with his filled bucket, and began to heat water in the cast-iron pot hanging on a chain beside the fireplace.

Within the next quarter-hour Merlin watched as the long-abandoned shop became a place of healing. Lending a hand, he revelled in being able to move bundles of herbs toward him with magic, and set to cutting and preparing. It was a time of camaraderie such as he’d never experienced in all his 24 years. The aromas of wood smoke and curing herbs filled the space as Jessamy began a preparation of Willow-Bark in her cauldron. The basic preparation would be in high demand, used as it was for so many different ailments.

Merlin could see himself spending quite an amount of time with these people, learning from them not only the healing skills, but the magical as well. Most of his own magic use had been developed in isolation, and he was eager to become part of this small community and be exposed to new ideas and customs.

Footsteps sounded rapidly down the cobbled road, causing the druids to raise their heads in concern. “It’s all right,” Merlin said, continuing with his task, “That will be the servants from the Kitchens bringing you supplies. King Arthur will send you foods which you may prepare yourselves as you see fit. He said that since you would be caring for his people, the least he could do would be to feed you!”

But Merlin was wrong: it was not the expected supplies arriving. A red-faced, panting messenger-boy stumbled to a halt grasping the door-frame to support him. “Physician!” he called, “Physician Merlin! You must come at once. Physician Gaius has collapsed.”

Merlin paled, hands dropping the knife he was using to shred leaves. “What? Where?” he was already moving towards the doorway.

“The Hospital Rooms! He was caring for the soldiers.”

“Niniane!” Davydd barked, “Go with him and assist any way you can.”

Nodding, a plain-looking young woman stepped forwards; “Lead the way, Emrys.” Merlin nodded, flung out his hand to summon his medicine bag toward him and flew out of the door, Niniane following.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin barrelled up the entry steps, feet skidding as he rounded the corner on the way to the rooms set aside for the injured, mentally thanking his lucky stars that he’d taken his medicine bag with him this morning, and wouldn’t have to return to Gaius’ tower to get it.

Gwen was standing by the doorway, fingers fidgeting in the silk of her dress as she bit her lips in worry, waiting for Merlin to appear. “Quick, he’s in here!” she directed Merlin.

Feet squeaking on the polished stone floor, Merlin raced to Gaius’ side, dropping to his knees with force enough to bruise. The man lay, pale and sweating, propped on the lap one of the serving maids who’d been assisting him.

“What happened?” Merlin demanded, peripherally aware that Niniane had followed him into the room. He gently grasped Gaius shoulders, and shook, trying to rouse the man with limited success. A groan was all the response he got, and Gaius’ loud and slightly laboured breathing was distressing.

“I don’t know, Merlin.” The maid replied. “He was a little pale this morning, and seemed to be having trouble catching his breath once or twice, but otherwise carried on with his work.”

Nodding, Merlin placed a hand on Gaius head, checking for fever; there appeared to be none. “Was he coughing?”

“No. Well, only once or twice.”

‘So it’s probably not influenza, or pneumonia: not with the lack of fever and cough.’ Merlin was running through possibilities in his mind. “Niniane, get me a cloth…oh, thank you,” as a dampened cloth was thrust into his hand. The druidess had apparently anticipated his need, and Merlin removed the sweat from Gaius’ face.

“We need to get him to his rooms. Have some guards carry him there.” Merlin stepped back, allowing the stronger men to pick Gaius up and carry him down the corridor. Merlin fretted, thinking he could accomplish this so much faster if he could only use magic. ”One step at a time.” He cautioned himself, ‘get them used to the healing first, before you can employ other forms of magic openly.’

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

With Gaius settled on his own bed Merlin dismissed everybody apart from Niniane, and began a thorough examination: ‘pupils reacting, skin moist but cool. Lips tinged slightly blue.’ He moved to check extremities ‘fingernails not clubbed, slight blueness and cool to the touch. Swelling around the ankles.’ More and more the symptoms were pointing towards a weakness in the heart, which was not all that surprising in a man of Gaius’ age.

Merlin’s musings were interrupted by Niniane asking “Dandelion Tea, with Foxglove?” He turned, surprised that she had been observing his assessment of Gaius. She had apparently come to a similar diagnosis, and was already thinking towards appropriate treatments.

“Yes, I think so.” Merlin replied. “We need to rid his body of the excess fluid, and strengthen his heart. (1) You’ll find the prepared herbs on the back shelf there,” and he pointed. Niniane bustled off to begin the preparations. Merlin used several pillows and blankets to prop his foster-father into a reclining position to aid his breathing. Placing his ear flat on the man’s chest, Merlin listened intently for a moment. Hearing the faint rustling crackle of liquid in the man’s airways only confirmed his diagnosis, and he turned to Niniane: “It will need to be medium-strength. There’s some fluid in his lungs, too.”

He was interrupted by a whispered comment from Gaius which startled Merlin, who hadn’t realised the man was conscious once more. Niniane added another grain of dandelion stalks to her preparation.

“Better make it stronger than medium, Merlin.” The old man smiled. “The mid-strength foxglove seems to have lost its effect, lately.”

Merlin snapped his head back towards his mentor, stunned at what had just been revealed. “You’ve been treating yourself? You knew you were ill, and said nothing?” the warlock demanded.

“What was there to say, Merlin? I have been many years on this earth, and my body is simply wearing out. It is inevitable.”

“But you should have told me!”

Gaius simply patted Merlin’s hand, the patient comforting the physician.

“How long?” Merlin whispered, eyes bright.

“About a year now. I began treating myself when I noticed the symptoms beginning. It was initially only some swelling in my feet and I ignored it; it is not uncommon in someone who spends a large amount of time standing, especially one of my age. When my breathing began to be affected I knew it was weakness of the heart. I have treated many people for this, and I saw no need to burden you with the knowledge as well.”

By this time Niniane had finished preparing her draught, and brought a cup of the liquid over to the men. Merlin took it with a muttered “Thank you” and turned to assist Gaius to drink. The old man downed the bitter medicine, and lay back.

“You’d better place that bucket within reach.” Gaius instructed; “When that dandelion decoction begins to work I’ll need it!” he laughed wryly at himself. As his body reacted to the medication his body would produce urine in copious amounts in order to rid itself of the excess fluid. Merlin turned to go in search of the necessary item, only to find that Niniane had once again anticipated him and was placing the bucket beneath Gaius’ bed within easy reach.

Within an hour or so, the medicine had begun to have its effect, and Gaius was more settled. He rested partly reclined, his breathing a little easier, although he remained pale. Now that the initial crisis was over, he turned to examine the Druidess who had assisted him so ably. She was young, perhaps a year or so younger than himself, and very plain. Her hair was a mousy brown, caught into a messy bun at the back of her skull. Her face was equally plain: undistinguished by any feature: lips were thin, and her nose was long and narrow, with light brown eyes set above them. Her build was medium, coming to Merlin’s shoulder, and showed the wiry strength he would expect in a forest-dweller. Despite these features, her face and body exuded a calm and comfort which Merlin found in himself to be grateful for.

“Thank you, Niniane, for your help today.” He acknowledged her services.

“You are welcome, Emrys. It was a pleasure to work assisting you.” Niniane executed a slight bow. “I am willing to stay here if you wish, and care for Gaius, or I can continue with his duties with the soldiers. You have only to let me know which you would find most helpful.”

“I think I would rather stay with Gaius, if you are able to care for the wounded? I think most of them may be able to go home today. I will call for one of the maids to show you there.”

“There is no need, My Lord. I can just as easily call for help myself, if you will permit me? I believe the guards who carried Gaius still wait outside the door.”

Grimacing, Merlin recalled the conditions of his not being charged with use of magic: that he would be watched closely in order to assess whether he was a danger to the kingdom or not. Nodding, he gestured to the door, and answered “Thank you. Yes, that would be helpful.” And he returned his attention to the sleeping man before him.

Nodding, Niniane left and Merlin sat down beside the bed, observing his mentor. Settling on a stool, Merlin leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees as he intently observed Gaius’ breathing rhythm. He extended his hand, and lightly rested it on the man’s wrist, feeling for the pulse there, knowing that he was in for a long watch.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

By evening Gaius had improved so much that he was out of bed. Merlin had threatened to magic his backside to the sheets, however, if the elderly physician exerted himself in any way. Attempting to look indignant Gaius settled himself in his chair by the fireside, one of his enormous tomes on the table in front of him. He’d eaten a light dinner and insisted that Merlin go and feed himself properly, ‘Or they’d see whose backside got magicked!’

Niniane had treated the remaining soldiers, dismissing the remainder to recuperate in their own homes. She’d then come back and reported to Emrys before returning to the other druids in the lower town. Merlin had sent for a basket of food from the kitchens in payment for her services, and the druidess had returned well-laden with a roast squab and cold cuts with fresh bread and fruit, well-pleased with Emrys’ generosity.

Chuckling at Gaius’ pretended ferocity, Merlin bowed to the inevitable and went in search of Arthur and Guinevere, satisfied that his foster-father was stable for the present and could be safely left. His plan was to report to the royals on Gaius’ condition then go to the kitchens and scrounge some food for himself. He found the couple settling to dinner in the Council Chambers, which doubled as dining room and, on occasion, small reception hall. Two new servants were bustling around setting platters on the table when Arthur looked up and noticed the warlock hovering in the doorway.

“Merlin!” he came to his feet, moving towards his friend “How’s Gaius?” The genuine concern on the King’s face was heart-warming.

Merlin stepped forward, brushing a hand across his worried brow. “He’s settled and comfortable now, but not at all well.” Sighing he trailed Arthur into the room, greeting Gwen as he did so.

Arthur shepherded Merlin towards the empty seat opposite his wife and ordered the servants at the same time “Another place, please, for Merlin.” The two youngsters scurried away on their errand, while Merlin protested.

Gwen looked up, a reproachful smile on her face. “Merlin. Don’t be silly. Now sit down with us and eat.” The Queen remonstrated.

Sighing, Merlin obeyed. It just felt…wrong for him to sit here being waited on, and he was uncomfortable with it. Only a week ago it had been him serving; bustling around with plates food, jugs of wine, keeping goblets filled.

Seeing his discomfort, Guinevere reached forward, resting her hand over his and giving it a slight shake. “I know it’s all strange to you right now. Believe me, Merlin, you will get used to it. I did.”

Arthur smiled proudly at his wife and Merlin relaxed slightly. The reminder that Gwen had been through something similar did help the young man. Not that he’d become royalty, as she had. But still, a servant learning to accept being served would take some time.

Filling his plate, Merlin began his report on Gaius. “His heart is weak, and it’s affecting his breathing.” Merlin began eating before he continued. “He’s been unwell for some time now, but told nobody. Today it all got too much for him, and he collapsed. I’ve treated him, and he’s now much more comfortable, resting in front of the fire in his chambers reading.”

“Ohh. Poor Gaius!” Gwen’s soft heart was touched.

Arthur’s mind was on a different tack. “How long until he can return to his duties? And can you take over until he can?”

Merlin chewed and swallowed, clearing his mouth with a sip of wine. “It will be several days before he can return to work at all, Sire. I’ve started him on a new course of treatment, and strengthened the draught he’d been using on himself. I will happily take on his duties for as long as needed. “But…” Merlin stumbled to a stop.

Frowning, Arthur leaned forwards; “But?...”
Sighing, the warlock answered. “I don’t think it would be wise for him to return to his duties full-time, Sire. He is old, and has been struggling for some time now.” The sorrow on Merlin’s face cast a pall over the table.

Gwen sat back in her chair, holding a hand over her mouth, tears beginning to gather. “He’s that ill?” she whispered. Arthur reached out a hand and clasped his wife’s in comfort as Merlin answered.

“Yes. I’m afraid he is. He was having trouble breathing today because of the fluid built up in his lungs. Too much strain on his body will cause the symptoms to worsen, and will be dangerous.”

The tears left Gwen’s eyes and made their way slowly down her cheeks; two damp trails on chocolate skin as she sniffled in distress.

Arthur, practical and in problem-solving mode asked briskly “What do you suggest then, Merlin?”

“He needs rest, Sire. But you know Gaius: getting him to slow down will be a challenge. We need to find something he can do without making him feel useless or patronised. It will not be easy for him. Or for us.”

The King nodded, thinking hard.

Gwen’s face suddenly brightened: “I know! I have an idea, but I’m not sure if Gaius will accept it.”

Arthur nodded at her “Go on, Gwen. What’s your idea?”

Merlin continued to chew, his attention focused on the woman across the table from him.

“Well, you know that I’ve been in a dilemma over what to do with my house. I don’t want to get rid of it, but I’m really not using it, and it’s just abandoned and getting run down.” Both men nodded, aware of the Queen’s fondness for her old home.

Gwen raised her goblet, delicately taking a sip of the rich wine. “Well, why don’t we ask Gaius to live there and take care of it? You know that I sometimes go just to sit there; to think and remember. This way when I go there it will be cared-for, and I’ll have somebody to talk to as well. I miss being able to sit quietly with him and chat.”

Surprised, Arthur nodded, thinking aloud; “That…has potential Guinevere. It could well be a way to resolve this problem without giving offense.”

Gwen continued: “It’s not as if he’d have to stop working altogether, either. There is plenty of room in the cottage for preparing treatments and lots of storage for his books and experiments. We could provide food for him from the kitchens, and perhaps a maid to clean daily and see to the heavy work. Gaius might also act as advisor to Merlin as well as the druids in the city, a sort of liaison. Do you think that would be suitable? Would it work?”

Both Arthur and Gwen’s eyes pinned Merlin, asking wordlessly for his opinion.

Merlin took his time, considering carefully. He was concerned for his foster-father, and knew that Gaius needed some reduction of his duties. He was also aware of the elderly man’s pride and determination. If Gaius thought he was being patronised or coddled in any way, he was fearful that the man would refuse out of sheer stubbornness.

“Perhaps if Gwen made the proposition, he might accept. As long as he thought the move would be only until he’s recovered from his current illness, he might be willing to accept. Maybe, as he stayed there and adjusted to his new duties…yes… I believe it could suit him well.” Merlin gave his opinion reservedly, well aware of the crusty nature of his guardian, which was employed to hide a softer character within.

Arthur re-joined the debate; “He has given many years of service to Camelot; I cannot remember a time when he has not been the Royal Physician, as well as unofficial advisor to the throne. Indeed, I believe I spent more time with Gaius as a child than I did with my own father.” The king smiled fondly in remembrance. “I think it is just that we now care for him in our turn. If he will accept this post, I will agree.” Arthur gave his judgement. “But what about you, Merlin? Are you ready to take on Gaius’ duties, and become Court Physician?”

Gulping, Merlin answered “Not if I had a choice. But I believe that with Gaius’ counsel and guidance that the Court will not suffer for want of medical care, particularly now that the Druids are in the City to help with care of the larger population.” Merlin fell silent, considering the proposal. Gwen and Arthur waited patiently.

“Perhaps I could have the assistance of one of the Druids here in the Citadel? At least for a time, until I develop my own routine and adjust to the duties. One of the female healers, Niniane, came with me today when Gaius fell ill, and proved knowledgeable as well as insightful. It was she who prepared Gaius’ draught. She is extremely competent. Having her expertise available would be useful.”

Nodding, Arthur agreed. “Very well then. Gwen will offer her house to Gaius, Merlin will become Court Physician, and Niniane will come into the castle as his assistant.”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Dandelion Tea is a diuretic: used to stimulate the kidneys to produce more urine. Foxglove is the plant from which digitalis comes, and increases the strength and regularity of the heartbeat, increasing cardiac output.

Chapter Text

In a Northern Fastness, snow whirled through the air, and a young man sat, healing slowly in his chair beside the fire. His hair was dark, curled and tangled, his eyes were a curious light colour, and his heart was full of hatred. ‘Arthur! You will PAY for what you have done to me! Emrys, YOU will pay for not standing by your Brother in magic! As soon as I am healed, all of you will pay…..”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

In a Cave, far to the south, an old hag sat brooding in the darkness. The walls of her cave were damp, slime dripping constantly. Here it was that the Dochraid had made her lair. Here it was that Emrys had wounded her. And here it was that the ancient being planned her revenge. She need only find somebody of the Old Religion who hated Emrys as much as she, and then she could lend them her strength and aid. Perhaps it was time to leave her retreat and venture once more upon the surface of the earth. Perhaps that single point of hatred far to the north may be of use to her, the Dochraid, as she contemplated her revenge…

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The slim young man slowly worked his way along the rows of dried plants displayed along the wooden trestle. These were the herbs that were not able to be harvested from the surrounding forest, and were imported into the City by the apothecaries. It was Merlin’s task to assess the quality of products on offer, and restock Gaius’ supplies. The familiarity was soothing to the young man, amongst the changes that had come his way in the past fortnight. He picked up a spray of hyssop, gently feeling for the amount of moisture in the stems before bringing the leaves still carrying the small bluish flowers to his nose to smell. Satisfied with the quality, he added it to the basket he carried over one arm and moved along the table towards the next display.

His actions on automatic, Merlin’s thoughts turned to Gwen and Gaius. He’d left his mentor settled and comfortable in the rooms they shared this morning. He knew Gwen planned to visit and make the offer of her house while Merlin was out. The early morning had been spent with the two of them preparing draughts for Gaius’ usual clientele together. Well, actually Merlin had done most of the preparing, with the elder supervising and guiding as needed. Since his collapse two days ago Merlin had become even more aware of Gaius’ deterioration in strength and health. His breathing was no longer laboured thanks to the new draughts, but Gaius’ stamina was sadly depleted. Merlin noted that the older man needed to rest frequently, and that his hands often had a fine tremor after an hour or so’s work. All this left the younger man even more determined to take over as many duties as possible.

After preparing their usual medicaments Merlin had made Gaius’ rounds and delivered the small vials, taking the opportunity to assess the people as he went. This also gave him a chance to observe the general populace and keep in touch with the general health of the city. Talking with people he was able to get advance news of illness and infection, hopefully treating and containing them before they posed too much of a threat to the city.

Musing as he paid for his purchases, Merlin realised that by involving the Druids in this process, he would have an even greater knowledge of the ills Camelot may be likely to suffer, simply because the healers would have greater contact with the general population. Securing the remainder of the needed herbs, Merlin made his way towards the Healers’ location to discuss it with them. But first he decided to lose the ‘honour guard’ that had been bestowed upon him ever since the Round Table meeting. Employing a little subterfuge combined with a touch of magic, he was able to dismiss the two guards rapidly.

When he arrived, Merlin found Jessamy and Merick out front consulting with various people and dispensing small vials of medicaments. The common people had come in numbers as word of the Healers had spread. With a copper coin, or an hour or two’s labour a healing draught could be purchased, and a loved-one eased or comforted. Not needing to travel into the unsafe Forest surrounding the town was a great blessing for the citizens of Camelot, and they had availed themselves of the Druid’s help without hesitation.

Merlin smiled, pleased to see the first phase of his plan such an unqualified success. He nodded to Jessamy giving her his signature grin, before ducking behind the curtain and entering the preparation space behind. Here it was difficult to believe that the Druids had only been in residence for a few days. Pots and implements filled the tables, and new shelves had been constructed to line the walls filled with vials containing green, yellow, blue, clear, violet and red preparations: the Druids had indeed been extremely busy. Armine, Paynel and Niniane chopped and prepared herbs while Davydd and Gobin tended great cauldrons. Seeing their visitor enter, Davydd moved his brew from the fire magically and placed it on a stone square on the nearest table to allow it to begin to cool.

“Emrys!” he greeted with obvious pleasure, moving forward to grasp Merlin’s hand; “It does my soul good to see you!” Knowing from previous experience that Emrys disliked having anybody show the traditional honour and bow to him, the old druid contented himself with grasping Merlin’s hands and lowering his head in obeisance which was the closest he could get without giving offence.

Merlin warmly grasped Davydd’s hands in return, already rejoicing in the kinship he felt with the man. “It seems that you have not needed to wait long before finding customers.” He observed to the mature druid.

“No, indeed Emrys. It is rather the opposite problem: we have taken to organising a rotating schedule of duties amongst us so that one of us may stay awake at night in order to tend to the needs of the sick that come to us at all hours.” Davydd smiled in satisfaction.

“That is good, my friend.” Merlin clapped the man companionably on his shoulder. *I came to talk to you about something specific, and do not yet wish to alarm the others. Is this appropriate?*

*Indeed, Emrys. This will be fine.* Davydd replied, simultaneously moving to heat water and brew a tea for their guest. “I hope you like chamomile?”

“Yes, I find it soothing.” Merlin’s expression defied the expressed sentiment as his brow furrowed. *I fear that Gaius is very unwell, Davydd. I fear for him. His heart is weakened, and his body retains fluid. He has been treating himself in secret for more than a year already.* The warlock’s face betrayed his distress.

*That is grave news indeed; Gaius has always been a friend to the druids. Do you require help caring for him?*

*Not at the moment, I thank you. But I may require help in tending to my duties as well as helping to bring magic back into Camelot. I came, actually, to ask if Niniane may be available some times? I found her knowledge and assistance the other day valuable. She seems more than competent, and also copes well with working within the Citadel itself.*

The water had heated and Merlin held the cups containing the dried herbs while Davydd poured. Soon both men had settled into wooden chairs in the corner, and continued their mental conversation, masking it with inconsequential gossip at the same time.

*I am pleased that you found her assistance useful. That is high praise indeed coming from you, Emrys, who was trained by Gaius!* The elderly druid paused, sipping his tea as he pondered. *I will speak to Niniane of this later, and see if she is agreeable. I will let you know by mind-speak of her decision if this is acceptable.*

*I would appreciate that. Thank you for your discretion in this matter.*

*There is one thing I would like to bring to your notice, Emrys. I have heard from my Clan that our Seer is unsettled. She senses unrest far to the north, in a land of ice and snow. There a young man dwells in hatred and plots revenge, and all the while he calls out to those with magic to join him against Arthur Pendragon.*

Shock and cold ran through Merlin, striking him inside with dismay. *Mordred! That is the young man’s name, it must be him! I thank you for this warning, and I will be on my guard.*

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin made his way back to the Citadel and Gaius’ chambers, wanting to check on the elderly man. He was anxious, unsure of his mentor’s reaction to Gwen’s anticipated offer. Gaius was a proud man, and had worked hard and faithfully all his life, and now deserved a little ease. Merlin only hoped that the Physician didn’t see the offer as a dismissal and feel slighted because of it.

Walking quietly up to the half-open door, Merlin stopped to listen. There was silence from within, which seemed to indicate that Gwen had already left. Quietly pushing the door further open, he popped his head around the frame and searched the chamber for his mentor, finally locating him on the upper level, perusing his books.

“Gaius?” Merlin entered the room.

“Merlin” the elderly man turned and smiled at the young man “Did you get the hyssop?”

“Yes, the apothecary had a fresh lot in. I got several good bunches.”

“Well done. You’ll be able to stock up on cough suppressant before the winter.”

Catching the ‘you’ in Gaius’ sentence, and realising that Gaius had not included himself in the statement, Merlin assumed that Guinevere had indeed made her offer. “So, did Gwen talk to you?” he asked uncertainly.

Gaius smiled and descended the ladder carefully. “You needn’t worry, Merlin. Yes, she came by and made her most generous offer.” He walked over to the young man who hovered by the doorway and rested his arm across Merlin’s shoulder. “And I accepted. Happily.” Gaius ducked his head down and pinned Merlin’s gaze with his own.

“You’re sure?” Merlin inquired.

“Indeed. It is time for me to step aside and let you take over. I am actually relieved – these last weeks have been more trying than ever, and I am tired. I think I will enjoy a chance to relax. And being liaison with the druids will suit me well. I have been training you in hope of this time ever since you first came to me, my boy, and have often hoped that you would succeed me.

“Know that I am proud of you, and content to leave the care of Camelot in your hands.” Gaius gave him a small shake to reinforce his words.

Merlin sighed with relief that Gaius was apparently so accepting of the proposed change. He was also proud that Gaius was confident in his, Merlin’s, healing skills. The next moment the young man sighed with anxiety as the reality of the situation hit him: he would become Court Physician, and therefore responsible for the wellbeing of the Nobles, families and servants of Camelot. Watching the rapid change of expression on his ward’s face, Gaius guided Merlin across to their table and sat him down. “Here;” he settled Merlin on the bench and turned to remove the soup from the fire. Filling two bowls, Gaius placed a plate of bread within reach and sat across from the warlock and began to speak reassuringly.

“You will be fine, Merlin. You are well able to do this. And I will be available for help and guidance should you have need of me. I know your skills, and I know your heart; I have every confidence that Camelot will be safe in your hands. She ever has been magically, and now you extend that to include medically.”

Merlin nodded and tore into the bread in front of him, trying to accept the reassurance Gaius offered.

The old man continued on; “I have been thinking of retiring for some time now, and have been keeping an eye out for a suitable dwelling whilst on my rounds of the city, without much success I might add. I am not a young man anymore, Merlin, and lately my illness has made my duties even more onerous. To be provided with such a good and comfortable house to stay in, with the privilege of all my food and needs provided for, along with being able to continue my studies is more than I could ever hope for. I am content with this my boy. More than content.”

Merlin continued to eat quietly for a while before answering. “But I’ll miss you.”

A wide grin broke out on the lined face; “As I will you, Merlin.” He placed a gnarled old hand on top of Merlin’s smooth strong one, grasping it in reassurance and comfort. “It will take time for us to adjust, but all will be well, my boy. You’ll see.”

They resumed eating silently, each gathering their thoughts before Gaius continued on again: “All I will need to do now is choose which of my books and supplies I will take with me. Most of the medical references I will leave, as well as the books on herbs, plants, and magic.” Gaius chuckled “You’ve always had more use for the magic texts than I, anyway.”

Laughing, Merlin chortled. “Yes, but you taught me how to understand and use them. Thank you.”

“You are more than welcome, my boy. Now, have you decided which of the druids you will ask to be your assistant?”

“How did you know?” Merlin looked up with an expression of surprise; he’d never known Gaius to display clairvoyance before.

“It only makes sense, Merlin, to use all the resources you have at your disposal. An assistant will leave you with enough time to be able to fulfil the other part of your duties: your magical ones, as well as the myriad tasks that running the Healing Rooms will take. Added to this, you will be able to learn much from each other. It will also be a good way to openly have another magic-user in the castle.”

Merlin swallowed his mouthful before replying “Yes, that’s what I told Arthur, too. I think Niniane will be a good choice. She worked well the other day when you were taken ill, and coped with treating the soldiers easily. Her knowledge and experience is good, and I think it would be helpful to have a female healer sometimes. I have already spoken with Davydd, and placed the offer before him. He will talk to Niniane and let me know her decision.”

The conversation meandered on for some time as the men continued their meal. Ideas and choices were discussed, and decisions made. The bond between the two men underwent yet another alteration, as bonds and relationships are wont to do. It had begun with a father-son element, and while that would never entirely disappear, over the years it had morphed into a mentorship, an apprenticeship, and now a more equal friendship. Each had skills and expertise in different areas, and their long association allowed the two magic-users to collude easily, each acknowledging their weaknesses, and willing to learn from the other. A deep bond had grown between Gaius and Merlin, almost as deep, in some ways, as the bond that had grown between Arthur and Merlin. Both bonds were based on absolute trust of one in the other, and an ability to work together against all odds, and often emerge victorious. In those times when victory was delayed or extremely hard won, the hardship endured served to only strengthen the relationships.

Bowl empty, Merlin stood and brought the plate of fruit over to the table for them to share. “Kilgarrah would have been happy to see this time come.” Merlin mused aloud. “It’s a shame he was not able to see it.”

“Ah, Merlin, but he did see it.” Gaius answered, selecting an apricot. “He saw it every time he looked into your eyes, every time he conversed with you. Rest assured that he was willing to pay the price he did in order to bring these changes about.”

Merlin nodded, accepting Gaius’ reassurances, and selected the other apricot from the bowl, filling his mouth with the ripe orange flesh.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The following week saw Gaius comfortably ensconced in Gwen’s house, his personal books and scientific experiments transferred. Merlin had chosen to keep the small side-room as his sleeping chamber, preferring its familiarity and privacy. This then gave him the larger room for keeping reference books and medical supplies, and his magic book now occupied shelf-space openly, rather than lying hidden, wrapped in cloth under an old floor-board.

Gaius’ bed remained where it always had been, ready to be used as a sick-bed should the need arise. A storage chamber down the hallway had been cleared and prepared for Niniane to occupy on those occasions she slept in the citadel, either when Merlin was away, or they were particularly busy. The young druidess had accepted with pleasure the opportunity to work and study beside Emrys. Merlin foresaw, with some trepidation, days or weeks of Niniane tip-toeing around him until he was able to break her of the habit, and convince her that he was, to all intents and purposes, an ordinary human. He planned to keep his immortality a closely-guarded secret. Indeed, the only person he had confided it to was Arthur, and that under the understanding that it would not be revealed to anybody else. Merlin was sick and tired of being viewed as ‘other’ than human, and had no intention of revealing this tid-bit of information if he could help it.

His first night alone in the Healing Room (as it was now referred to) was so quiet that Merlin had difficulty sleeping. There were no familiar sounds of rustling as an elderly body moved in its bed in the next room, and no comforting rumble of snoring breath. Merlin slept lightly, waking often and conscious of the difference in his environment. Several times he slipped out of bed and into the main room, wandering aimlessly about the space which was now his. Musing, he thought about the changes life had brought through the years. Once he was a young inexperienced boy, fleeing his village looking for a place to belong. Now he was a fully qualified Physician in charge of a whole town; his magic was acknowledged, and druids were present in the city and welcomed by many. Smiling, Merlin mused that Uther would probably be turning in his grave at the thought.

Sitting in the chair before the embers of the fire, Merlin pondered on what the future might bring. He remembered the many words Kilgarrah had spoken regarding his destiny; of Arthur and he being two sides of the one coin, of them being destined to unite Albion and bring magic back to bless the land. It seemed they were now well poised to accomplish this, and only time would show whether it would ever come to pass.

‘I will do my utmost to see Arthur become the Once and Future King. I will do all that I can to promote these changes and bring magic back to Albion.’ He sat thinking in the darkness, eyes fixed on the orange coals before him. ‘As I have ever done these last ten years. How much I have changed, how much I have learned. And how much I have still to learn.’

Chapter Text

Three weeks had passed since Gaius’ move away from the Citadel. The old man appeared to flourish away from the stress and worry of daily work: it appeared that he was sleeping well in the new bed installed in Gwen’s cottage for him. Meals had been provided for the first few days as he’d spent time organising his library and setting up equipment. Since then, a maid-servant had come twice a week to bring fresh food, supplies, and clean the small space. Cleaning and tidying had never been Gaius’ forte, as observed by anybody who’d ever visited him in his cluttered rooms in the castle. All too often the physician had been distracted by an interesting development in one of his studies, or the brewing of a complicated potion. Such mundane things as clearing and tidying rarely raised their awareness in his convoluted mind.

Contrary to this, however, was the particularity with which he treated his herbs, simples and preparations. Each of these had always been used and returned immediately to their designated place, ready for the next time they would be required. Merlin had long ago given up trying to impose some sort of order on the main rooms, once he noted how little it affected Gaius’ ability to function.

Now that his new abode was organised to his satisfaction, Gaius once again returned to the simple pleasures of preparing his own meals from the supplies brought him from the Castle. He hardly noted the cleaning that went on around him, or the laundering or his robes or bed-linen. It had not taken the serving-maid, named Averil, to realise that as long as she did not disturb the physician’s experiments, books or herbs, she was pretty much free to do whatever needed seeing to in the house. So it was that Gaius enjoyed a relaxed and well-ordered dwelling, hardly aware of the activity around him.

He did make sure, though, to always know when Merlin planned a visit if possible. He made it a point to have a pot of lamb-tail stew and root vegetables thickened with oats on the fire each time Merlin was expected. It was the young warlock’s favourite, after all. Although, thinking over the last few visits, Gaius was unable to recall Merlin actually consuming any of the food he’d accepted with such pleasure, even though the bowl was always empty when returned to him.

The change of pace obviously suited Gaius, and this showed in a reduction in the irascible old man’s temper, as well as an increase in his vitality and overall health. Merlin had been able to reduce the strength of the foxglove draught that he and Niniane provided, despite the protests that Gaius was well able to concoct his own. Truth be told, Merlin did not trust Gaius to remember to brew his draught if left to his own devices.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Niniane as assistant had worked well for the new physician: she seemed to have a knack of anticipating his medical needs, and it was rare that Merlin didn’t find the draught he’d need for his latest patient already brewed, sealed, and labelled on its shelf.

The first week had been spent with the young woman shadowing Merlin in his daily activities: learning the daily visits and rounds, becoming familiar with his regular patients and their ills, as well as how to manage those who thought they were far more unwell that proved true. Some of the more intractable patients seemed to respond better to a female’s sympathetic ear than they ever had to Gaius or Merlin.

Visits occurred regularly to the Druid healers in the lower town, and the Citadel physicians were able to prevent a severe outbreak of fever by sequestering a portion of the city from contact with any others, while simultaneously providing all necessary draughts and treatments via the druids for the treatment of those affected. Merlin’s foresight was proving valuable, and he revelled in the prevention of much distress and suffering throughout Camelot while still being able to tend to the needs of those who ailed. It was at this time that he truly appreciated the incredible load that Gaius had carried all these years, and thanked his lucky stars that Arthur had agreed so readily to welcoming the druids into his city.

There had been several further conversations with Davydd over seeings and portents being relayed from various druid clans in the area. It seemed that a total of three separate seers were aware of some unrest in ‘the north’, which always involved a young man with light eyes. Such incomplete reports only served to put Merlin further on edge, and his frustration at having no clear information to go on shortened his temper.

Merlin spent much time pondering this problem, wishing that he could know what was going on, in order to be able to better protect Arthur and Camelot. Once, and then again his thoughts dwelt on the Crystal of Neahtid; that artefact that he’d had only once in his hands, and had flung from him in fear and disgust at what it had shown him. (1) More than once he’d dismissed these thoughts as desperate ramblings, until he began to wonder if there was, perhaps, something in it, after all.

As Emrys, and wielding the full power of his destiny, he was able to scry and see at will. It was, however, a skill that he abhorred and avoided as much as possible, not wanting to once more experience the sickening knowledge that there were events unfolding that he may not be able to alter, or worse, may have a part in bringing to pass.

But perhaps the Crystal would be different for him, now. It was, after all, hewn from the Crystal Cave itself. Since his Quickening, Emrys had an increased affinity for the Cave and anything from it, which was why he’d initially created his Staff from the roots lining the heart-chamber. He wondered if this would allow him to use the Crystal of Neahtid any more easily. Pondering in his bed in the depths of night, he remembered flinging the artefact from him in horror. When he’d calmed down somewhat, he’d used his magic to dig it a grave, somewhere lost in the forest surrounding Camelot, and burying it deep. Although he’d never tried, he knew that he would be able to locate it again, though he’d be the only magic-user capable of doing so. Rolling to his side and fixing his gaze on the night-sky, Merlin resolved to speak to Arthur about this tomorrow.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

“The Crystal of what?” Arthur asked, confusion shadowing his face.

“Neahtid, Sire. You remember, we went with a party of Knights to regain it from the druids eight years ago when it was stolen by Mordred and Alvarr.” Merlin deliberately refrained from mentioning Morgana’s role in the painful sequence of events.

“That thing! Why would you want to go and find it again? You told me it was lost: that you’d accidentally dropped it into a gorge, and seen it washed away by the current.”

“I know, Sire. That was, um…”

“Another of the…half-truths that you employed back then?” Arthur asked with an eyebrow situated remarkably like one of Gaius’.

“Um……yes. It was, Sire. Only because it was powerful and dangerous in the wrong hands. It showed me the future, things I was too young and too inexperienced to deal with at the time. So I buried it deep in the forest, never intending to touch it again.”

“And why do you want to retrieve it now?” Arthur poured two goblets of wine from the setting on the table in his quarters and handed one to his friend.

Merlin accepted the gold etched vessel, and moved to his feet, pacing restlessly as he tried to make Arthur understand without alarming him further. “There have been reports, Sire, from the druids, which indicate there may be some danger to Camelot.” Merlin stood still for a moment, and impaled Arthur with cold blue eyes. “The reports are varied, and unclear. But each of them mentions a danger from the north. A danger that includes a young dark-haired man with magic, who has light eyes, and seeks revenge against you.”

Arthur blanched and drew in a sharp breath. “Mordred.” He whispered.

Resuming his movement, Merlin took a mouthful of wine before answering: “That is my guess, Arthur. But I need to be sure; I need to know so that we can prepare.”

“And this crystal thingy can help you do that?”

Slumping into a seat, Merlin exhaled loudly; “I think so. I hope so,“ and buried his face in his goblet once more.

Assessing the warlock shrewdly Arthur observed quietly “And you really don’t want to do this, do you Merlin?”

Shaking his head, Merlin answered bluntly “No. But I believe I must do this. Or attempt to, anyway.” Silence fell for some time as the friends drank in silence, each lost in their thoughts.

“Then you shall, my friend,” and Arthur clapped Merlin on the back, knocking the slender man forward onto the table and causing him to clutch reflexively at his goblet. “Tell me what you need.”

Righting himself, Merlin muttered a phrase that sounded remarkably like “Dollop-headed dingle-twerp!” and carefully placed his goblet down, wiping the wine that had splashed into his face away with his sleeve, glaring at his liege-lord as he did so.

“Really, Merlin. I go to all the trouble of providing you with new robes, befitting your exalted status, and you use them as cleaning cloths?” Merlin shot a filthy look at his king before continuing on the previous conversation.

“I will need, Sire, a day away from my duties in order to trace down the Crystal and retrieve it. I will take Niniane with me; as a magic-user she may be able to help if there are any…uh…side-effects from touching the Crystal. Apart from that I will need nothing.”

“Nothing? Not at all?” Arthur was confused.

Merlin laughed out loud “If you only knew, Arthur, all the times I have set off on some mission with even less preparation than this, and with nobody to assist me!” Sobering, he went on “You forget, my friend, that I can teleport, and Niniane, being of magic, can safely do so with me. We will not need horses, and can accomplish whatever we need to with magic. We can easily carry whatever we need with us. And we will attract less attention that way, too: two healers heading into the woods to collect herbs. Nothing unusual in that.”

Nodding, Arthur acknowledged the truth of Merlin’s statement. “I’m just, not used to this, you know? It doesn’t feel right, sending you off into danger with no protection, without me.”

At this Merlin lost control, and guffawed outright. “No protection? Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to? And it’s not the first time I’ve headed off alone in order to save your royal backside, either!”

Arthur gave a severely disgruntled look, and growled out “All right, all right! Don’t rub it in, Emrys! It’s just that…this is the first time I’ve known about one of these missions.” He picked up his goblet, tracing his finger around the foot idly. “Was it really all that many times, Merlin?”

Merlin leaned forward, placing his hand on Arthur’s forearm. “More than I can count, Arthur. One day, when we have time, I will sit and tell you of those I can remember: of the time I was stung by a serket, and the time I retrieved the Sword from Avalon, and the time I cast a spell on Morgana to block her magic. Yes, Arthur, it was many times.”

Silence fell once more, to be broken by Arthur’s quiet serious voice: “Never again, you hear me? Never again will you leave on one of these missions without discussing it with me. I may not be able to help, but at I want, at least, to know.”

Merlin nodded wordlessly, and drank once more.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Next morning saw Merlin and Niniane hurrying through their morning routine. Having prepared the necessary draughts the previous evening, they divided the rounds in half and distributed the vials as needed. Niniane’s growing familiarity with Camelot was proving invaluable, and Merlin found himself availing himself of her expertise often and without second thought. Indeed, he could not remember the last time she had slept in the lower town since having moved some of her belongings to the old storage room.

She appeared content, and had seemingly adjusted well to her new circumstances. Most meals were taken in the Healing Rooms together as Merlin had adopted the habit of having food sent up regularly from the kitchens. As Court Physician he was entitled to this service, and saw no reason to deny himself the convenience. Ordering slightly more on the platter was easy, and for simplicity’s sake he and the druidess had developed the habit of eating at the hard-slab wooden table morning and evening while they discussed the cases they had seen and treated. A solid working-bond had been established between them, and Merlin found himself ever grateful for that fact.

Discussion this morning had centred on the planned mission to locate and retrieve the Crystal.

Niniane had opened her brown eyes wide with surprise; “You know where it is?”

“Well, sort of. I remember the rough direction, but not its exact location.” Merlin continued eating in his rapid and messy manner. “We were running from the druids and the bandits combined, and Arthur’d left me to guard the Crystal while the Knights slept. I looked into it and saw…well, you don’t need to know that. Anyway, the power it contained frightened me, and I buried it using my magic. “

Awe showed in the woman’s gaze. “You can use the Crystal of Neahtid?”

“Yes, of course I can.”

Shaking her head Niniane answered “That is not a common skill, you know. Not for a healer, anyway.”

“Sorry? What do you mean?” Merlin pushed his bowl aside, ready to learn something new from the druid’s store of ancient knowledge.

“Well, most sorcerers have one, perhaps at the most two areas of expertise. They have their primary gifting in which they learn best, and then can maybe learn a few simple spells from another. But these usually take far more study and time to learn, and much effort to cast. And yet here you are; a gifted Healer, who says he is also a powerful Seer. And, from what I have heard, you also command a Dragon?” She shook her head in wonder. Although I should, perhaps, have expected this from you, Emrys.”

Merlin was stunned by this revelation. “What, you mean that nobody can claim gifts in all the aspects of magic?”

“No, Emrys. Nobody can.”

“Huh! And here I was thinking I was a pretty useless sorcerer. I used to get so frustrated when I couldn’t master a new spell. Healing was the most difficult for me, and even now it is not my strongest magic. I have studied hard and long to become what I am today.”

“Hard and long?? You really have no idea, do you? The level of healing power you command is rarely mastered within a lifetime of study. And not only do you heal, but you do it without incantation.”

“Well, yes…”

“And all of your magic is done without Incantation!”

“Now it is, yes. Since I went through the Heart of the Crystal Cave I admit that I am far stronger than I used to be. But before then, I used incantations all the time. Even now, when I’m doing new magic, or if its complex, I use the incantation the first time or two. After that I don’t have to: I know the feel of it. And as a child the only wordless magic I could do was to move objects. It was only when I came to Camelot that I began to really learn magical incantations, and expand my skills and how to control them.”

“I say it again: you really have no idea how unique you are, do you. No! Let me explain” as Merlin went to interrupt. “I was born amongst the druids, and I grew up learning magic all my life. You, on the other hand, have studied only for the last ten years to accomplish what you have. For a child to move objects with their will alone is un-heard of!”

“Well, I wasn’t really a child.” Merlin stated sheepishly. “Um…I was really a baby. Mother said I was moving things before I could speak.”

“You see what I mean? Nobody has ever had that kind of power, Emrys. And to display it at that age would indicate it is your primary gifting. This would usually mean that other areas of magic would be difficult, if not impossible for you to learn. But not so with you: you Heal, you Fight, you Defend, you Teleport, you Scry and See. And you have your own brand of magical ability that I cannot describe. All this, with only two handfuls of years studying; and most of that was from a single book, and one teacher. Druid children are brought up in a magical community; exposed to multiple teachings and people, in order to find what their gifting is, and how they learn best. And even then they only usually manage one or two types of magic. What you do is impossible, Emrys. Or should be, anyway.”

Both magic-users fell silent. Niniane was lost in thought, contemplating the isolation Emrys must have endured if really was so ignorant of his unique gifts and power. She was awed that she had even seen the man, let alone work with him.

