Chapter Text
Two young men on an old mule fled through the dark forests of Camelot. Behind them, torches were flickering between the tree stumps as the chase filled the dark forest.
“We should really be going faster, Arthur.” Merlin called to Arthur over his shoulder. “Are you wearing your spurs?” He could feel Arthur’s one arm tight about his waist to keep him from sliding backwards over Gaius’s mule’s high rump. “Have you tried spurring him?”
Under them, the mule’s panic had begun to wear off, replaced by pain and fatigue. His staccato strides suddenly lost rhythm altogether, and he dropped into a shambling trot, stumbling now and again in the dark so that his head dipped abruptly, nearly pitching them off. His sides were heaving against Merlin’s calves, his breathing so loud Merlin was certain their pursuers could follow them by following the sound of wheezing.
He heard Arthur’s annoyed breath. “Of course I’m wearing spurs – I’m a knight, Merlin! No point using them. The poor thing is already going as fast as he can.”
The mule plodded on, but the trot became a walk and then finally a hobble. Merlin could sense but not see the wounds in the animal’s breast and flank and hip. Only the mule’s rock-headed stubbornness had kept them going so far, and it had not been enough.
“Stop here,” Arthur ordered. “Dolphin has had enough,” and Merlin drew on the reins.
Dolphin stopped, and let his great head drop. Merlin felt Arthur slide backwards over the mule’s rump, and dismounted himself. He moved to the mule’s head, holding him by his bit rings, feeling his hot breath against his face. “We’ll have to go on foot,” he said to Arthur, trying to sense the animal’s injuries. His breast and flank had been pierced, but the pain in his hip had disappeared on its own – perhaps carrying double had caused that one?
“Won’t take them long to find us,” Arthur said hoarsely, and Merlin heard the sound of his sword being sheathed. “There’s a house, just along here. Belonged to a woodcutter – now, what was his name? Cooper? Carter? – he died a few years ago…”
“Will we be able to hold them off there?” Merlin asked, interrupting.
He couldn’t see Arthur’s face in the dark, but there was a short silence before the prince replied. “No, but it’ll make killing us more difficult, and I rather feel like being difficult tonight. Thank you, Dolphin.”
Merlin could only barely see the mule’s long grey face in the dark, but he echoed Arthur’s gratitude by pressing his face briefly against the bony brow. Brave Dolphin. Noble Dolphin. No warhorse could have done better. You saved both our lives tonight. He felt the mule receive his message with equine acceptance.
They left the mule standing, and ran crashing and stumbling through the trees.
It was dark, dark as pitch, as if they ran through a cave. Merlin’s world seemed to contract, until it contained nothing but tired lungs and painful legs and tripping over invisible bushes and treacherous roots. He wondered for a moment if they were lost, if Arthur’s boast that he knew every square foot of his homeland was false, and then suddenly they ran into knee-length scrub washed by starlight. They had broken into a clearing, and opposite stood the black rectangle of a building.
“Come on!” Arthur called, and Merlin followed him across the clearing to the building.
It was only a one-room shack with sagging thatch, cold and long-uninhabited by the smell, but it had stone walls and still possessed a door. They fell in, and Merlin heaved the door closed against the dark outside.
Merlin felt by the doorway, scrabbling his hands over the cold brick, seeking a lantern, a torch, anything that could give light, but there was nothing. Behind him, Arthur explored the small space they found themselves in.
“Are you wounded?” Merlin panted.
“Just a scratch,” Arthur rasped. His breathing was loud. “Did you recognise their commander?”
“Which one was their commander?”
“The one with the red cloth around his waist, and the biggest axe. I think that was Tully, the ex-butcher.” A light flared, from Arthur’s flint and steel, and Arthur managed to cup his hands around the flame and put a taper into it. The tiny glow was enough to display his face and to sketch the little room in which they stood, but not much else. He pushed the end of the taper into a gap in the rough stone wall.
“I didn’t recognise him, sorry.”
In fact, Merlin hadn’t recognised anyone. The whole brief fight seemed to have happened in jumble of disjointed flashes, that were impossible to put together into a coherent memory.
He remembered that he’d fallen behind the knights as they rode under the light of flickering torches. He remembered Arthur ahead of him calling over his shoulder, “Keep up, Merlin!” and himself calling back “I can’t make him go any faster!” and then Sir Kay had made a sour joke about mules that refused to work outside merchants’ hours. Then the first roaring charge had come out of the night. He’d seen Sir John driven from his saddle by a cloth-yard arrow in his chest, and Sir Gilbert’s horse rearing and pitching him off backwards, with his torch spinning into darkness like a falling star. He’d seen Arthur’s horse fall. He remembered shouting at Dolphin with words and magic and driving the grey mule forward, and then somehow Arthur was behind him on the mule and they were fleeing away from the road and through the trees.
