Chapter Text
The Strength of Friendship
Chapter One
A Friend Indeed
The ground was cold… hard and unyielding, as the young man cradled the body of his friend to protect him from the elements. They had come so close to salvation. He could not fail at the last hurdle!
Yet he watched in horror as his wounded master's arm fell away, too weak to hold on. No, not master and servant. On this journey they had transcended the customary titles. Over the years, they had become strange friends, and perhaps more. They were two sides of a coin.
Merlin cried his friend's name, feeling a surge of relief as the blue eyes opened once more, but the comfort was fleeting as Arthur's heavy lids closed again.
This was too much! Merlin threw his head back and shouted to the heavens, calling on his last source of aid. He laid his forehead to The King's; was there a faint touch of warmth still emanating from that pale brow?
Merlin concentrated, lending his love and strength to the feeble flame which still flickered within The King's ailing body. After all, this was not just his friend. This was Arthur, the warrior king, and he would not go down to death without one last fight.
The laboured flapping of wings and the thump of a too heavy landing broke into Merlin's thoughts. He set Arthur gently on the wet grass and stood to confront the dragon, valiantly trying to hide his shock at the sight of the once powerful beast. Merlin knew from their last meeting that Kilgarrah was ageing, but now he looked a shadow of the great, mythical being that had for years awed and, at times, intimidated the people of this land. Even Kilgarrah's iridescence had dulled, like a guttering candle.
Sadness threatened to consume him.
But this was wrong. Merlin had been told many times that he was the mightiest of all sorcerers who had ever lived, and, as long as he had a breath left in his body, he would not lose two of his dearest compatriots at the same time.
“I have one last favour to ask of you, Kilgarrah. Will you take us to the Isle of Avalon?” he asked, refusing to use his power as a Dragonlord to command. Kilgarrah must offer his help out of compassion, which the magical creature did readily.
With an ease Merlin believed he could not muster, he lifted Arthur onto the dragon's back, and in moments they were flying across the country, covering the distance to Avalon which, mere moments ago, had seemed like an impossible journey.
Far below their feet, the deep forest flowed like a green tide across the land, but Merlin was too preoccupied to notice. He held Arthur close, sheltering him from the windchill, while wondering if Arthur's recent acceptance of magic would extend to an alliance with Kilgarrah. The King had only known The Great Dragon as a foe. Merlin fervently prayed that there would be a time when that problem could be addressed. He did have a sneaking suspicion that Arthur's sense of adventure would actually enjoy flying on a dragon's back.
Within minutes they were landing, and Merlin consigned that question to an unsure future.
Soon, he was dragging Arthur's inert body from the dragon's scaly back, pulling him with difficulty towards a small boat, which was tied up by the reed-edged shore of Lake Avalon. Was Arthur's weight increasing? Merlin refused to consider his 'brother' a dead weight.
Higher on the bank, Kilgarrah stretched out his sinewy neck towards the pair of humans who had become part of his legend, a look of melancholy filled his once glowing gold eyes, now dimmed with age and pain.
“There is nothing you can do, Merlin,” he said, his voice breaking on the solemn words.
Merlin tried to juggle Arthur into a more upright position; his actions denying the tragic truth which was struggling to invade his mind. He would not let Arthur die!
“He is my friend!” He threw his defiance at the dragon, at the earth and sky around him and the misty waters at his back. “I cannot fail him.” But at those last words, his shoulders slumped. “I have failed him,” he said in little more than a whisper.
“No! Young Warlock...” Kilgarrah's protest was uttered with a mixture of assurance and sympathy.
“Yes!” Merlin interrupted sharply. “Gaius told me that Arthur could only be healed by a magic as old as the dragons'. Yet I wanted to be the one to bring him here, to save him.” His voice became desperate. “I believed I was powerful enough... I wanted to be the one to bring him back to health.” He laid his precious burden on the ground. “I should have called you earlier. Got you to fly us directly to the lake...”
This time it was Kilgarrah's turn to cut in. “Merlin, do you think Arthur would have accepted a ride from someone he believes to be his enemy? He needed this time to come to terms with learning of your magic. Assenting to my help would have been a step too far.”
It took a few minutes for Merlin to recognise the truth of Kilgarrah's words, but he would not submit to this fate. There was still too much work for them both to do to see Albion to its safe harbour.
“Perhaps I cannot save him, but Kilgarrah, your magic is as old as The Sidhe. Is there really nothing left that you can do for Arthur? You know that Albion is in a perilous position without its true leader. I care dearly for Gwen, but I doubt she and the Knights can survive without Arthur's vision, or courage, or his ancient lineage. They will never achieve The Golden Age of Camelot you told me of. You have to help him,” Merlin pleaded, glancing at the too still figure by his feet.