Merlin pondered once again that he was set apart. Even amongst kin he was different, and always would be. His yearning for a place of belonging seemed destined to never be fulfilled. His thoughts then moved on to his own feelings of inadequacy. With no bench-mark to measure himself against, he’d assumed that his failure or difficulty in mastering a certain spell or skill was due entirely to his own weakness. What Niniane was telling him was that he shouldn’t have been able to learn it at all!

He remembered back to the time he practised all night to bring alive a stone dog (2) to thwart an evil threat, and the exhaustion he’d felt then. Flicking forward, he remembered the desperation with which he’d cast a spell on a lance in order to allow Lancelot to slay the Griffin. (3) The sense of failure, of people’s lives resting on him had been crushing in both these circumstances and the many others that followed. And yet, again, Niniane who’d grown up with magic said it should have been impossible for him to do any of this.

His thoughts branched onto another track: ‘Surely Gaius must have known this? Why did he encourage me to attempt these things which were impossible? Why didn’t he tell me?’

A moment’s thought revealed the answer: ‘because he didn’t know what my limits might be, so he presented me with impossible challenges to stretch me and make me grow. And I did!’

Merlin smiled wryly at Gaius’ deviousness.

“What? “ Niniane asked; “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, really. Just somebody I need to talk to. Anyway, we have a task today. Let’s get going.” And with that the two had set off on their morning rounds.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Mid-morning, several hours later, two figures could be seen walking into the forest surrounding Camelot. A glance informed a casual observer that they were Merlin, the new Court Physician in his blue Over-robe, and his assistant Niniane. It was whispered by some that she was a druid, but since she wore no robes, many discounted this. Merlin carried over his shoulder a square leather satchel, and Niniane sported a similar one: they were off gathering herbs for healing then, and the casual observer promptly dismissed them from mind.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

As soon as they were hidden by the trees, Merlin came to a stop and closed his eyes, preparing to listen to the forest around him. He was searching for the telltale power of the Crystal of Neahtid, and believed that a few minutes’ search would show him its location.

Niniane regarded him, her face creased with puzzlement; “What are you doing?”

“I’m listening.”

“Sorry? Listening for what?”

“For the Crystal. Sh…there.” Opening his eyes, Merlin pointed with confidence toward the northwest. “It’s in this direction, about 4 leagues away.”

“How can you know that? You said you couldn’t remember exactly where it was.”

“I told you, I can feel it, I can sense the magic in it.”

“How?”

“Hmm…how to explain it. Maybe I can just show you. You can use mind-speak?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Then close your eyes and I will show you.” Niniane obeyed, and Merlin placed his hand on her forehead and concentrated. “There. Can you see it?”

“I…I think so. Yes.” Niniane’s’ mind was filled with an image she presumed Emrys had placed there. She was overwhelmed with a feeling of life surrounding her. Focusing on this, she identified what she thought were trees and bushes. Casting further she could sense the various animals. Far away, a pale orange glow stood, humming faintly. It appeared to draw her in some way.”

Merlin removed his hand. “There, do you see now?”

“Yes. The…that ‘orange’, that was the Crystal?”

“Yes. I am familiar with its resonance, and was able to find it fairly quickly.”

“But it will take us hours to walk there. And then we need to walk back.”

Smiling wickedly, Merlin answered “But I don’t intend to walk.”

“Oh, King Arthur has loaned you a horse?”

“No.” laughing. “I plan to teleport. Take a good hold of my arm and I can transport both of us.” He extended his left arm to her.

“But you can’t transport to somewhere you haven’t been!” Niniane was frightened and unsure.

“Normally, yes. But I have a powerful anchor at the other end to guide me. It’s alright; trust me.”

Nodding, the thin woman grasped his arm in a tight two-handed grip. So tightly that Merlin half expected his hand to go blue. Refraining from saying anything, he closed his eyes, focused, and flexed his will, moving both of them instantaneously. Opening his eyes once more Merlin steadied his companion as she adjusted to the abrupt change before releasing her and extending his hands waist-height. He walked forward slowly, moving slightly to his right as if drawn by a string before stopping. “Here. It’s here.” Merlin opened his eyes and looked down at a piece of ground that looked remarkably like any other piece of ground he’d ever seen.

“Emrys…” the druid began.

Merlin winced at the name, and brought his thumb and forefinger to his nose, shaking his head in frustration as he did so.

“Niniane, do you think we can leave the ‘Emrys’ stuff?”

“But it’s your name.”

“No. My name is Merlin; that is what my mother named me. Emrys is a kind of title, an identification that only the druids use. I’d much rather be called Merlin. Emrys makes me feel…different. Kind of set apart. Please?” Pleading blue eyes pinned brown puzzled ones.

“Of course. Yes, if it means that much to you Em…Merlin.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Merlin focused once more on the patch of earth before him. “Thank you! Now stand back while I focus on this.” A subtle rumbling began, and Niniane watched as a giant mole-hill formed on the ground. Quickly she focused her senses on what Emrys was doing. She sensed the ‘orange’ in the earth, many feet down and it was moving upwards slowly but steadily. With a final pull she saw the top of a glowing glass-like shape appear, burrowing up from under the soil. Eventually it sat, naked and exposed on a small hill of earth. Turning to her Emry…Merlin asked “Are you a Seer at all Niniane?”

“No. Not one bit!” She laughed.

“Then would you pick it up for me and wrap it in this cloth? I don’t want to touch it; not out here. I will use it back in Camelot, when we can be more secure.”

Quickly Niniane stepped forward and lifted the Crystal, feeling nothing but a mild tingle in her fingers she wrapped it in the cloth Merlin held and placed it in her collecting satchel.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The rest of the afternoon was spent in gathering herbs. As Emrys said, they would be expected to return with something to show for the afternoon away. They wandered in the general direction of Camelot, gathering as they worked companionably. After an hour or so they came across a slow-moving creek and stopped to drink. As they balanced on the bank she was surprised to hear Merlin murmur a name: “Freya.”

Niniane glanced up quickly, gasping in surprise. There was the shape of a dark-haired Lady in the water, and she seemed to be talking to Merlin. Merlin had the most peculiar expression on his face; kind of soft and happy, but sad as well. “Em…Merlin? Who is she? What is she?”

The warlock glanced sideways, a smile lighting his face. “Niniane, I would like to introduce you to Freya. She is the Lady of the Lake, and an old friend of mine.”

Nodding at the shape in the water Niniane greeted “Hello Freya. It is good to meet any friend of Merlin’s.”

A musical pleasant voice answered her “And it is good to meet you too, Niniane. I came to warn you, Merlin. There is great unrest.” Merlin’s expression abruptly changed.

“What unrest? Does it involve Mordred?”

“In a way. It also involves Morgana. I have sent my Vilia to her, but she is still angry and will not listen to them or to me. She is trying to contact Mordred, Merlin. She is aware of his hatred and his need for revenge, and she plans to assist him. With his gifts I fear that he may be able to speak with her, and form an alliance. And that would be a terrible thing. She also calls out to the Dochraid, and has been fuelling the crone’s hatred of you. She has not forgotten the time you wounded her with Arthur’s sword.” (4) She and Morgana together will be a formidable force.

Merlin sighed. “Since when is anything those three did anything but terrible? Thank you, Freya. It is for this reason that we have come today to find the Crystal of Neahtid. I am aware that there is unrest, but I need more information. I will try and see what is happening when we get back to Camelot. Thank you, Freya, for your help.”

The Lady faded from Niniane’s sight, and Merlin sat staring into the water, melancholy in every line of his countenance. Abruptly he stood and grasped her arm. “You ready?” he asked briefly. She nodded, and was once again lifted from her feet by his magic, appearing once more in the forest outside of Camelot. They turned together and began moving towards the city; Merlin silent and worried, Niniane puzzled.

‘I warrant there is a story there, between Merlin and Freya.' she mused. 'I wonder what it involves? And how do they know one another?’

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Two, Episode Eleven ‘The Witch’s Quickening.’
(2) Season One, Episode Two ‘Valiant’.
(3) Season One, Episode Five ‘Lancelot’.
(4) Season Five, Episode Nine ‘With all my Heart’.

Chapter Text

It was mid-afternoon when Merlin & Niniane arrived back in their Healing Rooms. Niniane was aware that the Physician was withdrawn and moody, and quietly followed behind, not wishing to provoke one of his rare outbursts. On first impression Merlin was a quiet, humble slightly foolish character. As one got to know him better, they saw the wisdom, and strength, and caring that the façade masked. But that was nothing to the true character of Emrys which was hidden so deeply within his psyche that it was rarely glimpsed.

Niniane was aware of the deep resonating power which Merlin carried but rarely wielded. She could feel it radiating from the man, and understood instinctively that he kept it on a short leash. One only needed to listen to the tales that drifted through the druid’s camps of what he’d achieved in past years, however, to know how foolish it might be to provoke Emrys’ ire. ‘It is fortunate indeed, that his character is usually so placid and cheerful.’ The young druid mused, and then recanted ‘or perhaps it’s not luck at all, but planned. Who else could be trusted with so great a power other than one who was humble, and so unwilling to use it. For power does corrupt, and absolute power…’ She refrained from finishing the thought, shuddering, as she contemplated the many sorcerers who’d allowed their hatred, and lust for power and revenge to use their precious gift for unwholesome purposes.

She was still at a loss to understand how she, a plain young healer with only moderate magical abilities had become the personal assistant of Emrys of all people. She could still recall Davydd’s decisive voice, ordering her to follow the young man who’d just received news that his father (for want of a better term) had suddenly collapsed. The following hours had blurred in Niniane’s mind as the two trained healers responded to the emergency with the temporary narrow focus which was essential and automatic at such times. She believed that Merlin was unaware of her as an individual during that period, and related to her more as a fellow soldier as they’d fought together for Gaius’ life. It was only after Gaius had been treated and dosed, and was beginning to show signs of responding that she’d had time to consider her situation. Her first question had been “Why me?” before her innate common sense had provided the answer: “Because I was there.” It was nothing more earth-shattering than that. Neither fate nor destiny had played a part; she’d happened to be the first person who’d come to her leader’s mind when he considered Emrys may need assistance.

Musing, she prayed that she would be shown how to walk this path that had been placed before her, and have the courage to grab the chance to learn from and work with the greatest sorcerer of all time.

Just now the Greatest Sorcerer was unslinging his collecting satchel, spilling fresh plants across the table in the Healing Room before turning to address her. “Let’s eat first, and then we can do the scrying.”

Nodding, she ditched her own full satchel and turned to the small cloth-covered table situated by the door. Merlin had taken the habit of having bread, fruit & cheese delivered daily to the Rooms, ready for a light meal for them both as needed. It meant that neither of them were constrained to attending a formal meal, and they were both free to eat whenever time allowed during their duties.

They sat and ate in silence, washing down the simple food with plain water. Niniane was aware of Merlin’s frequent brooding glances, thrown towards the cloth-wrapped object she had removed from her satchel and which now rested by his elbow, still untouched by him. Idly, she wondered what the Warlock felt from the Crystal of Neahtid. She herself was unaware of it unless she focused her senses upon it specifically, and then it only appeared as a faint magical buzz. Perhaps this was because neither she nor her family had one drop of seer blood in them.

Lost in thought, Niniane started slightly as Merlin drained his goblet of the last dribble of water and came purposefully to his feet. “Right, time to do this. Go stand by the herb stores, will you?” He waited until she’d moved, then extended an arm towards the doorway, and his eyes flashed gold as it locked. Next all implements and plates moved away from the table, leaving only the Crystal there. She watched as he next closed his eyes and bowed his head, turning slowly in place. Puzzled as to what he was doing, Niniane too, extended her senses and gasped at what she found.

Close to Merlin a dome of magical force had appeared, encasing the table at which he sat and a few scant feet beyond. A magical barrier of sorts: she wandered towards the invisible wall and traced her fingers delicately along it. It felt elastic to her, and warm at the same time. She glanced toward at the Physician now separated from her by the barrier and smiled at his amused expression.

“Just a precaution, Niniane. I’ve created a place where magic will be contained, a kind of bubble of safety. Last time I used the Crystal it was…unsettling…to say the least. I am now much more powerful than I was then, and I want to be sure I don’t do damage without meaning to. The dome will reflect back most magical spikes I may inadvertently send out.”

Niniane just stood, wide-eyed as she considered, once again, the level of power he must command that necessitated such precautions. The slim man seated himself at the table and drew the package towards him using more magic. “I may need your help.” His gaze was fixed on the Crystal as he spoke; “The images I saw last time were powerful and somewhat confusing. If I get too lost in them I may need you to ground me; talk to me and remind me of where I am.” His blue eyes flicked upward to meet her own. “Can you do that?”

She nodded wordlessly, clutching at the shelf behind her in nervousness. She watched as the fabric unfolded itself from the Crystal, and saw the violent flinch Merlin gave as his eyes connected with it, and he turned his head away for a moment as though resisting something. Nothing then happened for a while, other than that the familiar gentle sound of crystal-song filled the room. Suddenly Merlin smiled and laughed out loud, a sound of relief and joy, and he leaned forward to cradle the Crystal in both hands. Silence then fell, and he was lost, gaze focused intently on the now-glowing and crooning artefact.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Watching from inside the dome, Merlin observed the tension in Niniane’s body. He wished he could reassure her that all would be well, but was unable to summon the confidence to do so. Dismissing her from his mind, he focused on the package before him, willing the fabric to reveal the crystal to his gaze. All too soon it lay naked on the wooden slats before him, and he felt its power slam into his own as his gaze connected. He gave a mighty shudder, instinctively turning away from the object, but maintaining a magical awareness of it. The sound of crystal-song sent tendrils into his mind, tickling in an almost familiar way, and he tentatively enhanced his awareness of it. The familiarity grew and enveloped him; an old friend, and the warlock found himself smiling. There was nothing of the overwhelming power and terror he remembered from his previous experience, and the reason for this formed in his thoughts as he remembered that the Crystal of Neahtid was hewn directly from the Crystal Cave. Since his experience there a month ago, anything related to the Cave brought him comfort and healing. He laughed in joy, realizing that he need never fear this particular artefact again: indeed, joining with it was almost a home-coming; bathing him in the familiar feel of Ancient Power and Renewal he’d experienced back in the Cave. Joy, comfort and wellbeing enfolded him, and he gladly surrendered to it.

He scooped the palm-sized gem into his cupped hands and opened himself to what Magic wished to reveal to him.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

…a young man lay on a large bed, pale and shivering in the throes of fever. His torso was swathed in bandages which obviously covered a significant wound; the source of a terrible infection.

…several days later and the young man reclined, propped by pillows against the head-board. The bandages remained, but he was obviously healing. Merlin watched as the youth suddenly convulsed, reacting so some sudden stressful event heard or sensed. The sick man clenching great handfuls of bedclothes as his back arched and he cried out in distress: “MORGANA!! NOOoo!…what did he do to you?” his scream faded into a whisper, and tears made their way down the translucent skin.

…a week further on and the young man; Mordred, sat with a collection of dried plants and herbs before him, crumbed together and set in a wide basin on the table. He was still pale, but continued his unnaturally fast recovery. A whispered word and the herbs burst into flame releasing a pungent smoke into his face. Ancient words of power were softly chanted, and Merlin was aware of a sense of searching… A half candle-mark later and the former Knight sat bathed in sweat, eyes clenched and brow furrowed as he strove to connect with his former protectress. Focusing, Merlin became conscious of a mental conversation which strengthened the more he listened.

Morgana: *Mordred…Mordred, can you hear me?*

Mordred: *Morgana, is it you? I have been searching for you.*

*I know, my friend, I could feel you and have answered your call. I am still here. Although you are the only one I have managed to communicate with so far. It is difficult for me to estimate time, in this form. How long has it been since Camlann?*

*A month, My Lady.*

*A month! Three weeks, then, since Emrys consigned me to this living hell!* vitriol spewed forth from her psychic voice.

*What did he do, My Lady? Where are you? What are you?*

*What did he do? He destroyed me! Or attempted to. He is obviously too weak to finish the task properly, for he killed only my body. He left me a formless spirit: I float Mordred, above the mortal world. I observe, and I listen. And I learn! I have no magic now, my friend, HE took that from me! But he did not consider the true power of a Priestess of the Old Religion and I have survived after a fashion. Nor did he take into account your dedication and strength, Mordred: together we can deal with both Emrys and with Arthur! Are you ready?*

*Of course My Lady. You know what Arthur has done to me, and I have no love for his toy wizard, Emrys! Tell me what I must do.*

Merlin continued to listen as the two plotted, and his heart grew heavy. Rather than taking the opportunity to learn from her mistaken use of power, it seemed Morgana would continue to seek revenge, and Mordred with her. He concealed his presence from the two, and gleaned as much information as he could.

He learned that the Saxons had re-grouped after their defeat at Camlann, and had formed once again a formidable army, which was now under Mordred’s control. The young sorcerer’s hatred of Arthur and Emrys had only grown, and it was now only a matter of time before war marched once again to Camelot. A name whispered by Morgana caught Merlin’s attention: The Dochraid. Sighing in revulsion, Merlin listened as his three most powerful enemies colluded together in order to form a fighting force of warriors and sorcerers combined.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Niniane had relaxed somewhat since Merlin’s laugh of pleasure, and sat herself in the chair before the fire to keep watch over the entranced man. He sat, motionless, for two candle-marks before suddenly drawing a deep breath, and placing the Crystal gently on the table before him.

“My Lord?” her voice sounded as Merlin made no further move, but sat quietly hands folded before him. “Emrys!” she called louder. “Can you hear me?”

Blinking, Merlin brought his head up and looked across the room; “It’s all right, Niniane. I am myself, and well.” A flash of gold and the barrier dispersed. “And now I have work to do. I will be back soon. Can you begin to prepare tomorrow’s draughts for me? Oh, and tell Arthur I will need to speak with him this evening.”
“Yes, of course Emrys.” She gave a slight bow.

Shaking his head wearily, he stood. “No, not Emrys, remember? I’m Merlin. Just Merlin.” He drew his hand across his forehead as he stepped away from the bench. “Although for this visit, I think Emrys may, indeed, be needed.” With a grim smile he vanished, leaving the puzzled druid staring at empty space.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin appeared in a small crevasse on a high rocky peak. He’d been here once before, maybe six months ago seeking information from the Dochraid to heal Guinevere. (1) Before him a twisted tree whose roots stretched down, framed a dank hole in the rock in front of him. Drawing a breath, Merlin stepped forward, all senses on alert. It felt strange to be here as himself and not as Dragoon, but he reasoned that trying to conceal his true identity now would be a lost cause. He had come to see for himself what the Dochraid was up to in her damp abode, or whether she had indeed abandoned it and gone to raise trouble.

He stepped delicately as he entered the stinking cave, all trace of Merlin’s clumsiness gone from his gait. A light flared into being above him, illuminating the passage he trod. He could sense no sign that the Hag was within but did not release his guard, being too cautious to gamble his well-being so early in the adventure. The last time he’d come he’d brought Excalibur with him in order to cow the Dochraid, unsure if she would be his enemy or his friend. He’d got his answer soon enough, she had proven quite definitely his enemy and only threats had gained him the information he sought. Now, though, he no longer had need of the Sword, mighty though its magic was.

As the Living Representative of Magic itself he knew he had little to fear from this demonic-like being. It was strange, the difference “The Power he could not conceive Of” (2) had wrought in him and in his life in the last month; Merlin was still adjusting to it, and learning to wield both the new facets it had bestowed upon his magic, and the incredible increase in power. He’d not yet begun to test his magical limits, and the thought of what he may now be capable of frightened him somewhat.

A good while later and Merlin had determined that the Dochraid was, indeed, no longer in residence. The centuries-old being had abandoned her shelter, and Merlin did not expect any good to come of it. If she was not here, then she’d probably only been driven out, motivated by hatred and a need for revenge against him, Emrys, whom she considered a traitor. Aligning herself with Mordred and Morgana would, of course, be the perfect way in which to punish such a traitor to the Old Ways.

Dreading the coming conflict, Merlin transported himself directly from the cave back into the Healing Rooms in Camelot. It was time to alert the King, and to make plans.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Towards evening Merlin headed off to the King’s chambers for a conversation he was dreading. He had no wish to be the bearer of ill tidings, but could see no way to avoid it. Part of him yearned for former days, when he was a simple servant with no duties other than to care for his master. Finding himself thinking this way, he burst into laughter in the hallway, startling a young maid who was in the process of snuffing the lamps lining the walkway. She eyed him like a skittish horse might, before sidling away, leaving several of the torches still burning. Merlin covered his mouth with his hand in an effort to suppress the giggles which tried to erupt. He had no wish to distress the servant further. Several seconds later, and the hallway was empty. Merlin removed his hand from his face, and waved it at the torches, putting them out with a thought: he didn’t want the young maid in trouble for neglecting her duties.

The young warlock moved on, continuing the train of thought which had provoked his merriment: ‘I can’t believe I actually just thought that being Arthur’s servant was easier than being his unofficial adviser on all things magic!’ He shook his head and resumed the long journey. ‘Back then I would be performing my duties as Arthur’s man-servant during the daylight hours, and my magical protection duties during the night. At least now I get to rest at night (usually) and have Niniane to assist with my chores. Now Arthur is aware of what I’m doing, and I no longer need to hide.’ Continuing to chuckle to himself, Merlin saw that he had reached the familiar heavy oaken door which led to Arthur’s chambers, and he knocked.

Guinevere’s head appeared through the doorway before she smiled at him, and, welcoming her friend inside, the discussion began.

It wasn’t until several hours later that an exhausted Merlin returned to his sleeping chamber. Arthur had been dismayed at the news his friend had brought him, pacing back and forth in his usual restless manner. The discussion had lasted many hours between the three of them, as they had tossed ideas, plans, pros and cons between them as they discussed how best to meet this new threat.

Debate had ranged on how best to protect the people of Camelot, and whether to march forth and meet the army or wait and defend the city walls. It had included the strengths and weakness of their own army as opposed to Mordred’s, what with the recent losses on both sides. It had covered Magical threat and defence, and what could be expected in that arena. It had addressed ways in which to monitor the enemy’s progress, and a thousand and one other details. During this stressful time Merlin and Arthur both regretted and rejoiced that they’d become so familiar with this kind of strategy meeting; defending Camelot had become almost second nature to them, and the two men yearned for the time in which it would no longer be necessary. It was during this meeting that both Arthur and Merlin fully realised that the dark-haired man was indeed a warrior, and had been for many years. Merlin had always protected Camelot, even when it had been unseen, and his open input now was refreshing as well as valuable.

Actions had eventually been decided upon, and the responsibility for each divided between the three people involved. Next morning would see movement and preparations within the city and the surrounding forest; one of which Merlin, at least, would enjoy immensely.

Plans were going well until Gwen dropped a bombshell on both her husband and her closest friend that left them both staring open-mouthed at her. She’d been debating for some time when to tell her husband and her physician, and whether to do so at the same time or separately. As her indecision grew, she’d suddenly found herself blurting out the news during a lull in the debate.

Arthur was the first to speak, incredulous: “What, now? Couldn’t you have picked a better time for this Gwen?” He was in shock, and his words, unedited, hurt his wife mightily.
“It’s not as though I had a choice!” she spat out, hands crossed over her stomach as though in defence. “It’s not entirely my fault, you know!” She glared at Arthur, her usually sunny temper somewhat frayed.

Merlin decided to move to Gwen’s defence: “Arthur! That’s not fair, and you know it!” The warlock openly defied and challenged his king, as he’d done so many times before, and as he would always continue to do when he felt it was necessary.

“I know,” the king answered, chagrined “But now is just not a good time!”

Gwen turned away, hugging herself as tears flowed. “We’ve been married more than four years.” Her voice emerged, shaking and broken. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
Instantly contrite, realising how his ill-thought comment had affected her, Arthur crossed the room quickly to embrace his wife. He placed one hand on her arm and rubbed her back gently: “Guinevere. I’m sorry, I spoke without thought. Of course I’m pleased. It’s just that I’ll worry so much about you, especially now with this attack on the horizon. About two months you say?”

Gwen turned in his arms, and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Yes, I think so. I’ve missed my courses twice now. And I’ve begun to feel a little unwell in the mornings.”
“Really? Wow! A…a baby!” Joy began to break through his visage as Arthur the King lifted his Queen from the floor and twirled her around in a dance of victory and celebration.
Merlin stood quietly in the background, basking in this moment with his friends. He was immensely touched that Gwen had chosen to tell him the news at the same time she’d revealed her secret to Arthur. ‘This must be what having a sister would feel like.’ He mused silently. Intending to allow them some privacy, he moved away. Stealthily and unobtrusively, the warlock stepped backwards, working his way out of the room. A broad smile shone from his face as he observed the royal couple, and his best friends, rejoicing together. Discretely, he left the chamber and made his way back to his rooms, allowing Arthur and Gwen this moment. Medical and other matters could be addressed tomorrow.

Joy filled his heart as he recalled the tender expression of joy on Gwen’s face, as well as the dawning pride and incredulity on Arthur as he absorbed the news. It had been a while since the marriage, and Merlin was aware that there had been whispers around Court that Gwen was barren, and that she would never bear Arthur an heir. Some of the more vindictive female courtiers had gone so far as to state that it served Arthur right, for marrying a peasant and ignoring their superior blood-lines, as though nobles were, by birth, more fertile than common people. ‘Well, this will put that rumour to rest, anyway’ the young man mused as he walked along with lightened heart.

Even through his overwhelming joy for his friends, however, the lonely warlock was conscious of a melancholy within his soul: Gwen and Arthur’s news had highlighted for him that he would never have this experience. There was nobody who would look past the surface of ‘Mighty Emrys’ in order to see simple Merlin. The pleasure of wife, children and family would not be for him.

Resolving to not allow this momentary cloud to dictate his mood, Merlin banished the wistfulness from his mind, as he always did, and focused on what tomorrow would bring.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Five, Episode Nine. ‘With All My Heart’.
(2) Season Five, Episode Twelve. ‘Diamond of the Day, Part One.’

Chapter Text

Merlin woke with a sense of excitement and dread within his belly. Puzzled and only half awake, he rolled onto his back and allowed his gaze to drift out of the small window set high on the wall of his sleeping-chamber as he allowed consciousness to return. He continued to wake early, used as he was to ten years of service to Arthur. Reality filtered through his mind, and he realised why he housed two such diametrically opposed emotions at the one time. Mordred planned an attack on Camelot, assisted by Morgana and the Dochraid. Gwen was pregnant, and this morning he and Niniane would perform her examination. Grinning, an expression of pure mischief filled his face, as he recalled the other duties that the meeting last night had decided Merlin would carry out today.

Bounding out of bed, Merlin tidied his room magically and dressed. He entered the outer room and immediately started a fire, preparing his usual porridge and hot tea for when Niniane would appear. He also checked and re-stocked his Medicine Bag, taking the opportunity to discard used items, add preparations he may need, and put all in order. Gaius’ gift had proven invaluable, and Merlin treasured it for its usefulness as well as its sentimental meaning.

The latch clicked, and Merlin glanced up to see Niniane, dressed in her usual homespun dress entering the room. He greeted her absently, and continued with re-stocking his Bag. Several minutes later he turned to find that Niniane had set the eating bowls on the table, and prepared the tea: peppermint this morning. Merlin smiled, appreciating her quiet way of working in the background. She made no fanfare of what she did, simply got on with her chores, and made their days flow easier by doing so. It was hard to remember that she’d only been his assistant for a few weeks, so well had she adapted to his routine.

Merlin sat himself at the table and took a mouthful of tea, sighing in simple pleasure as his mouth felt refreshed. He mused aloud “I’ll need to remember to prepare a mixture of chamomile and peppermint for Gwen. She will probably need it soon. And I’ll have the cook slice some bread thin and dry it before the fire for her, as well.”

Niniane did not comment, but her healer’s knowledge kicked into place as she analysed why Gwen may need such interventions. Eating quietly, she kept her suspicions to herself for the moment. Emrys would reveal all when it was right.

In his usual hurried manner, Merlin scraped his bowl and stuffed the laden spoon into his mouth. He set it down with a clatter and began to speak. “Today will be a little different, Niniane. Rounds will need to be done later on. I’m expecting Guinevere early this morning for an examination, and I will need you here as well.

Niniane nodded dutifully and collected his empty bowl “Of course My L…Merlin.” She corrected herself without needing to be prompted. “Why is Lady Guinevere coming here? Is she unwell?”

Merlin smiled and shook his head; “No, quite the contrary. She believes she is with child.”

“Ah, of course. That is why you spoke of the tea and the dried bread. Has she suffered much morning illness yet?”

“I don’t really know, that’s one of the things we will cover this morning.” Merlin moved to the herb preparation table, and selected a large, clean jar. Into it he began to measure equal amounts of dried chamomile and peppermint, stopping to sniff each ingredient to verify its identity before use. This was a habit ingrained into him by Gaius, and he used it unconsciously, even with such innocuous herbs as these. Making an error and using an incorrect ingredient could have disastrous consequences. Some of the more dangerous and potent herbs were often mixed with other strong-smelling leaves which had no medicinal value in themselves, in order to reduce the chance of a fatal mistake being made.

It wasn’t very long before a nervous Guinevere knocked on the door and entered. Niniane looked up and smiled, moving to embrace the young queen with sisterly affection.

“Come in, My Lady, and do not be nervous.” The plain woman offered. She took Gwen’s hand and led her toward Gaius’ old bed, seating both of them on the side of it as she did so.

“Thanks, Niane, I am a bit nervous.” Gwen used the shortened version of her name, having decided that ‘Niniane’ was too much of a mouthful.

“You don’t need to be. Merlin is quite skilled, you know.” The druid patted her queen’s shoulder.

“I know, I just can’t help but be excited as well as frightened. We’ve waited so long for this.” Gwen ducked her head down, and fiddled with her silken dress.

Assuming his professional manner, Merlin drew a chair up before the two women, and proceeded to ask Guinevere questions. Being Gaius’ assistant for so long, he was well accustomed to speaking on intimate matters with his female patients, but this was a friend, and therefore was a little different. By playing the ‘physician’ he hoped to make this experience less fraught for all concerned.

The questions included Gwen’s usual pattern of courses, how long she bled for, and any difficulties she’d had. It also included the last time she and Arthur had had relations, and when Gwen had first noticed her symptoms.

It turned out that Gwen’s courses had regularly followed the phases of the moon, and they rarely changed more than a day or so. This regularity made it easier for Merlin to estimate when pregnancy began, if it had indeed done so. Gwen’s first symptoms had been some tightness and tenderness in the chest, just before her courses were due. When she did not bleed as expected, she kept quiet and waited. The tenderness had increased over the next weeks, and she’d begun to feel a little more tired, especially in the afternoons. When she’d missed her second bleeding time, she began to suspect that she might indeed be pregnant.

It was now two weeks after she’d missed her second time, and nausea had begun to make an appearance, especially in the mornings. So far Gwen had been able to conceal all of these symptoms from Arthur, who’d understandably been distracted by recent events.

Counting times and days, Merlin established that Gwen was, indeed pregnant, and that she had likely conceived in the days following her being healed from the Tiane Diaga by Dolma. (1) Gwen admitted that she remembered little of that experience, drugged as she had been. She recalled coming to herself while up to her chest in icy water, then turning to see Arthur waiting behind her, with Mordred and an old crone named Dolma on the shore.

Merlin blushed, and looked away, refusing to meet Gwen’s eyes as the incident was recounted.

“I know what happened then, Gwen; how you were healed.”

Gwen nodded, gushing “Of course, Arthur would have told you.”

Soberly the warlock shook his head, “He had no need to tell me. I already knew.”

Puzzled, both Gwen and Niniane looked at the flustered warlock.

“But…how could you. You weren’t there. Were you scrying?”

Merlin laughed, answering “If only! No, I had the dubious pleasure of dressing myself up as an old Crone in so I could work magic in Arthur’s sight. The only way to heal you was to get you to enter that water of your own free will, and then summon the Triple Goddess. There was no other way to free you from Morgana’s enchantment.”

Gwen stared, speechless, at Merlin’s revelation. “You! You were Dolma? But why?”

“Because I was the only person Gaius and I knew of whose magic was powerful enough to perform the spell. And the only other magical disguise I had; Dragoon, Arthur already knew of and hated from when his father died. And before you ask, no I didn’t kill Uther; I was actually trying to heal him, and Morgana interfered. Again.” These painful events were related matter-of-factly, with no appeal for sympathy.

Gwen placed her hand on Merlin’s shoulder, and looked at him earnestly: “Thank you, Merlin.”

The young man flushed, and flicked his head sideways in embarrassment.

Guinevere maintained her serious manner for another twenty seconds, before dissolving in laughter. She giggled uncontrollably, bringing her hands to cover her mouth as the laughter escaped. “Oh, Niane, you should have seen him! He had this truly awful black ratty dress. And the most horrible accent, with this prissy little voice.”

Niniane’s face turned red, and she snorted trying to imagine the great Emrys dressed as a woman.

“Gwen! Please!” Merlin pleaded for respite.

Clearing her throat, Gwen straightened her face and body with an effort, and returned to the business at hand. “Yes. Sorry.” Then in an aside to Niniane “But just wait until I tell Arthur.”

Merlin pretended not to hear the comment, and forged ahead. Arthur’s ribbing about this was not something he contemplated with any joy. Fortunately, he had a serious enough topic to use as a distraction. “After examining you, I believe you are, indeed, pregnant. And about two months, as you suspected.”

Gwen squealed in happiness, clasping her hands before her. ‘I knew it!”

Merlin stood, and picked up the jar he’d prepared earlier. “This is chamomile and peppermint tea. If you drink it every morning, it should help a little with the sickness. I will also ask cook to keep some dried bread in your room at all times.”

“Dried bread?” Gwen’s nose wrinkled.

Niniane answered this one: “Sometimes the nausea gets so bad in the mornings, that it’s the only way to deal with it. You eat some before you get out of bed, and it settles your stomach. Lots of women in the druid camp used it.”

Merlin nodded in agreement, and Gwen grimaced. “Well, we’ll see.”

The discussion ranged on for several more minutes: What activities should Gwen avoid? None- most activities were safe, except any that risked a heavy blow to the abdomen. Normal exercise and activity is actually helpful, and promotes the baby’s health. What food can Gwen eat? Anything you feel like, as long as it’s not poisonous.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

During this, Arthur was conducting a Round Table meeting, informing the court of what Merlin had brought to him last evening.

The Table was almost evenly split between those who had accepted the young man, and those who still mistrusted him. Word of the druid healers had slowly filtered through the town, and many of the nobles had been pleasantly surprised. Others remained resistant, convinced that the magic-user were only waiting for an excuse to attack.

A vote narrowly fell in Arthur’s favour, and preparations began to ready Camelot’s army. Messengers were sent to the neighbouring Kingdoms of Queen Annis and King Rodor. Arthur hoped to strengthen his alliances with these two, by asking for warriors to swell Camelot’s ranks, promising at the same time to come to Annis’ and Rodor’s help in the future should the need arise.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin smiled wickedly as he made his way towards the main courtyard. He was about to put into place one of the stratagems decided upon at the meeting last evening between himself, Guinevere and Arthur. This time of late-morning had been chosen as the most likely for the courtyard to be empty: morning rush-hour would have abated, and the movement of various servants fetching and carrying lunch for their various masters would not yet have started.

The slim young man stepped purposefully out onto the portico of the castle, and paused, surveying the space before him prior to descending the stairs.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

In their room which overlooked one side of the Courtyard, Arthur and Guinevere waited in anticipation for the spectacle which was to occur. Having witnessed this before, Arthur was no less eager to see it again. Guinevere was twittering with excitement and nerves, jostling her husband as she sought a better vantage-point from their window.

“You’re sure it’s safe Arthur?” she questioned.

“Guinevere! When have you ever known me to knowingly compromise the safety of my people? Yes, it is safe. I promise you.”

Silence fell as the couple held their breath, waiting for the show to begin.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Meanwhile, Merlin was putting on something of a show. He’d earlier called silently to the druid healers, informing them of the event. The small group had rushed eagerly at the appointed time, spreading the gossip as they did so. They were keen to witness one more of legendary Emrys’ powers.

A small crowd of common people gathered at the rear of the open space, keeping well back, but impatient at the same time.

Merlin stood commandingly (or as much as he was able) on the top steps, and then descended, regally, one at a time, his blue Physician’s Over-robe swirling pleasingly as he did so. He gained the cobbled ground, and paced forward four times before coming to a halt. Raising his arms before him in a commanding manner, the young man tilted his head back and inflated his lungs. An inhuman roar exploded from him, rattling the very foundations of the castle, and causing the breathless crowd to clamp their hands to their ears. This did little to reduce the volume of sound, however, as the cry vibrated their very bones: “O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes!”

Merlin lowered his arms and stood, alone, waiting. He knew Aithusa was nearby, having sensed her already through their bond. Indeed, had he wished it, he could have summoned her with a thought. This would have proven far less dramatic, however, and Arthur had been definite in that he wanted this summoning to be public.
Wryly, Merlin thought ‘Well, you can’t get more public than that!’ as his gaze swept over the druids and people gathered in the square.

*How long, Aithusa? I’m standing here looking like an idiot!* Merlin was beginning to fret, unused as he was to making such a spectacle of himself.

*Patience, My Lord.* Came the answer; *I am close. Listen and you will hear me now. Should I roar to let them know I am coming?*

*No!* Merlin hastened to send to the enthusiastic young beast. *Do not roar! I do not want the people more unsettled than they are. The sight of your strong teeth as you sound your voice would remind them that you eat live animals, and they may panic.*

*Well, what do they think I live on, then? Flowers?* Came the waspish reply.

Merlin stifled a chuckle. *No, my love. They know that you don’t eat flowers. I just don’t want to remind them just yet of what you are capable.*

Merlin was rewarded with a mental huff of irritation. Cocking his head he became aware of the swoosh of powerful wings beating air, and mindful of the image he was portraying, raised his arms once more.

A flash of sunlight upon white, and Aithusa appeared above the surrounding buildings. She pivoted in mid-air before lowering her large body towards the ground and landing with a soft thud before Merlin. Tucking her head in until her chin grazed the ground, she bowed before the being which was so very much smaller than her.

Her sides rose and fell rhythmically, causing sparks of reflected light to move on nearby walls, and the waiting crowd answered with a collective indrawn breath as they shuffled further back. Her sheer size alone was impressive. Added to this the jewelled scales and long claws, combined with broad wings, the well-defined muscles and sinuous tail were awe-inspiring. The great beast was clearly capable of inflicting damage if she so chose, and yet she stood quiescent and making no threat. The crowd stilled further as Merlin, Gaius’ former apprentice and now Physician began to speak.

“Thank you for coming to my summons, Aithusa. I have a task for you; one that is innately suited to your skills.”

“I will serve in any way I can, Emrys.” The dragon’s mellifluous voice was inconsistent with her fierce appearance.

A double conversation then took place between the two kin, one audible to the crowd, the other silent and only for the two who were involved:

Merlin: “King Arthur and I have discussed how useful it would be to have advance warning of any attack that may approach Camelot, in order for us to better protect her and her people.” *Word has reached us that the Saxon army has regrouped, and may be marching on us from the north.*

Aithusa: *You can rest easy, Emrys. I can search the surrounding land for many leagues with little trouble. The Saxons will not even know that they have been sighted.*

Merlin: “We would appreciate it if you could keep watch on the surrounding land as you travel, and notify us of any potential threat.” *We expect a large band of men and sorcerers mixed, and need all the advance warning you, with your ability to see so much farther, can give us.* “Who better than you, Aithusa, to keep watch for us? You may call me at any time, or come here to the courtyard to notify King Arthur of your findings as long as you will endanger nobody by landing here.”

Aithusa: “It shall be done, My Lord. You may rest assured that no enemy will approach Camelot without my seeing them.”

Merlin: *I have a favour to ask of you, Aithusa, if you are willing? It is not a command, and you may refuse it if you wish.*

Aithusa: *What is it, Emrys? If it is in my power, I will try to grant it.*

Merlin: *Merely that I wish to demonstrate to the ignorant people of this court that you are no threat to them. I would introduce you to some of the common people if you would have it.*

Aithusa: *As long as there are not too many at once, that will be acceptable. I will not give them rides, however!*

Merlin: *I would not dream of asking it, my friend.*

The invitation was spoken aloud by Merlin, and very hesitantly accepted. Initially the druids led the way, and Davydd, followed by Jessamy approached. As those watching saw that the first few lost neither limbs nor life, they began to move forward in their turn.

A warning rumble from Aithusa reminded them that she was an ancient creature of the Old Religion, and NOT to be treated with disrespect.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Two hours later Merlin slipped quietly out of the castle gates and into the forest. He’d left his conspicuous blue over-robe behind, and was clad once more in his familiar brown trousers, blue shirt and red neck-cloth. Aithusa had left over an hour ago, and Merlin had quickly returned to the Healing Room for a bite to eat before setting out on his next task for the day. A mischievous smile adorned his face as he contemplated the fun the rest of the day was about to provide. It was rarely that King Prat asked him to do something he expected to enjoy so thoroughly.

Settling into his familiar loping run, the young man quickly covered some distance in the forest, being sure to cover his tracks magically as he did so. At the same time he laid a false trail of disturbed greenery, broken plants and footprints in order to bring his quarry to a place of his choosing.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur had left Guinevere in their chambers some time before Aithusa had finished greeting the townsfolk who mustered enough courage to approach her. Having ridden the dragon himself, the sight was slightly less novel to him. Gwen remained hanging out of the upper window, enthralled, until the last possible second. Observing the absolute confidence Merlin displayed around the Dragon, and the lack of any kind of threat from the huge beast did much to settle the young Queen’s apprehension, and she found herself marvelling at the spectacle presented her.

By the time Aithusa had left, Arthur was on the training grounds for the scheduled afternoon work-out with his knights. With so many of the senior knights now gone, it was necessary for him to select some promising candidates for promotion. And Arthur had a very specific test in mind. He divided the men into four groups before calling Sir Leon and Sir Percival to him and filling them in on his plans. Both Knights were hard-pressed to subdue the snickers which threatened to erupt, and did their level best to project a professional mien. Arthur stood back to observe his two commanders handle the situation.

Leon and Percival conferred briefly with one another before rapidly dividing the group in half. Leon then addressed the assembled groups. “Knights of Camelot, it has been decided that training will take a different method for the next few days. This will consist of one group remaining here to practice and hone their skills with various weapons as usual.” Percival indicated the men selected before continuing. “The other group will be setting out on field exercises consisting of training and tracking in the forest surrounding Camelot. The two groups will alternate each day until all knights have been exposed to all scenarios.”

“Weapons training here on the grounds will be under supervision of Sir Percival. You will each have an opportunity to face him in single combat and undergo his tutelage.” A series of groans arose from the crowd: Percival was the largest and strongest of all the Knights, and single combat with him challenged his opponent far beyond their usual abilities. This inevitably resulted in a myriad of bruises, strained muscles and minor cuts when Percival’s blade slipped past their guard. The physical workout would be strenuous, made worse by working in full armour in the hot sun.

Sir Leon continued. “The remaining group will head into the forest with King Arthur and me. Orders have already been given for horses to be prepared. Arm yourselves accordingly.”

There was a general rush as the first group headed into the weapons room to select their preferred tools. Mindful of their King’s eye, each was careful to choose what they excelled at. Each knight had his own personal sword, of course, with a belt-dagger as standard extra. In addition to these, the men chose mace, lance or cross-bow as suited them. This second group of knights was decidedly more animated that those selected to remain and face Sir Percival, as they anticipated a pleasant afternoon in the shady forest on horseback.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The mounted knights had gathered in a circle around their King as they listened to his briefing. “Your task today, men, involves tracking, pursuit and apprehension of a criminal. I have selected one of the palace servants to lay a trail and hide. It will be your task to find him and arrest him. He has a one-hour head start and is on foot. You and you” Arthur pointed randomly, “will begin the tracking exercise.” Arthur reined his horse sideways, and allowed the selected men to get to work.