Arthur, no doubt, could remember every moment, and the speed and aim of every blow that had struck down his guards, but Arthur had been raised from birth to fight. "That was definitely Tully,” Arthur said. He shook his head. “Tully, Tully, Tully, I didn’t know you had it in you.” His voice sounded rueful, not angry.
Merlin rubbed his eyes, with the hand that wasn’t still holding his staff, and realized that he was shaking. He was glad Arthur couldn’t see it. It had all happened so fast! “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so sorry, this is my fault, if I hadn’t taken the mule, if I’d remembered the farrier, we’d have been at the inn already…”
“Shut up, Merlin! They’ll be here in a few minutes. We don’t have much time,” Arthur revolved on the spot to scan the room. “If their commander is good, that is, and I think he is. That was a beautiful ambush, simply beautiful. Where does a butcher learn tactics like that?”
The lone taper cast his shadow as big as a giant. His fingers were flexing rapidly around the hilt of his sword. He turned around again, scanning the room, his long surcoat swirling about his legs.
Merlin groaned.
Not all of the reflected pain Merlin had felt had been the mule’s. Arthur’s surcoat was black with blood from hip to hem, and he was putting as little weight on his right leg as he could. Flight was impossible. Defence was impossible.
Arthur looked up at the rafters, his lips pursed and his blue eyes cast into shadow. “Now, if I was Tully, I’d send three men in through the door, two through that window, and have another three come in through the roof. That’s what I would do.” Arthur was thinking aloud, ticking through his tactical calculations with professional calm. “There is but one of me, and I’d imagine about twenty five survive of them. The guards at the inn might hear, if the wind is right, and come to investigate, but Tully will have recognised me, too, so he needs to shut my mouth up before they get here. I think I can take down at least ten of them – perhaps enough for the rest to decide Tully’s luck has turned.”
“We must barricade the door!” Merlin said. He moved to pick up the last remaining piece of furniture in the shack – a table – and drag it in front of the door.
“There’s little point barring the door if the roof is full of holes, Merlin!” Arthur pointed a finger at the roof.
Merlin followed his finger and saw starlight. “There must be a way to defeat them, Arthur!”
“There isn’t. The best we can do is teach Tully and his crowd to tread warily in Camelot in future. There are too many of them, even for me.”
“But not for me,” Merlin said. He looked at Arthur, the golden prince of Camelot, pacing in his death-trap. Somehow, in all the panic, he’d held onto the Sidhe staff. He cradled it in his arms, thinking.
Arthur stopped pacing, and looked at Merlin, and a slight smile curved his lips. “That’s right, Merlin. Not for you. I can’t let myself be captured alive to be used against my father. But you – you’re just a servant.” He nodded sharply. “Get yourself into the rafters, and stay there until it’s over.”
Merlin braced himself. “No. That’s not what I meant.” There was no other way, he realized. Flight was impossible. Victory was implausible. Letting Arthur die was – unthinkable. He could not, whatever the cost.
There was a noise outside, and a roar of, “Here they are!” They both stood still for a moment while orders were called outside. Torchlight flared around the frame of the door.
Arthur stepped closer to Merlin, so that they were face to face, and gripped Merlin’s shoulder. “We haven’t much time left, Merlin, so listen.” Merlin felt the steadiness of the hand on his shoulder, Arthur’s firm fingers betraying not even the slightest tremor. His eyes were calm, and astonishingly accepting of what was coming. He even found time for a small smile. “Knowing you, and having you as a friend – it has been a genuine pleasure.”
Merlin put his own hand onto Arthur’s shoulder, so that they faced each other as equals. This may be the last time he willingly meets my eyes, he thought. “Arthur, whatever happens now, please don’t think the worst of me?”
Arthur gave his shoulder another squeeze, and then pushed him away affectionately with a light punch. “Of course not, Merlin. Not everyone is born to be a knight! Now stand ready. You take the window, it’s narrow so they’ll foul each other – I’ll deal with the luckless souls who come through the roof and the door.”
There were noises at the door, and footsteps ran around the side of the shack. Grunts and scuffles came from the other side, as someone – several someones – heaved themselves over the eaves and into the sagging thatch.
Arthur drew his sword and stood en garde, and gave his sword his usual theatrical twirl over his shoulder – an action that visually impressive and militarily useless, Merlin knew, but perhaps it had become a nervous tic. Merlin passed Arthur and stood at the door. He put his hand out to the door and summoned his strength.
I call on you, he spoke to his magic.
“Merlin, you fool,” he heard Arthur hiss behind him. “Draw your sword!”