“I cannot cure him, Merlin!”
Merlin uttered a dread groan, torn from his throat which felt much too tight. Tears flowed freely on his cheeks as he sank down by Arthur's side. It seemed he would have to give in to the inevitable… Arthur was dead.
Perhaps in some future life, he would meet again with The Once and Future King, but, for the present, his dearest friend was gone. Merlin's heart broke.
So great was his torment, he did not hear Kilgarrah continue.
“It is true I cannot cure him. Perhaps many years ago when I was stronger, but it does no good to talk of what cannot come to pass.”
Kilgarrah studied the young warlock sitting on the ground, a picture of abject misery. Was he about to do the right thing by both young men? But Merlin had spoken the truth. Albion was not yet strong enough to resist the Saxon tide that was rising around her. The people would need to have faith in a strong leader and his wise councillor to give them the will to resist. Queen Guinevere was loved, but she did not inspire the spirit of her people as did their king, who in his short reign had treated them with justice, had offered them hope and the promise of a better life. Perhaps this journey had been necessary to teach Arthur what he still needed to know, yet he had to live for that knowledge to be of any use.
The Great Dragon swallowed hard, having made his decision. He could not know if his actions might jeopardize the future… but perhaps this King had more than one reincarnation. It could not be denied that Albion was in dire peril in this era, and Arthur would always rise when his beloved Camelot needed him.
Clearing his throat, Kilgarrah spoke. “Merlin.” The young warlock was locked in grief and did not move. “Merlin! I did say that I could not cure him, but perhaps there is something I can do...”
Those words took some minutes to penetrate Merlin's sorrow, but slowly he understood and scrambled to his feet.
“What? What can you do?” Merlin demanded. “Whatever it is, you must do it. Arthur's fate and mine cannot end here.”
“Patience, Merlin,” Kilgarrah instructed with a trace of his former imperiousness. “We must first decide if this is the correct course of action.”
“Yes! Yes! Of course it is the right thing to do, and quickly, because Arthur is dead,” he huffed, shivering more from emotion than the chill of the fog which clung to the lake. “I might not have learned everything about physiology from Gaius, but I'm pretty sure the longer he stays that way the more difficult it is to bring him back.”
“Merlin, calm yourself.” Kilgarrah decided to be magnanimous. “The spirit of life is faint within your king, but it has not yet dispersed completely. We have a little time.”
Merlin swung around, looking out over the water in frustration. “There is nothing to talk about.” He turned back to the dragon, his arms spread wide, remembering how often in the past he had found Kilgarrah irritating. “You must do everything you can to save Arthur.”
Kilgarrah bowed his head low. “If that is your command, Dragonlord, I cannot disobey.”
“No, that's not what I meant.” Merlin's hands swept through his hair, the urgency of the situation driving him to distraction. How could Kilgarrah remain so calm? “I don't understand why you hesitate. You were the one who continually preached about the acceptance of magic and uniting of Albion. Surely Arthur's presence would smooth that process?”
Shaking his huge head with a sigh, the great dragon dropped his pretence of aloofness. “That I would not refute. But remember, Merlin, I stated I could not cure him. The magical shard already touches Arthur's heart; I have not the power left within me to remove it.” Kilgarrah watched as tears sprung anew in Merlin's eyes, so he added quickly. “However, I can, mayhap, slow its journey; even reverse its course. It is not a complete remedy, but it would possibly give Arthur time to fulfil the dream you share. Time for you and for those who love him to become accustomed to his loss...”
Merlin doubted he would ever adapt to life without Arthur, but it was a better scenario than this, and there would be a chance to say goodbye. A lump rose in his throat, remembering he'd forbidden Arthur to say farewell. That had been wrong. But now Kilgarrah was telling him there would be no need for leave taking. At least, not yet.
“How long?” Merlin asked starkly. “How long could you give him?”
The thick, leathery neck undulated while Kilgarrah considered his reply. “I'm sorry, young warlock, that I cannot say. That future is unclear to me. Perhaps Arthur will only have some months ahead of him, or perhaps some years. There is a reinforcing spell I could teach you which would help.”
“Couldn't you stay around to help?” In his eagerness, Merlin forgot that Kilgarrah's own end was drawing near. Now he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that in performing this magic spell, the dragon was giving up the last of his strength. Could Merlin allow one friend to sacrifice himself for another?
There was only one answer to that question, painful though the realization was for Merlin, yet the noble Kilgarrah took away even that hurt.