With a quick glance and a few rapid signals to each other, the two knights set off in opposite directions and began scouring the ground for signs of their ‘fugitive’. It wasn’t very long before one found the trail Merlin had laid and gave the alert. The company set off in pursuit, Sir Leon and Arthur in the rear in order to observe the men’s performance.

Initially the trail led true, and the knights had little difficulty following it. Footprints showed clear on the soft earth, and where they were obscured there were tell-tale signs on trees and bushes that pointed the way. In order not to lose the track, the company proceeded at a collected canter. An hour later and there was still no sign of their quarry, and the group stopped to rest and refresh themselves from personal water skins. After a quick discussion, the men responsible for following the track approached their King. “Sire. We have been following this trail for well over an hour, and have still not caught up with your fugitive. Are you sure it was only a servant you sent to lay it?”

Arthur smiled and reassured the Knights. “I give you my word of honour as a King, that the man you are tracking has served as a common servant in Camelot for more than ten years.”

The two knights bowed, answering “Then why have we not come up on him yet? He surely cannot have gotten this far ahead with only an hour’s lead.”

“Can you think, John, of any reason such a man might have been able to do this?” questioned Arthur.

A moment’s silence fell as each knight thought. The answer eventually came: “Perhaps he is uncommonly fit and quick. If we continue to pursue him at the quickest rate possible, we will overtake him before long. After all, he is on foot and we are mounted.”

Arthur nodded, and answered. “Very well then. When you believe the men are rested enough, give the order and we will continue.”

The men bowed once more, and returned to their position at the head of the company. Leon and Arthur shared a private smile, and continued to observe.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The sun had moved a further handspan across the sky before the first signs began to show. The horses pressed forward at an easy yet rapid pace, coping well with the uneven terrain, when suddenly one of the men towards the rear of the column drew back viciously on his bridle, causing his mount to whinny and come to a trampling halt. “Sir!” the knight called out. “I heard something off to the right, down this gully.”

A discussion took place with Arthur and Leon observing silently once more.

“What did you hear?”

“It was a cry, something I’ve never heard before.”

After several minutes, it was concluded that the knight was mistaken, and the group proceeded along the clearly-marked trail they were following.

Until yet another man ‘heard’ something, this time in the other direction. By now the two appointed leaders were becoming impatient, and frustrated. Being keen to perform well in front of their King and commander, they decided to press on once more. Not very many strides down the path, however, and the horses began to react to some unseen or unheard force. Dancing, whinnying, side-stepping and circling, it was all the mounted men could do to control the distressed animals. Within moments the trail had been badly churned by a score of horses, destroying any and all evidence of the escaping fugitive.

“Dismount!” the order came from the head of the column. The horses began to quieten with their riders at their heads, and some semblance of order was re-established.

Making a decision, John gave the order for the horses to be led for the moment as they tried to re-establish the path. This worked well for approximately twenty feet, when each and every horse came to a dead halt, and refused to stir further. Cajoling, leading, and petting accomplished nothing. As an experiment, John led his own mount back the way they had come; the beast proved more than willing to head in that direction. Mounting, he urged the horse to a canter, intending to ride past the area of disturbance.

Unfortunately the horse had other ideas, and came to a slithering halt on the forest floor despite John’s spurring it on forwards. Only the Knight’s better-than-average horsemanship prevented a nasty spill. John conceded defeat, and dismounted.

“We proceed on foot, then. Gather your arms.” Without question the well-trained men obeyed, and tethered their mounts to convenient trees. Two men were selected to remain behind and watch the horses, and the diminished band of knights headed on once more.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The sun had travelled a further two hand-spans across the sky, and the knights were beginning to envy their colleagues who’d been left behind to face Sir Percival. This gentle outing in the forest was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. The latest problem was an oak tree which had fallen across the path. Its leaves were green and not withered, so the tree could not have been down long. John questioned Arthur once more. “You’re sure that it’s only one man we are following? Surely it would have taken a score of people to fell a tree of this size!”

Once more Arthur answered “I swear, it is only a single man you pursue.” He then indicated another two of the company; “You and you. You’ve just taken over command of this expedition.” John and his companion sighed in relief: the pressure was now off them, and they could watch somebody else make fools of themselves.

Full of bravado and bluster, the two newly selected knights stepped up.

“Right then. We’ll go around the tree and continue on the other side.”

“This way.” The second directed, and everybody followed obediently. Unfortunately, it proved impossible to pass around the tree, as a bog had decided to appear just at the place the trunk ended. After rescuing several of their number from the slimy muck, the company retreated back to the firmer pathway.

Having learned from experience, Rodney ordered only two men to investigate the possibility of passing on the other end of the tree rather than committing the entire company. His smug expression turned to one of alarm as two loud shouts of distress were heard. The group moved quickly forward to see what had happened, only to find the two scouts unconscious on the ground with nary a mark on them. A quick check-over by Rodney and his mate showed no obvious injury, but the scouts refused to waken.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Five, Episode Nine ‘With All My Heart’

Chapter Text

Merlin chuckled to himself and continued on, setting up his next challenge for the Knights to overcome. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself more. Cocking his head, he stopped to consider for a moment: nope, there had never been a time he’d enjoyed himself more! This was the first time he was using his magic openly, with Arthur’s full support in order to confuse the Knights.

The idea had initially been Arthur’s, and Merlin had grabbed and run with it, elated at the chance to show off his skills. Thanks to Niniane’s presence, he had no duties in the citadel that could not wait until later, and he was revelling in the chance to be out in the forest, free, and practising his skills. The young man stopped for a moment, and ducked his head back towards where he knew the Knights were. Using his magic, he saw where they were and what they were doing: they were now all on foot, having abandoned the horses back where he’d set the magical wards. Hmm…must remember that one: forcing an army to give up their mounts could come in very useful. The small group was now gathered before the fallen oak, attempting to get around it in order to continue their pursuit of their quarry.

Merlin chuckled: he’d arranged it so there was no way around the tree. One side ended in a magical bog, the other was encased with an enchantment which caused anybody who entered the area to fall into a magical sleep after suffering a mild shock, much like being struck by lightning, only far less powerful. After all, this was a training mission. Scaring knights to death was acceptable, permanently injuring them just prior to an expected attack on Camelot was not.

Just to make things interesting, he’d also enchanted the giant tree: It was unable to be moved apart from magic, and scaling it would be a further challenge. Merlin had cast a spell which would cause anybody trying to climb over the obstacle to increase their weight 5-fold. Including Arthur. Merlin smiled; after all, he saw no reason why King Prat should escape unscathed, just because he was in on the little jaunt.

Laughing in glee he scarpered off down the dirt pathway, heading towards the dell just ahead. He had plenty of time to set in motion the final phase: he intended to trap the group. The dell was little more than a depression approximately 20 feet across, and surrounded by an earth bank at knee height. Bushes and scrub around the rim provided an ideal natural cover for what he had planned next.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

A small group of armoured warriors stood milling around in front of a fallen oak tree. The surrounding forest was unnaturally quiet. A soft breeze gently stirred the leaves and branches above them, but the usual sounds of rustling creatures were absent. The animals responsible for this had, no doubt, hidden after the shouts let out by the recent shouts of pain and surprise emitted by two of the company.

The tree was ancient, and the trunk in front of the men measured chest-high. Two of their number were begrimed with black slime from the bog at one end of the tree when they’d attempted to go around the obstacle. Two more lay unconscious at the side of the path, casualties to some type of enchantment at the other end of the trunk. This left only one possible solution: they would need to go over the trunk. So, ssounding less certain, Rodney ordered the remaining men to scale the large tree. Wanting to set a good example, Rodney started first, finding a good foot-hold in the rough bark, and dug in his gauntlet-clad fingers. With the first step he found that his legs trembled with effort, and his fingers began to cramp. Quickly he let go of his painful hold, and latched on higher up. Ascending several feet the knight felt he was making good progress, only to discover that his armour felt as though it were full of bricks, and his legs felt about as strong as fresh-baked break. He valiantly struggled for several more minutes before gravity won the battle, and the young knight tumbled down to land ignominiously on his backside.

A short time later, and most of the men had tried and failed to clamber over the tree-trunk. Amidst much muttering and cursing, Rodney dispatched two men back to the horses to retrieve some rope. With the aid of a rock tied to the end of it, the rope was hurled over the tree. The lightest knight was then rapidly divested of his armour by his mates, and shoved up the trunk as far as they could reach. Funnily enough, the lack of extra weight made little difference as he scrambled over the tree and secured the rope securely on the other side. With this line in place, and much huffing and puffing, the sun had travelled a further two handspans across the sky before all the men stood on the path, on the far side of the tree. King Arthur had appointed two different knights to have their turn as captains, and Rodney and his friend stepped down in relief.

Olaf and Bedwyr quickly conferred before arranging the remaining force into a compact unit, King Arthur protected in the middle with men surrounding on all sides. In this defensible pose they proceeded once more down the pathway, continuing to follow the footprints which Merlin had thoughtfully left for them.

It wasn’t long before Bedwyr noticed that the trail was descending, and called a halt. Quickly scouting ahead he determined that it was winding between two smallish hills, one on either side. With the track clearly lying ahead, he decided they had no choice but to follow on, and approached his King: “Sire. We are heading into an area from which we may be easily attacked. I would recommend that the men draw their swords before continuing.”

Arthur nodded, and merely answered “Then give the order, Bedwyr.”

The young knight did so, and the company once more set off on foot. As they journeyed on, the trail continued its downward trend, and soon the sun was obscured behind the neighbouring hills. Before long the group found itself in a small depression and Bedwyr once more called a halt.

“Olaf! Choose a man and quickly reconnoiter the area, I want to know if we are alone in this place.”

Olaf nodded, and bent to strike flint and iron, creating a small fire. Grasping a nearby branch, he wrapped the end in an old cloth, and quickly had a rude torch. Indicating the knight nearest him, John, he set off into the twilight on a circuit of the area. He was back within minutes, reporting that there appeared to be no living thing in the small dell. Just at this time, a screeching howling cacophony was heard above and to the south. The men tensed, crouching, not sure whether to attack or retreat: it was apparent that some monster was loose in the area. From its cry, it was probably hungry, and they feared that Knight would be on the menu.

“Form a circle, quickly!” Bedwyr ordered reflexively.

Nervous footsteps were muffled by leaf-litter as the company re-arranged themselves. Bedwyr and several others had provided themselves with torches, and flickering firelight revealed pale, tense faces.

A howling cry sounded from the north, quickly followed by another to the east. It appeared the dell was surrounded, and the creatures were hidden in the scrub above. Feet shifted nervously, and chainmail rattled.

“Steady!” called Bedwyr. “We do not know yet what it might be. Hold your ground.”

A shattering howl and trampling feet had the men turning to face south once more, and a fireball suddenly appeared, engulfing one of the trees standing on the rim of the dell. The fire spread quickly from one tree to the next, until the entire rim was ablaze, and the knights were surrounded by a ring of flame.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin, meanwhile, was perched comfortably in a tree with his hand over his mouth. He was grateful that he’d had the foresight to surround himself with magical wards, otherwise the knights would have long since been alerted by his laughter. It was rare that he got such an opportunity to stretch himself, and never without fear of capture and persecution. He could hardly wait until the time came for him to reveal himself, and the reactions such an action would garner.

The elated warlock raised his hand, and gestured at the fire, commanding it to move.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

“Bedwyr! The fire is coming toward us!” Olaf hollered towards his co-leader, who stood behind him at the opposite side of the circle of knights.

“How? There’s no fuel for it to burn: flames do not move magically!”

“Well, these ones are!” was the wry reply. “Look!”

Indeed, it was true. The men watched, horrified, as the fiery ring contracted inwards. It appeared the knights were trapped. Some yelled, some panicked, and some dropped their swords: they were helpless against such a foe.

“Magic!” came from one mouth.

“Cursed Sorcery!” from another. King Arthur stood back, waiting and watching to see how his men would respond to this new threat.

“Stand fast!” ordered Bedwyr. “Those of you with bows, nock arrows and release over the flames; those of us left who have swords will charge through the flames and prepare to attack. We may yet be able to overcome our enemy”

A few men rolled eyes towards Bedwyr showing their opinion of his mad-cap idea, but with no better plan available all, including King Arthur and Sir Leon, prepared to leap through the wall of fire at the Knight’s command.

“Bowmen: draw! Release!” A handful of arrows arced into the sky. Bedwyr watched them, timing his next command carefully. “Charge!” With a mighty yell, he, followed by the rest, flung themselves forward into….nothing.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

One by one, the knights regained consciousness to the sound of their King chatting with Sir Leon, and the smell of roasting meat. A campfire burned comfortingly in the darkness, and a spitted yearling deer dripped fat into the flames, causing them to hiss and leap up hungrily. Stars showed clearly in the expanse above, their light periodically shadowed by hunting owls. The horses were tethered just beyond the firelight and could be heard shifting in the darkness as they munched on their nose-bags of grain, saddles removed for greater comfort and set on the ground to act as armchairs at need.

Several hours had obviously passed. Bedwyr, Olaf, and Rodney sat slowly and peered around the dell. King Arthur was sitting relaxing beside the campfire, with Sir Leon and his former manservant, Merlin by his side. Seeing that they were awake, Arthur called out to them. “Come, join us.”

Soon the group was seated comfortably around the fire, enjoying the meal prepared for them. Indeed, after the labours and frustrations of the day, it was exceedingly welcome, as was the honey mead that was provided.

“So,” the King spoke. “What conclusions have you drawn from today?”

Dead silence from the knights.

Cocking his head towards his friend, Arthur accused; “Did you cast a silencing spell on them, Merlin, along with all the other enchantments?”

Appearing offended, the warlock replied “No! Of course not, Sire. What would I gain from doing such a thing?”

Arthur pinned him with a glare. “What did you gain by including me in that magic surrounding the oak tree? My muscles are still sore from that little trick!”

Flashing his wide, disarming smile, the physician answered “Entertainment, of course my Lord.”

Arthur growled and snatched up a nearby piece of kindling, hurling it towards the other man, only half in play.

Not a word was spoken and not a gesture made, but Merlin’s eyes gleamed eerily golden in the firelight and the wooden missile stopped in its path before joining its brethren in the flames.” “Temper, temper, Arthur.” the physician chided.

Leon snickered at his King’s being reprimanded, then suddenly found himself flat on his back, legs in the air as the saddle he was leaning against vanished. “Lucky for you, Merlin, that there is plenty more venison for my dinner!” the senior Knight swore as he lurched to his feet and helped himself to more of the spitted roast, ignoring the portion which now resided in the dirt. Glancing around, he located his saddle and settled back down again.

“And since I’m the one who caught it, prepared and cooked it, I’m also the one to thank that there is plenty to go around,” was the young man’s rejoinder. “Keep going with those comments, Leon, and you’ll find your mouth sealed shut until daybreak!”

Leon merely snorted, and opened his maw wide in order to stuff it with tender meat.

The other knights crept forward timidly into the circle of light cast by the fire, unsure what to make of this familiarity between a King, a Knight and a Physician. Seeing their discomfort, Merlin sought to settle them a little: “Come. It’s safe, I promise you. Help yourselves; you must be hungry after tracking that fugitive all day.” And he flung a grin sideways at his king. “I promise to behave and not punish you like these two dingle-twerps.”

“Hey!”

“Merlin!” the two aforementioned protested.

“Well then, show a sorcerer some respect!”

Arthur studiously turned his gaze away, and focused on the knights who were beginning to load plates with food. “So, what did you learn today?” he returned to the previous topic of conversation.

John settled down, balancing his wooden plate on his knee and mused aloud: “There must have been magic involved, somehow…”

Bedwyr snorted.

Olaf joined in: “Of course there was magic involved! Have you not guessed it yet?”

The knights, apart from Arthur, Leon, Bedwyr and Olaf himself looked mystified. Olaf decided to enlighten them: “Merlin was the fugitive we were hunting today, and of course he used magic!”

A stunned silence greeted this statement before King Arthur spoke once more.

“This was a training exercise, as I told you when we set off. Merlin and I set this up during a meeting last evening, although I was kept ignorant of the particular details until they were revealed today.”

Merlin joined in. “I could hardly tell you what I planned, because I didn’t know it myself. I kind of…made it up as I went along.”

Remembering past occasions when Merlin had ‘made up’ things Arthur only just suppressed a laugh. It seemed that Merlin’s magic excelled when he was improvising. He turned back to his men. “The purpose was to place you in an unfamiliar situation, expose you to magic and see how you reacted. Now that we have a powerful sorcerer on our side, I intend to make the most of this opportunity and train my knights to face not only physical threats, but magical ones as well.”

Merlin & Leon nodded, and the younger men’s faces betrayed various shades of understanding or dis-satisfaction, depending on the emotion of its owner.

“But that’s hardly fair, my Lord!” Rodney protested.

The king answered with one word: “Why?”

“Sorry?”

“Why is it not fair?”

“Because we didn’t know magic would be involved. We weren’t expecting it!”

“And do you expect every sorcerer who attacks you to announce that he is there, and that he plans to use magic?” the questions came from Merlin this time. “Or would they not rather just set their traps, make their spells and confuse and catch you as easily as I did?”

Silence once more, until Arthur took pity on them. “What Merlin says is correct. You will often receive no warning of magical attack, and need to react and deal with it as automatically as you do any other sort of attack.”

“But we can hardly win against magic!” Came the protest.

“Exactly: You cannot win against magic, most of the time. However, you must remember that a sorcerer is but a man, and vulnerable to surprise and deception as any man is. Also, we now have magic on our side. Merlin will fight for us, and he will not go easy on our enemies as he did on you today.”

Arthur allowed the men to complete their meal in peace before speaking again. “And now I will assess you on your performance today.

“John: you did well: Your tracking skills are good, and you will do well to focus even more on them and develop this skill as much as possible.”

The young knight preened at the praise. “But you were too overconfident. You rode into the forest carelessly, and failed to listen to your men when they alerted you that they’d detected an odd cry in the forest. These men know this area, and they also know when something is not right. You disregarded what was an important early warning.

“Rodney: you also were too over-confident. By the time we reached the fallen oak you should already have been suspecting magic. Yet you sent all of your men into a bog together while trying to find a way around the tree. You learned quickly, however, and only sent two in the other direction, thus reducing the losses you suffered.”

“Olaf: you proved today that you are steady under fire. You alone thought to light a torch: this had positive as well as negative possibilities. You increased the area you were able to see, thus making your search more productive. But by lighting the torch, you pinpointed your location exactly to anybody who may have been watching. Although, given our situation in the dell, it was likely that anybody watching would have already known our position. Added to that, you reacted well and quickly to orders given when you were surrounded by an obviously magical fire. Well done.”

The man smiled, then flushed with embarrassment, before relaxing once more as Arthur summarised his performance.

“Bedwyr: You showed this evening an ability to take command and think rationally while under attack. You assessed the situation, obviously concluded that it was of magical cause, and came up with an attack plan at the same time. You were able to rally and steady the men under your command, a valuable skill in any Knight.”

“Thankyou, My Lord.” Bedwyr answered, “But I did not win: I was not able to overcome my enemy, and we were captured.”

“That is not the point, Bedwyr.” Arthur counselled. “It is not always possible to win in every situation. I have learned far more from those times I have been beaten and overcome, than from those times I have been victorious.” Arthur’s mind dwelled for a moment on the times he’d been exiled from Camelot, and how he’d needed to invent outlandish strategies to fight his way back again. “A man’s worth and character is more accurately judged by how he faces an impossible situation rather than one in which he is victorious.”

“For these reasons I hereby promote you to a Captain of the Knights. You will now be trained in leadership and other skills by Sir Leon, Sir Percival and myself.”

The knight sat, open-mouthed with shock, not having expected such an outcome from his ‘failure’.

Merlin smiled quietly in the semi-darkness. It appeared that King Prat Arthur could be developing some wisdom of his own. Perhaps the ‘Once and Future King’ was closer than he’d realised.

The meal continued for some time while the men chatted idly. Eventually Arthur gave the order to saddle up and return to Camelot.

“But Sir! Is it not dangerous to travel at night? Would we not be better served to remain here and return in the morning?”

Merlin stood and clapped his hands. Several large blue balls of glowing power appeared in the air, hovering above the men’s heads. Light streamed in every direction illuminating the forest for many feet as the warlock answered. “I guarantee that we will be safe, and that we will all reach Camelot unharmed.” He gestured once more, and the saddles laying on the ground moved towards their correct horses and attached themselves; riding blankets settling and girths attaching themselves. Apart from a few white-eyed stares, the horses stood still and accepted this unusual method of being saddled. (Some of the men suspected that Merlin had cast a binding enchantment on the animals.)

“I have cast a ward around the company: nothing can approach without my knowledge. Any beast, magical or not, large enough to cause harm I will deal with before you even know it is present. And if these precautions are not sufficient, I can always call Aithusa to escort us. Although I think the horses may object to having a large carnivore hovering overhead.”

By this time most of the knights had mounted, a little chagrined at forgetting just who was escorting them home. Merlin, Arthur and Leon moved to the head of the column, chatting idly, and snatches of conversation drifted backwards in the still air:

“Alright, Merlin. Enough showing off now.”

“Prat.”

“Careful how you address your monarch, Merlin.”

“Alright then: Royal Prat.”

“Merlin!”

“King Prat?”

A chuckle from Sir Leon and a grunt from Merlin as something heavy struck the Warlock.

“Hey!”

“That’s what disrespect will get you, Merlin.”

“Just wait until you see what I left in your chambers, Dingle-tw…” Merlin’s expression was abruptly cut off, and there was a scuffle of hooves on the pathway.

Olaf and Bedwyr shared a look. The trip home was going to be longer than the one out, despite the fact that they were now mounted.

Chapter Text

In a darkened hall inside a tumble-down castle somewhere to the north of Camelot a young man sat upon a large wooden straight-backed throne. It was far too large for his small frame as well as being incredibly uncomfortable, and was set at one end of a dark and dank reception hall. But all of these facts weren’t important: what was important was that here, on this old carven seat of power Morgana had once sat. Here is where she’d dwelt and planned for Arthur’s downfall. Here she’d reigned, and watched as a fellow sorcerer was tortured and stripped of his magic in order to make a point. And here Mordred now sat in his turn while he gathered his forces, created his strategies and planned his attack.

It was dark, and the room only partially lit by smoky torches. Which state of affairs suited most of the occupants just fine. There were, in fact, three beings in the decayed hall although an observer would only perceive two of them. One was the young man on the wooden throne. The other was what can only be described as a Hag, and even that description was kind. The creature was female in shape and dress, if smelly tattered rags could be called dress, and its face was lined with scars until the original features were totally obscured. Eye-holes were covered over with a spider-web of ropy silver flesh as though the orbs had been gouged out by a blunt knife at some early point of time. The nose remained, as did the mouth, which was full of misshapen teeth that might be labelled fangs by some. The lack of eyes did not appear to distress the creature known as the Dochraid. In fact light and fresh air seemed the only things that did cause the being distress. That, and magical swords wielded by certain powerful Warlocks. It was for this dislike of illumination that the lighting was poor and the meeting held during the dark hours of night.

The third member of this Triad of Magicians was bothered by neither the Dochraid’s foul appearance nor her sour smell. Of course that might have been due to the fact that the Lady Morgana no longer had a corporeal body to be assaulted by such unpleasant realities, or because they had met previously and Morgana was inured to the unpleasant miasma that surrounded the Hag.

No others attended this strange meeting having been dismissed earlier by the lord of the place; Mordred. It would not do for the Saxon Army to observe their Commander colluding with thin air as the Dochraid crept from her hiding place to take part in the conference. It seemed that she and Mordred were the only two beings on earth with whom the Lady Morgana could communicate with any effect.

Each of the three beings had a personal score to settle with one or both of the men who were the focus of this intense discussion. Morgana’s hatred of Arthur was surpassed only by her hatred, still tinged with fear, of Emrys. Mordred likewise had a score to settle with the man who had executed his beloved Kara as well as the servant who’d stood by and watched it happen before turning to betray his fellow magic-users. Betray by Mordred’s standards of course, and they were the only standards that really mattered anyway. The Dochraid herself would never rest easy until the threat which Emrys posed was eliminated from the world: he had severely wounded her with the powerful sword Excalibur, and it was only a matter of time before the Warlock returned to complete the task of killing her. This was not a state of affairs which brought the twisted being any sort of comfort, and so she threw herself into planning his demise with relish.

And so there the three sat, and communed, and planned their attack. The aim this time, was not just the fall of Arthur Pendragon King of Camelot, but the torture and death of his one-time servant Merlin, the Emrys of Legend. By uniting their forces in this manner, Three hoped to succeed where Two had failed before.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The day following that when Arthur had taken Leon and a small group of Knights into the forest for ‘war games’ with Merlin as the target, the procedure was repeated. This time the second group was taken, with the first group left in Sir Percival’s delicate hands for weapons training. The men who’d returned the previous evening had been required to give their word as Knights of Camelot that they’d not reveal the nature of the ‘training’ they’d experienced. Even more difficult, they’d been asked to refrain from mentioning Sir Bedwyr’s elevation to Captain. Arthur had promised that there would be an appropriate feast to mark the occasion after the final captain had been selected, and the men’d had to be content with that.

It had been a quiet and subdued group who had ridden through the gates to the city. The petty argument between Merlin and King Arthur had lasted only the first twenty minutes of the ride and the men had travelled in silence afterwards, each contemplating the day’s events. By the time the horses had been unsaddled, fed and cared for it was late indeed, and the knights were envying their comrades who’d remained behind in order to train with Percival. The tired group had dispersed to their individual rooms to settle into a well-earned rest.

Next morning was spent in tending to weapons and caring for armour before assembling once more on the training field. The first group of men watched, snickering quietly, as the others were led towards their horses waiting saddled in the courtyard. Feeling superior at knowing what was about to befall their unwary colleagues, they momentarily forgot that it was their turn now to face Sir Percival. This state of blissful ignorance was swiftly remedied.

Percival randomly pointed towards one of the men: “You. What weapon do you favour?” the hapless knight answered “Mace, Sir.”

Nodding, Sir Percival picked up his sword. “Then arm yourself and prepare to defend.” The young man did so and settled easily into a firm defensive stance, confident in his skills. Ten minutes later the young knight lay winded on the ground. He sported a bruised left hip and a wrenched right arm where Percival had used his sword to capture the short chain of his mace and whip it out of the knight’s grasp. Sir Percival’s deceptively gentle voice was heard once more, directed toward another knight: “You, sir. What weapon do you favour?”

And so the training progressed throughout the second day.

On the third day, King Arthur called a halt to training, saying that the knights needed a time of rest before the evening meal, which would also be used to announce his two new Captains. These would Sir Bedwyr, and Sir Cei, who’d been selected from the second group after they’d undergone similar practical training as the first group had.

This day of rest would give Arthur time to see to other matters in running his Kingdom and for going over preparations for the battle which Merlin had warned them was approaching their borders.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The evening of his return from his second foray into the forest found Merlin unsettled and restless. He’d returned to the Healing Rooms in a strange mood and decided to prepare himself a bath. This was a luxury he usually only allowed himself after spending a day in the stocks, when he was covered with rotting food, or had spent the afternoon as Arthur’s Practise Dummy on the training field. Tonight he wanted it just for something to do as well as to help him relax.

The cheap tin tub stood, as usual, in the corner of his sleeping chamber leaning against the wall. It was a matter of moments to right it and place it on the floor. Briefly he toyed with the idea of bathing in front of the fire in the main room, but dismissed the thought due to the risk of an unwary visitor getting the shock of their life by chancing across a naked, skinny Warlock who was soaking in a tub of water. The scenario was not one that Merlin enjoyed contemplating. He therefore settled on bathing in the more private sleeping chamber.

Pausing to consider, Merlin extended his hand over the bath and felt down towards the water reservoir beneath the castle. Exerting his will he filled the tub in a matter of seconds. Another moment of concentration and the water was heated to the perfect temperature and enchanted to remain so: Merlin hated nothing more than sitting in a tub of cooling bathwater. Moving towards the main room he checked his supply of fresh herbs. As hoped, he found a few sprigs of rosemary and grabbed them from the shelf. These, added to the handful of new pine needles he’d harvested on the way home would make a refreshing bath.

Dropping the handful of greenery into the water Merlin quickly shucked off his clothes and hopped in with a sigh of pleasure. He closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrant steam, allowing the warmth to soak through to his core. The past two days had been liberating and enjoyable: it had been the first time that Merlin’s use of magic had been openly sanctioned and accepted within Camelot, and he’d found the experience incredibly freeing. Being able to let loose his imagination and experiment with his magic had strengthened his understanding of both his own magical skills, and the way in which others may react to them. He’d come up with several new ideas on how to protect Camelot by this exercise, as well as strengthening his magical control and skill. Power would never, or at least rarely, be a problem for him. But control and finesse were something he could always improve on, as would his understanding of Magic in general.

Having Niniane close by over the past weeks had been immensely useful to the young warlock. There was so much about magic that he didn’t understand. He could still remember the stunned sense of shock he’d felt the morning they’d been discussing magical giftings. He’d had no idea that people tended to specialise in one or maybe two streams of magic only. He’d always assumed that his inability to master various spells quickly was due to his own lack in some area. And now Niniane told him that it was incredible he’d managed to work those spells at all, let alone master in the time frame he was allowed. And now he could do most of them wordlessly as well, which was apparently a further sign of his uniqueness. Niniane’s understanding and input had really opened his eyes.

Pondering Merlin shook his head slowly. The unsettled feeling he’d had all day sharpened into focus as he finally identified what had been bothering him: Isolation. All of his life he’d been set apart and different, needing to hide the very essence of who he was. Now that people knew who he was, and now that his magic was being ever more widely accepted he’d expected the feeling of isolation to diminish. In fact, the opposite had proven true. The more experience he had with magic, and the more he used it and found how very different he was from the average magic-user, the more alone he felt.

In years past he suffered the isolation of keeping himself and his gifts secret from all but a very select few. Now he suffered the isolation of being the ‘Great Emrys’, the ‘Most Powerful Sorcerer in All the World’. Sighing deeply Merlin bent his knees and squinched further down in the tub, submerging as much of his upper body as he could in the fragrant warmth. Resting his head on the rim, he stared dully at the ceiling, allowing himself this moment to indulge in the emotions he so often pushed away and refused to acknowledge.

The pain of his unfulfilled need was too much to entertain, so he usually found it easier to bury the natural feelings of yearning for companionship. Like most young men he longed for somebody to fill that aching hole inside; he longed for wife and family. Someone to love, nurture, protect and teach. Small beings that had something of himself in them, whom he could watch flourish and grow and develop. If he was sentenced to walk the earth for all of eternity, at least he should be able to have the comfort of his descendants to bring light and joy throughout the interminable years.

A wave of sadness washed over the young man and his eyes stung. “If only…” he found himself thinking. “If only there was somebody who really understands. Somebody whom I could just be myself with. Somebody like Freya…” Lifting his hand Merlin splashed water onto the floor as he grasped his nose between thumb and index finger, as if by pressure alone he could banish the thoughts and emotions. Dredging a sigh up from his toes Merlin heaved himself out of the bath, balancing a moment with hand on the nearby wall. Stepping out he reached over to pick up a set of sleeping clothes on the end of his bed, drying himself with an absent brush of magic. Readied for bed Merlin banished the bathwater and returned the tub to its place against the wall.

His familiar cot stood ready: the pad now stuffed with lambswool rather than straw. Heart still full, and aching with melancholy, the warlock settled himself under the woollen blanket and closed his eyes. He knew that sleep would take a while to visit this night.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Next morning after breakfast Merlin stood once more in the main courtyard preparing to call Aithusa. Arthur wanted a progress report on what was happening in the surrounding country, and the White Dragon was best placed to provide the needed information. The roaring sound of Merlin’s summons did more than bring Aithusa to him: before very long every person and child within earshot had appeared, ringing the large open area. Even some of the noble-men and -women were present, although these tended to conceal themselves within the lower rooms of the citadel, and not display their curiosity openly.

With a bellow Aithusa showed herself, a white shape against the cloudy sky, and began to settle gently toward the cobblestones. Her taloned feet landed delicately, and she threw her head back and unleashed a great gout of flame toward the sky as her tail lashed and clattered against the ground. The spectators gasped and drew back as one, started by the display.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, Gaius-like, and cocked his head. *Was that really necessary?*

*Yes.* was the succinct answer. *I felt like it, so it was necessary.*

Deciding not to press the issue, Merlin shook his head and moved on to the business part of the meeting.

“King Arthur wishes a report on the lands surrounding our city. What news do you have, Aithusa?”

The Dragon’s report brought nothing of note: all was quiet; there was neither sign of an army marching nor sign of imminent attack. Merlin then publicly asked Aithusa to continue her surveying of the surrounding countryside, and to come to himself or Arthur should there be any change. The report was then passed on to a waiting servant to be carried to Arthur. Merlin dropped his head down to focus on the cobbles, speaking silently to his draconic friend as he did so. *Let us fly, my friend.*

Aithusa lowered her great head to rest before her Lord, inviting him to mount. *With pleasure.*

Merlin was suddenly a blur of movement as he flung himself towards the great beast. The crowd gasped as the dragon launched herself skyward with a mighty shove of her limbs, the blue-robed sorcerer astride her neck. Shielding their eyes from dust and particles of dirt kicked up by the rapid departure, the ordinary men and women returned to their duties, comforted and awed that their city and their families were protected by both such a powerful enchanter and a majestic beast.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

This flight contained no acrobatics, no loops, no dips, spirals or anything else challenging. Rather it was a time of friendship and comfort as two beings, both the only one of their kind in the world, spent time together. There was none other who could possibly understand what these two creatures of magic experienced together that day: a melding of minds and purpose, and a giving and taking of fellowship. For all the long years that Emrys expected to endure, Aithusa would be there. Barring accident the two Immortals would be available to each other in their unique and different ways for all of Eternity. The thought brought comfort and stability to them both.

But, for all her power and majesty, Aithusa was still a young beast, and her outlook reflected that.

*You will need me to fight, My Lord, in this coming battle?* She could not disguise her eagerness.

*No, my friend. I will not.*

*I can fight well! I will frighten those Saxons with one roar, and drive them away! If they do not leave I will burn them with my flame. They will not dare come near Camelot while I, Aithusa, protect it!*

*Yes, I know my friend. You are brave Aithusa, and mighty. There is none that could stand against you if you choose to oppose them. But think on this; if you fight the Saxon Army and win all by yourself what have the men of Camelot learned? Have they learned to be strong together? Have they learned to stand side by side in combat, and form alliance and friendship? Have they learned to stand up and fight for what they value, and for what is important? Or have they learned to sit idly by while somebody else rescues them from their troubles?*

Aithusa was silent for a long while, contemplating the words Emrys had spoken. It was a truth that burned and galled her. Merlin could feel her confusion and discontent.
*This is a lesson I learned long ago, my Dragon. I learned it painfully and slowly by experience, and Kilgarrah the Great was often my teacher in this.* Aithusa’s wingbeats continued, steady unhurried and powerful as the two conversed and debated.

Merlin continued: *I know what it is to be more powerful than any man alive, yet to stand back and let others accomplish, by pain, blood and effort, what I could have done in moments. I have also known what it is to deliver my friends and loved ones from forces beyond their comprehension and yet receive no acknowledgement. It is our destiny, Aithusa, to protect, to guide and to teach. Sometimes this means we fight with sword and magic and talon. Other times it means we must stand back and let others fight and struggle and hurt, sometimes to die, and learn the lessons they are destined to learn.

*Pause, Aithusa, and reach into the Old Magic. You will find that what I say is true.*

A long silence fell, broken only by the concussion of wing membranes against the buffeting wind. Merlin sat while his mount submerged herself in thought, content and at peace for the first time in several days: here was somebody who needed him not as a sorcerer, or as a means to an end, but simply as a friend.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Several hours later Merlin returned to the Citadel. Aithusa had reluctantly conceded that Merlin was in the right about her role in the coming battle. As a Creature of the Old Religion she knew that his words were true and wise. As a young creature eager to prove herself she struggled with the need to prove herself strong, mighty and independent. It was a struggle that Merlin himself had often fought, and the benefit of his experience now helped to soothe the White Dragon.

Returning to the Healing Rooms he found Niniane in attendance. While away dealing with other matters she had smoothly stepped into the role of tending the sick and doing the daily rounds. Merlin sat with a nod of thanks; he appreciated the way his druid assistant was working out. With his double duties as Court Physician and unofficial Court Sorcerer he was swamped. It was such a blessing to be able to leave the ordinary healing work in Niniane’s hands, and know that she would deal competently with it, or contact him via mind-speak if she could not. Although mind-speak, or telepathy as Merlin called it, was not Niniane’s gifting, Merlin’s power more than made up for this lack. Close association over the past weeks had ‘attuned’ him to her mental voice, and she had only to reach out to him mentally for him to sense her and make the connection. As easy and natural as this communication came to the pair, they tended to mostly use verbal speech, and saved telepathy for special occasions or when they needed to communicate over a distance.
Mind elsewhere and emotions still weighing heavy on him Merlin was only half aware of Niniane’s movements about the chamber. He looked up, startled, when she set a bowl of thick steaming broth in front of him. The table already sported a platter of fresh bread and a bowl of rich yellow butter. Smiling gratefully the young man nodded in thanks and picked up a chunk of bread and applied the butter: It was a luxury he only rarely enjoyed. He soaked the bread in his broth and began to eat.

Niniane smiled and quietly took the seat opposite, applying herself to her own meal. She knew that Emrys, or Merlin as she must call him, often forgot to eat. He was usually so focused on his magic, or healing, or some task set by King Arthur that food was forgotten. The platter of fruit and cheese delivered daily to the healing rooms was always available, but when possible Niniane went to the kitchen and wheedled something more substantial out of the Head Cook. Listening to the gossip which was so readily available in the kitchens, she learned that Merlin had earned himself a soft spot in the hearts of most of the Castle servants long before it became known that he had magic. His faithful and selfless service to their beloved Arthur had won universal respect, and Niniane was not above using this to her and Merlin’s advantage. Not that she would ever inform Merlin of any of this: his embarrassment would render him incapable of enjoying the spoils of her efforts.

Niniane was aware that something was bothering the Warlock. She knew it was something more than just the physical tiredness of the last few days. More than once she’d caught sight of a shadow in Merlin’s blue eyes, and a frown on his surprisingly delicate brow. She’d deduced it was something personal that was disturbing the peace of the young man, and hoped that he would eventually confide in her. The druidess knew better than to inquire outright: Merlin was an intensely private person and did not reveal his thoughts or feelings easily. So she served quietly in the background, doing what she could to ease the burdens his young shoulders carried, while dreaming and hoping that one day he might notice her; plain, brown and mousy as she was.

Merlin scraped his bowl with the wooden spoon, then sopped the last of the broth with his bread. He smiled in gratitude as Niniane rose and took the bowl, replacing it with a platter of fruit. Nodding once more, he helped himself to a peach and began eating, enjoying the sweet firm flesh.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

After several hours of preparing herbs, philtres and draughts, Merlin cleared away his workbench. Due to Niniane’s competent assistance, and Gaius’ provision of the more standard medicaments, he needed to expend far less effort on this time-consuming task than he expected. There was something soothing, however, being surrounded by the scents of familiar ingredients, chopping, weighing, mixing and heating. The manual work helped soothe and centre him, almost as much as communing with the Magic of Nature did.

d suspect that she was reading his mind in order to work so seamlessly with him. But he did know better: he was familiar with her mental touch and she only initiated them when circumstances forced her to. Still. It was pleasant to work with somebody who anticipated your needs this way. Musing, Merlin hoped that the druidess would decide to stay in Camelot as his assistant. Perhaps he should speak to Arthur about formalising her position?

When the bench was clear Merlin moved to his sleeping chamber to collect a certain padded pouch. Returning, he opened it and spilled the Crystal of Neahtid onto the workspace.

“You’re going to scry again?” Niniane inquired from the back corner where she was busy tidying shelves.

“Yes. I have a meeting with Arthur later, and he will want to know what Mordred is up to. You know that I believe the Dochraid has given her alliance to Mordred and Morgana. I need to know if it’s true so we can prepare.”

“Be careful Merlin.”

But Merlin was already lost; his gaze focused on the Crystal cupped in his hands. Niniane kept working quietly, one eye on Merlin and the other on her task. The trance this time lasted only about 20 minutes, its ending marked by a swiftly indrawn breath and a grunt. Taking the saucepan from the stove, Niniane filled one of the wooden cups before placing a generous pinch of dried chamomile in it. The steeping tea was placed before the warlock who was resting his head on his hand. Merlin smiled up at the druidess and took the cup, feeling the warmth seep through the seasoned wood before taking a sip. Niniane rested her hand briefly on the bony shoulder, offering what comfort she could.

“Thanks.”

Niniane returned to the shelves once more.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur & Gwen’s chambers were redolent with lavender which only thinly camouflaged the smell of vomit, and Merlin wrinkled his nose. As accustomed as he was to illness, some aromas were never pleasant.

Guinevere had been suffering terribly with morning sickness, which she’d discovered wasn’t just confined to the morning. She was one of the unlucky minority who experienced the nausea throughout the day, and today it had been particularly bad. Her maid Maerwina had been in attendance all day, and was still with her, sitting beside the bed quietly mending one of the Queen’s silk dresses. Gwen dozed, face pale against the pillows. Merlin closed the heavy oaken door softly as he entered so as not to disturb the Queen’s rest.

“How is she?” was Merlin’s greeting to Arthur.

“Sleeping. She’s not throwing up at least.”

Merlin nodded and took a seat at the table.

Arthur poured two goblets of wine. “Is this normal? This much sickness?”

Merlin sipped, nodding. “It can be, yes. It’s called morning sickness because it’s more often felt in the morning, but it can come any time, as Gwen’s discovered.”

“Isn’t there anything you can give her for it?”

“Nothing stronger than the tea Maerwina is brewing for her. Anything else is not good for the baby.”

Nodding, Arthur took a large gulp of the rich red wine, serious face betraying the depth of his worry for his beloved Guinevere. “It’s just that she’s vomiting more than she’s keeping down. Surely it can’t be good for her!”

Merlin stood and placed his hand on Arthur’s arm, leaning close for emphasis. “It just happens this way sometimes, Arthur. Most cases this severe get better within a few weeks. Wina knows what to do: I’ve instructed her on how to care for Gwen, and so has Niniane. Frequent small amounts of warm weak tea, and plain food only if Gwen feels like it. I promise you, it should settle.”

“Should settle? Most cases? What if it doesn’t Merlin?” Arthur broke free and began to pace once more. “Maybe we should get Gaius in to check her as well.”

“Arthur, I assure you Gaius can do nothing more either; this is a normal part of pregnancy. But, if it will make you feel better, have Gaius check her by all means.”

“Arrrgggh!” Arthur threw his arm up in frustration. Turning to pace in the other direction he drained his goblet. “I just…I don’t know what to do! I can’t help her!”

“Arthur!” Merlin’s voice lashed out with quiet authority. “Sit down! You are not helping her this way. She needs your calm and encouragement, not you raging around like a bad-tempered bull.”

The King of Camelot heeded the voice of his former servant, and planted himself at the table.