The door burst open, and their attackers threw themselves inside, yelling and waving weapons. His magic responded, raw magic unfiltered by a spell. It roared out of him, channelled by the staff into a burst of pure malevolence.
The first two men through the door were dead before they reached him.
So were the next two, even quicker. It felt so good to let himself go. Unbelievably good. Glorious!
There was a crash behind them both as two more bashed in the rotten shutters, and Merlin spun around to face them. A wash of power exploded across the shack, boiling blue fire.
I call on you!
He caught sight of Arthur’s face then, blanched pale in the blue light of Merlin’s magic. Arthur had fallen back, his sword point down and wavering in paralytic shock. He took another step back, raising his free hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the staff. His face was filled with shock and doubt.
For a moment, a single heartbeat of terrible anguish, Merlin’s power faltered at the look on Arthur’s face.
A crash overhead, and the roof fell in. Merlin whirled with the staff raised, but Arthur’s moment of shock had passed. His sword moved with its usual speed, striking upward like a snake at the first attacker, and then across the body of a second, and then beat down a third man’s guard and licked into his throat. Three men lay dead at Arthur’s feet, and Arthur returned to his stare at Merlin.
Merlin turned to meet his eyes, his magic still roaring like a storm inside him.
To Merlin’s horror, Arthur took a step to his rear, and brought his sword point up.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s not what it looks like?” Arthur hissed.
“I’m afraid it’s exactly what it looks like, sorry,” Merlin replied. “Can we talk about this later?”
Arthur nodded and went en garde again.
Outside, shouts went up, and there was another charge, this time a little less coordinated, a little more cautious. The attackers had seen the first charge go in and seen nothing but silence and bright light come out, but their caution didn’t help them. The men through the roof died as quickly as the first, as did the ones through the door, but the ones who tried to come in by the window saw what was happening to their comrades-in-arms at the door and thought better of it.
“A sorcerer!” the shout went up, from one of their attackers who was fleeing back to the trees. “It’s a sorcerer! Don’t go in there!”
The man had a piercing voice, and in a moment the battle was over. Merlin heard shouts and screams, and the sound of horses galloping. And that was the end of that.
Arthur sagged down onto his heels, with his sword held in front of him like a talisman and his forehead pressed against the cross-guard, muttering to himself. Merlin still faced the door with his hand ready, but as the silence went on and on, he relaxed and turned to Arthur. “Shall we go out?”
Arthur opened his eyes and looked up at him with narrowed eyes as if he didn’t understand the question. “Out?”
“We can go see if any of the other knights survived.”
“They may be planning another attack,” Arthur said. “Withdraw – regroup – re-attack after our guard is down.”
“I can deal with them,” Merlin said.
Arthur looked at him. His face was quite unreadable for a moment, with the taper casting light only on the side of his face. He sighed. “I suppose you can, at that.” He heaved himself to his feet, with a wince of pain, and moved to pluck the little taper out of the crack in the wall.
“You don’t need that,” Merlin said. He cupped his hand and called up a globe of light. “I can do that too.”
Arthur looked at the light, and rubbed his forehead with his fist. “I’ve seen that before,” he said dryly. He sheathed his sword. “Lead on, Merlin.”
Outside, the clearing was empty, save for a single corpse that had been forcibly propelled backwards from the door by Merlin’s magic like a cork from a bottle. Merlin raised the output of the light in his hand, and freed it to bob around the perimeter of the clearing.
For a moment there was silence. Arthur sighed, heavily, and sat down in the tall grass, his sword across his knees. “You use magic,” he whispered.
“Yes. Always have, ever since I was very little.” Merlin let the light fade away to a pale blob – there was no sense advertising the presence of a magician here. They were left standing in the starlight.
Merlin could think of a thousand things they needed to do – stop Arthur’s bleeding, find survivors, find Dolphin, get to the inn, hide all these corpses somehow before anyone noticed them – but he had been waiting for years for Arthur to know, and now that he knew, he wanted to finish it.
“Hiding in plain sight, right under my father’s nose.” Arthur blinked his eyes and shook his head as if unable to believe his own words. “You, of all people. My own servant, using magic!”
“Sorry,” Merlin said, automatically, and then changed his mind. He straightened his spine, standing tall. “No. I’m not sorry. I won’t apologise. Here I am, Arthur. Now you see me.”
Even in the starlight Merlin could see Arthur’s brows arch. “And all these magical happenings that have been happening at court? How much of that was you? Gryphons, and trolls, and singing enchantresses, and gargoyles coming to life and attacking the castle? Was that you?”