“Merlin! I am old and weak. It is time for me to leave this plane of existence, to journey to another place. It is only a small offering I make for the greater good. Do not grieve for me, young warlock. It has been my honour to serve you and The Once and Future King.”
Both sorcerer and legendary beast exchanged a long empathic look, till Kilgarrah shook himself from his reverie.
“Come, Merlin, you are correct. Time grows short, and if we are to accomplish Arthur's revival we must hurry. Close your eyes, my friend, and open your heart and mind while I transfer the spell you will need to protect Arthur's future health. Then we will bring The King back.”
Once before Kilgarrah had breathed knowledge directly into Merlin's brain. This time felt no different. Though the enchantment was more complex, Merlin's understanding had grown tenfold since that far off day. A feeling of hope transformed Merlin as Kilgarrah's intellect faded from his senses.
Finally, the great dragon turned his attention to the mail-clad body lying between them. Yet, once more, Merlin's impatience increased as Kilgarrah addressed him.
“Perhaps your friend will not thank me for my interference. He has already accepted his fate with grace. Life might not be quite the prize you or he are expecting.”
“Kilgarrah,” Merlin's agitation hardened his voice. “This is not the time for riddles...”
“I do not speak in riddles.” The haughty note returned to Kilgarrah's voice. “I merely want to point out that, heretofore, Arthur has been the great warrior king,` proud of his skill and fighting prowess. The Arthur who awakes will bear a metal shard within his chest for the rest of his life. Any trauma, or even extreme activity might overturn my enchantment, and he will surely die. You must stress upon him the need for caution. I wonder if Arthur will be satisfied living a more sedentary life.”
Merlin nodded his understanding, but would not allow such considerations to deter them from bringing Arthur back to life.
“Kilgarrah, that will be my task, to make him come to terms with a more peaceful existence. I think he might listen to me more readily now. Besides, it is Arthur's strong spirit and beliefs we need. Camelot has many knights who would willingly lay down their lives for him. Please, Kilgarrah, wait no more.” Merlin gestured to Arthur's body. “Bring him back.”
*****
The day was fading quietly in the west before Arthur at last began to stir. After performing the life-saving spell, Kilgarrah had bade Merlin a final goodbye and flown off. Watching the great dragon lift cumbersomely, when once he had soared effortlessly, into a pale blue sky, Merlin's heart was filled with equal measures of gratitude and sorrow. He knew he would never see Kilgarrah again.
For a few moments, he pondered the fate of Aithusa. Where was the baby dragon whose birth had promised such optimism for the Kingdom of Albion? Was she grieving for the loss of the one person who had loved her, watched over her?
Morgana! The once caring and passionate girl who had grown into a hate-filled, vengeful woman. Such destruction she had wrought on Camelot, and yet Merlin couldn't wipe out his feelings of guilt and despair for her death. Could he have saved her? He felt like he had failed her too.
Perhaps Morgana had inherited too many of Uther's traits to embrace redemption. Though they fought in opposite camps, father and daughter had wielded their powers with the same unremitting loathing and unquestionable force. Neither had ever doubted their actions, unlike the son or brother, who had shown himself more open-minded and more reasonable than either of his relatives.
In the future, the dragonlord might go in search of Aithusa, but for now he had more pressing tasks. Kilgarrah had revived Arthur, but The King was still extremely weak and exhausted. It was up to Merlin to see that Arthur survived.
The cloudless day had given way to a damp, bone-chilling evening. Not the ideal weather to spend a night outdoors for a man who had been so close to death, who was even yet lingering within its shadow. Merlin had made sure Arthur was not resting on the earth by gathering clumps of broom and heather, over which he had spread his own blanket. Tonight they would lie together underneath Arthur's thick red cloak, keeping each other warm.
It was unfortunate the horses had been lost along with most of their gear and, so far, he had been unable to find them. He had managed to collect some water from the lake, but had only eaten a meagre meal of edible berries. Thankfully, Arthur had remained unconscious during the day, but The King would need to eat something soon to regain his strength.
Merlin was hoping he could find the horses the next day and perhaps they could start making their way back to Camelot. Would Gwen send out a search party for them? Gaius had hoped to persuade The Queen to wait, to give Merlin a chance to reach The Sidhe and persuade them to cure Arthur, but when they didn't return, would Gwen be able to resist trying to discover the fate of her husband?
He sincerely hoped she would ignore any advice and follow her heart. Now Arthur was relatively safe, Merlin needed all the help he could get to keep him that way. But for this night, neither human relief nor horses were available. If he weren't so concerned, Merlin might appreciate a night spent alone with his king, particularly as Arthur seemed to be showing signs of returning consciousness. This could be the first time they spent together when Arthur knew of Merlin's magical ability, without having the threat of death hanging over them. Though the weather might not be very warm, there could well be some angry sparks ignited between them.