“That’s better,” said Merlin, re-filling Arthur’s goblet half way before topping it with water. At his King’s glare the warlock spoke “Can’t have you getting drunk now, can we Sire? Watered wine is better for you.”

Grumbling, Arthur snatched the vessel with bad grace.

“Now, let’s discuss the matters at hand,” and Merlin went on to inform Arthur what he’d seen in the Crystal; “Mordred has almost finished gathering his army. He has also managed to contact Morgana’s spirit, essence, or whatever you wish to call it. Morgana, in turn, has contacted the Dochraid who has also joined the cause.”

“You say that as though it is a bad thing.” Observed the King. “Who, or what is the Dochraid?”

“It’s a who.” Merlin rubbed his face over his forehead. “She and I have had dealings in the past. You remember the time Gwen was enchanted, and we took her to the Cauldron of Arianrhod so that Dolma could heal her?” (1)

“How could I forget?”

“Well, I had to go to the Dochraid to find out how to cure Gwen. She’s human, or she used to be. She was altered by dark ceremonies many centuries ago in order to become immortal and to increase her connection to the Old Religion.” Just another Immortal being I’ve met who’s become twisted and insane. Is there even one Immortal who is happy and content? The depth of his bitterness startled Merlin.

“She’s a ‘child of the earth’,” he continued, “and has been bound to the magic of the rocks and the soil. She needs to live within it in order to maintain her connection to Magic and her strength. And don’t ask me how I know all this: just trust me, I do. The story’s too long to go into now.” And I have no intention of explaining about Dolma to you, either.

Merlin prayed that this last thought had not been given away by his face.

“Morgana has obviously had dealings with the Dochraid several times in the past, and established some sort of bond with her. Enough of a bond that they can communicate now. Anyway, the Dochraid has a grudge against me, and is contacting sorcerers and sending them to Mordred. She can’t abide daylight, and must live underground or surrounded by rocks or stone.” Merlin stopped talking and allowed silence to fall within the chamber. Small sounds filled the void; a log burning to embers in the fireplace broke and shifted, tinkling softly. Gwen sighed and murmured as she turned in her sleep, and Wina the maid stood swiftly to check on her charge.

Merlin returned his gaze to Arthur and continued on. “I can fight the magical threats for you, Arthur. But I cannot, or perhaps will not, fight the physical ones.” He then sat silent and waited for the explosion.

“But…What? Why?” the king demanded. “I thought you wanted to use your magic, to be openly accepted? Isn’t that what all these weeks, and this recent training has been about?”

“Arthur, think!” Merlin paused again. “How would it look if your Sorcerer overcame any and all challenges to the Kingdom? You want to unite Albion, don’t you?”

“You know I do…”

“Then how will you do that if the other Kingdoms think you are nothing more than my pawn? You know how stories spread, and how rumours start. Besides, your Knights and the men they command need this. They need to prove to themselves, to the general populace, and to the other Kingdoms that Camelot’s Army is strong and well able to defend the City. I will not take this away from them, and nor should you. For this reason, Aithusa also will not fight. She may act as liaison or give information on the army’s movements from the sky if she chooses. I will not command her in this.”

Silence descended once more, as both men considered quietly the words that had been spoken.

After a lengthy pause Arthur spoke. “You are right, Merlin. I only wish there were some way to protect my men and reduce their losses.”

The Warlock smiled gently. “I will not leave you defenseless, my King, I give you my word. There are ways I can help protect Camelot in this hour of need. Do you remember, many years ago, a large blue gem, and the name ‘Cornelius Sigan’? (2) There are some ideas of his that I can borrow to lend you some aid…”

Once more, discussions continued far into the night.

(1) With All My Heart Season Five Episode Nine.
(2) The Curse of Cornelius Sigan Season Two, Episode One.

Chapter Text

It was Merlin’s second formal meeting in the Round Table Chamber since Arthur came to know about his magic. The first one had been more than a month ago and fraught with uncertainty, temper and arguments. This meeting promised more of the same even though the subject matter would be far different.

Today the Round Table were discussing the coming attack from Mordred and the steps that would be taken to ready the city and her people. Wistfully Merlin thought back to the time when all these decisions were made unilaterally by the King, with courtiers, knights and subjects simply obeying. The old process had saved a lot of argument, angst, stress and time. But, in all fairness, people did deserve the courtesy of being allowed to have a say in their own well-being and protection. And this type of open discussion brought up far more options and ideas than when it was left to a select few. Merlin gritted his teeth and pasted a smile on his face, determined to support his King in this frustrating but necessary process.

Currently the Table was discussing himself and his magic. It was a subject he’d never expected to be brought into the open, other than from himself being bound to a stake surrounded by kindling with soldiers holding torches nearby. Merlin admitted, wryly, that frustrating as this situation was, he much preferred being alive and free. Not that he’d ever have allowed himself to die by fire. No, he’d long ago decided that he would cast a protection barrier over himself and wait until smoke obscured his person before escaping magically. The only problem then would be that he’d be forever unable to return to Camelot without being thought a ghost risen from the dead. Ah, well. Better a live ghost than a dead warlock he philosophised to himself. He then focused once more on the discussion taking place around the Table.

The six weeks since his and Arthur’s return to Camelot had seen the King’s plan to expose the populace to benevolent magic flourish. Most people now had either seen Merlin perform magic, been present for one of Aithusa’s summonings, or had themselves, a friend or family member healed by either a Druid healer or Merlin himself. Overall, the people were far less reactive when the subject of magic came up. There were, of course, some die-hards who refused to accept this new change of climate. Merlin now appreciated Arthur’s wisdom in not legislating Magic too soon. If that path had been followed anarchy could well have been the result as people revolted just for the sake of the thing rather than because they truly felt the new law to be in error.

Merlin had to give credit to Arthur’s patience and diplomatic skill: enduring these interminable discussions would have long since driven the warlock to insanity. Hmm…perhaps that explains a few things about Arthur’s actions. A sneaky smile wreathed the dark-haired man’s face as he pondered further. This might be fodder for a good few jibes about the sanity of kings in the future...

The Round Table meetings, however tedious, had proven worthwhile though. Pros and cons had been discussed, the good and bad in accepting magic, and minor points made and conceded. Throughout it all the King had skilfully steered the process, maintaining the general direction he wished them to go in. By including the Nobles and courtiers in this, Arthur had ensured that they each felt they ‘owned’ the law and had contributed to it, thus improving the chance of its general acceptance. There would always be those who flatly disagreed, but the open debate had paved the way forward.

Currently King Arthur had raised the issue of protecting the general populace during the expected attack.

“We currently have the White Dragon Aithusa keeping watch over our borders. From the air she is able to survey a vast area, and we should have advance warning of any approach by the Saxon Army. The question remains; what preparations should we be putting into place during this time?”

Discussion ranged over stockpiling supplies, about ensuring food was available for those within a besieged city, and how to distribute these resources fairly. Merlin watched and bided his time, waiting for an opportunity to raise one of the points he and Arthur had discussed in the King’s Chambers last evening. During a discussion between the outspoken Lord Linderth and the newly promoted Sir Bedwyr Merlin rose quietly to his feet and waited. Eventually most side discussions quieted and eyes were turned to the Warlock.

“If I may speak?” Merlin asked courteously.

King Arthur nodded and gestured towards his friend. Lord Melville scowled in displeasure and Linderth actually opened his mouth ready to protest. Reining in his desire to seal the annoying Lord’s mouth shut with a magical curse, Merlin raised his voice and spoke clearly.

“We have established that the Army will approach Camelot from the north. This leaves the south and the surrounding lands open to us. Why not evacuate those people from the city who wish to go, particularly the women, children and elderly. Any who wish to stay and defend their property will be given the choice to do so. Reducing the population in this way has several benefits: first and foremost it removes from danger those who are most at risk and reduces our losses. It will also mean that there are more supplies left in the city to support those who will stay and defend; extending the time our Army can defend Camelot.” Merlin paused, took his seat, and waited for the discussion to begin.

As expected the argumentative Lord Melville was the first to voice his opinion. “The idea has merit, as long as we have enough time to implement it. But what are you proposing? That we banish the helpless women and children to the forest and leave them to fend for themselves? That would mean an even more certain death than staying in Camelot while we are under attack!”

An outcry arose at the brutality of this plan of action, and King and Warlock shared an amused glance. This was precisely the outcome they’d anticipated, and now they had only to wait in order to present the solution they’d come up with. Voices rose as Lords and Courtiers took a loud stance, argued their point, and then abruptly changed opinion in order to argue just as vociferously for the opposing viewpoint.

Merlin stood once more, and opened his mouth to speak. “There are resources in the forest that have not yet been considered.”

Various persons scoffed and jeered: “What resources? Trees? Deer? Rabbits? What about shelter for the elderly, and warmth?”

“And who would hunt these rabbits and deer for the others? “ another chimed in.

“Yes! How many of these people have hunting skills, or are able to construct shelters from nothing?”

Merlin spoke once more: “These are not the resources I was referring to, although they will form part of the solution. I was referring to the Druids. There are several camps already established in the area surrounding Camelot. They already have shelters built, and are familiar with hunting and providing food for groups. In addition, we can issue rations of grain and travel food to those who will be evacuated, and thus augment their supplies.” The Warlock continued, listing his points logically and clearly.

“The Druid healers who have been amongst you for a month now have contacted their respective camps and discussed sheltering evacuees. We have four camps who have volunteered to take citizens of Camelot into care for several weeks if need be. These camps will provide shelter and some food. More importantly, they will assist our citizens in developing the skills needed to live comfortably until it is safe for them to return to the city.

“The Druids are a peaceful people, as you know, and will not join Camelot to fight. But they are eager to assist us in this way, and freely offer shelter and provision for a good number of our citizens.”

This idea effectively hijacked the discussion, and the next hour was spent on discussing in exhaustive detail the logistics of evacuating the vulnerable population. Merlin sat back and allowed the discussion to proceed. Arthur raised an eyebrow in query towards the warlock, gesturing with the wine-jug. Nodding, Merlin extended his goblet for some much-needed refreshment and fortification.

Eventually the point was settled and a decision made: those vulnerable citizens of the lower town who wished would be evacuated into the care of the four druid camps who had volunteered their services. Healers Merick, Armine, Jessamy and Paynel would lead the groups, who would have rations of grain and dried meats apportioned from the Royal Storehouse. Evacuation was planned for mid-day tomorrow, and the Town Criers would inform the populace. This would give them approximately 24 hours’ notice in which to organise themselves, which would hopefully leave several days clear for travel before the expected attack.

Discussion then turned to defence of the City. Once again Lord Melville’s voice could be heard clearly across the Chamber: “We have all been told about how powerful a Warlock Merlin is. Why can he not just eliminate the Saxon Army? Why does Camelot need to fight at all?” For somebody who’d argued so strenuously against magic only a few weeks ago, he seemed to have achieved a radical about-face. “Surely he is powerful enough. After all, he is rumoured to be the Great Emrys, is he not? The greatest Sorcerer to ever have lived?”

A profound silence fell in the large chamber. Merlin swore he could hear his own heartbeat echoing off the stone walls as he cursed quietly under his breath; this was information that he’d hoped to keep secret for some time yet.

Snatches of conversation filled the cavernous chamber, flitting amongst the sunbeams streaming through overhead windows.

“…Emrys? Merlin is Emrys?”

“Who is Emrys? What does it mean?”

“I have heard the Druid Healers address him as Emrys. I thought nothing of it…”

“Greatest Sorcerer? Impossible!”

“What is an Emrys?”

“…rubbish!”

Arthur and Merlin shared a frantic look across the Table as the murmurs flew, communicating without words. They had not planned on how to handle this situation, and were now flying blind. Merlin looked appealingly at his Liege, pleading for him to field this one. For Merlin to answer questions about Emrys was too close to him boasting for his own comfort. Arthur frantically shook his head: he knew only what Merlin had told him, and felt woefully inadequate explaining a concept which he was only just beginning to grasp himself. The two men locked eyes; each equally shocked as they came to an impasse.

Seeing the discomfort of the two men, Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth rose gracefully to his feet to fill the void. “If I may, My Lords?” The venerable librarian questioned both Arthur and Merlin. The two friends sagged slightly in relief, nodding, only too happy for the cleric to take over.

“During my many years of study, I have come across several mentions of the Sorcerer named Emrys.” He was first mentioned in prophesied several centuries ago. It was foretold that a Sorcerer would be born who would stand for good and right. It was foretold that he would be named Emrys, the Immortal or Powerful One. Since that day the legend of Emrys has been passed down the generations. The Druids have long awaited the coming of Emrys, whom they believe is Magic Incarnate, as they believe there is no limit to the power that he commands. It is said that he can banish the very stars from the sky, and stop the rising of the Sun if he so chooses.”

Geoffrey resumed his seat to resounding silence. Merlin pinned the white-haired librarian with a glare. Thanks! He thought viciously. There was no doubt that were he not fearful of confirming the worst fears of everybody around the table, Sir Geoffrey may well be drawing his last breath at this very moment for landing him in it. Well, at least he glossed over the ‘Immortal’ bit. Merlin drew a breath, seeking some calm amidst the storm of voices beginning to whisper once more. And I haven’t had to tell it all myself. Just wait until Gaius hears about this… Well, I guess I’d better get it over with.

The impossibly young, fragile looking warlock stumbled to his feet, knocking the arms of his chair against the Table as he did so. The sound echoed unnaturally in the chamber. Hand trembling slightly Merlin Emrys grasped his goblet and took a mouthful for courage. “It is true that some call me Emrys.” He began. “Although this was something I did not discover until I came to Camelot eleven years ago. I have not attempted to alter the stars or the sun, so I do not know if I am able to. I have no reason to try such a thing. It is also true that I do not know the limit of my power: this, again, is not something I have sought to know. My magical ability has so far only been used when absolutely necessary; to protect King Arthur and Camelot, to support his reign, and to protect my own life. I do not know if I am truly the Emrys that is spoken of in legend. I can only ask you to look at me, at who I am, and decide for yourselves.” Merlin collapsed into his seat, heart thundering and skin damp with perspiration. This was a discussion he would have gladly forgone, and he only hoped that the reputation of clumsiness that he had taken pains to cloak himself with would stand him in good stead.

Arthur nodded at him in approval before thumping a balled fist into Merlin’s scrawny bicep. Merlin responded with an audible “Ouch!” as the King stood and addressed the Table.

“Well, the question of Emrys aside, let us move on. I believe we have lost the thread of the original discussion; the point raised by Lord Melville. Merlin, will you answer?”

“Of course, Sire.” Merlin stood once more, bowing respectfully as he did so. “The answer as to why I will not vanquish the Saxon Army from a distance is that it would be counter-productive to do so. We have a strong army in Camelot, and the best Knights of the Realm to lead them, managed and trained by King Arthur who is renowned one of the fiercest and best warriors in the land. What need have you of a sorcerer to fight against a mortal enemy? I will not so disrespect Camelot’s Army nor her Commander or her Knights.” Merlin’s voice rang with unaccustomed authority.

“Furthermore: to strategically rely on one individual for your entire defence is a poor choice. Whether I am Emrys or not, I am still only one man, and therefore I am as fallible as the next person. I will not risk the safety and wellbeing of Camelot in this way.”

Grumbles of disagreement merged with shouts of approval as the Council responded to Merlin’s statements. Lord Linderth was next to raise his voice; “But what of magical attacks? Surely you would not abandon us to the mercy of the sorcerers that Mordred has gathered? Who will stand against the evil magic if you will not?”

Both King and Sorcerer smiled at this question; it led precisely where they wished, and would give Merlin a chance to respond positively. In a ringing tone Merlin answered the charge: “I promise all of you, as I swore in my Oath of Allegiance to King Arthur, that I will protect both Camelot and the King to the best of my ability. I will stand with you against any magical attack, and will defend the City with all my might as I have ever done!”

Many of the disputers were settled by this argument, but there were still heard several people voicing their dissatisfaction in the background. Whispers of “He’s a coward; won’t fight for us,” and “What’s the use of having magic if you won’t use it?”

Merlin Emrys dealt with these detractors in a direct and impressive manner: clapping his hands above his head he magically enhanced the sound to travel throughout the Chamber, ensuring that all eyes were fixed on him. Extending his arms to either side he conjured the most powerful magical display that any had ever seen, including most of the Druids. Thunder rolled and cracked, rocking the very foundations of the hall; lightning flashed, forking from wall to wall. Thick bolts scorched the sight of those gathered, forcing many to shield their faces from the heat generated. The floor trembled, windows rattled, goblets fell from the table spilling wine across the surface to drip onto the floor, and dust fell from the ceiling. After several long moments Merlin dropped his arms to his sides, ending the furore abruptly. Shock and awe was displayed on every face present, and men lost their voices in fear.

A quiet steady voice intoned gently: “Do you really wish to try and force me to do something I do not wish to?” and the blue-robed Court Physician bowed respectfully to the Members of the Round Table, and left the chamber.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

An emotionally drained warlock spent the remainder of the day with his old mentor, Gaius. The elderly man was uniquely suited to dealing with the aftermath of the tumultuous meeting, having known Merlin well for so many years. In need of solace as well as plain undemanding acceptance, Merlin sought the familiarity of Gaius’ encircling arms.

Rumour had informed Gaius of the events in the Round Table Chamber long before Merlin appeared at his house. Not pausing to knock, the warlock pushed open the door and peered inside.

“Ah, Merlin.” The elderly physician greeted from his seat by the fire. “I’ve been expecting you. Come in.”

Merlin nodded and gratefully did so. Gaius heaved himself out from comfortable nest and moved to the covered cauldron suspended over the fire. Grasping the handle with a bunched-up cloth he proceeded to dish out two servings of a savoury stew which had been keeping warm. “After I heard what happened I sent my maid Averil to the kitchens for some food. I guessed I’d be seeing you at some time. Here, sit down.”

A steaming bowl was thrust into Merlin’s hands and the two men settled into familiar positions at either side of the table. The discussion that took place brought understanding and comfort to both men as they shared, discussed and debated. Merlin debriefed on the events which had transpired during the Round Table meeting.

Gaius’s response was typical of the crusty old man: “Well, you could hardly expect such a radical change in philosophy to occur painlessly, could you?”

Merlin snorted in amusement. “No, I suppose not. But I also didn’t expect to have to frighten the pants off half the Nobles of Camelot to make a point, either!” He dug his spoon into his food, mashing it around in frustration.

“Merlin.” Gaius reached out and placed a restraining hand on the young man’s arm, stilling the angry movements. “The action is regrettable, yes, but under the circumstances understandable. And it was certainly effective!” A wicked grin spread across the lined face.

Blue eyes met blue, and for a moment Merlin’s face remained stressed and serious. It wasn’t long before the tension collapsed into a familiar wide grin, and the warlock commented “You should have seen their faces, Gaius! It was almost worth it just to see their shock.”

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly, each revelling in the friendship and company of the other. Two physicians and magic-workers together; talking over their work, their lives, their joys and challenges.

Towards the end of the evening Merlin passed along Arthur’s request to Gaius that he assist in manning the Hospital Rooms which would be set up on the lower floor once more, in order to deal with the expected casualties from the battle. “Niniane will also be there, as will the remaining Druid healers from the lower city. I will be too, of course, but I may be called away to deal with the sorcerers at any time.”

Gaius enfolded the taller man in a hug, clapping him gently on the back. “Of course, Merlin. I will be there as usual. Where else would I be?”

Nodding, Merlin took his leave and headed through the darkened streets into the citadel.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Next morning was spent in Merlin’s usual routine: waking, breakfast with Niniane, then rounds of the Citadel and inner city visiting the sick and dispensing remedies. He found the familiar actions soothing, and did his best to ignore any odd looks that were thrown his way by members of the court and others. By the number of servants who stumbled to a halt before hurrying off in another direction on catching sight of him, Merlin deduced that the story of his display in the Round Table Chamber had spread throughout the entire city. Wherever he went he caught half-finished sentences quickly hushed, and the name ‘Emrys’ seemed to assault his ears at every turn.

All this only exacerbated the loneliness and isolation the young man had been struggling with over recent weeks, causing him to feel even more set apart from those whose lives were not governed by troublesome destinies. Setting his shoulders, he did the best he could to ignore the whispers and continue with his work. Niniane followed him faithfully, assisting, watching, and taking note. She could see the tension Merlin carried in his body, and wished she might do something to lighten the burden he bore.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The afternoon was spent in a much more enjoyable manner. In the interests of helping the Knights become accustomed to fighting magic, Merlin was to take them on, one by one, on the training field. Sword and armour against magic alone. The Warlock’s blue eyes glinted with mischief as he contemplated the various ways he could wreak havoc on the fighting men. Temporarily, of course.

Once upon a time the heavily-armoured Knights would have laughed at the sight of skinny, clumsy un-protected Merlin facing them on the training field. Many of them still remembered the numerous times King Arthur had used his servant for target practise, or dressed him in protective metal simply for the joy of whacking him with the flat of his sword over and over.

Now, the sight of the gawky youth standing alone on the green grass caused more than one experienced warrior to swallow hard with nerves. Initially Merlin created a barrier around himself, and allowed the Knights to exhaust themselves trying to break through it. This proved to be a waste of time and effort, however: if the men wanted to exercise their muscles fighting against an impermeable wall, there were actual walls (not to mention dummies, practise targets and such like) on which to practise. So Merlin dissolved his protective dome, and dealt with each man individually as they came at him.

Some he tossed into the air to land inelegantly on the ground, some he sent stinging insects in to bite mercilessly, and some he doused with water from a clear blue sky, soaking and chilling the clothes beneath their armour. Others he blasted with icy winds or sand-laden tornadoes. Whatever may be said against Merlin, his ingenuity and creativity were never in doubt. Bogs, quick-sand, hail, illusory animals, willy-willies; all were used in succession in order to confuse and overcome the Knights. There was no way they could overcome him, of course, but that was not the point. The aim of the exercise was to accustom the men to facing magical tactics, to condition them to continuing to fight even when disoriented and confused.

Merlin, of course, saved the best defence for his last opponent: Arthur. He stood, relaxed and grinning, hands loosely by his side as the King went through his usual warm-up routine, swinging Excalibur in glittering circles and lunging to loosen muscles. Arthur settled comfortably into stance and swung overhanded neatly and efficiently at the warlock. The stroke continued on through where Merlin had been standing, and it took all of Arthur’s battle-honed reflexes not to over-reach himself and lose balance. Frowning he glanced back to Merlin who apparently still stood in the same place, smiling at his King. Arthur re-set himself and struck once more, bringing his sword up from underneath this time. Once again his sword met no resistance and Merlin was left in position, unruffled.

Arthur began to get frustrated: perhaps he was telegraphing his moves too clearly and needed to be more subtle. He glared at the warlock “Merlin…” before swinging without warning in a vicious attack. So focused was he on making contact that he put too much force behind the movement, and overbalanced. With an incredibly subtle push Merlin landed King Arthur like a beetle on his back in the middle of the grounds. The surrounding Knights clapped and cheered appreciatively: it wasn’t often that they saw their King at such a disadvantage and they were enjoying the spectacle.

Grinning like a loon, Merlin extended his hand towards Arthur, and hefted him to his feet. “Care to try that again, My Lord?” he inquired of the flustered King.

“But…What….Grrr!” Arthur was wordless with frustration, his face reddening. Again and again Arthur tried to pin down and strike his opponent, and time and time again Merlin simply wasn’t there! It took Arthur almost quarter of an hour to deduce what was happening, and this was achieved only by slowing his movements to half-speed. As he swung towards the man, Merlin vanished, only to reappear in the exact same spot after the stroke had passed. Eyes wide, Arthur shouted “That’s not fair! You…you’re teleporting!”

Grinning smugly, Merlin agreed: “Yep!”

“But how am I supposed to hit you if you keep popping away and then back again?”

Merlin chuckled before replying. “You see, I really did pay attention all those times you trained the new-comers. How many times did you tell them; ‘Keep moving. The best way to avoid a hit is to not be there’? I’m just interpreting the principle differently, by really not being there.”

Arthur’s sputtering reply was lost in an almighty bellow from above. Merlin’s face snapped upward, as he projected his voice in an incredible growling roar: “Aithusa! Here!”

The knights scampered backwards, creating a large enough space for the Dragon to land before her Dragonlord.

The White Dragon bowed her head in greeting before announcing her news: “The Saxon Army approaches, My Lord.” It took the knights several moments to realise that she was addressing Merlin with this honorific, rather than their King.

“How far, Aithusa?” the warlock asked.

“A day’s march on horseback, maybe slightly less. Their sorcerers have been using magic to mask their advance; this is why I have not discovered them until now.”

“Never mind; we would not have known they were this close without your help. Thank you. I will call if you are needed again.” The great dragon nodded and launched herself powerfully upwards.

Merlin and Arthur shared a glance, a single quiet moment before the mayhem that would now fall. It was time to make final preparations.

Chapter Text

Servants bustled up and down the corridors outside the rooms designated as the hospital area. It was a scant fortnight since the last injuries had been dismissed back home after the battle of Camlann, and now the citadel was readying itself once more. Wooden furniture clattered loudly against flagstone floors and voices mumbled, echoed, whispered and shouted as men and women moved rapidly about their tasks. Leather boots and wooden-soled shoes clapped or shuffled along, adding to the racket. All in all, the noise and movement was enough to ensure that anybody within range would rapidly develop a headache.

Each of the four rooms had a waist-high wooden table near the door, where the new arrivals would be assessed and receive initial or emergency treatment. Behind this, cots were stacked in rows, beginning hard against the walls, spaced with enough clearance to allow healers and servants to pass between, but maximising the number of people that could be treated. Twelve cots per row made 24 in total in each room.

Beneath each ‘treatment table’ were stacked linens and emergency draughts, pastes and preparations, close to hand for quick access. Each one would be manned by a Physician or Healer: Merlin, Gaius, Niniane, Davydd or one of the remaining two Healers. The two ‘spare’ or ‘floating’ healers would be available to rotate through the rooms, relieving workers or assisting if a job required more than one experienced pair of hands. Servants would be assigned to each of the four rooms, providing assistance and man-power as needed. Stacks of bedding, linens, towels and cloths resided on low tables down the centre of each room, and large earthen jars of fresh water stood ready for use.

Of course all these preparations caused a good deal of work: water jars needed to be filled with water lugged in buckets from the underground reservoir, linens laundered and stacked, and pallets to be placed on the beds. Gaius and Niniane were busy overseeing the rooms, ensuring that all the supplies they wanted would be ready. In between time, while they ‘rested’, the two stirred cauldrons and tended remedies, preparing the medicaments that would be needed. Gaius was nominally in charge of the brewing, but would often borrow the expertise of the others whenever he needed an extra set of hands.

Gwen and her maid Maerwina had charge of one of the rooms. Gwen’s experience both as a serving maid and assisting Gaius in previous attacks and sieges meant she had enough knowledge to assist in this setting-up stage. Setting her shoulders in determination, the Queen persisted in what she saw as her duty. Today she was pale-faced and stopped frequently to swallow hard, forcing down the nausea which plagued her. Wina tended to most of the physical labour while Guinevere mostly supervised and directed. Another of the delightful side-effects of early pregnancy was that her bowels were bound up, and so she also suffered the distended feeling and deep grinding discomfort associated with that.

Gwen sat for a moment, resting her head in her hands. Watching from the sidelines, Maerwina left quickly and got her a mug of cold water. Accepting the mug gratefully, Gwen sipped slowly. Apart from her physical discomforts, she was feeling tired and out-of-sorts. The noise surrounding her only added to her discomfort, and Gwen did her best to shut out the irritants. Sighing, she stood and began folding and stacking linens, faithful Wina assisting her. It was fortunate that Maerwina was close by, because Gwen’s nausea suddenly surged, and she felt extremely light-headed. The maid’s quick reactions saved her mistress from a head cracked against the floor as she caught Guinevere when the queen collapsed.

Placing a towel under the queen’s head for comfort, Maerwina stoutly directed a couple of passing servants to carry her to the nearest cot while she herself fetched Gaius.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

“Mmmnng..”

“Sir!” Maerwina called to the elderly Physician; “She’s waking up.”

Gaius hurried as fast as his old stiff joints would allow him, stooping to assess Gwen as he reached her side. “My Lady?” he patted face gently. “Maerwina, pass me that cup of water.”

Gaius slipped a hand beneath the Queen’s head, supporting her as she took a sip.

“What? Why am I laying down?” Guinevere mumbled, disoriented.

“You fainted, My Lady” Gaius answered.

An expression of impatience passed across Gwen’s face. “Of all the stupid things to do…”

“Now, it’s quite usual at this stage, especially if the woman’s been as unwell as you have, Gwen.” Gaius switched in an instant from professional healer to the more familiar grandfatherly kindness that Gwen was used to. “You really should rest, you know.”

“I know, Gaius. And I will: after this emergency has passed. You know that you need all the experienced hands you can get.”

“Guinevere!” The stern healer was back: “As much as I value your expertise, I cannot have you running yourself ragged. While you were unconscious I took the liberty of examining you with your maid’s assistance. You are mildly dehydrated, as well as exhausted. And Maerwina informs me that you have been spotting over the last few days.”

“I’m better now than I was yesterday: Merlin has given me a tea that helps with the nausea a little.”

“The chamomile and peppermint? Yes, I saw that. It is exactly what I would have prescribed for you, My Lady. But the only cure for exhaustion is rest, as Merlin would have told you, and as you well know.”

“I will try and rest more, truly Gaius. It’s just that this attack comes at such an inconvenient time.” And the Queen heaved a sigh up from her toes.

“It is the spotting that has me truly worried, Gwen. It is not a good sign.” Gaius leaned forward, wrinkled face serious. “Have you told Merlin or Arthur about it?”

Shamefaced, Gwen looked down and shook her head. “No. They would only worry. I have spoken to some of the Court women, though. Many of them said that they bled off and on during the first few months, too.” Gwen’s gentle face suddenly took on a fierce expression; “And I refuse to sit idly around like a statue when there is so much work to be done!”

“It is true that light bleeding and spotting may be common in early pregnancy. It is also true that many women who experience this carry successfully to term. But this should not be taken lightly, My Lady. It is not something you should ignore. I insist that you tell Merlin as your treating Physician at least, if not the King: I can understand you not wishing to worry Arthur about something he cannot change. And I insist that if you wish to help, that you allow Maerwina to do most of the physical work, while you sit and supervise!” Gaius nodded towards the maid, who curtseyed in her turn, a look of relief on her face.

Gwen acquiesced with very bad grace: “Very well, Gaius. I will do as you wish.”

Not willing to take this change of heart at face value Gaius turned to Maerwina; “I charge you with making sure that Her Majesty complies: gentle walking may continue, as it is beneficial. But no lifting or heavy work, and she must sit or recline as much as possible. She may stay and help with setting up these emergency rooms as long as she does so from a chair! She can direct the setting up and organising well enough that way. As well as folding the linens.” The crusty old man pinned Gwen with a glare, his ‘Eyebrow of Disapproval’ reinforcing his point.

Once more Maerwina curtseyed before hurrying away. Before long a disgruntled Gwen was reclining on a padded chair with her legs up. At one side was a basket of clean cloths, sheets & towels which needed folding and organising. On her other side stood a small table with a cup of the ever-present tea. Gwen organised, gave orders and sorted while Wina acted as her legs. Aside from the indignity, Guinevere had to admit that she felt much better with this new arrangement, and resigned herself to it as best she could.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Preparations throughout Camelot proceeded well. What citizens had chosen to leave the city and go into the forest with the druids had already done so, and the streets were unusually quiet.

The kitchen was a scene of organised chaos: bread by the basket-load had been baked, ready for distribution to hungry men. Although it may be a little stale by the time it was eaten, it would still provide needed nourishment. Great cauldrons of broth and soups stood simmering: easily digested food ready for those injured and sick. Likewise, huge vats of stew were being prepared. These would be carried around the fighting lines by kitchen boys when any lull in the confrontation allowed. Nobody knew how long the attack might last, and the soldiers and knights must be cared for, or all of Camelot could be at risk.

These preparations were a routine the staff had followed many times in the past, and each time they did, they prayed it would be the last time. It had been some time since the citadel had last expected a siege, but the more experienced head servants went about their duties smoothly and competently, directing the newer workers in their chores.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin was outside Camelot in the forest, setting up perimeter defences with Aithusa’s help. Although he would not face the army directly, he would use his magic to protect his city as best he could. The wards he’d used two days running in the ‘war games’ had given him several ideas which he was eager to use.

The one he felt had the most potential was un-horsing Mordred’s warriors. By setting up magical barriers that would spook the animals used by the army, Merlin hoped to drastically reduce the impact the attackers would have. Not being able to use beasts of burden would mean far less supplies, and would hinder the attack. Weapons, food, supplies and anything else would all need to be carried by men rather than the stronger and swifter horses. Messengers to and from the front lines would likewise be hindered, needing to rely on runners alone. This should give Camelot a huge tactical advantage.

Merlin intended to ring the city with a magical ward about a mile out from its walls, and was using Aithusa to keep him on track. As familiar as he was with the forest surrounding Camelot, Merlin knew that describing a circle around the city would be difficult without losing his way and heading in the wrong direction. The only way he could think of to keep himself straight and on-track was to have the White Dragon direct him from above. With Aithusa hovering well above the trees, she could give him directions telepathically. He would need to work the barrier magic constantly as he worked, and he expected the task to take several hours.

It was early afternoon, and the horse-ward was nearly completed. Knowing that his magic would soon be called on for use against the sorcerers, Merlin had submerged himself in the life-magic of the forest which surrounded him. Tapping into the almost limitless source of power from the trees, the bushes, water, rocks and soil, Merlin found that he was able to bend the magic around him, acting more as a channel or a conduit, and was using very little of his personal power in the task.

Another advantage of having Aithusa in the air over the City was that she could give advance warning of the Saxon’s approach. Just as he was closing the final gap in the wards, Aithusa called from above; *The Army approaches. They will reach the Wards very soon.*

*Thankyou Aithusa. I will close the ring and then report to Arthur.* Merlin paced forwards once more, feeling for the beginning of his first ward, which should be just in front of him. He ‘pulled’ power with him as he did so, and felt a sense of satisfaction as the two ends locked in to each other. Smiling, he rested from his concentration for a moment before turning to his next task. Closing his eyes, Merlin concentrated a moment and focused on Arthur’s position. Locating the king, he employed one of his newest abilities, and vanished.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur was in the armoury, sorting weaponry when Merlin suddenly appeared out of nowhere by his shoulder, a wicked grin on his face. Arthur, the dignified King of Camelot gave a startled cry and became airborne with shock.

“Merlin! Do you have to?” the King’s annoyance was only partly feigned as he rounded on the Warlock.

“Sorry.” Merlin was totally unrepentant. “I came to tell you the progress of the city protection. I have set up a ring of magical wards a mile out from the city that will prevent the Saxons from bringing their horses any closer, just as we discussed.”

“Thank-you Merlin. That is well done.”

Merlin continued on “I have another idea, too Arthur. I want to set up an anti-magic barrier around the City. If I do it properly, it will mean than the sorcerers won’t be able to pass the gates, or enter the city themselves. This will protect your men from most facing sorcerers one-on-one. The sorcerers will only be able to fight from a distance, then.”

“If you can do it, that would be a great help. One of my men’s greatest fears has been facing warriors with magic.”

“I don’t know if I can do it, Arthur, but I will try. It would be a bit like the barrier I used the other day on the training grounds, but it would be against magic, not weapons. I will get Aithusa to carry me over the city so I can cast the enchantment.” Merlin turned to leave.

“Thankyou, Merlin.” Arthur clapped the man on the back. “For all you are doing, and for the many times you protected Camelot in the past.”

Merlin nodded by way of reply, and left the long room quickly, calling the Dragon as he went.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

In the forest, the Saxon Army approached, Mordred at its head. The Dochraid was following, but Mordred was not sure how. She had selected a nearby cave as her base, and he would meet her there once darkness had fallen.

The young man shivered in revulsion; he was never comfortable around the Hag, and would never have sought her alliance himself. Only Morgana’s assurance that the old woman was powerful, and could be of great use had persuaded him. The Dochraid was a Dark element of magic the Mordred would have been quite happy never to have met. Still, needs must.

Shouts from ahead alerted the knight, and he spurred his horse forward until he came to the place of the disturbance. Unexpectedly, Mordred’s battle-trained steed reared and fought the bit, trying to turn back. Mordred drove his heels in, forcefully wrenching the horse’s head around to send it in the direction he chose. Once more the beast whinnied and side-stepped, refusing to progress. Cursing, he dismounted and went to his mount’s head. Once the beast was somewhat calmer, he turned to investigate what had initially alerted him. Every mounted warrior stood either by his horse’s head, or lay sprawled on the ground, having been thrown. Mordred passed the reins to a nearby servant, and strode forward, trying to feel magically what the matter was. He was grudgingly impressed as he passed by the invisible barrier, recognising immediately the feel of Emrys’ magic.

“It is no use: Emrys has placed a barrier here to stop the horses from approaching. Send for the Sorcerers! They will need to break this before we can go any further. Meanwhile, send the word that no horses are to be brought forward; I will not have my men injured before they even begin to fight.” Stomping off in a bad humour Mordred snatched his mount’s reins back, causing the horse to start and throw its head up sideways, eyes rolling. Cursing under his breath, Mordred did his best to soothe the animal, as he backed away from the area, giving his Sorcerers room to work.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Aithusa hovered, Merlin astride her neck, just above the Citadel. Observing from above, Merlin calculated how best to accomplish what he wished.

*What is it you are trying to do, My Lord?* the dragon queried.

*I want to encase the City in a magical ward, which will stop the sorcerers and the Dochraid from entering. I am just thinking how best to do it, and how much power I will need.*

*I can lend you power, if you need extra My Lord.*

*You know, I might just take you up on that. A little Dragon-Magic mixed into the barrier might make it just that much stronger. Just fly a little lower would you? And follow the outside walls around? Yes, thanks.* The White Dragon turned, banking and flying along the outer curtain walls which were wide enough for her to land on, while her Warlock continued musing to himself.

*Alright, Aithusa. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to infuse the curtain walls with magic, making them resonate. This way, only myself, or somebody I ‘tag’ will be able to pass the walls. Where the gates are, the magic will be anchored into the ground beneath them as well as the gate itself, so that even if it’s open, hostile sorcerers won’t be able to enter. What do you think?*

*I think you will need a lot of magic to do that, my Lord, but that if anybody can, it would be you.*

*I’m not sure if that was a compliment or not, my Dragon.*

*Neither am I, my Lord.* Aithusa’s mental laughter filled Merlin’s head.

*Well, it’s time to pull together all the facets of my magic as I never have before. Land me there, Aithusa.* And Merlin pointed to the flat roof of the keep. It wasn’t the highest part of the citadel, but it was the highest on which they could land.

Merlin reached out his hand and summoned his Sidhe Staff. For magic such as he was about to work, he wanted all the advantages that were possible.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Far below, the soldiers, Knights and remaining citizens of Camelot stilled their preparations and watched.

They craned their necks as the White Dragon who had once danced in the sunlight over their City on the return of King Arthur flew, with her Warlock on her neck. They watched as the majestic creature flowed through the air with such power and ease that it brought the hairs on their necks to attention. They watched as Emrys their Warlock pointed with his arm, and the Dragon landed them both atop the Keep, then stood with breath stilled in their chests, to see what would happen next.

The crowd muttered amongst themselves as Emrys stood with hand outstretched, motionless. The last time he’d stood above a battle-ground it had been on the cliffs above Camlann as an elderly man. This time, the battleground was Camelot herself, and Emrys stood etched against the sky in his blue Physician’s Over-robe, which swung lightly in the breeze. Beside him squatted a beast straight from legend, which most people would have sworn could never exist outside the pages of a book. Her bulk dwarfed the small man beside her, yet the people had no doubt who was the more powerful of the two.

And as the people watched a blue glowing dot described a curious path through the air, ascending the tower: it was the summoned Staff, its stone alight with power as it travelled to the hand of Merlin Emrys. Though the Warlock stood so far above them that he appeared only as a doll against the sky, men swore that they heard a slap as the Staff connected with the Warlock’s palm, and his fingers curled around it. And next, the people watched as Emrys worked his magic.

The figure high above planted his Staff on the roof of the Castle beside him and its stone glowed blue with power, shooting sparks and mist into the air. Emrys extended his other hand towards his Dragon, who bowed her head to rest her snout upon his arm. Her bright white power began to manifest, while Emrys was surrounded in a glowing gold aura. The three colours swirled into a mighty column, driving up above the roof of the Keep before splitting into multiple ropes of power. Each rope directed towards the outer curtain wall, bathing the ramparts with power. As the people continued to watch, Power flooded upwards in torrents and was absorbed into the stone. The entire City of Camelot was ringed in power, the might stones that made up the walls glowing hotly. Like treacle moving down a glass pane, the Magic flowed over the outer walls, covering and soaking them.

A deep roaring was heard, no, felt by the crowd, reverberating through their heel-bones as the entire City shivered beneath the forces that were worked upon it. It seemed that the feed of power continued for an interminable time, but was probably only moments. Gradually the magical glow faded, then ceased, as though being sucked back into Merlin and Aithusa high above, and the trembling in the ground slowed and then stilled.

The mass of people continued to watch as Emrys lowered both arms, obviously finished casting his magic, and then abruptly collapsed to his knees, his Staff falling out of sight onto the roof. And still the crowd watched, still and quiet, to see if their Warlock would return to them, unharmed, as the sun set and shadows lengthened across the City.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

On the rooftop, Aithusa lowered her head and gently shoved Merlin as he knelt. *My Lord? Can you hear me? Are you all right?*

*Thankyou Aithusa, yes I can hear you. I am all right. I think. The last time I channelled this much power was when I healed you on Avalon, and I was very unwell after it. It is not so bad this time: I have learned more control since then, but I will still need to rest for a while now. Thank you for loaning me your Magic: I could not have done this without your help.*

The Dragon laid her head flat on the rooftop. *Here. Climb aboard My Lord, and I will fly you down again.*

Shakily, Merlin gained his feet, reaching out for his Staff as he did so. He managed to throw one leg across Aithusa’s neck, and grasped onto her head-spikes. *I am ready now. Go. But gently, please.* Aithusa could hear the weary smile in his mental voice.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

King Arthur and Niniane watched the Dragon launch herself from the Keep and moved quickly to the main courtyard where they guessed she’d land.

They arrived separately, but stood together waiting. Within a few moments the heard the swoosh of air as Aithusa back winged to bring herself in to a gentle touch-down on the cobblestones. Arthur could see that the Dragon was making a huge effort not to jolt her burden, and his worry for his friend heightened. He glanced across at Niniane, glad that the healer was close to hand. Aithusa tucked her wings against her back and lowered her head to allow Merlin to dismount. They could both see how pale he was as he tried to lever his leg over Aithusa’s neck. It was fortunate that Arthur was the one closest to the Dragon, because Merlin suddenly lost his balance and tumbled sideways. Arthur darted forwards and caught the warlock before he struck the ground, then hoisted the slim frame into a more comfortable position.

“Hi Arthur, ‘Niane.” Merlin slurred.

Turning to Niniane the king ordered “Follow me, I’ll carry him to the Healing Rooms and you can tend him there.”

Turning to Aithusa he bowed awkwardly. “If you are not too tired, Aithusa, I would appreciate a report on what the Saxon Army is up to, and if we should expect an attack this evening.”

The dragon nodded, and answered in her rich melodic voice “Of course, Arthur. I will go now.”

The King inclined his head in thanks, and turned to enter the citadel, Merlin still in his arms. Niniane fell into step behind Arthur, eager to assess and treat the half-conscious warlock.

A short time later Merlin was deposited on the treatment bed in the Healing Room, and Niniane turned to stoke up the fire.

“What do you need?” Arthur questioned.

“Food, from the kitchens: some broth and bread for Merlin, and some stew for me. I will stay here tonight and tend him. Also, it might be helpful if a servant slept in my room down the hall, in case I have need of anything else.”

“Of course. I will see to it at once. I must go now and receive Aithusa’s report. Otherwise you know I would stay, as well.”

Niniane smiled in her gentle way. “I understand, Your Majesty. Go and tend to your duties, and I will tend to mine.”

Thankful for her no-nonsense approach, Arthur left rapidly to return to the courtyard.

Niniane turned to tend to Merlin, running through her head the things she would need to do. Bending over him, she assessed his heart and breathing rate, before pulling open an eyelid. His blue eye stared sightlessly back at her, but the pupil contracted briskly, as it should. His other eye reacted the same, indicating there was no head trauma. Pinching Merlin’s earlobe between her fingernails, she exerted firm pressure and was pleased when his hand reached up to bat her away.

“What? ‘Niane? What are you doing? That hurt!”

She smiled, and patted his shoulder. “I know it hurt, Merlin: I was checking your responses. I think you’re just tired, and should recover well after a sleep. Rest now.” She patted his shoulder, and Merlin nodded and rolled over burying his face into the pillow before falling deeply asleep again.

Niniane could not resist the temptation to smooth his forehead with her hand, attempting to brush back his wayward hair. For many weeks now she’d yearned to know what his hair would feel like if she were to run her fingers through it. Once more she allowed herself this luxury before turning resolutely away. It did not feel right to take advantage, and she moved to begin preparing a fresh Willow-Bark tea. She had no doubt that Merlin would wake with a headache.

Half a candle-mark later there was a knock on the door, and a servant stood there with a tray. Niniane motioned him to place the food on the table, which he did. “I bring you a message from King Arthur. He said to inform you that it is unlikely there will be an attack tonight. Sir Merlin Emrys’ tactic of separating the Saxons from their horses has worked, and they have had to delay their plans. We should not have an attack until the morning.”

Niniane nodded, “Thank you. It is good to know that we should have a peaceful night, anyway.” The servant bowed and left to return to his other duties.

Niniane moved the covered dishes to the fireside, placing them to keep warm until needed. She then returned to her brewing.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Two candle-marks later Merlin moved slightly and moaned. “You there ‘Niane?” he called out. “I got a headache.” His hand rubbed wearily across his face.

Niniane picked up the draught she’d prepared from the table, and moved across to the treatment couch. Slipping her right arm beneath his shoulders, she assisted Merlin to sit so he could down the medicine. Holding the cup to prevent spillage, she hoped he didn’t notice her flushed face, or feel her heart thudding behind her ribs at this intimate position. Merlin finished the draught in several small sips, and she lowered him down onto the bed again.

“That should help quickly.” She comforted, and once again ran her hand down the side of his face. “In a while when you feel better, I have some broth ready for you.”

Merlin nodded, mumbled something which ended in “Niane” and closed his eyes once more. Niniane was startled to realise that his hand had loosely clasped hers in gratitude without her noticing, and she gently freed it, tucking it back under the light covering.

She turned to place the cup back on the table and stood stock still for a moment of horrified realisation: she’d stroked Merlin’s face while he was awake! Her affections for the young man were beginning to get more difficult for her to disguise, and she was beginning to slip. The young healer drew in a stuttering breath when she realised what she’d done, and she vowed to herself to be more vigilant.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Next time Merlin woke the pounding within his skull had settled somewhat. He struggled upright, looking about the room as he did so. Ah; there was Niniane, bringing him of something that smelled good. She deposited a bowl of broth in his hands before turning to bring some bread. Taking her own bowl in hand, she sat beside his bed and they ate together, Merlin explaining what he had done.

“I made a magical barrier around the city ‘Niane. (he didn’t seem to notice his frequent shortening of her name) I used Aithusa’s magic as well as my own, and used the Sidhe Staff to focus it. Speaking of which, where is it?” he began casting about the rooms. “I hope I didn’t leave it up on top of the Keep.”

Niniane chuckled and answered him. “No, you didn’t. It’s there, leaning against the wall. A Sidhe staff you said? How on earth did you manage to get hold of one of those, let alone gain mastery over it?” The druid’s face showed her awe.

It was Merlin’s turn to chuckle. “It’s a very long story Niane, one for another time, I think. Anyway, I’ve protected the City from unfriendly Sorcerers. Nobody can pass the walls or the gates without my say-so. If they so much as touch the walls, or try to pass through the gates, they’ll feel a severe burning sensation over their skin.”

“So that’s what you were doing. I wasn’t sure. No wonder you were so exhausted afterwards then, channelling that much power. Oh! Arthur sent word: the Saxons won’t attack until morning. Apparently your little stunt with the horse-wards was very effective!”

Nodding, Merlin continued to eat. “Good. That means I can rest easy tonight. Aithusa will no doubt let me know if anything changes.” His jaw popped with a huge yawn, and he burrowed down into the bed again.

“No; wait! You’ll be more comfortable if you change out of your robes and clothes first. Here. I brought them from your sleeping chamber.”

Sighing, the warlock sat up once more, acknowledging that his assistant was correct. He stood, slightly shaky, and removed his robe and neck-cloth. “Umm….” He paused, blushing a fiery red as he looked towards Niniane.

“What?” Niniane had her back to him as she stacked the empty bowls on the tray. Turning, she noted his predicament. “Oh! Of course! Sorry. I’ll just…take these back to the kitchens then.” She picked up the tray. “And I was going to ask; is it alright if I use your bed tonight? It means I’ll be close by if you’re unwell before morning.”

Heat suffusing his face once more, Merlin nodded permission. “Ah…yeah. That’s fine.”

Niniane shuffled quickly out of the room, not meeting Merlin’s eyes.

By the time she returned, having picked up some items from her own room on the way back, Merlin was curled in the bed by the fire, snoring softly. Clasping her hands behind her back to prevent herself stroking his face again, Niniane ascended the short flight of steps to Merlin’s sleeping chamber, and prepared for bed. She expected tomorrow would be an incredibly busy day, and each one of them would need all the rest they could gain.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke feeling disoriented. Without opening his eyes he tried to sense where he was. The smells and sounds he was surrounded by were familiar, and yet something still felt wrong. Snapping his eyelids up, he gazed around and instantly realised what the problem was. He was in the Healing Rooms, yes, but was asleep on the treatment couch in the main room rather than in his sleeping chamber.

Taking a few moments he reviewed yesterday’s happenings; there had been the preparations in the temporary sick rooms in the Citadel, then setting the wards around Camelot. The first wards had been time-consuming but not draining. It was the second set of wards, on the City herself which had been the problem. Merlin sat up abruptly, recalling the pounding headache he’d acquired for his efforts. There seemed to be no residue of it today, however, and he bounded out of bed feeling fresh and well-rested. His clothing was folded neatly on the table nearby and he dressed absently, mind already running ahead to what the day would bring: today was the day Mordred and his Saxon Army, aided by Morgana and the Dochraid would attack.

It was obviously still early, as the castle was not yet stirring. Needing to know how far away sunrise might be, Merlin moved up the stairs towards his sleeping chamber, intending to look out of his window. As he pushed open the door, the sound soft breathing brought him up short. There was somebody in his bed! Moving softly he conjured a weak light in order to see better: Niniane lay curled on her side, face flushed with sleep, mousy hair braided and falling over her shoulder. Merlin smiled, recalling that she’d decided to stay last evening in case he’d needed her over-night. Without thinking he moved closer to check on her, recalling the kindness with which she’d treated him while he’d been unwell, and he reached out to gently touch her face.

A shock ran through his body, as sudden as a strike of lightning, and he stopped short, appalled at his thoughts and actions. She was his assistant! A colleague who helped him in his duties as Court Physician. So why was he acting like this? Shaking his head with hand still outstretched, he quietly retreated. He still didn’t know the time, but he’d seen that the sky was still black: it was obviously some time before dawn. Which meant Merlin would have time to sit. And think. Oh dear.

Moving back into the main chamber, the Warlock extended his hand absently towards the fireplace, and a cheery blaze kindled at once. Another wave, and the small cauldron filled with water and its handle attached itself to the hook over the flames. The bread and cheese from yesterday’s lunch stood untouched beside the door, and Merlin grasped the plate and sat down with it at the main table. Or perhaps collapsed would have been a better word so rapidly had his knees bent and his backside hit the bench.

Really? Niniane? Thoughts raced around his head as he tore the bread into chunks. But…I…she’s… Even in his own mind he was unable to finish a sentence. This did not bode well for any conversation he may have with the druidess in a few hours.

The water had heated, and Merlin waved the cauldron over to the table, sprinkling some dried peppermint into it. Staring dully into the hot tea he considered what he’d just discovered about his feelings. It was because I was unwell; that’s it! I was sick, and not thinking straight, and she was kind. He was quite successful in convincing himself, and sat munching on his breakfast for a while. Until the next thought struck him: did I really call her ‘Niane last night? Where did that come from? The diminutive was something he’d never considered before. Until he remembered it coming out of his mouth, unbidden, suggesting a level of intimacy that was entirely inappropriate.

Groaning, he buried his face in his hands, swallowing his mouthful of food. Well, this is a pretty mess, Merlin! Developed a crush on your assistant, have you? So lonely, so pathetic that you’ve let your emotions overcome your good sense, and begun to focus on poor Niniane! And when the woman’s never looked at you ever in that way. Not to mention she’s probably still overwhelmed by you the ‘Great Emrys.’ Although she hasn’t called you that for a while now. Way to go, Clotpole! Shaking his head in self-disgust, the young man resolved to bury his burgeoning feelings deep, intent on squashing them out of existence. Which should actually be pretty easy, considering the type of day you will have today.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Before daybreak Merlin rapped smartly on Arthur’s door. He’d managed to exit the Healing Rooms before Niniane woke, and had hurried to spend a few minutes with his King before the expected attack.

Arthur was awake and dressed, just about to begin donning his armour. His current servant opened the door to admit Merlin, who paced quickly across the open space towards his King.

“Merlin! It’s good to see you up again, and recovered after yesterday’s shenanigans.” Arthur held his hands out for the servant to begin pulling the chainmail over his head. Merlin grasped the familiar garment and began to dress Arthur himself, as he had so many times in the past.

Chuckling, Merlin answered. “Of course I’m alright. I’m the ‘Great Emrys’ after all.” There was more than a small bite of sarcasm in his tone. Arthur dismissed the servant with a wave of his hand.

“Ah. So that little revelation yesterday did unsettle you. I thought it might.”

“Little revelation!”

“Shh! You’ll wake Gwen. What difference does it really make, though? Whether people know now or later. It might actually help, you know, if people believed that Emrys was on Camelot’s side.”

There was resounding silence from the Warlock as he fastened the bracers onto Arthur’s arms, jerking the leathers tight with more than usual force.

“Merlin?”

No answer, and the Warlock knelt to affix the greaves to Arthur’s shins.

“Merlin!”

The warlock sighed and looked up. “What?”

“You seem a little…off this morning. Anything wrong?”

Merlin paused briefly, thinking rapidly of how to distract Arthur before answering. “No. Well, other than we’re about to go into battle and probably die, what could possibly be wrong?”

During this speech, Merlin had risen to his beet and begun backing away from Arthur, anticipating the king’s next move.

“Merlin!” The king danced forwards, and clouted the warlock upside the head.

Merlin skipped backwards, his characteristic grin breaking out over his face. Arthur growled and sprinted after him, intent on landing another blow. Except that one of the bed-curtains inexplicably entwined itself around the dignified warrior’s feet. And then the dignified warrior landed on his dignified backside in a decidedly undignified manner, with a huge clatter of armour plating and weaponry.

The dignified warrior’s dignified wife sat suddenly up in bed, roused from sleep by the incredible racket. “What on earth is going on?” she complained loudly.

Both men stopped their horseplay, looking shamefaced.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

Guinevere looked at the pair, trying to suppress a smile. “Go on, then. Get out and organise the war.” The queen shook her head while the men made good their escape.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Most of Camelot’s army was already assembled in the courtyard by the time Merlin and Arthur appeared. This time the King made no speeches, but simply devoted his time into dividing his force. The talking, speeches and preparation had already been done yesterday, and now, before first light, the Army would take its assigned position.

Each of his Captains would command a Division of knights and men. For Sir Cei and Sir Bedwyr, this would be their first time in battle as commanders, and the young men looked a little unsettled. Sir Percival and Sir Leon looked their usual firm unflappable selves, and each division was soon ready to march away to their assigned places.

Before the first order was given, Merlin uncharacteristically stepped forward and spoke aloud. “Wait!” The single word gained the attention of the horde assembled, and the warlock moved out into the courtyard, men making way as he did so.

“I promised that I would aid Camelot in her hour of need, but that I would not personally fight against the Saxons with magic. Watch, and I will show you the protection I will give.”

Merlin raised both arms above his head and closed his eyes. If those watching expected some loud incantation, and magical words they were disappointed. The next sound that was heard was an unearthly crackling and grinding, coming from high above them. Men’s heads whipped around, searching for the source of the sound, and mouths opened to gasp in shock.
 
From every corner, every pillar and carven roof-top creatures moved. The statues, gargoyles and beasts with which the Citadel was adorned were moving and coming to life. Great wings spread on the ones that could fly, and many tons of stone took gracefully to the air. Those creatures that did not have wings crawled, jumped or slithered to the ground. Before long, there were some fifty or so massive living statues ringed around the courtyard. To most of those present this was a totally new phenomenon, while to those who’d been in Camelot for a decade or more this sight was a familiar, albeit unusual one.

“The Sorcerer Cornelius Sigan (1) built Camelot, and into it he designed much of his own magic. But what he intended for evil, I have harnessed for good. These creatures will form a ring of living stone before you, and protect your ranks as best they can. They are impervious to fire and arrows, and will answer to nobody but myself, so cannot be corrupted by the enemy Sorcerers. I send them with each of the divisions, and may they serve you all well.”

A great cheer rose up from the men, and, heartened, the Captains gave orders for their men to move into position. It was a strange sight, to watch the Knights preceding their men on horseback, with the gigantic grey beasts following docilely along behind.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

As sun broke over the horizon the shouts of an attacking Army could be heard. Deprived of their horses, the Saxons still made an impressive sight, streaming forwards from the north towards Camelot. The Siege engines came first: great catapults and logs designed to break open the gates of the city and let in the enemy, men harnessed into hauling them where there should have been horses or oxen.

After them came the Sorcerers, gathered as a group to lend their magic to infiltrating the City before entering themselves to wreak havoc. As the engineers began to ready the great machines, the Sorcerers came to the outer walls and prepared themselves. Groups of two or three worked together, ready to link their power for greater effect. The first group arrived at the base of the walls, and the senior sorcerer laid hands on the stone, already summoning power from those behind him. For a count of two, his bare palms made contact with the grey rock before he became conscious of a great burning pain. Crying aloud, he tried to dis-engage, only to find that he was attached to the wall, pain and power radiating up his arms and into the two sorcerers who were connected to him.

Convulsing and shrieking, the man fell to his knees as Emrys’ defence made itself known. His two assistants also fell, shaking and convulsing but nowhere near as violently. After several long moments, the stone wall let go of the sorcerer and his hands fell to the ground along with the rest of him. After his release, the two assistants sat up, pale and shaking. Their mentor was alive, but his hands were badly burned, and he would probably not wake for several days after the magical overload he’d suffered.

A runner was quickly sent back to Mordred, with the news of this defence against their magic: the sorcerers hoped to spread the word quickly and avoid further mishap. Unfortunately, the mile-long run back to base, then the interview with Mordred, followed by sending out several more runners to the other groups meant that not all could be contacted in time. Within the first hour of the attack Mordred found that several of his most powerful magicians were out of commission, and unlikely to recover in time to help further.

Furious, he stalked into the loathed cave in order to confer with Morgana’s spirit and the Dochraid.

“If I had my body and was mobile, I might possibly be able to heal these men, but as it is…” Morgana fumed in her helplessness.

The Dochraid hissed and growled in displeasure; “So, it appears young druid, that your sorcerers are now useless; Emrys has sealed the city against them. You would do better to have them enchant the boulders and missiles which the siege machines hurl: that would be their best use now. Morgana: although you cannot talk to the Saxon Army, you can observe. This use of runners to communicate is a waste of time. Go! Watch, observe and bring word back of how the battle goes, while I stay here and consider what next to do.”

So dispatched, the Dochraid’s orders were carried out. Mordred ranged back and forth, receiving reports, making decisions and sending orders forward by way of human runners. He did not dare lead the attack himself, preferring to command from behind where his thinking would remain unclouded.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Mid-morning, and the casualties began to arrive in the sick-rooms. The siege engines had proven remarkably effective, armed with enchanted missiles as they were, and injures began to pile up. The gargoyles as first line of defence spared many men, but the due to their size a concerted effort by the attackers meant that many enemies were able to slip past and battle Arthur’s men directly.

The clash of swords, grunts of fighting men and the screams of pain could be heard throughout the city. The constant thud and crash of the boulders and other missiles as they impacted on the ground shook the earth, damaging the stone defenders and sending shards of rock flying off in all directions, crushing and injuring many warriors. And yet the lines held, and the city remained defended.

By mid-day the sick-rooms were working hard, although not all of the cots were yet full. Merlin worked one of the tables, Niniane assisting, Gaius and Guinevere had the next, and the remaining Druid healers manned the other two. Castle servants came and went in a well-orchestrated dance; collecting bloodied cloths and replacing them with new, distributing water to the workers and those injured who could take it, and doing the background work which kept the rooms functioning and ensured that as many men were treated as quickly as possible.

The groans of the injured melded with the sounds of fighting from outside, and the smell of blood, vomit and sweat was overpowering. Guinevere had been struggling for some time, fighting against the nausea of her pregnancy combined with her unpleasant duties. It wasn’t as though she was unfamiliar with the carnage of battle: she’d often assisted with the injured in the past. But today her sense of smell was heightened, and the belly cramps from her bowels being bound up seemed even more painful than they had yesterday. Maerwina was aware of her Mistress’s struggles, but had not been able to prevail upon her to rest for a while.

Washing the blood from a wounded Knight’s torso, she was still aware of Gwen’s whereabouts. So it was that ‘Wina was the first to see the queen fold gracefully to the floor, clutching at her belly. Dropping her rag into the bowl of bloody water, Maerwina abandoned the knight to race to her mistress’s side. Raising her up, she noted Gwen’s pallor and her sweat-damp face. “Gaius! Help!” she called loudly.

The elderly Physician heard the cry and turned to see Gwen laying on the floor, her maid cradling her head in her lap. Glancing across the hallway to where Merlin and Niniane were working on a sword-wound to an arm, he called sharply to his ward. Merlin abandoned the warrior, confident that Niniane would cope well, and raced across to Gaius. Seeing Guinevere’s predicament he didn’t wait for instructions, but picked her up bodily using magic, and placed the queen gently on the nearest vacant cot. It was Gaius who noticed the dark blood-stain which marked the flag-stones where Gwen had lain.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

“On Me!” Arthur’s familiar battle cry sounded forth, and a dozen knights took position rapidly behind him to face the group of Saxons who’d made it through the guard of gargoyles in front of them. Arthur ceased thinking, and became once more a reacting killing machine. Conscious thought was tucked away into the back of his mind, and the swing, step, thrust, block, counter-swing, duck, kick of a sword-fight took over. He could not remember how long he’d been fighting, nor could he recall how many enemies he’d dispatched or wounded, neither the number of times the men which made up the fighting group behind him had changed. All he knew was that he was defending Camelot, and that the City depended on him to stay on his feet and effective for as long as possible. The long hours of training, and the uncounted tournaments in which he’d perfected his skills now came into play, and King Arthur became in truth the Warrior of legend.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

On the other side of the city Sir Bedwyr commanded his unit, fighting in defence of Camelot for the first time in his life. The drills he’d practised daily had become part of who he was, for which he was grateful. For now, when it really counted, his actions were automatic, and needed no direct thought other than to monitor who was attacking, and from which direction they came. He had only to note to himself Enemy soldier, behind to the right and his body would turn, his feet finding a secure stance and his arms bringing his sword to bear.

He did not feel the fatigue; the adrenaline coursing through his body masking his weary muscles. He did not note the pain of the numerous cuts and small wounds, focusing solely on his current task.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Sir Leon fought doggedly; his mind mourning over the necessity of the cruelty and waste of warfare did not prevent him from carrying out his duty. During an occasional lull in battle, the experienced knight would think to himself; This is a young man’s game. It is time I focused on training, and left the commanding to the next generation. Then another wave of attackers would approach and the curly-headed man would be subsumed once more into battling for his life.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Gwen rested on her side, grief and guilt filling her mind in equal amounts. I should not be here. I should not be taking up one of the cots which the injured need more than I. At the same time she was consumed by the grinding gripping pain deep within her, mourning a loss which she dared not admit to herself lest its reality overcome her sanity.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin knelt, hands outstretched over his friend as he pleaded with his magic to do whatever it could to save the tiny spark of life within Gwen’s belly. Sweat beaded his brow and burned his eyes as he focused absolutely. Helplessly, his eyes looked up and caught Gaius’. He needed to say nothing to his mentor: the elderly Physician already feared that Merlin was fighting a losing battle.
 
~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Anger and frustration ran through Mordred as reports came back from the front lines: without the use of his sorcerers, and with the magical protection Emrys had placed around Camelot, his forces were making little headway. He moved rapidly, and for the first time willingly, into the Dochraid’s cave. “Is there nothing you can do against these enchantments? I thought you were one of the Original creatures of the Old Religion. Why are you helpless against him?”

“Patience, Mordred. Patience.” The Crone growled. “There may yet be something I can do. Send me your Sorcerers: all of them together! Let us see what we can achieve using the Power of the Earth to which I am bound as the conduit for our Magic.”

Mordred’s order went forth by runner, and soon the Sorcerers began to gather. Instructions were given, and symbols drawn in the earth of the cave. Soon there was a circle of men and women, linked hand by hand, with the Dochraid in the centre. Magical words were chanted, and the ground began to tremble with power.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Sir Percival lunged, ducked, stepped and sliced: his entire body at one with the sword, his superior height and strength both an advantage and a drawback at the same time. On the one hand he was more effective than the average swordsman. On the other, his size made him a target, and he seemed to attract more than his fair share of attackers. No time to think, no time to worry; only time to fight hard enough to stay alive, and protect his men as best he could.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Maerwina sat, hands clasped as she watched her mistress lay curled, legs drawn up in pain as she endured both physical and emotional distress. There was nothing the faithful maid could do other than offer comfort, and wipe the sweat from Gwen’s brow with a cool cloth. Her eyes flicked between Merlin and Guinevere as each of them fought the same battle in different ways. Please… the young woman prayed; please don’t let her lose it… Yet only time would tell the outcome of this internal battle.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Sir Cei rested his men, allowing them a brief respite now that they had dealt with the Saxons who’d come so rapidly against them. He moved amongst the knights, of whom he had so recently been one of before his elevation to Captain. He’d had little enough time to enjoy his distinguished position before being thrust into the more unpleasant of the duties of command: that of ordering men, friends, into situations from which he knew they may well die. It was something he’d not considered before, being caught up totally in the wonder and glory of his promotion. Alas, there had been too little time for him to enjoy the benefits of it before being forced to face the cruel realities.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Louder the circle of sorcerers chanted, with the Dochraid standing strong in the centre, drawing the power raised by her faithful ones. Her hands extended outwards, absorbing the ribbons of magic fed to her. Before long she could feel the earth begin to tremble beneath her as it responded to her call, and she formed the power into a thin seeking beam and sent it on its mission through the rocks and soil: Find Emrys she commanded it. Find Emrys and destroy him. The hag chuckled in elation as ecstasy filled her mind and body. I will overcome him this time, I KNOW it! And she cackled in unholy glee.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Gaius worked as efficiently as his old body would allow, dealing with one casualty after the next. Lacerations, crush injuries to face and limbs, abdominal wounds, arterial bleeding, head injuries: the casualties kept coming in steadily. He had no doubt that without the defence of Merlin’s gargoyles, as well as his limiting the ability of Mordred’s sorcerers to impact the city that the battle would have been lost many hours ago.

As it was, the brave knights of Camelot fought on; doggedly, determinedly rallying the soldiers and volunteers under their command into a solid fighting force. Glancing around the four emergency rooms, he noted that Niniane had taken over Merlin’s station, and that Davydd and Gobin, the two remaining Druids worked steadily at the others. He nodded his head at them in approval and returned to the patient on the table before him, using fresh linens to staunch the bleeding sufficiently to allow him to suture a deep wound in the man’s thigh. At least the care of the sick continues on, he thought. Despite Merlin being occupied with Gwen.

His practised fingers found their rhythm, and he risked a glance behind him where Merlin still knelt on the stone floor next to the Queen. Shaking his head, Gaius silently hoped that the powerful young warlock might be able to spare this child who would be Heir to the Throne of Camelot. It had taken so long for Gwen to fall pregnant that there was no guarantee she’d ever conceive again. To lose this baby now would be a blow to all of them, not least to the young King and Queen themselves. Knowing that there was little he could do to help, he turned away, and concentrated on the task before him.

Tying the last knots, Gaius was aware that daylight was beginning to fade into dusk, and he ordered more lamps lit. Servants hurried to obey, and the room was bathed in a golden light as tongues of flame were kindled. At least the sweet oil from the lamps will help disguise the stench of sickness and injury… and Gaius turned to observe his ward and once-apprentice more closely. As he did so, he became aware of a strange sensation or sound creeping over him. Niniane and the two other druids stopped briefly and looked around, and Gaius knew that it was only those of them with magic that were able to sense this new force.

Closing his eyes, the old Physician focused what little power he could wield in order to identify what was going on. What he sensed shocked him to the very core. Having spent more than a decade in Merlin’s company, he’d become very attuned to the warlock’s magic: it felt warm, golden, pure and clean. What he felt beginning to emanate from the stones beneath his feet was the very opposite of this: it was cold and dark, and tasted of the earth. Not the fresh, sweet-scented and rich earthy things, but from places of slime, of foul coldness and dark stench of evil magic, dredged from the evil malicious Magic that even the Old Religion had long-ago abandoned.

Only one creature that he knew of still practised in this realm, and her name hissed from his mouth in a curse. “The Dochraid!” It was her magical current but the experienced old man could also sense the flavour of the score of sorcerers who had linked with her to drive this curse through the earth. Gaius could feel the foulness creeping along the ground, bound to the stone of the earth as it searched for its target: Emrys!

“Merlin!” Gaius shouted, trying to rouse the Warlock from his trance-like state as he tended to Guinevere. Stepping as rapidly as he could Gaius stretched out his hand intending to shake Merlin’s shoulder to break his concentration and warn him of the impending attack. He was only just in time to catch the young man as he stiffened, eyes opening in shock and irises rolling backwards in his head.

Niniane heard the warning in Gaius’ shout, and looked up in time to see her love fall backwards away from his Healing and land against his foster-father’s chest. She watched as Merlin’s entire body went rifid and an horrific cry was forced from him before his limbs and body began a horrible uncontrolled jerking which lasted many long moments. She watched, horrified, as the young man lost control of all bodily functions and fouled himself while at the same time gagging and retching on saliva and vomit. Gaius had turned Merlin over to allow the fluids to drain from his mouth, clearing the airway and allowing the young man to breathe more easily.

Knowing better than to try and restrain the flailing limbs, Gaius busied himself with protecting Merlin’s head from thumping against the stone floor and directing objects to be moved further away from his extremities, trying to limit the damage sustained. Keeping the warlock’s head turned to the side, he dared not insert a finger into the clenched jaw to clear the horrid fluid for fear of having his digit amputated. Neither did he use a stick to clamp Merlin’s jaw, not wanting to crack teeth or to cause further injury to tongue or cheeks, which were now bleeding from self-inflicted bites.

Gaius merely ensured Merlin’s safety as best he could, contenting himself with wiping away fluid with a clean cloth, talking quietly and reassuring his patient all the while. “It’s allright, Merlin. You’re fine. Just relax and breathe. Breathe, my boy; big breaths. That’s it, cough it all up. Relax, I’m here my boy. You’re safe, it will be over soon. Good, that’s it. Keep breathing, Merlin. Shhh…relax, and focus on my voice. Breathe.” All the while his hands were busy, protecting Merlin’s head, maintaining a comforting touch and cleaning away the fluid his lungs and stomach ejected. He’d deal with the other soiling later, when things had settled somewhat.

After what seemed like a lifetime, the awful shaking and trembling eased and finally ceased. The room was filled with the harsh rasping breaths of Merlin’s breathing as he lay half cradled in Gaius’ lap, unconscious. All movement in the emergency room and the one opposite had ceased, and the sudden quiet was unnerving. Raising an eyelid, Gaius noted that Merlin would likely not wake for several hours after his seizure, and had him placed on the cot next to Gwen for observation.(2) Looking from Gwen to Merlin and back again, he knew that there was no more he could do for either until they woke. He pointed to a nearby servant; “You, assist the Maid Maerwina with Queen Guinevere and Physician Merlin. They will both need to be washed down with warm water and dressed in clean clothes.” Wina and the servant nodded and turned to tend to their duties as Gaius turned back to deal with the next injury brought to him and placed on his treatment table.

Even though the sounds of fighting from outside seemed to be dying down as the dusk approached, there would still be work for him and the other healers for a while yet. Wearily Gaius moved back to his station, sharing a pained look across the hallway at Niniane. He could see the pain and worry etched on her face as she re-located a warrior’s dislocated shoulder; her cheeks were wet with tears, and yet she focused on the task before her. Gaius admired her strength of spirit and smiled approvingly. Lately it had seemed to him that Niniane’s expression assumed a softness whenever she looked at his ward, and the elderly man thought it may be a good thing if only Merlin would notice and accept the affection which seemed to be so gently and generously offered. Merlin had been too long alone, and this could be good for the young man. Niniane seemed a sensible and intelligent woman, and the two certainly seemed to deal well together as colleagues.

Well, it could be good, depending on what damage that curse and the seizure may have caused him. Which unfortunately we cannot know until he wakes up! Gaius shook his head: it seemed that life dealt harshly with some individuals.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) 'The Curse of Cornelius Sigan' Season Two, Episode One.
(2) This is a reasonably accurate description of a severe Tonic Clonic Seizure associated with some forms of epilepsy (once called Grand Mal fits) and the appropriate first aid and treatment needed. Unless, of course, if another seizure starts within a few minutes of the first, or the initial seizure lasts longer than about 8 minutes, when an ambulance should be called. Most seizures should stop before approx. 4 mins.

Chapter Text

A gentle heart-broken sobbing echoed throughout the room, as Queen Guinevere grieved the child she had lost. Maerwina sat beside her, clasping the young woman’s hands in her own. There was nothing the maid could do to lessen Gwen’s grief except be there for her. After a long while Gwen dozed, and Maerwina disengaged herself and went to Gaius to ask permission to move the queen to her own bed.

Gaius looked up from his current patient and gave consent: Gwen’s bleeding continued, but was not life-threatening and there was no reason she could not be moved to somewhere more comfortable. It was nearing full dark and the sounds of fighting outside had ceased. The healers had almost caught up with the influx of injuries, and were beginning to make headway once more. Tired to his core, and aching all over Gaius finally paused from his work. He stepped back from his treatment table, and beckoned to one of the servants; “Bring food for the workers and servants here. And broth for the injured.” The man nodded and set off on his vital task.

While waiting Gaius moved to check on Merlin once more. The Warlock had not moved since being placed on the cot and lay on his side with eyes closed and mouth open. Pinching Merlin’s earlobe forcefully between his fingernails he was rewarded with a grunt of pain, and the young man moving his head slightly: it would be a while yet before he woke, but at least he was now responding to pain which he hadn’t done since the seizure before now. (1)

Merlin’s pupils reacted well to light when Gaius held a candle up and pried open the lids, but it would be several hours before the warlock was conscious once more. Sighing Gaius collapsed into a chair; the day had been incredibly difficult, physically and emotionally. And it was by no means over yet.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

King Arthur toured the Front Lines of defence, his way lit by a couple of soldiers with torches burning. He wanted to check over all his men and ensure that all was as well as could be expected. The five fighting units were much depleted in strength, but still held position. The gargoyles and statues remained in place in front of each unit, facing outwards toward the direction of further attack which was expected at first light tomorrow.

Merlin’s unorthodox defence had proven surprisingly effective; the only problem had been that the giant creatures had faced resolutely forwards and could not be turned. This meant that whenever a group of enemy soldiers slipped past them, the Camelotians were left to face them on their own while the giant stone figures stood idly by, staring in the other direction. Arthur made a mental note to speak to Merlin, and have the statues placed under verbal command of the Captains in future: this should allow more flexibility in their use.

Thinking of Merlin; where was he? Arthur could only remember one time when Merlin had been absent from a battlefield, and that had been at Camlann when he’d arrived as Dragoon and saved the day. He’d expected that the self-depreciating warlock would be present to check on his magical defences and shore them up if needed. But there was no sign of him. Arthur would need to remember to look into his friend’s absence as soon as these rounds were finished.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Guinevere had been moved upstairs to the Royal Bedchamber. The soft sobbing had finally stopped, much to Maerwina’s relief, but Gwen showed no lightening of the spirit. Rather, she sat still and quiet, hour after hour, staring at the walls. Not knowing how else to rouse her mistress from this bleak state Wina decided that plain ordinary things might help. She quietly set up the copper bathtub and went downstairs to begin heating water: a hot scented bath was a place to start, and the heat might help relieve any remaining cramps the Queen was experiencing.

Almost a full candle-mark later Maerwina gently shook the queen’s shoulder; “My Lady. Come, I’ve prepared a bath for you.” A flick of brown eyes was all the response that she received. Wina spoke more firmly, using her mistress’s first name. “Gwen! Get up! You need to bathe.”

The dark head nodded and Gwen sat up on the bed but made no further movement. Maerwina began to briskly undress her, moving her limbs as though Gwen were a living doll. Once settled into the water Wina did not dare leave; in this numbed state Gwen could easily slip beneath the surface. Maerwina did not dare contemplate what it would be like telling an exhausted and grieving King that not only had their unborn babe died, but that the Queen had drowned while bathing. Wina settled herself on the floor next to Gwen and began washing her back soothingly, talking nonsense. All she could do was reassure the woman that somebody was close, and that somebody cared.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

King Arthur moved about the fortifications. It was now full dark, and fluttering torches provided sparse light. The City was filled with the smell of blood, and vomit, and smoke and death. The corpses of the Saxon attackers had been cleared to one side for the moment and would be dealt with later when the fighting was finally finished. Watches had been set, and men began to sleep where they lay at their posts although it was dangerous to relax too much, not with an enemy army so close at hand.

The torchlight reflected eerily off the haunches of the great stone creatures standing guard in front of the lines as Kitchen hands began to make their way around. They moved in groups of five: two carrying the huge cauldrons of stew between them, one each balancing trays of bowls and plates, and the last serving the food out. It was a slow process and many warriors had to be roused forcefully: exhaustion was taking a toll, but without nourishment the army would be in no shape to fight when dawn came. Captains and commanders moved about, kicking at men’s boots to startle them awake, ordering them “Now, damn, you! Wake up and EAT! I don’t care if you’re not hungry, finish that plate and THEN you can sleep!”

With the front lines fed, the commanders themselves ate next, selecting those who were most alert to supervise and keep watch. One by one the men left to relieve themselves before returning to their position, and they settled as comfortably as possible onto the hard cobbles or dirt of the streets. The night would be a long one, and who knew what first light would bring.

Arthur had spoken to his chief knights and received reports from each of them: they all reported that many of their men were injured in some way, but capable of fighting on. The gargoyles had saved many an injury and death amongst the warriors, but again and again there were stories of the stone beasts ignoring fighting going on behind them while in front of them there was no enemy. Arthur asked each Captain what he thought the solution could be, and was told by Bedwyr, Percival and Leon that they would have preferred having some command to direct the beasts where to fight rather than relying solely on the blind obedience of Merlin’s spell. It seemed that his Knight’s conclusions matched his own, and Arthur was more determined to speak to the warlock on this matter.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Gaius and the druid healers were toiling long and hard, still tending to the injured under their care. No new casualties were coming in, for which they were extremely grateful. Now they began to examine and re-dress wounds that had been dealt with early in the day. As with the warriors outside, Kitchen hands were making rounds with food. In this case it was mostly broth with some bread to soak into it. For most this was all they could stomach without vomiting, their digestive tracts having shut down with the pain and shock endured.

Merlin remained comatose on his cot, not having moved since being cursed several candle-marks ago. It was now full dark, and Gaius was beginning to worry. He’d placed a candle on a box beside his foster-son to make observation easier. Moving between the rows of beds while tending to others the elderly Physician always had one eye on Merlin’s chest, checking that the shallow respirations continued. He felt incredibly helpless, not having any idea of the type of curse that had stricken Merlin nor what effect it would have, and certainly no idea of when the boy would awaken.

Across the corridor he heard the sounds of Niniane and her helpers as they went through a similar routine to himself. He’d seen the young woman several times standing silently outside the doorway, observing Merlin with a look of heartbroken concern on her plain features before returning to those who needed her care more immediately.

A sound of boots on the flagstones and jingling chain-mail caused Gaius to pause and look up: Arthur had entered the room, obviously wanting a report. In the semi-darkness the young king had not yet noted the warlock’s predicament. Gaius straightened, sure that he could actually hear his joints creaking as he did so, and moved across the room towards his King. This was a conversation he was not looking forward to.

“My Lord.” He greeted

“Gaius. I see that you have all well in hand here, as I would have expected.” The weariness in the King’s face was plain to see and Gaius knew that the young monarch would have neither eaten nor rested yet, being intent on seeing to his duties before tending to his own personal needs. Weaving his way around the various cots and tables of supplies Gaius grabbed a bowl of stew from the hands of the nearest kitchen-hand and continued on his way.

“Here.” He handed the food to Arthur who began to eat absently despite the awful stench which filled the space. Gaius began to report to him, taking him the long way around the room so that Merlin would be amongst the last he saw.

“As you see, Arthur, the wounded are well cared-for. Those who are able will be sent back to their units in the morning after they have rested. This will probably be about one third of those you see here; the rest are too severely injured as yet. Thanks to Merlin’s barriers against magic the casualties are physical rather than magical, which does make treatment somewhat easier, although I am sure that the Druid Healers would have dealt as efficiently with magical wounds as they have with all the rest.”

“They have been useful, then?”

“We would not have saved so many without them, My Lord.” Gaius answered bluntly. “Having the extra treatment stations manned with experienced healers has been of immeasurable aid.”

Arthur nodded and continued on, speaking softly to the men who were conscious while he emptied his bowl of meat and vegetables. “Then this is a system we will use again, if it is ever needed.”

Gaius nodded. Now that the King had eaten it was time to broach more painful subjects, the less confronting first. “There are one or two things you should know, my Lord.”

Gaius’ voice caused Arthur to stop in his tracks: he knew that tone, and it never boded well. He gave his undivided attention to the white-haired physician, vaguely aware that one of the female druids had entered the room behind him, and was now beside one of the cots.

Gaius turned and began to walk towards the kneeling girl. “Merlin has been injured.”

“What? How? Did he join the fighting outside? I didn’t see him.”

“No, he was here in the sick rooms all day.”

Arthur pinned Gaius with a steely eye; “Then how was he injured?”

Gaius gestured towards the insensate lump on the cot; Niniane was busy running a damp cloth across the pale face. “He was cursed. I’m not sure how, or by whom, but I felt the malevolent magic running through the ground an instant before Merlin collapsed. That was in the late afternoon, and he has not yet stirred.”

Arthur moved rapidly towards Merlin, dropping to his knees with a clatter as he did so. “What? Almost half a day and he has not moved? What type of curse was it? And how did it pass beyond the wards Merlin set yesterday?”

Gaius sighed wearily, passing a hand across his brow. “I don’t know, Arthur. My magic is not strong; it was a miracle I was able to sense the curse coming at all. I don’t know for sure who sent it, but I would hazard a guess that it was the Dochraid.”

The king flinched at the sound of that name.

Gaius continued: “She gets her power from the earth, and is bound to it. I can only guess that she sent the curse through the ground to seek out Merlin in particular; I felt it travel through the stones beneath my feet.” Gaius held up a hand, “And before you ask: No, I have no idea what it was, what it did, or when he will wake. And no, there is nothing I can do until he does.”

Arthur stood, rooted to the spot in shock at the news. He’d thought Merlin would be safe inside the citadel, serving in his capacity as Physician. He’d never entertained the thought that the Dochraid or any sorcerer would be able to target his friend using magic, get past the wards that Merlin had set up. He threw up his hands, turning in place and growling in frustration. “Aagggh! So now we wait and see what the damage is?”

“Yes, My Lord, that is about all any of us can do.” Gaius waited a moment before moving on to the next subject. “And now, Arthur, you must prepare for some more bad news.”

“More? Why, what else has happened?”

Gaius dropped his head, wishing that it was anybody but him that was delivering this blow, but knowing also that his long relationship with the king made him the best one for the job. He stepped forward and laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, fatherly concern showing forth; “I am sorry, my boy.” Tears filled the rheumy blue eyes. “Gwen is very unwell. She has lost the baby.”

The two men stood in the centre of the darkened room; one offering comfort, and the other shocked beyond words into something resembling one of the motionless statues outside in the courtyard.

Arthur’s face went blank, uncomprehending, as he whispered “What?”

Gaius led the young man to a seat, and forced him down into it.

“It is not uncommon, my Lord, and there is nothing you nor I, nor Gwen could have done to prevent it.”

“But…where is she? Is she alright?” Arthur lurched to his feet, beginning to panic.

“She is upstairs in the Royal Chambers, and Maerwina is with her. She is allright, physically at least. She will be in pain for several days yet, but will make a full recovery.”

Arthur turned and staggered out of the room. “I must go to her,” and he made his unsteady way down the hallway, all other concerns driven from his head.

“Well,” Gaius observed to nobody in particular; “At least I got him to eat something first.” The elderly man then creaked his way across to a stool he’d placed at the end of Merlin’s bed and dragged it until he was beside Niniane before sinking down. He placed his hand on the young druidess’s shoulder, and waited silently for Merlin to stir.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur stood still before the heavy oaken door to his chamber for a moment, trying to prepare himself for what lay on the other side. He had no idea what to expect, other than his wife would be distressed. He was torn between devastating grief over the loss of their child and an overwhelming relief that Gwen was alright. Exhausted from the battle and weighed down over Merlin’s injury, he was struggling to stand upright let alone deal with yet another emotional confrontation. He sucked in a deep breath and laid his hand firmly on the latch before pushing the door open and peering around it.

Gwen stood, shoulders slumped as Maerwina adjusted her bedgown around her shoulders. A cooling bath stood in one corner and the bed was turned down invitingly. Both women looked up at the new entrant. The maid dropped into an automatic curtsey while Gwen stood unmoving and dull-faced; staring at him. Arthur wasn’t even sure if she was truly aware of his presence.

“Gwen?” he greeted gently, moving slowly across the floor as he would towards a frightened animal. “Gwen, it’s me, Arthur.” There was no recognition in her face, and Arthur felt fear prickle along his spine.

Maerwina turned away and began cleaning up after the bath, leaving the queen to Arthur’s ministrations for the moment.