True to form, Arthur uttered a feeble groan, which after a couple of further attempts, finally, formed into Merlin's name. The King's tired gaze frantically roamed the area around him, searching for his servant, his friend.
The warlock was immediately at his king's side, pleased to note that though Arthur's skin was still pale, the greyish tinge of death had receded. “I'm here, Arthur.” He took hold of Arthur's hand which protruded shakily from the cloak. “Please, sire. Don't try to talk.”
Arthur's head shook back and forth, minutely, on his makeshift pillow. “Merlin... you suc... succeeded, or am... am I still dying?” he finished on a breathy whisper.
“I succeeded. We succeeded,” Merlin added a little cagily. Now might not be the best time to reveal Kilgarrah's intervention in Arthur's improving health. He had already made up his mind to come clean with Arthur on everything, but when they were safely back in Camelot with Arthur comfortably ensconced in his own bed. However, whatever questions Arthur asked him this night, Merlin would not evade. “But you are still very weak, sire, and we have no supplies but what you see, so we must make do as best we can.”
“Merlin, please.” Arthur tried to take a deep breath, which ended in a croaky cough. “No more 'sires' or 'my lords'. I am now and always Arthur to you.”
“But...”
“No!” Arthur, scraping enough air into his lungs to continue, spoke with a little more force. “Don't argue with your king, or a sick man.”
A tiny grin curved Merlin's mouth. “You always were the most stubborn person I've ever known. As you will, Arthur. Would you like some water?”
Arthur nodded and his eyebrow raised in question, while Merlin hurried off to fetch The King a drink. He returned moments later with a battered old bowl he'd found and cleaned by the water's edge, but before he placed the cup to Arthur's lips, he used a short magic spell to warm the water.
At the flash of gold in Merlin's eyes, The King frowned a little disbelievingly. He was grateful for the liquid on his parched throat, and glad that it didn't chill him to the bone. He took another sip.
“Merlin, is this the best your magic can do?” he said, surveying the ancient drinking vessel and the rest of their barren camp. “Couldn't you magic me a bed... or even the horses and our gear.”
Once more Arthur's words ended in a racking cough, and Merlin held his breath, praying that the spasms wouldn't shake loose the piece of sword still lodged in Arthur's chest. Yet Kilgarrah's enchantment held true, and with a jolt, he realized he would have to get used to that underlying fear and attempt not to treat his friend like an invalid. The dragon was right about Arthur's reaction to that kind of treatment. The King would hate being cocooned.
“Even a fire would be nice,” Arthur suggested wistfully, proving that he wasn't averse to a little pampering. “Being near death chills you through and through.”
“I just remembered you were an impatient clotpole too.” Merlin smiled broadly, relieved to be sharing some old-type banter with Arthur. “A fire I can do, but I have to collect some more wood.” He pointed at a small pile of burning twigs situated near Arthur's feet which were in danger of going out. “We'll be warm again soon, and hopefully I can find us something to eat.
“Please, not rat stew!”
“You must be feeling better now you're getting all demanding again,” Merlin complained, though secretly loving it.
“I am still a king!” Arthur declared with just a hint of his old swagger, yet seconds later he visually deflated. “Am I not? I don't even know if we truly won the battle... or who is still a... alive?”
The very slight halt at the end of Arthur's statement alerted Merlin to the fact that The King was almost too afraid to ask. He knelt by Arthur's side once more.
“We did win the battle, and now you're going to live, it is not a hollow victory. But our losses were great.” At Arthur's shuddering sigh, Merlin placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. “Thankfully, the Saxons' were greater.”
“Due to you, Merlin. To your sorcery.”
A grimace crossed the King's face, telling Merlin he was still in pain, or had he still not come to terms with Merlin's magic, or the years he'd been lied to?
“I have to thank you for the victory.” Arthur's hand covered Merlin's and squeezed feebly.
Perhaps, while Arthur thought he was dying, he'd found it easier to accept Merlin's secret, but living with that magic might prove harder for The King, though that too was a problem for the future.
“You've already thanked me, and to tell the truth any more would be boring,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, but it appeared Arthur was not to be sidetracked. At Arthur's continued frown, Merlin proceeded. “Arthur, remember I had already left the battleground with you before the final accounting. I know only what Gaius told me.”
Arthur nodded. “We know Gaius is alive, if he made it back to Camelot safely...”
“I think we can assume that Morgana's men were too busy fleeing to attack an old man... and, no, I cannot use magic to scry. I don't have the tools and no one ever taught me.”