“Guinevere!” he spoke more forcefully, placing a hand on her arm, trying to elicit some response. The chocolate eyes moved slowly to his face but Gwen continued to stare blankly at him. He exerted pressure, leading her towards the bed and Gwen followed docilely. “Come, let’s get you into bed love.” He guided her to sit down before lifting her legs in and bringing the quilt up over her. Looking toward the maid he asked “When did it happen, and has she eaten since?”

Maerwina bobbed another curtsey, answering “It happened mid-afternoon my lord, and she’s not eaten, but has had a little water. Gaius said she should have some broth, and I’ve sent for some from the kitchens. What about you, have you eaten my lord?”

“Yes, I have thanks. I would appreciate a quick wash, though. Is there water enough?”

“Yes, My Lord, but it’s not hot.” Arthur found himself thinking wryly that Merlin would have heated it quickly with a word, and answered Wina “That’s alright Wina, I don’t need it hot. I just need to quickly wash off the mud and sweat. Do you know how to remove armour?”

Nodding, the maid-servant moved to assist the king with the various straps he couldn’t reach before stepping discretely back and giving him privacy behind the screen. By the time Arthur was relatively clean and dressed in a loose sleeping tunic the broth had arrived and was placed on the table beside the bed.

Arthur sat himself down on the bed beside his wife and prepared to feed her, remembering several weeks ago when Merlin had performed the same task for him when Arthur was injured. Shaking his head, he dismissed thoughts of his former man-servant, and focused on the task before him. He could only deal with one grief at a time, and right now it was Gwen who needed him.

“Gwen. Here, sit up, I’ve got some broth for you.” Guinevere made no movement apart from opening her eyes. Arthur leaned over and raised her shoulders, tucking a pillow behind her. Next he took the bowl of broth and filled a spoon. Gwen’s eyes fixed on his face, and he took this as a good sign. He brought the spoon to her mouth and nudged her lips. After a few seconds her mouth opened and he was able to deposit the broth within, and Gwen obediently swallowed. Again and again the spoon made the trip from bowl to mouth, and before long Guinevere had finished the lot.

By this time Maerwina had finished tidying the chamber and left. Arthur quickly placed the tray on the central table and crawled into bed beside his wife, gathering her into his arms and speaking softly to her. Her head lay on his chest, and he stroked her cheek gently.

“Gwen, Gwen, I’m so sorry. I love you so much, please, don’t shut me out. Speak to me.” He spoke nonsense for a long time, soothing and rocking his wife, trying to arouse some response from her. Tears gathered and made silent tracks down his face onto the pillow, and still he stroked her and spoke softly.

The warm bundle in his arms shuddered, and a great sob broke free from Gwen’s heart. Arthur clasped her closer, sobbing himself in relief that his beloved was back with him again.

“Arthur! I’m sorry. So sorry!” Gwen wailed, finally beginning to voice her grief and loss.

“Shhh. It’s not your fault my love. Hush. I love you so much.”

“No! You shouldn’t! Not after this.” Gwen thrashed in the bed, beyond sense, and Arthur knew better than to argue with her.

“Hush, Gwen. Don’t speak like that. I love you, now and always. Hush, rest now.”

The sound of grieving filled the chamber as the King and Queen sobbed together for a long time before exhaustion won out and they finally drifted into the arms of morpheus.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Below in the sick rooms a vigil was being kept beside another bed. Merlin lay unmoving still, Gaius frankly asleep in his chair, and Niniane on the cold flagstones, propped uncomfortably against the cot. A fresh candle stood beside her, the first having burnt down long ago.

The young Warlock moaned and moved for the first time in several hours, beginning to wake from his unnatural sleep.

“Hello? Gaius? Niniane? Anyone there?” the warlock’s voice called out fretfully.

The young druidess woke and moved, placing a hand on Merlin’s. “Hush, Merlin. I’m here. Wait and I’ll wake Gaius too.”

There was no need to wake the old man: many years of sick-bed vigils rendered him sensitive to the slightest movement of his patient. He leaped from his perch, hurrying forwards. “Merlin! You’re awake finally. How are you?”

“Tired still, and groggy. How long have I been asleep?”

“Asleep? More like unconscious! Do you remember what happened?”

“Some. I was trying to heal Gwen when I felt the Dochraid’s magic attack me. It was like she’d cursed me. How long ago was that?”

Niniane gently caressed his face and Gaius pretended not to notice. “It was late afternoon Merlin.” She answered. “You had a fit, and haven’t moved until now. It’s just after midnight.”

“That long?” Merlin was surprised that so much time had passed without him being aware. “How is Gwen? Did the baby live?”

Gaius drew a breath before answering softly. “I’m sorry Merlin, no. The queen is well in herself, but she lost the child.”

Merlin lay silent and still for some time before speaking again. “Does Arthur know?” he murmured his next words.

“Yes. He’s with her now.”

“Good. I’m sorry, Gaius. I don’t know if I could have helped her, but I tried.” Merlin sighed.

“I know my boy. I know you tried. Now sit up and have some broth. You’ll need your strength; we’ve another day to get through yet.”

Merlin chuckled wryly; “Fine, but why are we talking in the dark? Light a candle, will you?” as he struggled to sit forward.

Gaius and Niniane shared a startled look. “Dark? There’s a candle beside you, Merlin.”

“No, there isn’t. It’s pitch black Gaius.”

Niniane leaned forward to answer. “What do you mean ‘pitch black’? I swear to you, Merlin, that I am holding a candle, and I can see you quite well.”

Fear worked its way across the young face, and Merlin threw himself upright in the bed. He extended his left hand and a glowing blue globe appeared, bathing the trio in light. The young man began to panic. “But…My magic! Is it working?”

“Of course it is! You can see that light for yourself!”

“No, Gaius. That’s the problem. I can’t see that light! Not my magical light nor any other light.”

Gasping, Gaius grabbed the candle stick from Niniane’s hand and moved it back and forth in front of the Warlock’s face. The pupils contracted in response to the light, but Merlin’s eyes were neither focusing on nor following the flame.

“No!” Niniane gasped softly, covering her mouth.

“Oh, my boy!” Gaius closed his eyes.

Merlin bowed his head slightly, voicing all their fears; “So, it seems that I am blind.”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Glasgow Coma Scale: if you are interested, find this on Google.

Chapter Text

It was just before first light, and the coldest part of the night. Men sat huddled at their posts, clothing dampened with dew as they slept. Sentries paced back and forth along the lines keeping a wary eye out for the Saxon army, ready to sound the alert at the first sign of attack. Camelot was expecting another day of heavy fighting once the sun had risen again.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

In the Royal Chambers Arthur and Guinevere slept twined around each other. Gwen’s curly dark head rested on her husband’s chest, their hands clasped together. There were traces of tears on both faces.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The large kitchens already rang with sound as cooks and servants bustled about, preparing for yet another day. Leftover broth and stew was placed into larger cauldrons and heated again, fresh ingredients being prepared and added to feed the troops once more. On other fires, huge cauldrons of porridge were being cooked to feed workers, fighters, the sick, and all castle servants. It was filling, and easy to prepare, and could be kept hot easily.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

On the lower floor of the citadel the sick rooms began stirring: injured men waking and calling out in pain. Servants began to move about quietly, distributing the pain-killing draughts prepared by the healers for each of the patients and taking around containers allowing those who were immobile to relieve their bladders.

Gaius had appropriated one of the spare cots and lay on his back, his familiar loud snores reverberating around the room. Niniane sat on the Physician’s abandoned chair, still watching over Merlin.

The Warlock lay dozing lightly. He longed for morning time, and yet dreaded it at the same time; daylight would prove just how much vision he had. He’d tried several times over the course of the night to heal himself, summoning his magic to try and drive out the effects of the dark Curse. But self-healing had never been one of his strong-points, and he wasn’t sure how successful he’d been. There was something about trying to use his own magic in order to sense his body that felt awkward, somehow. Besides, the curse he’d been hit with was something he was entirely unfamiliar with. Merlin dreaded the thought of being helpless and useless: when in the middle of a battle for survival, Camelot needed all hands available, not another body to care for.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur stirred and woke gently, Gwen warm and soft in his arms. A wave of love and contentment washed over the king as he reflected on the greatest blessing he enjoyed in life: Gwen, a servant whom he’d first become enamoured with and then done his best to ignore for several years thereafter, before finally allowing himself to fully embrace the experience of love. His Queen’s bravery, wisdom, steadfast nature and bluntly expressed opinions were some of the things that had initially drawn him to her.

He smiled in the darkness as he recalled with fondness her taking him to task over the food served in Ealdor almost a decade ago. He’d made some snide comment about the quality of Hunith’s cooking, and Gwen had rounded on him with anger: “Food is scarce for these people. You shouldn’t turn your nose up at it!”(1) For a moment Arthur’d stood, stunned at the reprimand. It wasn’t so much what Gwen had said, but that she had dared to at all, as well as all that was implied in the statement. He’d ever thought about life from the perspective of the common man, and Gwen’s single statement had opened his eyes in a way he’d never envisioned.

It had been a rebuke on his ‘mightier than thou’ attitude, it had been a revelation about the subtle way in which Nobles considered themselves so far above the commoners, it had been a reminder that Arthur was not always in the right, and a challenge to him to reconsider how he would deal with ordinary people in the future. Just because they weren’t of Noble blood did not mean that they didn’t feel, didn’t fight or struggle, or live lives of joy and pain just like everybody else. If he was to be King, it would be King of the Commoner as well as King of the Knights and the Noble-born. If he was to be a fair and just King he must take into account all of the people in the land that he would govern, or risk becoming a despot and a dictator.

That had been the first time Guinevere had openly opposed him, but by no means the last. It was due to the unique insights brought to him by Guinevere and Merlin that Arthur had grown into the man he was today: it would not have been possible otherwise. He clasped Gwen closer to his chest, thanking God that she had come into his life.

Gwen stirred as Arthur’s arms tightened and moaned as she came awake. She was warm and comfortable, and for a moment just lay and revelled in these sensations. All too soon a reminder of what she’d lost slammed into her brain in the form of a deep grinding pain low in her belly, similar to the pain associated with her monthly times. Tears formed and then rolled down her cheeks as she recalled what she had lost and how she’d failed Arthur and the entire Kingdom, by failing to provide the Heir they so desperately needed. Guilt and self-condemnation slammed into the young queen and she rolled over, turning away from the comfort of her husband’s arms because she didn’t deserve it.

“Gwen. Shhh. It’s alright, I’m here.” Arthur soothed and moved closer, tucking her smaller body against his chest. The maturity he’d gained over the last few years gave him some insight into what could be bothering his Queen. “I loved you before, when we were expecting our baby. And I love you now afterwards, too. It is not your fault, Gwen.” He shook her firmly, then turned her shoulders so that he could stare into the chocolate brown eyes he loved so very much. “Do you understand? It. Is. NOT. Your. Fault.” Each word was spoken with deadly seriousness, and emphasised with a gentle shake of her shoulders. He refused to allow her to look away, as though trying to force his support and love into her mind by strength of will alone.

Guinevere’s haunted eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she drew a huge cleansing breath, releasing it in a storm of weeping; true grieving this time, and not the debilitating self-doubt and blame it had been before. Arthur released a sigh of relief, pleased now that his beloved could grieve properly, and begin the healing journey. He knew the process would be a long one and that Gwen would need frequent reminders that he did not blame her for this tragedy, and all the support he could show her, but at least her emotional recovery had begun.

He lay quietly stroking her face for some time before reluctantly pulling away: he had a battle to fight and win, and it would not wait, no matter how many personal calamities the participants were facing. He softly rolled out of bed and began to don his clothes, readying himself for another day of pain, and blood and death and fear.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Niniane woke with a start, and groaned out loud involuntarily. She was cold and stiff; her position slumped on the chair beside Merlin’s bed having locked her muscles into unnatural positions. She heaved herself to her feet, clamping her jaw against a fresh moaning protest of pain as she did so. Taking a step away she stretched her arm, followed by her neck, shoulders, and the rest of her body, trying to restore circulation and mobility. When she was relatively flexible once more she turned to check on Merlin; he slept on although had obviously moved in his sleep, and now lay curled on his side facing away from her.

She bent a laid a kiss on his forehead, not caring if he woke. Who knew what this day would bring? Merlin, blind and helpless as he was, needed to know that somebody loved and cared for him. All that remained was to see if the stubborn lonely young man would accept her offering. Gently she ran her hand down his cheek, caressing and feeling the rough stubble that had grown overnight. “It’s alright, my love, I promise I’ll take care of you. No matter what.” The words were whispered softly in his awkwardly-shaped ear, and she laid another kiss upon him pausing for a moment to inhale the intoxicating smell of warm, sleeping Merlin.

A slow stretch and the warlock woke softly with a sigh. Niniane found her hand clasped gently as the man turned onto his back. “Niane? Is that you?”

She chuckled softly, and brought her other hand up to his forehead. “Yes, love. It’s me, you can hear my voice, and feel my hand.”

“You’ll stay with me? Please?” Blindly his other hand reached towards her voice as he tried to touch her in the darkness. She quickly wrapped her fingers around his and held on firmly, giving what reassurance she could.

The uncertainty in his voice cut her to her core. She’d always known that Merlin’s assured demeanour, his strong words and ‘take charge’ attitude had been a front: a way of protecting and hiding the unsettled boy within. But being openly confronted with this side of his personality caused a sharp pain inside her rib-cage, as though her heart were being torn.

“Shhh. Yes, I promise. I’ll stay with you, Merlin. Always.” She held back her tears as she made her declaration, daring to expose to him the feelings which she’d kept hidden for so long. It was ironic that such a private and intense moment should occur in a sick room filled with a score of other people, all within a few paces of them.

Merlin nodded, accepting the comfort this woman offered so freely. ‘It is so like her’, he thought to himself, ‘she is so full of love and caring.’ He drew in an unsteady breath as he finally admitted to himself; ‘And I need that so much! I don’t want her to go. Ever!’ His hands tightened painfully on hers as fear overwhelmed him and he clung, desperate for the love and compassion she offered him, and overwhelmed at the depth of emotion he was experiencing.

“Thank you, Niane. I’m sorry. It’s alright, I’m better now. What time is it?”

“No need to be sorry, my love. It’s just coming up for first light. I’d better get going; there are men to be fed, wounds tended to, and decisions to be made on who is fit to fight again today. You stay there for now.”

The dark head nodded against the pillows and Merlin released her hands from his surprisingly powerful grasp, allowing his arms to thump down onto the bed. Niniane straightened and moved towards Gaius’ prone form in order to wake him before moving towards Davydd and Gobin, rousing them as well.

Merlin lay, helpless and fuming on his cot. He knew better than to get up just now: he would just get in the way and cause more problems. Frustration rose within the warlock, and he gritted his teeth in anger.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Dawn had just broken and the fighting men were now awake and moving, each sustained by a bowl of hot porridge brought around by the faithful kitchen hands, and a draught of cold water. Companies were divided into groups to allow them to move off and relieve bladder and bowels before once more taking up position behind the guardian stone giants who had not so much as twitched in all the long hours of night.

Tension filled the town and breath smoked in the cold air as they waited.

A sound broke the unnatural silence: a single man’s voice crying out in the accent of Camelot; “Here they come again!” The Warning Bell began its loud tolling as the Saxons rushed forth in a wave, screaming their battle cry and beginning to hack once more into the living walls of stone and men who were the city’s only defence.

Once more swords swung and clashed, metal rang, and the world was filled with the grunts and cries of desperately fighting men, along with the clear shouted commands of the captains: the second day had begun.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Mordred sat under a tree far back from the fighting, Morgana’s spirit floating about nearby. She’d been down to the front lines several times already and was reporting on the battle’s progress.

*It seems that Merlin is no longer able to function; the Dochraid’s curse has rendered him blind. I heard Arthur telling Percival.* Glee radiated from Morgana’s words and Mordred smiled in satisfaction.

“That is good, Morgana. We whittle down their defences one by one. Soon we shall prevail.” Mordred’s words were spoken strongly, but were also spoken in hope rather than truth. “What of the actual fighting? How does that go?”

*Not so well, Mordred.* Bitterness now coloured the witch’s mental voice. *Even while cursed, Emrys’ magic is strong. His wards hold, and the stone creatures he has brought to life fight on. Our Army is sadly depleted.*

“Then we must consolidate our attacks. We can no longer afford to fight on all fronts. We will re-form and have one main attacking force, with the others as light groups only to distract from the main wave.” And Mordred began to call his runners to him, giving orders and re-organising his army.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The sick rooms were once again awash with wounded. The men who were able-bodied enough had been sent back to fight several hours ago. Fresh injuries began coming in again, and the healers were once more at their stations.

Sick of lying down and feeling useless Merlin had summoned his Sidhe Staff and was using it to help navigate around without bumping into things. He had established that his vision was useless. He was surrounded in a dark grey mist which obscured everything. Very occasionally he might be able to detect a pocket of greater light or shadow, but that appeared to be the limit of his abilities. Not willing to rest any longer he’d encased himself in a globe of magic in order to sense the larger objects around him, and stumbled about, lending his expertise where he could. He was unable to physically tend to the wounded, but his medical knowledge and experience, of course, remained intact. Merlin’s opinion was often sought and more than once he used his powers to sense deep injuries and heal wounds which were beyond the skill of the others. If one of the healers, or Gaius or Niniane grasped his hands and placed them upon an injured person, magic could take over and Merlin did the rest, blindness or no.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Towards late morning the flow of casualties eased a little. Merlin, who was relying on hearing more than he usual, detected that the sounds of fighting from outside had altered. No longer beset on all sides, it seemed that the Saxon Army now focused on one frontal assault, hoping to overwhelm Camelot’s defences. *This might be our chance ‘Niane.* He sent automatically, bypassing speech which would be lost in the tumult of sound surrounding them. *Come here and assist me. I am going to Arthur.*

*Why? What do you mean? What are you planning?* her mental tone was heavy with suspicion.

Merlin chuckled out loud. *I am next to useless in here, the way I am, but my magic is still intact. I may yet be able to turn the tide of this battle. But I will need your help. Will you come?*

*Of course!* The wave of love and support streaming from her mind into his was so overwhelming that Merlin felt himself stagger backwards momentarily. Niniane hurried to his side, touching his shoulder to let him know of her presence.

Merlin chuckled, and placed an arm around her for balance. *Well. That answers that question, anyway.* humour and joy tinged his telepathy.

*What question?*

*The question of whether I dreamed last night when you said you’d be with me always.*

*Merlin!* Niniane was suddenly deadly serious. *I may not have chosen the time and place of my declaration, but I did choose the words I spoke. I will be with you always, as long as you will have me.*

A gentle affection flowed from the warlock back towards her, tinged unaccountably with sadness. *Thank you ‘Niane.* and Merlin sighed mentally. *If only it could be always.*

*What do you mean by that?*

*Nothing. Leave it for another time, my sweet.*

*But…*

*Leave it! For now… Come, we have work to do.*

The intense exchange had taken only seconds and Merlin called out to Gaius to inform him of his plan. The elderly Physician was not pleased by the idea but knew that he could do little to stop Merlin performing what he saw as his duty, and eventually acquiesced.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Arthur was uncharacteristically standing back behind the lines, watching his men in action and planning their defence. He’d noticed the drop in attacks on four of their five fronts, and the increase on the remaining line, and was for the moment watching, counting and analysing. It was an incredibly startled King Arthur who turned at a soft popping sound behind him to find Merlin stumbling on the uneven stones, clutching on to Niniane for balance. It was obvious that the two had just appeared out of thin air, courtesy of Merlin’s teleporting trick.

“Merlin! Do you have to? Just…stop appearing suddenly like that! You scared a year’s growth out of me!” Arthur allowed his concern to be expressed as anger.

Chuckling Merlin stepped forward, feeling with the end of his staff as he went. “Of course, Arthur. That’s the aim of my entire life: to scare several years’ growth out of the greatest Dingle-twerp in Camelot!”

Smiling, Arthur rushed forwards and caught Merlin in a bone-crushing hug. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Not too many months ago Merlin knew that Arthur would rather be dragged through a gorse bush backwards by a team of rampaging horses rather than give him a hug, public or otherwise. But after their time on Avalon many things had changed and both were now more comfortable openly acknowledging the incredibly close bond they shared. The events of the past months had only served to strengthen this bond further: the two men trusted each other absolutely, and each knew and depended on the strength and expertise of the other.

Merlin disentangled himself and stepped back. Niniane was directly behind him, and he stopped when she touched his arm, indicating that he should move no further or risk stumbling once more.

“So, Arthur. It sounds like your knights are overcoming the Saxons? I can hear that they are no longer fighting on all fronts, and have confined their attack to one area only.”
Instantly, Arthur was all business: the Commanding Officer once more. “Yes, that’s right. I think that they are running out of men, forcing them to withdraw in some areas in order to continue their assault. I do not think it will be many hours before Camelot will prove victorious.”

“Then that means Mordred will likely be less heavily guarded. Now would be a good time to confront him.”

Arthur stared hard in dis-belief at the Warlock. “What? Confront him? Merlin, you’re as blind as a bat, and about as useless! Don’t be ridiculous!” and he flapped a dismissing hand at his friend.

“Useless, am I?” Merlin growled in annoyance. Arthur instantly regretted his words as he felt a wave of power envelop him.

Merlin’s voice increased in intensity; “Useless, am I?” Arthur’s booted feet left the cobbles.

Merlin stalked forwards; “Useless! I think not! I may be sightless but my magic is as strong as ever, Arthur!” the warlock spat, and the King began to spin in place suspended several feet above the ground, his blonde hair whipping outwards. Niniane collapsed in giggles at the display, which didn’t help matters at all.

“Merlin! Alright! I’m sorry, you’re not useless!” The king stopped spinning and landed back on the ground. His equilibrium disturbed, Arthur promptly lost his balance and landed on his backside, gasping, eyes wildly flicking from side to side with vertigo. The warlock waited until he heard Arthur’s harsh breathing steady somewhat before continuing.
“Have you forgotten, Arthur, that not only is there an army to deal with, but Mordred and Morgana and the Dochraid? I may not be able to see, but I am still able to deal with that ‘Terrible Trio’. My magical senses will be enough to keep me safe from attack, and Niniane will go with me to guide me.” The plain druid woman nodded briefly before Merlin continued, having regained control of her mirth.

“Arthur, I need to do this.” Merlin continued seriously. “Otherwise those three will just band together again some other time, and come at you with another army.”

Head slowly ceasing from the awful spinning Arthur scrambled to his feet. “Very well then, Merlin. Although I don’t like this at all,” the king answered heavily.

Merlin smiled crookedly and held out his arm, around which Niniane promptly wrapped her own. “Neither do I, Arthur.” And the Warlock closed his eyes, furrowed his brow briefly in concentration, and vanished.

“I really hate it when he does that.” Arthur muttered under his breath as he stomped off back towards the battle.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin and Niniane appeared abruptly beside a beautiful Lake surrounded by gorse and bracken. Birds twittered happily and all was serene. Confused, Niniane looked around. “This doesn’t appear to be Mordred’s head of operations. Where’s the cave? You said he was near a cave?”

Merlin shook his head in agreement. “No, this is nowhere near Mordred. This is a very special place to me; I come here sometimes when I need to think, or to be alone. He turned and pointed blindly but unerringly off to the right: “That’s the place I saw the Sidhe for the very first time(2), and over there is where I brought Lancelot’s body after I’d exposed him as a Shade(3) and Morgana made him kill himself. And there…” Merlin pointed to a place very near the water’s edge before he stopped abruptly, swallowing, and Niniane knew he couldn’t continue further.

“You are obviously very familiar with this place. Even blinded, you know exactly where everything is.” Niniane observed.

“Yes. Well.” Merlin turned away, but not before Niniane caught a glimpse of deep sadness in the blue eyes.

Merlin shook himself, continuing on again: “Anyway, I didn’t bring you here for this, ‘Niane. I actually came because it’s the best place I could think of to gather my Power. This place has always felt so alive to me, and that’s what I need right now. Just stay there a moment.”

So saying, Merlin stepped backwards on the smooth grass, and placed himself just outside of Niniane’s reach. He planted his Staff firmly into the ground, and extended his arms. Next he closed his eyes and lifted his face towards the sky, and fell still. Watching, Niniane found it easy to believe that the warlock was doing nothing but stand quietly. It was when she extended her magical senses that she got an understanding of what Merlin, no Emrys, was doing. For this was something only the great Emrys of Legend was capable of, and Niniane soaked up the experience avidly.

Merlin Emrys had somehow connected himself to the life force around him, and was drinking it in, drawing the pure magic of nature to himself. He was preparing himself, augmenting his abilities using the concentration of Life that surrounded him. Gasping in awe, she reached her hand out towards the Warlock, feeling the power that was running to and through him. She had never heard of such an ability before, and stood literally spellbound as she watched the man she loved perform something astounding, and lose himself in Creation itself.

It felt like hours later but could only have been minutes, for the shadows had hardly moved along the ground. Merlin lowered his arms and opened his eyes, surprising her by looking directly at the druidess. “Now that’s done we can be on our way.” He gestured with his hand, and Niniane returned to his side while Merlin’s eyes tracked her movement as she advanced.

“Can you see me, now?” she asked, excited.

Merlin chuckled softly. “No, ‘Niane. But I can sense your magical core. I know where you are because I can feel the flavour of your magic. That’s why we came here: I needed to connect myself to magic in such a way that I can feel where magical beings are, and sense the direction and force of a magical attack. It would be pretty useless confronting Mordred if I just let him cut me down without putting up a fight, wouldn’t it?”

Speechless, Niniane nodded and took firm hold of Merlin’s arm, ready for their next teleport. She could feel the power buzzing through him, almost vibrating against the skin under her palm.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The next time the pair appeared it was on the side of a low hill, and before them gaped a hole in the earth, ringed with scrub and ragged grass. They had arrived at the current abode of the Dochraid. Merlin stumbled on the uneven ground and Niniane steadied him, preventing a fall.

“This is a bad place, Niane. Can you feel it? There is evil here.” Merlin commented matter-of-factly before stepping forward towards the dark opening. “The Dochraid will be inside, and I sense Mordred with her, as well as Morgana.”

“You mean to take on all three at once?”

“I will only need to deal with two, really. Morgana has no corporeal body, and as such can only talk and influence. Mordred is too young to really know who he is, for all his power and training. It is the Dochraid who will be the challenge, but I have faced her before.”

Merlin then switched to silent speaking; *From now on, use no words. If you need to speak with me, use telepathy, tightly focused to me so the others cannot hear. And stay behind me, no matter what.*

*Behind you? But what if you trip, or fall?*

*Behind me! I cannot protect you otherwise, and I will not see you hurt.* Niniane was shocked at the sudden force behind Merlin’s thoughts. *And now comes the play-acting.* and with these final words, Merlin Emrys stood tall and moved forwards into the cave mouth, his short-sleeved blue Physician’s robe swirling impressively around his ankles, and the blue glow of the stone in his Staff complementing the picture.

The first few yards were pitch black, not that it made any difference to the blind warlock who was leading the way. Niniane kept up a commentary inside his head, directing him as best she could: *…turn left a little here, good the wall is just by your right hand. Now step down, the floor slopes away. There is a large empty chamber just to the right: there are about a score of people scattered on the ground around some sort of magical diagram. It must be where the Dochraid linked with the other sorcerers to curse you. Oh, it stinks in here…* and she wrinkled her nose in disgust, unable to pinch her nose with both hands on Merlin’s shoulders.

Merlin listened to her commentary, following her directions and using his new magical senses as he did so. He’d already sensed the chamber to the right; a change in the echoes of the narrow passage alerted him to its presence. The remnants of the dark curse still lay in the ground, and he felt the score of bodies who lay comatose. They were alive, magically exhausted, but neither Mordred nor the Dochraid had bothered to tend to them or offer aid of any kind.

He was well aware of the stench that pervaded every part of the cave: it seemed to be particular to the Dochraid herself and was present wherever she went. He dismissed it as best he could and focused his magic ahead.

He sensed only two beings in another large chamber, and focused on identifying them. There was one to the right, who may be leaning against the wall. ‘Mordred’ he identified. The second being was directly ahead, and with his heightened senses, seemed to reek of foul and dark magics. ‘And there’s the Dochraid.’ It seemed that Morgana’s spirit had already fled, helpless as she was. ‘Well, that’s one less distraction, anyway.’

He paused momentarily, delving further into his power, forming a type of invisible shield before him. Moving steadily forward he startled when Mordred’s voice greeted him.
“And here he is: Emrys the great wizard. But nobody said anything about the Great Emrys being blind.” The druid mocked. Merlin sensed a sudden surge of red-hot power from Mordred; an attack. With a gesture much like batting away an annoying insect, he dispersed the current of magic before unleashing an attack of his own, rendering the young man instantly unconscious. He then turned back to the Dochraid, his most dangerous enemy at the moment.

Being of the Dark as she was, the Dochraid could see the nimbus of power surrounding Emrys, and it was painful to her. He advanced steadily, the pure White magic seeming to burn brighter the closer it got to her, increasing with proximity. Overcome, the Dochraid shrieked and threw up her hands before her face, trying vainly to protect herself from the Magic of Life itself. Emrys practically vibrated with it, and she could not endure to be in its presence.

“Noooo…” the crone howled in pain. “Emrys!” Merlin ignored her pleas, and continued advancing into the chamber.

The Dochraid rallied somewhat. “I see you have one of the Staff of the Sidhe! How did you manage to get one of those, let alone bend it to your will?” The Dochraid challenged him, awed and frightened at the same time.

“There is much about me that you do not know, Dochraid.” Merlin answered calmly. He lifted his Staff and focused a blue-white beam of power from it directly into her body.
The effect was instantaneous as the Dochraid writhed in pain, shrieking at the top of her voice, blind scarred face screwed up in agony and claw-like hands gouging at thin air; “Nooo! I cannot, too much…” the cries echoed from the surrounding rocks, causing physical pain to both Merlin and Niniane. Reflexively Merlin shot off a bolt of power from his other hand towards the Hag, and was rewarded with a pop as the Dochraid vanished, presumably returning to her pitiful hole in the ancient cliffs far away.

Instantly the atmosphere in the cave lightened as the evil influence vanished. Merlin stood breathing heavily for a moment, leaning surreptitiously into Niniane’s support from behind him. “Well, that was easier than I expected.” He commented aloud to her: “Although now I suppose I’ll need to follow her and deal with her permanently. But that will be for later, not today.”

He drew in a breath and turned to face Mordred, whom he could hear stirring in the corner where he’d fallen. The young druid scrambled to his feet, stuttering in his confusion; “Where did she go? What happened? How did you..?”

Merlin answered Mordred as he’d once answered King Arthur; with the three words that explained everything: “I am Emrys.”

Although Merlin could not see it Mordred nodded in resignation. “Yes, well I expect that’s it then. So, Emrys, what’s next? What do you have in store for me now?” Bitterness and loathing filled the druid’s voice, where once there’d been affection and trust. Merlin mourned silently for all that had been lost between them.

“I have nothing in store for you, Mordred.” Merlin returned quietly, sadly. “Other than to ask that you leave Albion and never bother Arthur, myself, or Camelot again.”

“What? That’s it?” Mordred looked on in disbelief.

“Make no mistake, Mordred, I have received a prophecy concerning you from a Vates, (4) and none of it has been good. Understand this; I will have no mercy on you should you ever come to Albion again!” Merlin’s anger caused his magic to burn brightly until he was outlined by a visible glowing gold power, his sightless blue eyes staring just to the left of Mordred’s face as the warlock advanced slowly and with purpose on the former knight.

Merlin extended both arms, his right hand grasping his Staff, and the cavern was filled with rolling thunder, lightning forking from the roof, and dust rising in mini-tornadoes. Merlin’s voice echoed menacingly in the confined space, inhumanly deep and growling “Do not test me, Mordred, or you will regret it.”

Merlin stalked forward, light-footed as a cat despite his lack of vision. “Now go! Leave this place; cross the Narrow Sea and live out your life in the Southern Lands where the sun shines hot.(5)” Thrusting the Staff in front of him, Merlin shot a thin beam of amethyst light which connected to Mordred’s chest, over his heart. The druid flinched back in shock, but surprisingly felt no pain as the beam struck his body.

“There. I have marked you with my Magic. If you ever come near to me the Mark will activate and alert me that you are close. Be assured that I will find you if you ever return to this Land.” Merlin Emrys' voice was dark and flat, not threatening, just stating facts and expecting obedience.

He turned away and began to make his way out of the cave, demonstrating that Mordred was no longer worth his attention. This action enraged the hot-headed young druid, and Merlin saw the red-hot glow of magical attack in his mind’s eye even as Mordred conceived the idea. Not bothering to turn around, Merlin extended his shield to encircle Niniane and allowed the attack to splatter harmlessly against it. Gesturing to Niniane, he allowed her to take his arm and guide him out of the cavern into the narrow walkway. They were now finished, and left Mordred accordingly.

It only remained now for aid to be sent to the fallen sorcerers. With Camelot now safe behind magical barriers, Merlin felt no threat from these remaining magic-workers. He could now return to the citadel and report his success to Arthur and Gaius.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) ‘The Moment of Truth’ Series One, Episode Ten.
(2) ‘The Gates of Avalon’ Series One, Episode Seven.
(3) “Lancelot du Lac’ Series Four, Episode Nine.
(4) ‘Arthur’s Bane, Part One’ Season Five, Episode Two.
(5) An old name for the English Channel. Merlin is referring to the warm lands of Southern France, Italy, and Spain, moving down into northern Africa.

Chapter Text

Next morning and the town was unaccustomedly quiet. There had been no further attacks since the last wave of Saxons had been overcome. Merlin & Niniane had transported back into the healing rooms in early evening, appearing abruptly and earning themselves a disapproving look from Gaius at the stunt.

“Merlin!” the elderly man had snapped, before aiming a swat at his ward’s head. Gaius was so used to Merlin spotting the incoming hand and ducking it that he was startled when his gnarled hand actually connected with the young man’s temporal region with a thwack! Eyes wide with shock, the retired physician briefly debated whether to apologise. The comical expression on Merlin’s face caused him to think better of the impulse, and they moved on to the next topic of discussion; that of the unconscious sorcerers in the cave. Gaius organised a small band of servants to take supplies to the group, as Merlin’s rapid magical examination had revealed nothing much wrong with them beyond exhaustion.

Now, the morning after the two-day battle, clean-up efforts were well underway. First and foremost the potential for disease needed to be contained: nothing spread illness as rapidly as piles of carrion left lying rotting in the streets. Arthur had organised several large bonfires lit in strategic positions, and corpses were being systematically burned. It was the most efficient and cleanest method of disposal. Unfortunately the massive pyres produced rolling waves of foul-smelling smoke that permeated the air, and would hang over the city for several days, if not weeks, to come.

Guinevere found the smell overwhelming, added as it was to the hormonal surges of her body adjusting to a non-pregnant state. The queen had been fighting nausea since she awoke, coughing and gagging on the fumes which had entered her sleeping-chamber around the wooden shutters of her window. Gwen had spent most of the previous day in a slough of despair, moving from bed to chair, to bed again. She’d tried her hand at completing some of the work on her tapestry-frame, but found that concentration was difficult, even on such a familiar and repetitive task. Gaius had visited her in the late morning, and noting the young woman’s despair, had given her a light sleeping draft. Gwen had gratefully, and most uncharacteristically, downed the foul-tasting concoction, and spent most of the afternoon in light slumber, mercifully untroubled by her grief.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin had woken for the second morning in a row to a world perceived through sound, touch, smell and magic. Being deprived of his primary sense had forced him to rely on the others, and he found that when in familiar surroundings he could manage quite well.

It was for this reason that he’d spent the night back in his own room: his familiarity with the layout would ensure less accidents bumping into objects. Anything he found himself in need of, he could of course summon using his magic. In addition, he’d found that creating a ‘bubble’ of invisible power around his body gave him some feel of where tables, chairs, walls etc. were in relation to himself. It was still an incredibly frustrating process, however, and the powerful warlock had to sternly resist his temptation towards hopelessness.

No new casualties had presented since the cease of hostilities the previous afternoon. Gaius had worked himself into exhaustion: his age taking a huge toll on the Physician. Niniane had banished the man to bed in her own rooms, down the hallway from the main Healing Rooms. With two incapacitated Physicians to care for, and three well-qualified druid healers to take over the running of the ground-floor casualty area, Niniane had appointed herself primary carer for Merlin and Gaius. Having them both in the same general area made her job somewhat easier. Well, as easy as possible when two stubborn males were forced by outside circumstances to admit that they weren’t indestructible.

Niniane had taken a leaf out of Gaius’ own book, and slipped a mild sleeping draft into his broth that evening. She’d quickly assessed his breathing and circulation, concluded that his heart failure was no worse than it had been a month ago, and decided that rest was now his best choice of treatment. She’d anticipated the crusty old man’s arguments, and so her examination took place while he emptied his bowl which she had previously laced. She’d argued that if she examined him while he ate, he would be so distracted and offended by her treating him, he would be less likely to detect the taste of the sleeping draft.

Her plan went well, and the bowl had emptied before her final assessment of the level of swelling in his feet & legs. Smiling, she’d stood up and recommended he take to her bed and rest. She’d reassured him about Merlin, saying that “He will be safe and well cared-for, I promise.”

The wily old man smiled knowingly and patted her hand; “Of that, I have no doubt, my dear. I am pleased for both of you.”

Poor Niniane ducked her head away, vainly trying to avoid the piercing blue eyes as she uncharacteristically flushed pink. Gaius had chuckled, grasping her hand gently and giving it a little shake. “I may be old, but I’m not blind: I have eyes in my head to see what is between you two. It’s alright Niniane; I don’t think anybody else has noticed yet. You’ve been very discreet. But I have been Merlin’s father for the past ten years, and gotten to know him very well in that time.”

The plain young woman nodded, risking a brief look into the kind elderly face. “Then…you think… Merlin…” she stuttered, hardly knowing how to voice her thoughts.

Turning to her, Gaius placed his hands on either side of her face, bringing her eyes up to his. “I think that Merlin is a lonely young man, who has had a lot to deal with, and who is desperately afraid of allowing himself to love.” He rattled her head gently between his palms; “Talk with him, my girl, and all will be well. You’ll see.”

The brown eyes filled with tears which hung from her lashes but did not fall. Niniane sniffed convulsively as Gaius pulled her into a rough brief hug and turned away, considering the topic closed. He began to move towards his borrowed bed, stumbling slightly as he did so. Niniane rushed forwards to support him with her strong young body, steadying him. The Physician looked down at her suspiciously: “What…?”

Niniane gave a short laugh; “Just a light sleeping draft, Sir. To ensure that you rested well tonight. You really have worked far too hard these last days for someone of your age and health, you know.”

Gaius would have argued, but found his words cut off mid-yawn. Surrendering to the inevitable, he allowed the young woman to settle him comfortably, closing his eyes as she drew the blankets over his aged form.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Niniane had then made her way back down the corridor to the Healing Rooms where she’d left Merlin. She’d laid out his sleep-wear and left him to tend to his own bathing and dressing, trusting that she’d be close enough to assist if he called for her. Not wanting to surprise him in a state of undress, she called out mentally to him *Gaius is settled in bed and sleeping. I’m coming back now; is there anything else you need?*

She could feel the frustration in Merlin’s tone as he answered; *Not right now. Unless you know a cure for Curse-Induced Blindness.* The answer was flippant, but the emotion it covered was very real.

Compassion filled her heart as she answered, opening the door as she did so *No, my love. You know I don’t, or I would have done so before now.*

*Yes, I know* a huge mental sigh worked its way between them. Silence fell once more, as Merlin mused to himself Just when did Niniane start calling me ‘love’? And why haven’t I noticed until now? Further thought revealed that the familiarity had begun yesterday during their intense discussion in the sick rooms, and continued during the mission to the cave to confront Mordred and the Dochraid. The intimacy had continued unchallenged since then, and Merlin found himself regarding it with fondness. It just seemed to fit somehow.

Merlin extended his arms and felt his way to his own, familiar bed, longing to cast himself down upon it and sink into slumber. The last week had been filled with emotional upheavals, major works of magic, frantic work in the sick-rooms dealing with injury upon injury, a curse which had injured him badly, followed by more major magical workings, and the young man was exhausted. His toes found the blankets draped over the foot of his bed and he moved forwards with more confidence.

He sat upon the wool-filled pad and lay down, fumbling for the covers as he did so. A familiar scent wafted past him with the movement of the bedclothes, startling him. Sniffing, Merlin tried to place it; it was very familiar and comforting, but somehow not associated with his sleeping-chamber. Inhaling, he allowed his mind to identify the fragrance. It came to him suddenly; Niniane! She had slept here last! Before the battle had begun, when he’d been exhausted from casting the protective wards around the Citadel walls he’d bedded down in the main room, while she kept watch from here.

Smiling, the young Warlock snuggled down into the double comfort of the soft bed and the familiar-and-yet-strange scent of the druidess. It felt somehow incredibly intimate, drifting off to sleep in his own bed, surrounded by her intangible presence. ‘Tomorrow’ he mumbled sleepily to himself; ‘I’ll deal with it all tomorrow.’ And yet he still could not stop himself from imagining what it would be like to fall asleep blanketed in her perfume every night.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Leaving a well-rested Gaius to supervise the care of the remaining inured in the ground-floor sick-rooms, Merlin had Niniane guide him towards the Royal Chambers. The higher they proceeded in the castle, the thicker and stronger the miasma of foul smoke became. Given a choice, Merlin would not have disturbed Gwen and Arthur, but there were matters that needed discussing. Niniane brought him to the familiar door, and rapped stoutly upon it. She then left to return to her work downstairs.

The door opened and Merlin stood still, not able to identify who it was until they spoke.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice greeted enthusiastically. “I didn’t expect..” he cut off with a sharp cough, fumes biting at his throat. “Sorry,” the king reached for the Physician’s arm, bringing him safely through the doorway.

Merlin waved the apology off “No matter. I didn’t realise how bad the smoke was up this high. How are you standing it?”

“You mean it’s better lower down then?”

“Much.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should allow Gwen to go and work with Gaius then.” The queen had broached this subject earlier, searching for something to distract her from the constant grief.

Merlin nodded, “There’s no physical reason why she can’t do that. And a little work might help her, Arthur. As long as she doesn’t overdo it: I’m sure Gaius will keep an eye on her.”

“But she still breaks down into tears at the oddest times.” The blonde forehead was furrowed with concern, and Merlin could hear the tension in Arthur’s voice.

Halting, Merlin reached out and fumbled for Arthur’s shoulder, turning the King to face him even though he was unable to see him. “Arthur, that is perfectly normal, you know.”

Trying to act as if he could still see, the warlock assumed a stern expression and aimed it at where he hoped his friend’s blue eyes were. “She cannot stay cooped up here forever, and the clearer air downstairs will be helpful. Let her go, and Maerwina with her. Besides, you and I need to talk…”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

After Guinevere had gratefully gone downstairs to offer het assistance to Gaius, Merlin and Arthur settled for a long talk. Or tried to, anyway. After the third time they were interrupted by coughing, stinging eyes, or dry throat, they decided to seek out an alternate venue. Arthur, who’d of course grown up in the Castle, knew of an out-of-the way reception hall on the ground floor. It was rarely used, being hidden away towards the rear, but should be perfect for what they needed.

Decision made, Arthur strode off across the floor on his way in his typical decided manner. It wasn’t until he’d released the latch on the door that he stopped, realising Merlin wasn’t with him. He turned in surprise, searching for his friend to find him standing beside the table, one arm outstretched awaiting guidance. Blushing deeply at the oversight, Arthur returned to Merlin’s side, muttering “Sorry. Forgot for a moment.”

Merlin smiled sadly, answering “Me, too: I woke up this morning and tried to get out of bed only to fall flat on my face, legs tangled in the blankets.”

Arthur sniggered. “So, nothing too unusual there, then,” he quipped.

Merlin shot a dirty look in his direction, before extending his arm. “You’ll have to lead me. I’ve never been in that part of the castle.”

Arthur nodded and extended his own arm. “Ah…just how do we do this? Without me looking like a complete idiot?”

Merlin quipped back without thinking “Nothing too unusual there, then,” and smiled at the King’s indrawn breath of exasperation. “Here; I’ve found this works best. Let me take hold of your elbow: I can follow your direction, and whether you’re going upstairs or down. Just go slowly and don’t forget to warn me of anything in the way and whether I need to step up or down.”

They set off across the chamber, Arthur proceeding at a snail’s pace.

“Ah, Arthur? We can go a little faster than this. That is if you want to get there before sundown. Dingle-twerp!”

“Damn ungrateful…” Arthur’s cursing tapered off, but his pace did increase somewhat, and the duo set off and made it, more or less successfully, to their destination.

As they made their way through the lower hallways, one of the castle servants spied the two. Arthur started Merlin by speaking to somebody he wasn’t aware was present, ordering a jug of wine and two goblets be delivered to the abandoned reception room.

Arthur led Merlin to the table in the centre of the room, and pulled a chair out for him, guiding his hand to the chair-back so the man could seat himself. He then turned to the servant who’d followed them, taking the tray away and ordering “Thank you. The Court Physician and I have matters of state to discuss. Don’t return until you are notified: we won’t need you until we are finished.”

The man bowed and left, shutting the door behind him.

It was the work of moments for Arthur to fill two goblets and seat himself near Merlin. “So, what do we need to talk about?” Arthur placed Merlin’s goblet on the table, nudging the Warlock’s hand with the base so he could take hold of it.

Merlin sipped a mouthful before speaking. “So many things, Arthur. Let’s begin with the druids and Camelot’s citizens: I contacted the four druid camps this morning, and asked them to return our people over the next few days.”

“Contacted them? How?”

Merlin tapped his temple with his free hand. “Mind-speak. Had you forgotten about that one?”

Arthur nodded before remembering that he needed to give a verbal response. “Yeah, I had.”

“Useful skill, it is Arthur. You know, maybe you and I should practise it, too. Could come in handy in the future.”

The king’s eyes popped open wide. “Me? Mind-speak? But I don’t have magic.”

Merlin chuckled. “I know, but as Emrys, my magic should more than make up for your lack. After all, not all druids can use telepathy, but I am able to contact any of them I know just by focusing on them. It shouldn’t be much different with you. After all, I know you better than any of them.”

“Ah..um, well. If you think it’s worth a try…” Arthur remained uncertain.

“We can give it a go right now, if you like?”

“..alright. What do I need to do?”

“Nothing. Just sit quietly. You might want to close your eyes, and just focus.”

“You mean, like this?”

*Yes. Exactly like that.*

“Okay, I’m waiting.”

*No, you’re not. I’m already sending to you.* Merlin included a mental chuckle.

“Oh. OH! That’s it? Nothing else?”

*No, that’s it. Can you hear me clearly?*

“Yes. I can hear you, but I’m not really hearing if you know what I mean.”

*I know exactly what you mean. Now try and send back to me. Just concentrate on what you want to say, then think the words at me. It might help if you hold a picture of me in your head to help focus.*

*Oh, great! So now I have to imagine your ugly face in my head? So help me, Merlin! If you ever tell anybody about this, I will skin you alive!*

*Perfect! That’s it.*

*What?? You want me to skin you alive?*

Merlin chuckled again; *No, I just meant that you are mind-speaking clearly, and I can hear you well.*

*Really? I did it?*

Merlin switched to normal speech. “Yes, Arthur, you really did it. We’ll just have to practise now, and increase the distance over which we can communicate.”

“Wow.” Arthur was stunned at the benefits having a sorcerer for an advisor could bring him, and filled the empty space with gulping a little wine. “Alright, what else did you want to talk about?”

“You’re not going to like this one, Arthur, but I need to leave Camelot for a while. Perhaps for up to a week, depending on how long it takes.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “How long what takes, and where are you going?”

“Two reasons, which are actually related to each other. One: I need to go to the Crystal Cave and see if I can get my sight back. Two: I need to follow the Dochraid and make sure she can’t cause problems ever again.”

“The Crystal Cave? What’s that?” The king was by no means mollified by Merlin’s half-explanations. And he was unsettled by more than the conversation; it was just downright odd talking with his friend while watching the sightless blue eyes. Up close it was easy to see that Merlin was blind: his eyes didn’t focus on you when he spoke, and they kind of wandered around aimlessly. It was eerie, and gave Arthur chills.

Merlin nodded. “Sorry, yes. I’d forgotten I hadn’t told you about it.” He raised his goblet, buying time in which to order his thoughts. “It’s a very powerful magical place. I’ve been there before, not that long ago. It’s all tied up with me being…”

“You being Emrys.” Arthur finished. “I should have guessed that part, anyway.”

“Ah, yes. Anyway, it’s in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, a little way from here. The druids call it the birthplace of magic itself.”

A shiver went down Arthur’s spine at the mystic title Merlin gave it. “Go on.”

“You’ve actually been there yourself, although I doubt you’d remember it properly. You were dealing with an arrow in your back at the time.” (1)

The king grunted, “Ah, yes. We were chased by bandits.” He took another swallow of wine. “Wait a minute: did you save my life then, too?”

“Yep.”

“Mm. One day, we’ll sit down together and work out just how many times you’ve done that Merlin.”

The Warlock chuckled. “You’d better set aside a couple of days then; I can’t even remember myself how many times, Arthur. Anyway, I’ve been to the Cave a few times. The last time was just before the Battle of Camlann, when…”

“When you turned coward and abandoned me!” The sting of Merlin’s betrayal still hurt the King.

Merlin replied gently “Arthur, I didn’t abandon you, nor did I turn coward. I had no choice but to leave you then, before the Battle.”

“You know, I never understood that Merlin.” The king’s voice was biting. “Why then? Why that exact moment, only to turn up two days later at the actual battle? Were you afraid? Explain it to me!” Arthur slapped his hand down on the table for emphasis.

The warlock growled and glared back: “I’m trying to explain, Arthur. If only you would shut up for a moment and let me!”

Arthur was stunned by Merlin’s uncharacteristic display of temper, and backed down slightly. “Sorry. Go on, then”

“You remember that time we played dice at ‘The Rising Sun’? And I won?” By using magic, although I’ll never tell you that. “Well, after we returned to the citadel, Morgana attacked me. She sent a cursed creature of the Old Religion; I named it a Sleel. It was in a box in my room, and threw itself at me after I’d gone to bed.” Merlin stopped to take a mouthful of wine, reliving the fear of the incident.

“It nearly killed me, Arthur. It attached itself to my face, and I couldn’t breathe, or think, or see. I tried everything I could think of to get it off. I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared before.” Merlin shuddered: “I could feel it burrowing into my eyes, and up my nose. I thought I was going to die. I eventually got it off somehow and threw it across the room. It lay still and I thought it was dead. I could hardly stand up, and my head was agony. Then it flew right back at me, and I knew I was dead.”

Merlin chuckled unexpectedly. “Until Gaius came in and whacked it with the fire-shovel and killed it! I was never so glad to see anybody! Anyway, I passed out for a bit. Lack of oxygen and shock I think. When I woke up I found out what the Sleel had done, and why Morgana had sent it.” There was an emotion Arthur couldn’t identify on his friend’s face, coming through clearly despite the blankness of the eyes.

“She’d taken away my magic Arthur. It was gone; nothing left. I couldn’t perform the simplest spell, or move the smallest object.” The forlorn quality in Merlin’s voice caused pain within Arthur’s chest.

Merlin went on: “I was useless! Without my magic I am nobody. I felt so powerless and so exposed. I would prefer to be blind as I am now than to be without my magic. And then we learned that Morgana and Mordred were attacking, and you decided to face them at Camlann.” Merlin slowly shook his head again, and whispered “Camlann! I hoped never to hear that name.”

He lifted his head suddenly, staring vaguely in Arthurs direction. “Did you know that it was prophesised that you would die at Camlann? That Mordred would fatally wound you there? And I, ‘Emrys the Great’, the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, destined to protect you at all costs and keep you safe was absolutely powerless.” The fear and sarcasm was clear in his tone, and Merlin dropped his head down onto the table, cradling it in his arms.

Arthur sat stunned and silent, mouth open in shock. “And you never said…I never knew.” He then muttered under his breath; “Merlin…I’m sorry.”

Laughing bitterly Merlin raised his head up, and there was a trace of wetness on his cheeks. “Of course I didn’t say anything! How could I have? To quote myself from an earlier conversation ‘You’d have chopped my head off’, yes?” (2) Silence fell as both men went back in memory to those few days when Arthur was dying and Merlin’s magic had just been revealed.

Physically shaking himself, trying to throw off the sombre mood, the warlock continued. “Well, after several days, I remembered the Crystal Cave. I figured that if there was any place where I could find my magic again, it would be there. It was either try that, or sit and watch you die in battle and Camelot fall to Morgana.”

“And I called you a coward…”

“So I ‘borrowed’ Gwaine to escort me, and set off. Obviously I was successful.”

“Merlin…why do I get the feeling that getting your magic back was slightly more complicated than you’re saying?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because you’re a dollop-head?”

“Merlin!”

“Yes, well it was more involved than just getting my magic back. It was then that I met Magic in person, and came into my full powers as Emrys. The abilities I have now are far more powerful than ever before, and I’m still learning how to use them.” Merlin paused, an oddly melancholy expression on his face before continuing. “Anyway, I need to go back there now. If the Cave could restore my magic last time, it should be able to restore my sight now. I hope. And once I can see again, I will hunt down the Dochraid and deal
with her permanently.”

“Again, I get the feeling that all this will prove to be far more complicated than you’re saying. Won’t it?” Arthur spoke, challenge in his voice.

“Well…yes. Probably..”

Arthur growled under his breath. He was greatly annoyed that Merlin was totally oblivious to the killing glare he was sending at him. What was the use of glaring at a blind person? “So, is that all of it? No more impossible tasks to undertake, or horrendous tales to tell?”

“Um… Nope! That’s it, Sire!” The cheeky Merlin-grin was back, for which Arthur was grateful, although the blue eyes betrayed a desolation that Arthur didn’t think he’d seen there before.

The King stood, pushing back his chair with his legs before moving across to assist his friend. “Come on, then.” Merlin stood, replacing his hand on Arthur’s elbow for guidance.

The two men made their way back into the hallway, Arthur leading as they discussed when Merlin would leave and who would accompany him. The King was most put out when Merlin stated that he would probably only take Niniane with him. Because she knew of his magic, and had magic herself she would be the best choice.

“But you have to take more than one girl with you, Merlin. I’ll come myself!”

“Arthur! Don’t be ridiculous; Camelot needs you here. And you cannot leave Gwen right now. You know that!” The Warlock’s voice was sharp with command. “It’s not like I need anybody to protect me, either. You do remember the War Games we played only a few days ago? I am perfectly capable of defending myself; we’ll only need a couple of horses and some supplies.”

Angry at the situation and frustrated at Merlin’s logic, Arthur cursed and swore. He knew that Merlin was in the right, but it didn’t help his temper any. He abruptly shook off the hand on his arm and stomped off down the hallway; “If you’re that independent you can bloody well find your own way back, then!”

“Arthur?” Merlin stood in the middle of the unfamiliar corridor, hands out in front groping blindly. He could hear the King’s footsteps retreating rapidly. “Arthur!”

There was no reply, and Merlin realised he’d been abandoned. He roared in frustration “ARTHUR!!”

Nothing but his own voice sounded, and it was Merlin’s turn to curse. He had no idea where he was, nor how to get back into the main part of the castle. Arthur had ordered the servant who’d brought the wine to leave until sent for, so he couldn’t even count on being rescued that way. “Hey!! Come back here! You Dollop-headed dingle-twerp!!!” Dust rained down from the ceiling as Merlin’s magically amplified voice rattled the rafters. Gritting his teeth the Warlock decided to move alongside the wall, using his hands to guide him. This went well until he came to an intersection; he had no idea which way to turn. No smell of cooking indicated which direction the kitchens might lay in. Silence blanketed the place.

“Arthur Pendragon! You will pay for this.” The warlock promised under his breath. Merlin paused and pictured the Healing Rooms in his mind’s eye and teleported.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin was miserable and out-of-sorts. He sat his horse sloppily, exerting no direction or control on its gait, being content to allow it to trail after Niniane’s mount. He’d barely spoken to his companion, answering her conversational sallies with single words or grunts, and relied on his horse’s willingness to follow rather than exerting his own will. After the first few miles Niniane gave up attempting to communicate at all, feeling unsettled and out-of-sorts herself.

The two laden horses had stood at the entry to the citadel. One was the lightly-built brown that Merlin was accustomed to riding, the other was a gentle bay, sturdy and easily handled. Merlin had swung up into the saddle easily once Niniane had walked him to the animal’s head. He’d then sat dully perched in the saddle, waiting for the druidess to start off so that he could follow.

Just before dusk Merlin’s horse stopped. Listening, he heard the sounds of Niniane dismounting in front of him, and her voice informing him “This is a good enough place, we’ll camp her for the night.” Nodding, Merlin dismounted himself, and stood motionless beside his horse, waiting for the druidess to direct him where to go next. Soon enough, he felt his elbow taken and he was guided several feet before being directed to sit down. He felt backwards with his hand, and detected the rough surface of a log behind him. Dully, feeling useless, he sat with chin on hands doing nothing, listening to the movements of his friend as she worked, unloading the horses and setting up camp
Before long he could hear the distinctive sound of a fire crackling, and felt the warmth on the front of his body. The log moved slightly as Niniane settled to his left, and he felt a small hand rest on his shoulder.

“So. Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Merlin huffed, turning his face sideways towards her. “Not really, Niniane. It’s really difficult to talk about; I’m not sure where to begin.”

“I’m here, Merlin. Listening. Just tell me.”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) ‘The Crystal Cave’ Series Three, Episode Five.
(2) ‘Diamond of the Day Part Two’ Series Five, Episode thirteen.

Chapter Text

Firelight danced, casting moving shadows through the small clearing set back several feet from the trail they’d been following. The effect was hypnotic and eerie, yet familiar and comforting at the same time. Behind them two hobbled horses grazed, tearing up tussocks of grass; it was possible to track their location by listening for the muffled crunch of equine teeth and their gentle blowing breaths of contentment. Niniane relaxed, knowing that the animals’ keen senses would alert her to any approaching danger: while they were contentedly grazing, there was likely nothing to fear.

The visual beauty of the firelight was lost on Merlin, however, who sat still and quiet beside her. The man had been depressed and withdrawn for the last several hours and Niniane was at a loss to know what the cause might be, or how to help him. She felt her chest contract as Merlin drew in a deep breath and huffed it out again, as if wishing it could carry all his sadness and tension as it left his body.

He turned his head towards her, blue eyes staring blankly past her shoulder as they sat quietly together on the rough tree-trunk. It was eerie, the lack of focus in those usually-piercing eyes, and Niniane had to restrain herself from a reflexive look behind, as though Merlin were focusing on something beyond her in the clearing.

“I’m tired, Niniane.” He answered finally with another sigh.

Nodding, she patted his shoulder. “Well, the last few days have been quite strenuous. You should feel better after a good rest.”

The Warlock smiled sadly; “Not that kind of tired.”

Puzzled, the woman waited patiently for him to continue.

Dropping his head, Merlin rubbed both hands over his face, passing them over the top of his head to link behind his neck, and held them there. “I’m tired of…of… I don’t know. Everything, I suppose.

“For ten years I’ve hidden my magic, stood at Arthur’s side, protected him and helped him establish Camelot as type of Kingdom of which he could be proud: a place of safety, a place of equality where everybody has the right to be heard and not just the nobility. All that time I’ve hidden who I am, played the fool, and stood back while others took the credit.

“Not that I begrudge him, really, after all he is the King.” A brief sad smile. “But it’s been hard, you know?” He paused, then whispered softly to himself “So, so hard. And lonely.”

A longer pause as the fire crackled and the horses munched in the dusk behind them. A chill began to fall, and night birds rustled and called occasionally as they roused for the night’s hunting ahead.

Merlin smiled a twisted smile, cocking his head slightly. “I remember once when I was helping a young farm boy who had a magic ring. (1) He was so desperate to prove himself. I saw so much of myself in him that it was frightening. I remember the words I spoke then so clearly: ‘It’s lonely. To be more powerful than any man you know and to live like a shadow. To be special and have to pretend you’re a fool.’ That has been my life, Niniane: summed up in those few words.” Merlin fell silent, tears gathering in his blind blue eyes. Niniane’s own eyes overflowed, and her cheeks were lined with moisture as she cried silently, contemplating what the extraordinary young man before her had endured.

“But it’s more than that. I not only had to hide who I was but I also had a destiny to fulfil. A destiny that nobody really understood, except myself and an ancient dragon. I tried to fight against that destiny at first; I mean I really tried! I thought; after all who was this Arthur? An egotistical prat? An arrogant nobleman? And who was I? A simple villager with a strange gift which had never been seen before.” Merlin cracked out a harsh laugh; “Arthur had the gall to suggest once, that I had no idea what it was like to feel burdened by fate, as though your whole life was planned out for you and you had no say in it at all. Although I suppose that wasn’t really his fault, was it? I played my part too well, and he had no idea. I’ve hidden all the different facets of my personality so well and for so long that even I don’t really know who I am.”

A longer silence and Niniane rose softly to place more wood on the fire. Merlin sat lost in thought and emotion. Niniane rustled about softly placing blankets by the fire, unpacking travelling food and other mundane tasks. Eventually she came to rest on the fallen tree again by Merlin’s side, ready to listen once more. He continued without prompting, elbows on knees and hands loosely pointing at the ground.

“I’ve dedicated all I am, and all of my magic to Camelot for so long that I’ve had no time to find out who Merlin is. I mean, here I am, twenty-six years old and never even had a girl-friend! Well, that’s not really true; I had Freya, for two whole days.” Heartbreak was visible in his face and Niniane held her breath; she’d known there was a story there and it seemed she was about to hear it.

“I rescued her, you know. She’d been arrested by a bounty-hunter for being a druid, and was imprisoned in a cage. I used my magic and let her out.” A soft expression came over the angular features. “She was so beautiful, so good and gentle. I hid her in the passages beneath Camelot and stole Arthur’s meals to feed her. We were going to run away together, build a house by a lake, and just be happy. She was my first love,” he smiled wistfully, “My only love.”

A deep, unhappy sigh left him and sadness descended once more; “But, of course fate had to interfere, didn’t it? She’d been cursed: she was a Bastet. She got loose and attacked Camelot and Arthur fought her, of course. He wounded her and drove her off. I found her, dying, back in the filthy alcove beneath the city. It was the only safe place she knew. I took her to the nearest lake I knew of so that beauty, and dreams, would surround her at the end. That place was Avalon, where we went yesterday morning. She died there, in my arms by the water, and she thanked me.” Tears rolled down Merlin’s face as he relived the tragedy. He did not sob and his voice remained controlled and steady as the tale continued.

“She thanked me for ‘saving’ her, for making her feel loved. And she promised to repay me. I dressed her in one of Morgana’s gowns and placed her in a boat, surrounded by ferns. I was the only one who cared enough to do that for her. I sent the boat out on the Lake and used Magic to burn her body. I don’t know how, or what magic was used or even when it happened, but she somehow became the Lady of the Lake. She’s helped me save Camelot a couple of times, now.

“That was my one and only foray into a personal life; something that wasn’t connected directly to Arthur, or Camelot, or my destiny. I’ve never bothered again, after that. Not that I’ve had the opportunity to.” Silence blanketed the two who sat side by side but were separated by so much, Merlin’s unspoken ‘until now’ echoing in both their minds.

Niniane extended her hand, and offered tentatively; “But surely it’s better now, isn’t it? I mean, everyone knows that you’re a Warlock, and most have accepted it. Magic is coming back to Camelot; it has to be better for you.” She was almost pleading.

Burying his face in his hands, Merlin’s voice was muffled as he gave his answer. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I mean, bringing Magic back is one of the things Emrys is supposed to do, isn’t it? The wry expression on his face revealed that reality had a far different flavour than expected. He looked up again, elbows on knees and chin in hand. “But really, I’m more alone now than ever.”

Niniane frowned and shook her head, not understanding. “But…”

“Oh, yes. I’ve saved Camelot again: driven off Mordred, bested the Dochraid. Before that I brought Arthur back from the dead and dealt with Morgana.” Anger and bitterness crept into his tone. “Yes, the Great Emrys has saved the day!

“You have no idea of the burden this is. Yes, the ‘Great Emrys’ will save Camelot and fix everything. And what’s even better; we can blame him when things go wrong!” Merlin pantomimed his assessment of how the Courtiers regarded him; bitterness once again evident in his voice.

He rounded on Niniane almost violently, and spat out “Do you know what ‘Emrys’ means? It means ‘light’ or ‘powerful’. It also means ‘Immortal.’ Just think for a moment about that!”

Niniane sat back, almost as if pushed by the vehemence of Merlin’s exclamation. She’d never really considered what it might be like to be Emrys, too overjoyed by his coming as well as the feelings she’d begun to develop for him. Merlin went on, enlightening her further; “So now that magic is accepted in the land I am even more isolated. I am Emrys, unlike any sorcerer or warlock that exists. I am more powerful, governed by a Great Destiny still, and set apart from mortals and magic-users alike.”

The depth of emotion in the words was overwhelming, and the young druid woman sat shocked and still. One word, however, stood out, and she voiced it tentatively; “Mortals?” She had not yet absorbed the import of Merlin’s former statement.

Merlin calmed abruptly and grasped Niniane’s hand where it rested on his arm, holding it in both of his. He nodded, looking her in the eyes as best he could; “Yes, Niniane. ‘Emrys’ means Immortal. I learned that the last time I was in the Crystal Cave, just before the Battle of Camlann. It means that I will out-live everybody I know, and that I will endure, alone, until the end of time.” Even in his great distress, Merlin attempted to offer what comfort he could to this gentle woman. His tears, which had so recently ceased and then been dried by the heat of the fire stood once more in his eyes. He swallowed and blinked them back, determined not to shed them and add further to Niniane’s distress.

Continuing slowly and deliberately, Merlin enunciated “This is why Freya must remain my only love.” He gently stroked the back of the small hand he held. “At first I thought that… But I cannot allow myself to…” he broke off with a strangled sob and turned away, putting his back to her and struggling once more for control, whispering almost to himself “This is the true destiny of Emrys…”

Understanding and silence fell together on the small clearing. By now the owls were hunting, soft mournful calls in the full dark. Bats, more felt than heard, flitted through the air and the horses ranged slightly further in search of fodder. A long while passed before Niniane rose and led Merlin to his blankets which she’d laid out earlier. The exhausted man flopped down and mechanically removed his boots before covering himself and rolling to place his back to the fire. He heard his companion placing more fuel on it before settling herself in her own sleeping place opposite and behind him. It was a long while before either of them drifted into sleep.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The senior knights were gathered in the Round Table room, answering questions, directing clean-up and generally acting as intermediary for Arthur and Guinevere. They were kept on their toes as the various crews reported in with tasks completed, and set off again with their next chores allocated.

Merick, one of the Druid Healers, came twice a day to report on the ground-floor sick rooms. Recoveries and discharges were noted, as well as numbers given on how many men remained in the rooms, and how long it was expected until they were recovered enough to be sent home into care of their families. Mundane matters such as how much food would be needed for them, as well as laundry and kitchen duties were all a part of keeping Camelot functioning as she recovered from the recent battle.

Arthur and Guinevere had not removed themselves totally from the process, but had reduced their involvement somewhat. Due to their recent loss the royal couple found themselves with less inclination and ability to deal with the minutiae of daily life in the citadel. Sir Leon, as senior Knight, reported to Arthur at least twice a day, keeping the King up to date with recent developments and carrying back specific orders. In addition, Arthur made daily rounds and appearances in the city. Otherwise he dedicated himself to spending time with his grieving wife.

Guinevere had recovered from the debilitating numbness she’d experienced on the first day after her miscarriage. She continued to grieve; bursting into tears or withdrawing into herself at unpredictable moments. Physically Gwen was recovering well; spending an hour or so each morning and afternoon helping in the sick rooms while Arthur dealt with Castle business helped to keep her grounded. Emotionally she was still inclined to blame herself for the loss of their child. Court gossip and whispered comments, especially from some of the female courtiers did not help either. She’d heard rumours that implied she would never conceive again, and that if she did she was likely to miscarry once more.

In past days the inability of a queen to provide an heir was grounds for divorce, and some of the more ambitious women were beginning to think of ways to ingratiate themselves into King Arthur’s favour, trying to feather their nest by trading their bodies’ ability to produce children. Poor Gwen felt even more inadequate each time these whispers reached her ears despite Maerwina’s best efforts to protect her mistress. Arthur had, of course, reassured her continuously that he had absolutely no intention of putting her away in order to take another wife. Gwen trusted in his love for her, as well as his refusal to act in such an ignoble manner. The comments still caused pain to her still-raw nerves, however.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The two travellers had awoken after dawn. Merlin’d lain still and quiet on his pallet, stiff and sore from a night spent on the ground. In his distress last evening he’d not remembered to soften the earth beneath their sleeping-places magically as he’d done on Avalon. Now, on waking, he regretted the oversight. It wasn’t Niniane’s fault that he couldn’t (shouldn’t?) love her, and she shouldn’t have had to suffer because of his bad mood. His own aching neck and back were adding further to his already foul temper. He rolled onto his back with a sigh and decided that he may as well give himself a boost and link with the natural magic which surrounded him.

He closed his eyes; even though he didn’t really need to, the action itself seemed to enhance his concentration even if it made little different to his sight. As he was lying on the earth he first sent his awareness downwards into the moist loam, sensing the myriad of small creatures that lived and burrowed amongst it. Insects, beetles, worms, spiders all colonised the upper layers, and Merlin revelled in their jerky movements and tiny sparks of life. Further down he could sense larger splodges of power: rabbits safe and warm in their burrows huddled together for comfort and warmth. Smiling, the young warlock maintained a link with these creatures, and extended his senses outwards again. A mile away he detected a small burn, the water alive with fish, insects and frogs, as well as a myriad of creatures too small to be seen without magical assistance. The magic from the water-creatures wasn’t the warm gold of the rabbits, but a cooler colour, as their magic reflected their watery element.

Once again he allowed his senses to reach up: not as high up as he had once before, he confined himself to sensing the trees and larger creatures which dwelled in them. Squirrels were returning to their hollows, snuggling down for the day. Badgers and foxes were taking refuge in caverns beneath spreading roots, and further up, the night-birds were returning to roost, while the day predators were stirring and waking.

For many minutes Merlin lay lost in the sensations. He did not draw power this time, but basked in it, allowing the magic to caress him inside and out before he withdrew back into himself. As though she’d sensed his return to his body, Niniane spoke “We had better get going if we want to reach the Crystal Cave soon.”

Merlin nodded dully, and sat up; stretching out his hand to where he’d left his boots. They were slightly damp from the dew, but a quick wave of magic fixed that. He turned them upside down to dislodge any creatures that’d used them for shelter before inserting his feet. Then he sat, still and useless as his companion moved around packing equipment. Merlin listened as her footsteps moved further away, and he guessed she’d gone to retrieve their horses. The most embarrassing moment for Merlin was when Niniane had taken his arm to lead him into the scrub before delicately leaving him for several minutes in privacy while he tended to natural functions.

All too soon, the two magic-users were journeying onward once more, eating dried fruit and jerky as they travelled. The silence that had been established last evening continued still, although it felt less strained now. Niniane had yet to communicate her thoughts and response to Merlin’s problem, and he was reluctant to broach it with her, too emotionally exhausted to make the attempt. It was easier to just focus on the task ahead, and get through it in one piece.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Niniane estimated the sun had travelled three handspans before they came to the clearing just before the Cave’s entrance. Recognising where they were by the power that emanated from the mouth of the Cave, Merlin dismounted without waiting for assistance. He fumbled behind his saddle and grasped hold of his old herb-collecting pouch, slinging it over his shoulder. He’d had the kitchen hands pack it with travelling food before they’d left. Waiting until he heard Niniane dismount, he called to her horse, hand grasping the reins as it approached. He patted both animals, soothing and reassuring them, before instructing them in the Old Tongue to go home, back to Camelot.

“We’ll not need them after this. Once my sight is returned I’ll transport us to the Dochraid’s cave, and then back home.” Was his explanation to his companion. Niniane rapidly grabbed a few supplies from her own horse and stood back. Working by feel, Merlin secured their reins on the saddle, loose enough to not interfere with the animals’ movement, but firm enough to not come free and trail on the ground. A friendly slap on the rump and the beasts headed off down the path, noses turned for home.

“I’ll know which way to go in the Cave, but I’ll need your help to not trip on anything. Is that alright?” Merlin asked.

“Of course; I’m happy to help any way I can. You know that.” Niniane tried to inject a tone of familiar teasing. “What are you actually going to do here, though? How can the Cave help you get your sight back?”

They conversed as they entered the mouth of the Cave, Merlin’s blue light-globes springing into existence around them.

“It’s because the curse was sent by so many different magic-users. I have enough personal power to undo it, but the magic is all twisted and convoluted, muddied by the score of sorcerers who linked to cast it. I’m still learning how to use my magic. I suspect I will continue to learn for the rest of my life.” Merlin chuckled; the first sound of mirth either had made for a long time. “The Crystal Cave is the birthplace of Magic itself. Surely the druids would have taught you that?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure how it’s going to help you.”

“Here I’m more alive to Magic. Attuned to it, you could say. The Crystals in the Cave amplify what magic I have, while imparting their own as well. It’s an ancient place and full of the Old Religion. If I link with the Crystals deeply enough, I will be able to see the various strands of the curse, and the magic and healing of the Cave will do the rest.”

By this time they’d reached the place where Merlin had first spoken with Taliesin, and Niniane was shivering as she reacted to the ancient power which buzzed and hummed all around. Merlin, feeling her shudders, asked “Are you alright here? It can be overwhelming, I know.”

“I…I think so. It’s like…well…like nothing I’ve ever felt before.” The druidess was awed and frightened at the same time. “Aren’t you frightened? You know, of linking with it? You might lose yourself.”

Merlin chuckled once more, his laughter echoing around the cavern. “No, I’m not afraid. Well…I was the first time, when Taliesin brought me here and asked me to see in the Crystals.(2) But I’ve grown a lot since then, and been through a lot. This is the first time I’ve been back since I really became Emrys. It’s kind of like coming home; the power is warm and familiar. It’s calling to me. Can you hear it?”

Merlin was eager, pulling ahead and moving toward the Heart of the Cave and Niniane followed behind, keeping her hands on him to help steady on the uneven floor.

“Calling?” She queried, doubtfully. “If you say so. All I can hear is the Crystal singing inside my mind; it’s eerie and a bit frightening, but I don’t think it’s calling me.”

“Ah. It must just be me then. Because Magic knows me.” He could feel his companion’s confusion, even if he couldn’t see it. “To me the Cave is alive; it’s a Person full of power and wisdom. It’s…home I suppose. Or as close as I can come to it.” They’d ascended the final few feet and the majesty of the Heart of the Cave lay before them. Niniane gasped, unprepared for the sight of the large bowl-like area encrusted with glowing crystals of every shape, and size. She was one of only two living people in the world who’d seen and experienced the Heart of the Cave. The other was, of course, standing beside her.

“Stay here.” Merlin’s voice sounded. “I’m not sure what will happen, but if you stay out of the Heart itself, you should be safe enough. I’ll protect you as best I can.”

Niniane nodded and released Merlin’s arm, watching as he extended his hands and groped his way forward. He was heading unerringly for a small clear space in the centre of the bowl, and when he reached it he sank down. Crystal glowed and pulsed, almost alive, and Crystal Song swelled, running along the walls and causing the individual crystals to vibrate. Niniane settled herself upon the ground, eyes fixed on the young warlock as she felt her very bones begin to vibrate in resonance.

Druid and warlock entered a trance-like state, both affected by the Magic of the sacred place; warlock by choice, and druid by chance as the backlash of power released found its way to her.

As once before, Merlin allowed himself to be cradled by sound; rocked and comforted as an infant at its mother’s breast. He relinquished control absolutely and allowed the Cave to work through his body at will; unwinding the tangled curse which had stolen his sight.

Niniane drifted; warm, comfortable and weightless. Magic seemed to want to speak with her, and it began to take form in her mind; a face and a voice that was vaguely familiar and not at all threatening. A pale oval face framed with dark ringlets, a perfectly-shaped mouth and eyes of indescribable colour. The Woman continued to coalesce, and as Merlin had said earlier, Freya, now the Lady of the Lake, was indeed beautiful.

“My dear Niniane,” a gentle voice greeted “Do not despair, my girl. All that you hope for may yet come to pass.”

“I don’t understand…”

A delightful tinkling laugh caressed her soul as Freya answered. “Yes, you do. But you are afraid to open yourself to hope once more, because hope unfulfilled is hurt and pain and disappointment. But it is only as you can dare to hope that your dreams can be fulfilled.

“Trust yourself, my Niniane, and trust Emrys. He is afraid; afraid to trust and afraid to love. And most of all he is afraid of being alone through the long years ahead. Walk with him, Niniane, and help him overcome that fear.”

“He does not want me, he told me so.” Sadness dripped from the druidess’s words as the tears dripped from her eyes.

“Oh, Niniane. If he truly did not want you or the love and companionship you offer so freely, then there would be no struggle inside him of, and no need to try and convince himself that he cannot have it.” Affection warmed Freya’s voice.

“I still do not understand, Lady.”

“Merlin was not made to be alone; it is not in his nature. His heart was made for loving, and it is a fortunate few who will ever experience that. He has locked away this part of himself, but if it remains so he will turn lonely and bitter as the years pass by him. Love him, Niniane, for the time that you are together. Offer him what he needs, but quietly and without demanding and he will eventually come to acceptance. He will grieve when he outlives you, yes, but he will have at least the experience and memory of your love to sustain him, as well as any children that may be born, to bring him comfort. Just imagine, Niniane: Emrys living through the millennia watching over his family as it grows and spreads across the earth, taking magic everywhere it goes and blessing many nations as they travel.

“It is no easy task set before you; in his devotion to his Destiny Merlin forgets that he is human and that he needs care as any man does. If you take this role there will be unimaginable joys, but also much pain and loneliness. Emrys, by very nature of who he is, will be pulled in many different directions. You must be prepared to be often overlooked and ignored, even by Emrys himself at times. Not many women would be capable of this, Niniane. But I have looked inside your heart and I know you; your gentleness and love and wisdom. I choose you, my friend, to care for and love my Merlin. Will you do this for me? And give him what I cannot?”

Sobbing in earnest Niniane buried her face in her lap, tears wetting her dress as she nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course I will. Or at least I will try.”

Crystal Song swelled sweetly around the crouched form and the Lady of the Lake faded slowly, a sad smile on her face. She would watch from her watery world, and speak with Emrys often over the millennia, as long-lived as he. She would watch as he dared to trust in love once more, and embarked on a journey with Niniane that had once been planned between a young Merlin and Freya.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Nestled in the Heart of the Crystal Cave Merlin Emrys was unaware of the conversation taking place so near to him. He was totally absorbed in the warmth of healing that the Cave brought him. The last time he’d been healed here he’d been unconscious, and only now was he aware how grateful he should have been for that as the comforting warmth brightened, then heated still further across the threshold into discomfort.

Pain seared along his nerves as he allowed the Magic of the Cave to run through his body and right the wrongs the curse had caused. Gritting his teeth, he refused to give voice to the agony as the Dochraid’s tainted magic was burned from him. For all his efforts, however, a low groaning escaped the warlock. Many, many long moments later the searing along bodily pathways began to ease and die back. Slowly, gradually the heat became bearable, and then sank once more into comforting warmth before ceasing entirely.

Gasping and shuddering Merlin crouched, his forehead pressed into the rocky floor of the Cave, sweat and tears turning the dust into mud. He concentrated on breathing; taking in slow lungsful of air and expelling them slowly as he gained control once more. Eyes still closed he straightened and sat back on his heels, shudders quieting slowly. Cracking one eye slightly he dared to experiment; would he be able to see again? Pain slammed into the back of his eye as his pupil constricted against the brightness of the Crystals in the Heart. Wincing Merlin screwed his eye shut in reaction before his brain caught up with reality: he was reacting to seeing light for the first time in several days. Excited, he tried again, and was able to keep his eye open for slightly longer. Yes! He was definitely seeing something!

Blinking rapidly, Merlin was eventually able to accustom his sight once more, and he gazed around the Heart in reverent awe. To have these Crystals as the first thing he saw in days was somehow fitting. Grinning, the warlock staggered to his feet, turning towards where he’d left Niniane. Yes! He could see her, silhouetted against glowing Crystal, her characteristic gentle smile on her plain face.

“It worked!” he crowed, and made his way towards her, independent once more. “I can see! It worked Niniane!”

He grasped her hands in joy squeezing tight as he swung her around in celebration.

“I’m glad, Merlin.” Was her simple answer. “Shall we go now? We still have the Dochraid to deal with.”

A huge goofy Merlin-grin reaching from ear to ear, the warlock turned and began to make his way back along the floor of the Cave, heading for the exit. “Yes. Hopefully I can deal with her properly this time. Then we can get back to Camelot and help with the clean-up.”

Niniane squeezed his hand gently to indicate that she’d heard, and followed obediently.

“You know,” Merlin mused aloud, “Whenever I come to the Crystal Cave something changes. It’s like coming here marks the seasons and the changes in my life. Each time is the beginning of something new: The first time it was when Taliesin taught me to see. The next was when I came into my full powers as Emrys. And now I’m healed and whole again, magic is mostly accepted in Camelot, and Arthur is beginning to be the Once and Future King.”

Silence fell; Niniane saw no need to speak but her heart was full of ponderings; a marking of new seasons? Perhaps it would be, at that. She smiled her gentle smile and kept her counsel, content to wait and see if the Lady of the Lake’s words would come to pass. Only time would tell.

“Yes.” Merlin continued. “It’s definitely a new beginning. Come on, Niniane: this way.” And he led her by the hand into their next adventure.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) ‘The Sorcerer’s Shadow’ Series three, Episode Eleven.
(2) ‘The Crystal Cave’ Series Three, Episode Five.

Chapter Text

A young brown-haired woman and a tall black-haired man appeared suddenly on a craggy hilltop next to a twisted, gnarled old tree. They released their clasped hands and began to make their way down a rocky path made slick with mud, the man leading. It was not very many minutes until the pair ducked beneath the straggling roots of the tree and disappeared into the earth. A brief flash of blue light illuminated the irregular arch before blackness once more claimed the opening, and any observer was left wondering if what they’d seen was real, or had been a brief glimpse of the Fey Folk of legend.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin led Niniane by the hand along the twisting narrow pathway, simultaneously releasing his magic in the form of several floating blue globes which lit their way. The foul smell here was far stronger than what they’d encountered the last time they’d followed the Dochraid to her lair. The sour smell which surrounded the ancient being seemed to emanate from the very walls, mixed with the rotting smell of filth, decaying plant and animal matter. Gagging, Niniane released Merlin’s hand to clasp both palms over her mouth and nose. The gesture was reflexive and remarkably ineffective, doing little to reduce the stench which surrounded them.

Creeping, almost cat-like in movement, Merlin made no comment nor reaction, focused on dealing once and for all with the ancient creature who had caused so much distress to himself and those he protected. He had not paused to prepare himself this time; to steep himself in Magic’s power as he had before their last confrontation. He was counting on the fact that he was sighted while the Dochraid was not to give him the advantage. Neither had he armed himself with Excalibur as he’d done when he’d visited this foul place in order to gain knowledge on releasing Gwen from her cursed state. (1)

Reflexively, without pausing for thought Emrys drew on his power and cast a protective shield around himself and his companion: a glowing dome of magic distorted the air around them, shimmering like heat. He continued forward cautiously, creeping crab-wise, right hand raised in front ready to wield magic in defence or attack, whichever was needed first. He had no intention of losing this battle. It was rarely that Merlin Emrys went into a situation intending to damage or kill, but this time he knew there was no choice; so twisted had the Dochraid become over the centuries of her existence, so warped by foul dark magic rituals, and so twisted by her constant exposure to the more ancient and evil aspects of the Old Religion that she’d moved beyond redemption. In this new era of acceptance for his craft, Merlin knew it was vital that she be stopped once and for all time.

He stopped, mind buzzing with a surge of power as he sensed the Dochraid’s first attack. Strengthening the shield which surrounded them, Emrys braced himself to withstand this first assault. He could almost see the putrid cloud of power as it travelled towards them and impacted on the pure force which protected them. Stopping for a moment, he concentrated his will on maintaining their shield; this was less of an attack, and more a method for the Dochraid to gauge his strength. Like any cornered beast, she was prepared to fight with all her strength, but also wise enough to use her cunning intelligence. She needed to conserve power if she was to win this confrontation. Merlin chuckled aloud wryly, startling Niniane. At her confused look, he shot a quick telepathic explanation *It’s actually a compliment to me that she is so cautious. She’s unsure how strong I really am, and is trying to feel me out.* The vaguely amused feel to his communication abruptly ceased and became flat and dark, absolutely focused as the Warlock’s mood reflected his determination. *Her caution will not save her, however.*

Niniane shivered. She’d known Emrys was capable of such black intent, but this was the first time she’d experienced it first-hand. This was yet another facet of this man whom she still hoped to make her lover, and she was willing to bet that it was a facet not seen by very many. In a way it is a compliment to me. Her thoughts echoed the Warlock’s words. That he would so reveal himself betrays a level of trust I did not know he had in me. Perhaps there is hope yet…

Their progress continued onwards as cautiously as before. They must have travelled some distance in the gloom before Niniane sensed that the cavern opened up in front of them. The echoes were different, and there was the sound of dripping water somewhere ahead. Merlin sent *Stay here. I will go forward alone.* Knowing better than to protest, Niniane sent agreement down their connection and halted, ducking behind a rocky outcrop from which she hoped to observe the upcoming battle. Knowing that what she was about to witness would become legend, the young woman settled herself into one of the trance-states that the Druids taught. In this state she would be able to record the minute detail of the encounter, and lose not one detail of what would follow. It also had the added effect of blunting her emotions somewhat, which would make watching the man she loved step willingly into such a dangerous situation marginally easier.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Abandoning his semi-crouched pose Emrys straightened and stepped boldly into the Dochraid’s cavern. Dark magic assaulted him immediately, streamers buffeting him from several directions at once. Shielding his eyes to protect his night-vision, the Warlock allowed his pure magic to stream forth and combat the attacks. Where the two disparate magics connected, light and sparks flew in abundance, ricocheting from the walls and ceiling. Not bothering to duck, Emrys merely continued to allow his power to flow; meeting the Dochraid where her attacks fell.

The battle continued for some time with Emrys making no overt movement, content to let the Dochraid set the tone of the confrontation for now. Just as she was learning his power, so he was learning hers. And what he found brought confidence, although no pleasure; He knew that he would be able to best her and set grimly to his task.