“Hmph! Your magic isn't up to much then. Is it? If I'm going to have a sorcerer at my court, I want the best. “ Arthur attempted a joke, but appeared almost too scared to laugh in case he exacerbated the ache in his chest. “Besides, according to Gaius, you are supposed to be more powerful than any sorcerer that has ever lived, and you told me you can see the path ahead.”
“It's a very long path to Camelot, Sire.”
“Merlin, stop 'siring' me, and try to discover what is happening. I need to know!”
Seeing the strain in Arthur's deeply shadowed eyes, Merlin relented. He felt sure there should be a scrying glass, or a bowl of water, yet Balinor, his father, had faith in him. He should experiment with these new powers he'd acquired. Of course, he could go down to the lake; the waters of Avalon were magical, but Arthur wasn't yet in any condition to be left alone.
“Very well. For you, I'll give it a try, but I can't promise success.”
He closed his eyes to concentrate, or to shut out Arthur's eager, expectant gaze. Within seconds, he had the strangest feeling of flying disembodied across the land towards Camelot, covering miles in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, he was inside the citadel, twisting his way through the familiar passages to the royal solar to find The Queen. A huge lump formed in his throat to see Gwen sitting alone at dinner, allowing her tears to fall since there was no one to witness her heartache.
“Arthur, oh my love, how can I go on without you?” she sobbed, though Merlin heard her words inside his head. She had not spoken aloud. “You have to live, you have to!”
The door opened, and Merlin continued to watch as Leon made his report to The Queen. With an aching heart he saw Gwen fight to compose herself and listen as the knight delivered his account to his lady.
A hand clutched at Merlin's arm, more strongly than he had expected from Arthur, and he was yanked back to the reality of their desolate bivouac.
“What did you see? What's wrong with Guinevere?”
“Nothing! Nothing!” Merlin took hold of Arthur's shoulders and tried to push him back into the springy bracken. “Lie down. Gwen is well, physically, but she misses you.”
“You can see her?” Arthur asked in wonder.
“I could, but you interrupted me.”
“Try again, Merlin. Please. I promise to keep quiet.”
“You will?” Arthur nodded. “Good. Lets do this.”
He closed his eyes for a second time, eager to explore this new talent, but when he felt his hand clutched by Arthur's he didn't draw away. In his mind's eye, he returned to the scene in Camelot.
“Gwen has your seal, so Gaius must have returned.”
Arthur's whisper came out of the darkness. “Then she knows I'm alive, though that must have been two days ago, and without any word, she might believe I've died. Oh, Guinevere.”
Merlin lifted a hand to silence Arthur. “Leon has joined her. I think he must have taken charge of the army because he's giving her a report.”
“Good. I trust Leon. He's a skilled fighter, experienced in strategy too... a good man to take my place.”
“Arthur, no one can take your place. Not in the hearts of the people of Camelot, nor in Gwen's.” Merlin mused that for all Arthur's arrogant front, what drew people to his side was the fact that he cared deeply for all, no matter what their station. “Besides, you will return.” Merlin hadn't forgotten Kilgarrah's speculation about the length of Arthur's life, but that was another topic best kept for another day.
“Wait! Gwen is talking. She's telling Leon she believes you to be alive. She says she feels it in her heart. I don't think Leon is so sure, but he will not hurt The Queen with his doubts.”
“You reached her?” Arthur's voice trembled with emotion. “Once more I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my friend.”
“I didn't do anything,” Merlin said quickly. “It's the love you share that bridges the gap between you. Nothing to do with magic.” He pushed up from the ground, his knees stiff and cramped, and stretched his back to ease the tension. He stifled a yawn. “Let me tell you, scrying is the hardest thing I've ever tried. I think we both need to rest, and I have to get you back to Gwen safely. For that you need to eat and sleep, and I need to go find us more firewood and something to cook.”
“Wait, Merlin.” Again Arthur stayed Merlin by catching his hand. “What of the others... Gwaine, Percival? The rest of the knights?”
Merlin bit down on his lip. The information Arthur wanted could very well be distressing, and he wasn't sure he was up to discovering the fate of his friends, never mind repeating it to Arthur. But The King shared a special bond with the Knights of The Round Table, and Merlin doubted Arthur would rest easily until he knew the facts.
“Arthur, I don't know, and it's getting late. After I build up the fire and we eat, I promise I will try again and tell you all I can discover.”
Dusk was almost upon them, and finding food would be harder in the murky light, so Merlin set out on his search, warning Arthur to keep still and try to get some sleep. It was a measure of Arthur's weakness that he didn't defy his friend.
*****