For the first time Emrys unleashed an attack of his own; in a throwing gesture he directed a stream of light towards the ancient being and maintained the flow, arm outstretched. A bolt of blue-tinged light flowed outwards, disappearing into the darkness beyond Niniane’s sight. At first there was no reaction, and yet Emrys continued his assault. Slowly, felt more than heard, a groan was voiced as the Dochraid committed herself to withstanding Emrys’ assault. Low at first, it increased in volume and tone, climbing the scale towards desperation and ending in a prolonged shriek which shook the very earth on which they stood.

Emrys lowered his arm, ceasing the flow of power, and the Dochraid at last revealed herself, moving into the open to stand before her nemesis. Old and young, they stood facing one another. Young, slim and straight confronting old, twisted and malformed, the enemies stood silently as though weighing one another. This time it was the Warlock who began the exchange, unleashing a rapid volley of magical fireballs and causing the Dochraid to dodge and twist in order to protect herself. She snarled, displaying her jagged rotting teeth before answering his attack with one of her own. Dust rose as the combatants manoeuvred, and stray bolts struck the walls loosening shards of rock which were flung across the chamber. The exchange lasted for some time before both of them suddenly halted and an oasis of calm descended.

The Dochraid was panting audibly, breath harsh in her throat. Emrys, younger and fitter, was breathing only slightly more deeply but his face was covered in a fine perspiration which had mixed with the dust to coat him with a dirty mask. He sported several shallow cuts about the head and arms; wounds inflicted by flying stone shards, and his face was streaked with bright blood in several places. The Dochraid was not unscathed herself, and green ichor oozed from several lacerations on her body.

Growling and frustrated, the Dochraid snarled her standard threat at her adversary: “I am a creature of the Earth, you cannot kill me!” (1)

Standing straight Merlin answered calmly and proudly; “And I am a son of the Earth, the Sea and the Sky. I was born of magic. (2) And by my calculation that gives me an advantage of three to one.” Emrys smiled and somehow the blind crone must have detected it, for her stance suddenly betrayed uncertainty and she stumbled backwards several steps, her smile wiped from her hideous face.

Emrys’ voice continued on “And now, Dochraid, I do to you what was once attempted on me: I confine you here, beneath the Earth for all eternity. I call on the power of the Earth to confine you and keep you, I call on the power of the Sea to seal the underground waterways so that you cannot escape, and I call on the power of the Sky to bind your powers for evermore beyond your reach. For all of Time you shall be confined here. You, who willingly gave up your sight in exchange for increasing your magic, will be condemned to darkness for as long as this earth endures.” Emrys voice roared, crackling with power as it echoed back and forth in the chamber.

He raised his arms above his head as though physically gathering strength from the elements of which he was Master. The earth groaned as great rocks erupted around the feet of the aged twisted figure, and grew upwards with a grinding scream encasing her in living rock. A conjured wind swept through, howling an unearthly melody and fire erupted, engulfing the newly appeared plinth which surrounded the Dochraid. Higher the flames burnt, as though trying to melt the rock into a solid pillar, filling the cavern with incredible heat and causing Niniane to shield her face lest she be burnt.

In the midst of the storm Emrys stood, untouched and unharmed, directing the colossal forces as though he was born to it, as he indeed had been. Fire and wind died down and, with a final gesture a great cascade of water appeared and doused the newly created cairn, cooling and hardening the rock into a single piece. The gathered magics faded away and peace gradually fell within the chamber, broken by the periodic crunch-crack of super-heated rock as it continued to release heat into the air.

Emrys stepped back away from the carnage he had wrought, and with a twisting motion manipulated the earth and created yet another barrier, sealing the chamber and entombing the Dochraid in her lair. He stepped back again, and let his arms fall to his sides: Emrys was once more Merlin. The young man turned his back quietly and resolutely, and began to make his way towards the fresh air again. “Come, Niniane. It is done.” Not looking back Merlin trusted the druid woman to follow him, and they left as they had come: single file, with Merlin leading.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Several hours after a young man and woman had entered a hole in the mountainside below a gnarled tree, the pair re-appeared. Covered in dust, their skin and clothing appeared greyed. The man sported several rents in his clothing, and his face was marked with sweat and blood. If one observed closely, they would detect a fine tremor throughout his body even though his face appeared impassive. The young woman, while powdered with dirt appeared unharmed but shaken; her face displaying a profound shock and disbelief, as though what she had witnessed belied all description.

The pair trod dully along the path for several feet before stopping, the woman cannoning into the man’s back and almost tripping him. The man did not react, merely extending a hand to steady his companion before turning to face the cave entrance. He raised his other arm and gestured, and the earth itself shifted, sealing the hole as though it had never been. The two then turned and continued on their way, treading steadily and dully up the pathway.

If an observer looked even closer at the scene left behind they might notice that the great gnarled tree which had stood sentinel for centuries on the hill had altered somewhat. Once living and sporting the odd green leaf it was now dried out and lifeless. The twisted roots were groaning as they cracked, and the trunk itself had developed a lean towards the north. One could see that the next great wind-storm would carry it away entirely, and leave the sacred hill as barren and ordinary as any other.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin plodded, eyes dull and feet falling heavily on the earth as he made his way in the general direction of Camelot. Niniane followed silently; placid and uncomplaining, trusting that Merlin knew the way and would talk to her when he was ready. She was still shocked, uncomprehending at the magnitude of Magic she had witnessed this day. She had never dreamed that plain simple Merlin could wield such power so effortlessly. She contemplated again his being Emrys, and found that today the concept sat far more comfortably than it had in the past, despite what she had previously learned as his assistant. Merlin was indeed Emrys the Immortal, and she was unsure where that left her.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

It was just before dusk that they reached a sheltered dell past which a stream ran chuckling over mossy stones. Merlin stopped walking and sank to the ground, head cradled in his hands. Gathering her courage, Niniane stepped toward the great Warlock Emrys, who was still only a man, and dropped to the ground beside him. Silently she gathered him in her arms, speaking not a word as she rocked him gently, stroking his back and soothing the tremors which still ran through his frame.

At first he lay unresponsive upon her breast, head turned as it had fallen when she’d pulled him against her body. Many minutes passed and Niniane began to wonder if Merlin was even conscious, when he gave a great shuddering sigh, and twisted in her embrace, burying his face in her hair and winding his arms about her so tightly that she was hard-pressed to draw breath. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she continued to pet and stroke him, whispering reassurance in his ear.

The fine tremor gradually became a terrible shaking, as Merlin began to sob out his emotions. For once in his life, instead of shedding quiet restrained tears Merlin howled. All of the stresses, griefs and events of the past week overwhelmed him, and tears and snot ran down Merlin’s face while his thin shoulders convulsed with his rhythmic cries. Several times Niniane tried to disentangle herself, but Merlin only clung more tightly, refusing to let go. “Hush,” she whispered, placing gentle kisses across his forehead. “Hush, my love. You have been so brave. It is over now. You have done what needed to be done. Relax, my love. Let me hold you.”

Merlin nodded, rubbing his face on her blouse as he did so, and Niniane never ceased stroking, and whispering and kissing him gently. She’d managed to extract a cloth from one of her pockets, and now ran it soothingly across his face, cleaning him tenderly, mindful of his many cuts.

Finally he began to respond to her; “Oh, Niane. Thank you. Hold me. Just hold me. My Niane.”

Niniane nodded, and continued to run her hands over his face and back, offering what comfort she could. Merlin’s sobs quieted gradually, and he began to lean into the gentle kisses Niniane dotted over his now-clean face. It took only a very little movement of his head to bring his lips into line with hers the next time they descended. Drawing in a breath, Merlin tilted his face and raised his hands to cup Niniane’s head. For a moment the woman froze against him as if unsure, before her body softened and relaxed as she accepted his kiss. Releasing the breath he’d held, Merlin ran his tongue along her bottom lip and nipped gently. Niniane shuddered in response and opened to him, hardly able to believe that they were actually doing this.

Kisses deepened, teeth clicking together as passion began to over-ride grief, exchanging one emotion for another. They tasted of sweat, and dust, and blood, but neither one noticed or would have cared if they had. Pulling gently, Merlin lay down on his side and Niniane went unresisting with him. Hands wandered beneath clothing, tugging and un-tucking in the privacy of their dell, exploring warm firm flesh, exulting in life and in these sensations which were so new and unfamiliar and exciting.

Merlin found his previously well-reasoned arguments dissolve within his mind, as he tried to reassemble his will and remind himself of all the reasons that this was not a good idea. Niniane sighed and kissed back ravenously, hands sliding beneath the waist-band of his disreputable brown trousers to cup Merlin’s buttocks and press him firmly to her, leaving him in no doubt as to what she wanted. Groaning, the young Warlock arched his back, thrusting his hips forward into her warm belly and abandoned all arguments, surrendering to the intensity of the moment.

Kept apart for so many months due to fear, uncertainty, and circumstance, their loving was as cleansing as it was passionate. Merlin found that indeed Freya had been correct, and that losing control was not such a frightful thing when experienced with the right person, although the blasted tree nearby might argue the point. Gasping and trembling, recovering from the peak of their pleasure the two rested quietly entwined around one another. Niniane’s skirt was hiked up above her waist, and her blouse entirely removed. Merlin’s trousers rested in a brown lump by his feet, his robe, jacket and top crumpled beneath his head, acting as a pillow as his bare chest provided Niniane with a warm and comfortable resting-place.

Sweat dried on their skin, and the lovers began to cool rapidly as dusk fell, and with it the dew. Reluctant to move, Merlin raised his head and cast his eyes about the clearing. He immediately spotted the young sapling which had suffered an un-intended lightning strike at the height of his pleasure, and with a flex of his will gathered the wood, dried it, and began a camp-fire beside them. Another brief concentration and the ground beneath the couple softened, dried and began to radiate a gentle warmth; there were times when he was profoundly grateful to have magic.

“Well. I guess it’s a good thing that the first time was outside; I hate to think what damage I could have caused in my quarters, throwing out that magical spike.” Merlin drew in a breath and sighed in wry exasperation. “I just hope that doesn’t happen every time. It could get very awkward. Perhaps a shielding spell around the bed…”

Niniane just giggled and burrowed down further, snuggling her shoulders into the ‘mattress’ beneath her. “So there will be a next time? You’re not worried about being Immortal and out-living me anymore?”

The warlock’s face suddenly became grave and serious. “Yes, I am still worried about that,” his voice was quiet. “If I’d been thinking properly, I never would have… Well. It’s too late now, anyway.”

A strained silence fell over the dell, and Niniane began to panic quietly. This was not an auspicious beginning to what she hoped would be a life-time relationship. Well, lifetime for her anyway. She waited, body tensed, for her lover to sort through his thoughts.

“Yes, Niniane. I am worried. I don’t want to out-live you; I don’t know how I would cope with that, loving you as much as I do.” His voice was flattened as it often was when he struggled with deep emotions.

Niniane couldn’t suppress a tiny squeak of exultation. Merlin loved her, and he admitted it, even if unconsciously. She hugged the knowledge close to her chest, allowing it to warm her on the inside even as her lover’s body warmed her on the outside.

Merlin continued his musing; “But I guess, also, that if I don’t at least try this, I’ll always wonder what I could have had. I’ve been trying to decide which would be the easiest to live with; regret, or loss? Either way I will lose you at some point, whether I allow us to be together or not.” Wrapping his arms around her bare shoulders, Merlin clung to Niniane in desperation. “At least this way I get to love you along the journey.”

Niniane refrained from answering, content to lay quietly revelling in their closeness. She was relieved and pleased that Merlin had come to the same understanding that she had, and was willing to take the risk of accepting her into his life.

Dew continued to fall, thickening into a light rain at times, which hissed in the fire beside them. Eventually the two abandoned their cosy nest and moved about in the dark, washing in the nearby stream and unpacking necessities. The previous evening there had been two beds, separated by the camp-fire. This night there was only one, as the couple bedded down together and slept deeply, exhausted by the day and by their love-making.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Merlin woke as the birds began their morning chorus, unaccustomedly warm and comfortable. His back was cold as it faced away from the fire, and a quick spell warmed the blanket which covered him. In his arms Niniane lay, her back snuggled to his chest and his legs cupping her backside. With the softened earth-mattress beneath him, Merlin couldn’t remember ever being this comfortable. He bent his head and buried his nose in Niane’s hair, inhaling her familiar scent as he tightened his arms around her soft middle. His activity caused a reaction further down his body, and he lay for a moment delighting in this new sensation. Yes, he’d been aroused many times before when waking, no human male of his age could be unfamiliar with that experience. But this was the first time the arousal was caused by the physical presence of a much-loved woman in his arms.
Niniane woke and sighed, rolling to her back to look up at the blue-eyed man above her. His angular face was immediately consumed by his awkward-looking ‘Merlin grin’. Niniane smiled and accepted the kiss he offered, winding her arms around his neck.

The next hour was spent in predictable activities, and caused the destruction of yet another young tree, much to Niniane’s merriment. It pandered to her feminine pride to know that she could drive her warlock to such displays.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) ‘With All My Heart’ Series Five, Episode Nine.
(2) ‘Diamond of the Day Part One’ Series Five, Episode 12.

Chapter Text

Morning stole across the chamber, throwing shafts of yellow light across the royal bed. Maerwina smiled, standing quietly for a moment as she observed the slumbering couple. Arthur lay fast asleep on his back, one arm flung wide and mouth open snoring. Gwen slept curled on her side, her head tucked beneath Arthur’s chin and both hands folded demurely across her throat. Arthur’s other hand was wound protectively around his wife’s back, anchored in her mass of black curls. Moving quietly, the maid reached to touch Gwen’s shoulder and waken her mistress with a soft “My Lady?”

With an in-drawn breath, the Queen’s dark eyes opened and fastened on Maerwina’s face. Her characteristic smile broke out, lightening her countenance as she disentangled Arthur’s fingers from her hair and sat up, stretching.

“Thank you Maerwina. You may get breakfast now. I’ll wake the King.”

The maid nodded, bobbed a curtsey and left quickly. Gwen rolled back to her husband and amused herself for several moments by trailing a lock of her hair over his face. Irritably the King swatted the sensation away, wrinkling his nose at the annoyance. Gwen stifled the giggle that threatened to explode from her, and simply moved the lock of hair to another location, continuing to harass her husband. After several repetitions, Arthur woke. Immediately grasping the situation he lunged at his wife, and tackled her back to the mattress, wrestling and tickling as they bounced on the down-stuffed mattress. The hilarity gave way slowly to a loving and gentle kiss, as blue eyes met brown and the mood changed from playful to serious.

“It’s good to see you happy again, Gwen.” Arthur observed.

Sadness crossed the dark face briefly, before a gentle smile erupted once more, and she nodded. “I am better now, Arthur; no more pain and the bleeding is only slight. It seems to have settled over the last few days. The draughts that Gaius has prepared seems to have helped a lot.”

Arthur nodded and stroked his hand down her head, and he pulled her abruptly towards him and planted a kiss on her temple. “I am so sorry, Gwen. For all that you’ve suffered.”

“Oh, Arthur. It wasn’t your fault.” Tears brimmed and one sparkling drop escaped to trace down the queen’s cheek. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It was just one of those things.”

Nodding, Arthur took his wife’s hand in his own. “I’m glad you have stopped blaming yourself, love.”

A wry smile crossed Gwen’s face as she rocked her head against Arthur’s chest. “There are still times, my love…”

“Shhh.” Arthur pressed another kiss into her hair. “You know that there was nothing you could have done, and that working in the Hospital Rooms with Merlin and Gaius made no difference. You would have still lost the babe.”

Gwen was crying silently, tears wetting Arthur’s sleeping shirt as he continued. “If you are worried about an heir to the throne, Gwen, don’t be! We are both still young, and there is plenty of time, no matter what the gossips of the Palace might say. You have conceived once, and when you are ready, you will again.” Arthur stopped before turning to look his wife full in the face, earnest and gentle, holding her shoulders firmly. “I love you Gwen. I can hardly remember a time when I didn’t, and I am honoured to have you as my wife. Do you believe me?” He shook her for emphasis.

Gwen’s gentle tears dissolved into full-blown sobs, as she rejoiced in the stalwart love and support of her husband and King. Flinging her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his chest and revelled in the unique smell that was Arthur as he rocked her back and forth.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

The sun had been up for several hours before Merlin and Niniane forced themselves to begin preparations for their journey home. Suppressing a groan, Niniane stood and stretched her hands towards the overcast sky, arching her back and working the kinks out. Merlin watched appreciatively from his nest on the ground, and wished they could stay for longer in the dell, even if at the detriment to the small forest of young trees that abounded there.

Niniane stepped towards the nearby stream to wash and limped slightly as she made her way across the damp ground. “I wish we didn’t have so far to walk today. I’m sore.”

Merlin chuckled, blushing slightly as he realised that he was the cause of her soreness and felt an unaccustomed male pride in the fact. “Who says we have to walk?”

“Oh, good. You’re going to teleport us again?”

“Nope. I have a better idea than that. One that should be a lot more fun.”

“Yes? And what would that be?” Niniane’s question was accompanied by a gasp as she began splashing cold water over herself. Her back was towards Merlin, and she started violently at his reply; a harsh growling shouting language that vibrated the ground beneath her feet.

“O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes!”   Merlin cocked his head and raised one brow in an expression remarkably similar to one of Gaius’ as he met Niniane’s startled look. “We’re going to go home on a Dragon!”

Shaking her head, the druidess continued her ablutions, intent on being fully clothed by the time Aithusa appeared.

By the time Merlin was up and dressed, and the last of the belongings packed in the leather satchel the distant sound of giant wings beating the air could be heard. Niniane looked around, scanning the sky for the first glimpse of Aithusa’s white body. Coming up beside her, Merlin pointed towards the winged shape as it broke through the low-lying clouds.

“How did you know where she was? You couldn’t have seen her?”

“When I called her, I also intensified my Dragonlord’s link with her. In a way I sort of become part dragon, or my mind does, and I can sense where she is and what she’s doing. I don’t keep it active all the time, because it would be too distracting. But when I focus I can see through her eyes and hear through her ears. The bond between myself and Aithusa is far stronger than that with Kilgarrah. I think because I named her and called her from the egg myself. Also my healing and transforming of her on Avalon cemented the bond further.” Merlin stated these facts matter-of-factly, and totally missed Niniane’s open-mouthed stare.

Stepping forwards, he greeted Aithusa as she tucked her wings back and extended her clawed feet to make contact with the earth with a dull thud. “Aithusa, my friend,” He greeted.

The majestic dragon lowered her head, her neck forming a graceful ‘S’ as she formally acknowledged her Dragonlord. “My Lord, I come as summoned.”

The last months had wrought great changes in the young dragon. Regular hunting had provided her with much-needed activity to strengthen muscle and ligaments, and the results of the kill had provided the fuel and energy required to sustain her growth. She was now truly magnificent to behold; her height at the shoulder had increased by half the height of a man, and her length had kept pace accordingly. Her hide was a pure white, scales gleaming dully in the overcast sunlight. As the young dragon flexed her wings, the shapes of trees were seen dimly through the translucent membranes stretched between the vanes. Each wing measured twice the length of her body, the massive sail area needed to provide sufficient lift to get her into the air, and sustain flight. Muscles bulged beneath her hide, those on her shoulders as large as boulders, moving and flexing mightily. Her head was longer than Merlin’s body easily, and the ice-blue eyes almost glowing with intensity. Ivory fangs as long as a large man’s hand were visible as she spoke, and a smoky spicy odour wafted from her breath. Her four legs were about the same length as her body was deep at the chest, and as round about as a sturdy tree, topped with talons to make a griffin weep. Her plated tail was curled neatly about her feet, coming to rest just beside her muzzle. She was not yet one half, or even one third the size Kilgarrah had attained, but she was perfectly in proportion to herself and it was easy to see that she had the potential to match him eventually.

Merlin approached Aithusa, a smile stretching from ear to ear as he lay a hand fearlessly along her jaw. “I have a very special task for you today, Aithusa. I would like you to fly myself and Niniane home to Camelot. Will you do that?”

Nodding, the noble beast agreed. “It is good to see you well after the battle My Lord. And it is good to see that you have taken a mate at last.” This with a pointed glance in the Druidess’s direction.

Merlin spluttered, mouth open and face turning red at Aithusa’s blunt comment. “But…how…I never said anything.”

Niniane giggled in the background, covering her mouth with both hands.

“For one who knows you as well as I, My Lord, it is easy to sense.” Aithusa answered. “Besides, the lady may have bathed away all scent, but you have not.” Spluttering again, Merlin tried his best to acclimate to the Dragon’s earthy practicality in such matters. He guessed that sensitivity and discretion over such issues was not something which dragons concerned themselves with.

“Ah. Hum” he cleared his throat, “Yes. Well then. Will you carry us both? Niniane has never ridden a dragon, and if she is to be my life-partner, then it is probably something she needs to get used to.”

“With pleasure, my Lord.” And the mighty Dragon lowered her head flat to the ground, allowing her Lord and his mate to scramble up her overlapping scales and settle themselves behind her horns. Waiting until Merlin contacted her silently to indicate they were settled, Aithusa extended her wings. Flexing her powerful legs, she hurled herself upwards, clearing the trees before the first downstroke of her wings.

Niniane wrapped her arms around Merlin’s waist and buried her face in his back, bracing herself against the young man who had so much more experience in riding a dragon, and could therefore help keep her steady.

“Would you like to go straight home, or see a little of the land first?” Aithusa questioned.

Answering aloud for Niniane’s benefit, Merlin answered “I think the long way home would be best, that way we can give Arthur time to clear the courtyard for our arrival.”

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

*Arthur…* The King raised his head from the reports he was perusing, distracted by an odd tickling sensation deep in his mind. Focusing on it, he heard again *Arthur? Can you hear me?* Recognising the sensation from the time Merlin had taught him mind-speak several days ago, Arthur relaxed and focused on opening to his friend.

*Yes, Merlin. I can hear you.*

*Oh, good! We’ve beaten the Dochraid; she will no longer bother Camelot or anybody else for that matter.*

*Well done. How did you do it?*

*Well. I…kind of buried her.*

*Buried her?*

*Yep. Covered her in rock. And then sealed her into an underground chamber, and then hidden behind more earth and rock. And guarded by water.*

*Hmm. Did a thorough job, then, did you?* The king chuckled.

*As thorough as I could, yes. Aithusa is bringing Niniane and myself home to Camelot as we speak. We should be there by mid-afternoon. If you could make sure the main courtyard is clear for us?*

*Of course, Merlin.* Arthur’s voice had taken on a mocking tone. *And when you get back, you can just fix that other problem that you conveniently forgot about before you rushed off.*

*Problem?* Merlin was genuinely puzzled. *What problem, Arthur?*

*Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the score of living stone gargoyles which are still guarding the entire City! None of the local druids can end the enchantment which you started, so the creatures are just standing around cluttering up the place!* Arthur’s mental tone had changed from mocking to furious.

*Oh. Whoops.* Merlin answered weakly.

*Yes, Merlin! Whoops! Just get back here and take care of it!* and Arthur broke off the connection, closing his mind to any further communication.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

It was with little fanfare that Aithusa landed once more in the main courtyard. It seemed that the people of Camelot had adjusted rapidly to a ‘tame dragon’ coming and going. The pair dismounted easily and waved goodbye to their mount before heading up the stairs. Glancing around, Merlin noticed the living statues dotted around, and dismissed them with a casual wave of his hand. A grinding cracking sound echoed throughout the town as the beasts returned to their various perches on tower, gable and wall, reforming to solid granite until they were next called upon.

The few days since Merlin & Niniane had left the place had wrought much change; work-groups were out repairing wooden dwellings and shop-fronts while the town masons sorted through rubble, choosing the right-sized and shaped stones from which to re-fortify the damaged outer wall. Bodies no longer littered the streets and alleys, and life had returned to Camelot as citizens returned after their spell with the druids.

The lower-floor sick-rooms were much depleted, many of the wounded having either died from wounds or been sent home. Merlin noted that all but one of the rooms had been shut down, and he made a mental note to speak to Arthur about retaining it permanently, as a treatment room on the lower floor rather than asking the sick and maimed to make their way up to the Healing Rooms in the tower.

Extending his hand to Niniane, Merlin bounded along the hallways, brimming with happiness and enthusiasm as he sought first his King and then Gaius. Life was good, after all.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Chapter Text

Two couples strolled leisurely in the sun, basking in the warmth of an early June day. A few clouds raced along high in the sky periodically obscuring the sun before moving clear again, causing shadows to rush along the ground, the grass changing from a bright warm green to a cooler shade and back again. Two boys, 11 and 10 years of age played and yelled, running around their parents as they chased the shadows along the ground, shrieking in youthful high spirits that they were out-running the sun.

“I can run faster than you!” chanted Thomas as he taunted Gaheris. Thomas took off, pushing his little limbs to the limit as he struggled to outpace the older boy. Realising that he could not win, the wily child changed tactics and dodged behind his mother Guinevere, catching hold of her skirts to balance himself as he did so. Gwen was thrown off balance by the child’s antics and staggered, only narrowly avoiding a tumble when Arthur reached out his hand to steady her.

“Thomas!” Arthur reprimanded after he’d made sure that both Gwen and the young babe she balanced on her hip were unharmed.

Gwen was helping Niniane. Because the druid was expecting her fifth child in three months she found that carrying her very active 10-month daughter for long periods was beyond her just now. Besides, it gave Gwen a chance to fuss and coo over another babe; her own daughter Eileen was now five years and far beyond being carried.

Thomas stopped short and assumed a contrite expression, hands clasped behind his back and face fixed on the ground. Arthur dropped down to the child’s level and looked firmly into the brown eyes which reminded him so of his wife’s. “You should be more careful! What would have happened to poor Amabel if your mother had fallen? Hey? I don’t think Physicians Merlin & Niniane would be very happy if their daughter was injured because of you!”

“Sorry, Father.” The boy whispered.

“It’s not me you should apologise to. It’s Merlin & Niniane. You’re a Prince, Thomas, and need to be more responsible now that you’re older.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now, go and make your apologies properly.” Arthur turned Thomas and gave him a gentle push in the direction of his two oldest friends. Sharing an amused glance with Gwen, it took all the king’s effort to not break out into laughter. The lines around his eyes gave testament to the fact that laughter was a frequent occurrence in King Arthur’s life, unlike that of his more stern father Uther. Like Uther, though, Arthur had aged well. They grey in his hair only added to his stature, as did the weathered face. For a man over forty, who had fought many battles and been crowned High King of all the Britons almost a decade ago, Arthur had worn well indeed.

Thomas nodded his dark head and scampered off to stand before the Physicians in their blue robes. It was rare that the magical couple both had a day off at the same time, and they were determined to enjoy this rare chance to relax together with Arthur, Gwen, and all the children. Disciplining his face into a sober mien, Merlin nodded to acknowledge Thomas, giving him leave to speak.

Unlike Arthur, Merlin had not aged at all. He still appeared to be a youth in his mid-twenties thanks to the power of Emrys which ran through his veins. Merlin often wondered if he would ever age, or if he would always look as he did now? It was too soon to tell, and something that he would, no doubt, discover in the centuries to come. “Yes, Thomas?” he spoke to Arthur’s son.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Merlin Emrys, Sir. I nearly made mother drop Amabel. I’ll be more careful. I promise!”

Chuckling Merlin dropped easily down to Thomas’ height and smiled to see his own son Gaheris standing close by, ready to offer support if needed. “It’s alright Thomas. I understand that sometimes you need to run. Just remember, though, that running should be done where there aren’t so many people around who can be hurt. Imagine how you would feel if you knocked over Physician Niniane and hurt her, or her baby? You don’t want her to lose the baby, do you?”

Thomas shook his head solemnly. He had witnessed his mother lose several pregnancies over the years, and knew the kind of heartbreak such an event could cause.

Merlin stood and gave both boys a gentle push; “Off you go now. You too Gaheris.” The two boys scampered away again, albeit at a slightly more subdued pace. Merlin turned towards his second son Launce, as the toddler lost his balance on the uneven grass and needed rescuing. He scooped the child into his arms and swung him up across his shoulders, delighting in the three-year-old’s laughter as he did so. This was Launce’s favourite spot; higher than anybody else, he revelled in the view he had and kicked his little legs against his father’s chest. “Hey! Steady!” Merlin reprimanded, dodging the flying feet.

Niniane waddled up to her mate and latched an arm around his waist, using him for support. “You are so good with them, Merlin.” She commented. “It’s a pity that there won’t be any more after this one,” and she ran her hand thoughtfully over her distended abdomen.

“No, Niniane. We’ve been over this already. Five is enough! Even though I’m not aging, you certainly are, and each one has been harder on you.”

Sighing, the druid nodded in agreement. As much as she loved children and had enjoyed every one of her pregnancies, she could not deny that at forty years her body was feeling the strain of this latest unplanned babe more than ever before.

Her brown hair had lightened somewhat as the grey had crept in. Instead of wearing it loose as she had when younger, it was now usually bound at the nape of her neck in a loose knot. Her face was lined, but filled with the love and kindness that a life with her beloved warlock and his children had brought her. Even though she was actually a year or two older than Merlin, he had been, on rare occasion, mistaken for her son so great was the disparity in their apparent ages.

“Yes, I know my love. It just makes me sad. I wanted to give you so many children that you would never be alone. I want to be able to imagine you surrounded by them; by grand-children, great-grandchildren, and so on, down through the ages…”

Merlin stopped and turned towards his love, and folded her into his arms. “Ah, Niane. You have given me so much that I can hardly believe it. Now go and retrieve Amabel from Gwen. She’s getting fractious and is probably ready for another feed.”

Niniane nodded and moved slowly towards her Queen and best friend. “She’s hungry, I think,” she greeted the dark woman.

Guinevere nodded and surrendered the child to her mother before heading towards a nearby seat under a tree where Niane could sit and nurse. Eight-year-old Wynifreed and five-year-old Eileen followed quietly to sit and observe, fascinated as always by a suckling babe no matter how often they witnessed this everyday miracle.

Gwen drew her daughter Eileen onto her knee and held her close, talking to the two girls as she always did; “You see, a mother always makes just enough milk for her baby and no more. One day, when you have children of your own, you will feed them just like Niane is doing now.”

Niniane smiled in contentment as Amabel’s feeding reduced the ache in her breasts, and took the chance to rest while she could. Carrying one babe and feeding another was incredibly taxing, and she found she tired easily.

She let her mind wander as she studied Gwen’s face. Although only in her late fourth decade, Gwen appeared to have aged more than any of them. The almost two years before she was able to successfully carry a babe to term after losing her first child had weighed heavily on her. In contrast, Niniane felt almost guilty at the ease with which she herself produced children, her first being conceived that first time with Merlin after the Dochraid’s defeat.

Gwen’s face was marked with the grief of much loss and worry. The Queen was content, now though, having given Arthur their two children. The worry-lines on her face were also due to her constant life of watching her husband ride into battle while she herself needed to stay behind and govern Camelot. The last few years of peace had gone somewhat towards reducing the lines, but she would always carry reminders of her past time both on her face and in the grey of her hair.

Settling Amabel more comfortably, balancing the babe on her distended belly, Niniane looked up to see where the men had got to and smiled to see Merlin & Arthur, followed by the two boys heading towards the nearest horse dealer. The tournament was not only a time for men to show their skill in fighting and jousting, but also an opportunity for breeders to compare lines, exchange stock, and sell their trained battle-horses. Merlin juggled the toddler he had balanced on his shoulders into a more comfortable position, the gold flare of his eyes betraying his using a touch of magic to steady him.

Arthur had promised Thomas that today they would begin looking for a proper horse for him today. This meant that Gaheris would most likely inherit the pony he’d ridden up until now. Though he was the younger, Thomas was taller and more stocky than his playmate, displaying his father’s sturdy build even as Gaheris had inherited Merlin’s leaner figure. Neither man had placed undue expectations on their sons, but they had each so far run true to form; Thomas displaying the natural aptitude of an athlete or warrior, while Gaheris leaned more towards magic and healing.

Being so close in age, the two boys had formed a strong friendship. All of Camelot was accustomed to seeing the pair together, getting into some sort of mischief or other. Lately, as Launce had begun to venture further away from his parents, the toddler was also included in the older boys’ antics at times. Gaheris and Thomas would often exploit Launce’s gullibility by getting him to beg sweets from various stall-holders on their behalf. Their reasoning was that nobody could possible refuse the smiling cherubic child anything. Little did they know that Merlin asked tally from the tradesmen, and would covertly pay for what the children thought they’d gained for free.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Towards afternoon after an appropriate horse had been chosen for Thomas, and promises made that Gaheris would indeed have ‘Blacky’ as his own mount now that Thomas no longer needed him, the two families returned to their place in the stands.

High King Arthur felt no need to continue performing in the Tournaments, content that his past exploits on numerous battle-fields had proved his skills more thoroughly than any competition ever could. Rather, the tournaments now served as a way for all the petty kings, lords and land-owners to come together in fellowship and fun in order to reinforce those bonds which had been forged, by necessity, more than a decade ago.

The unrest had begun about a year after Morgana & Mordred’s defeat: A power-vacuum had erupted after the demise of the Fisher King. It seemed that the Perilous Lands, once removed from the government of her King and the Curse attendant on him, had reverted once more to the lush, green and prosperous lands they had been in times past. Not un-naturally, the surrounding lords and land-owners had each eye off the prize and begun to plot how to take the rich countryside for their own. There had arisen such a squabble and fight, disrupting the peace of the land so much that Arthur had once more feared for Camelot’s safety.

In desperation, he had gone to his neighbours and proposed an alliance in order to bring peace to the contested lands. Queen Annis, who had become a stalwart supporter of Arthur Pendragon pledged her troops immediately, as had King Rodor despite Arthur’s previous refusal to marry his daughter Mithian.(1)(2) Being elected Commander of this massive force, King Arthur had set off on his mission to bring peace to the disputed Perilous Lands.

Merlin, of course, had been a major part of the mission, using Aithusa to spy out the land and communicate rapidly between the disparate companies of the massive army. The White Dragon had also been an asset in co-ordinating the Army’s attack, and conveying troops quickly to where they were most needed. The mere sight of a Dragon under the control of an opposing force was enough to unsettle the disputing men, and after a brief but very hard fight peace was established.

Maintaining that peace had been another matter altogether, however, and had taken all of the diplomatic skills Arthur had painstakingly developed over the preceding years. Merlin had come into his own in this situation, acting as advisor and sounding-board, using his magic only as a last resort, and for protection or healing rather than attack. He was determined that this New Era would establish Sorcery as a benevolent art, rather than one used to overpower and destroy as it had been in the past.

Such had been the success of Magic and Sword united in one purpose that the lesser kings and war-lords had voted to elect Arthur High King over them all of Albion, in the hope that one unified government would spare the land such disputes and savagery in the future.

So it was, that within the space of four years not only was Magic brought back to the land, but Albion herself was established, with Arthur as King over all. Thus all the prophecies Kilgarrah had ever made to one small, frightened skinny warlock were brought into being. Albion, with Camelot at her centre, had lived in peace and prosperity for the past eight years, with many more similar years anticipated by all.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Cheering and clapping erupted around the two High King Arthur and Physician Merlin Emrys as they sat watching the battling men and horses below. Catching Merlin’s eye, Arthur smiled and began to reminisce once more about times past, valorous deeds, and brave knights.

The loss of Lancelot, Elyan and Gwaine had left a gaping hole in their company which could never be truly filled. The two new Knight Captains Sir Bedwyr and Sir Cei had performed well, but nothing could make up for the close bonds formed within the Inner Circle in those early years of Arthur’s reign, first as Regent and then as King. Merlin had honoured both Lancelot and Gwaine, the two knights whom he’d felt closest to by naming his children after them; Gaheris for Gwaine, (combined with his beloved mentor Gaius) and Launce for Lancelot.

Pausing for a moment, the two friends turned to watch the next bout. Performing now was a new young Knight named Galahad. He’d presented himself to Camelot six months before and asked to join the Company. After undergoing the usual rigorous tests and exercises he’d been welcomed wholeheartedly. Today would be the first time he formally competed against the other Knights, and they were eager to see how he handled himself. Sir Percival and Sir Leon were down on the floor of the Arena, making sure that all was run fairly, and rallying and supporting the younger competitors.

Neither Arthur nor Merlin should have worried about Galahad: the young man dispatched his adversaries in fine style, proving himself the equal of even Arthur in his younger day. The men returned to continue their previous discussion; along with his impressive skills as a warrior and Knight Galahad had brought with him to Camelot a riddle. The riddle of the Holy Grail. The young man was eager to seek out the much vaunted artefact and Arthur was half inclined to let him. The purported abilities of the object sent a cold shiver down Merlin’s spine, however, and he was busy advising Arthur to let the relic lie undisturbed lest evil be raised if it ever was unearthed.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

After the last battle of the day, the Warlock Merlin Emrys took centre stage in the Arena much to his disgust. He understood politically why it was needed that he make a public show, but he hated it just the same.

Standing in his blue Physician’s Robes, he stood proudly, all eyes fixed upon him: the legendary and powerful Warlock. Throwing his head back towards the sky, he raised both arms and roared out the familiar syllables as he’d so often done in the past: “O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes.”

Merlin smiled secretly to himself: Aithusa’s appearance today would be more than Arthur had bargained for. Just after peace had finally been established in Albion the White Dragon had taken leave of her Dragonlord and embarked on a quest which took her right around the world. She’d decided that she needed to find a mate for herself if the Noble Dragons were not to die out in Albion. She’d eventually returned, three years later on, with a male in tow. She’d found an existing colony of dragons far to the south, in an Asian land. In this place it was the men who had long hair, which was braided into a plait down their back, and the women who toiled in the water-logged fields tilling a strange white grain known as ‘rice’ which was their staple food.

The dragons in this land were far different than those who’d once lived in Albion. Their bodies were far longer, almost serpentine in shape, rising in a ‘hump’ between the front and rear sets of legs with the wings smaller and set at the peak of the hump. Their scales came in bright colours of red, green, and blue, and their magic was far weaker than her own, and they had a longer more mobile tail. Head horns gave way to a type of mane with tendrils flowing from the upper jaw, appearing to enhance the size of the long and broad head. But, however different these beasts may be, they were still dragons.

Aithusa had become a part of the wild colony and gotten to know these new dragons. When her quest was made known to them one of the males agreed to come and view this ‘Albion’, and see whether he could imagine settling there. He was somewhat set apart from his clan due to his dull colouring which was predominantly a grey-white with black markings, and hoped to find a place where his unusual colour would be an advantage instead of a failing. Even though Chao-Bai-Lung (3) had the smaller wings of his breed this did not inhibit his speed at all as the pair journeyed north towards their home. His flight was a sinuous weaving motion, almost swimming along, his wings used for loft rather than power.

Several minutes after Merlin’s call, the crowd was treated to the sight of wide white wings as Aithusa circled the arena and came in to a neat landing beside her Lord. She settled amidst a flurry of dust before raising her head and releasing a bellow into the air. At her signal, Chao-Bai-Lung made his appearance, calling his musical bugle as he approached following his mate. To the crowd’s delight, there followed three smaller dragons, a cross in shape between their sire and dam, longer and more sinuous than Aithusa’s breed, but more stocky and stronger than the Asian breed. It seemed that Kilgarrah’s dream of continuing the Dragon race would come to fruition.

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

Settling into bed that evening, Merlin reviewed the last decade of his life. It had begun with trouble and toil, but ended in peace which he was anxious to preserve.

Rumours had begun to circulate lately that there were visitors surveying the Camlann battle-field on which Arthur had been mortally wounded just over 12 years ago. Reports varied between the visitor being young or old, but all stated that the visitor was a male druid with dark hair. Granted, there were probably many hundreds of male druids with dark hair interested in a Battle-field which had witnessed the magnitude of magic-use that Camlann had, but Merlin was concerned that Mordred had returned from exile in the South-lands. Allowing his mind to dwell on this fact, he decided to make a visit to the Crystal Cave in the near future in order to scry in the place of Magic’s birth and see what the crystals would tell him.

Many times over the past years Merlin had made a visit to the Cave. It had almost become a place of retreat for him; a place to sit and find himself, to reconnect with Magic, to delve deeper into the Power of Emrys, and to explore who he was. In these times he’d been able to become more comfortable with himself, and more skilled in the aspects of magic he had problems with such as scrying, and looking to the future. He’d also been able to develop more subtle control over the awesome forces he now wielded. He was, at this moment in time, more Emrys that he had ever been.

It was in the moments of communion in the Cave over the years that Merlin had begun to make contact with Morgana once more. Bored and bitter in her ethereal existence, she would visit first just to have some conversation, and interact with a living being. Between the time she spent with Merlin and the interactions with the Vilia sent by the Lady of the Lake, Morgana had mellowed and matured. Her hatred of Arthur and all those in Camelot had begun to be replaced with a grudging respect. The fact that Magic had been brought back into the land, and was now freely practised for the good of all citizens, as well as the fact that Merlin had an iron hold over the development of Magic’s ethos across Albion showed Morgana that, after all, they had not been her enemy, even though she had been theirs.

The once-Princess had even brought herself to commune regularly with Freya, the Lady of the Lake. That unique person had helped Morgana come to understand how her hatred had led her to commit great crimes against her family. Now that the hate was mellowing she could see herself allying with them. Currently she was studying whether, at the time of their death, she could transport people’s spirits across the dark divide between this world and the next. She and Freya hoped that taking them to Avalon as their lives ceased would thus preserve them, allowing them to return later to the world in case they should be needed.

Turning onto his other hip Merlin snuggled down into his familiar position, spooned into Niniane’s back. Not a day passed that he didn’t give thanks that he had met this precious lady, and made her his mate. She was a perfect foil for him, a sturdy practical grounding force whom he knew he couldn’t do without. Thinking about the future, and the time when he would out-live her brought a deep aching pain to his chest. His only hope was the fact that he would be surrounded by the children she had given him; his progeny. They would marry and have children of their own, so that hopefully he would be able to maintain contact with his descendants through the ages. He could then have the pleasure of guiding them into adulthood, watching over them, and rejoicing in their accomplishments as the magical blood of Emrys spread throughout this and other lands.

Thankfully none of his children had been born with their magic already active, as he had. They seemed to be following the more normal development, when magic beginning to appear at the same time as sexual maturity. This meant that hopefully the teens would have a better chance of controlling their gifts. It seemed that there would be only one Emrys, which Merlin found a bittersweet fact.

Emrys was currently beginning to drift into sleep after a rewarding day spent in the sun with family and friends. He did not know how much longer this Golden age of Prosperity Camelot would enjoy, but he would do his best to see that it continued for as long as possible, and he would enjoy each precious minute for as long as it did.

Merlin, the Diamond in the rough, the Diamond of the Day was discovering and displaying more and more of the facets that made up his complex personality. Each skill, understanding, or achievement resulted in another polished facet shining through the simple-looking, awkward, young-seeming man.

What the future would bring in general, Merlin had no idea. But he was content to wait for it to reveal itself. Now that Albion was established and flourishing there would, surely, be a few more challenges for him to face in the future.

The End

~m~m~m~m~m~m~

(1) Season Five, Episode One ‘Arthur’s Bane Part One’
(2) Season Four, Episode Eleven ‘The Hunter’s Heart’
(3) Means ‘Surpassing White Dragon’

Merlin & Arthur’s children; ages, sex and name meanings.

11yrs – Boy. Merlin & Niniane. Gaheris (combination of Gaius & Gwaine’s names)
10yrs – boy. Arthur & Gwen. Thomas (After Gwen’s father)
8yrs – girl. Merlin & Niniane. Wynifreed (means peace & joy)
5yrs – girl. Arthur & Gwen Eileen (after Ygraine, Arthur’s mother)
3yrs – boy. Merlin & Niniane. Launce (after Lancelot)
10 months – girl. Merlin & Niniane. Amabel (means lovable)