“Oh, no, no, no! I didn’t cause any of that!” Merlin said. Was Arthur now going to blame him for the last few years of magical catastrophes? “Don’t try to pin all that on me, Arthur. I’ve been trying to protect you. Which is not an easy job sometimes, let me tell you.”
“I believe you,” Arthur said. He pointed at the light. “I really have seen that before. And it wasn’t your friend Will who was the magician at your village, was it?”
Merlin shook his head, and stepped closer to him. “Arthur, you have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to tell you!”
Arthur rubbed the side of his nose with a bloody finger. “All this time, I thought … I knew there was a sorcerer around Camelot, but I thought it was only Gaius.”
“Gaius?” Merlin asked, surprised.
Arthur nodded. “I saw him cast a spell on one of his remedies when I was – oh – I think about fourteen or so. I knew my father would kill him, so I kept my mouth shut. But Gaius casts a spell like he was trying to lay an egg – you just go …” Arthur put out his hand in imitation of Merlin’s gesture and said, “Boo! How did you do that?”
“I’m a bit stronger than Gaius,” Merlin admitted. “Actually, quite a lot stronger than Gaius.” He rubbed the side of his nose with his finger, and confessed. “Actually, I’m stronger than anyone else I’ve ever met. I’m not boasting, I’ve just never been beaten.”
“Well, well, Merlin. You’re not as useless as I thought you were,” Arthur said. Merlin could see his teeth in the starlight – his usual cheer was coming back.
Merlin made a flourish with both hands and lowered himself in a mock bow. “May I present myself, sire? Merlin the Magician, at your service.”
Arthur climbed to his feet again. “And what an exciting evening this has turned out to be!” Arthur said, raising his palms up towards the sky like a performer on a stage. “Butchers turn out to be bandits! Mules turn out to be destriers! Servants turn out to be sorcerers!”
Merlin cleared his throat. “Actually, I prefer to think of myself as a magician. ‘Sorcerer’ sounds too much like a mad old man who sits in a cave and thinks about ravens all day.”
Arthur looked around them, and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so, a voice cried through the trees. “Hello, the house!”
Across the clearing, a horse and rider emerged from the trees. Arthur heaved himself to his feet and put his hands on his sword hilt, ready to fight, and shouted. “Who comes this way?”
“Arthur, is that you? It’s me, Kay,” came the answering call. The horse lumbered in their direction, and Merlin recognized the white blaze of Sir Gilbert’s horse. Sir Kay drew rein before them, and dropped off.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” Arthur said, and the two knights embraced, as warmly as is possible for two aggressive young men in plate and chain mail to embrace.
Sir Kay’s mother had nursed Arthur when he was a baby, and Arthur regarded him as a foster-brother. Everyone else in Camelot regarded him as sour, dour, and sarcastic. He rarely fought, preferring to scour people’s spirits with his tongue instead, but when he did fight it was with a grim and silent ferocity. His armour was spattered with blood, Merlin saw.
“Sir Gilbert and Sir John?” Arthur asked, and Sir Kay shook his head. Arthur groaned and turned away, his hands over his face, and Merlin and Sir Kay let him.
Sir Kay glanced at Merlin and said, “I see you’ve managed to wriggle off the hook again, too.”
“I have, Sir Kay. Beginner’s luck, I think.” That was as much warmth as could be expected from Sir Kay. “But Arthur is wounded.”
Sir Kay frowned. “Badly?”
“He says not.”
“Were you two not pursued?” Sir Kay asked. Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak Arthur interrupted.
“We had assistance, from a most unlikely quarter,” Arthur said, turning back to them. “Do you remember Old Man Carter, who used to live here?”
“Yes?”
“It seems he didn’t live quite as solitary a life as everyone thought he did. Go and have a look in the shack.”
Sir Kay did, leading the horse behind him. Arthur wiggled his brows up and down once at Merlin and mouthed Follow my lead, and then limped after Kay.
Kay stood in the doorway and whistled. The taper still burned, just enough to light over the dead. “My, my. Clearly, you’ve had a lovely evening’s entertainment. What happened?”
“Forest fairies,” Arthur said. “They seemed to be protecting this house – we got in without seeing a thing, but as soon as the bandits attacked the fairies came swarming all over them like bees.”
Merlin nodded vigorously. “There were hundreds of them! Thousands! Tens of thousands!”
“Don’t exaggerate, Merlin,” Arthur said sternly. “I’ve warned you before about that. I’d say there were about five hundred of them.”
“No wonder old Carter chose to live all alone out here in the woods,” Sir Kay said, grinning mirthlessly. “Carter a magician? Your father will be furious.”
Arthur looked at the stars. And then he looked at Merlin. “Yes. He would probably want to burn this house down. But I think for now it would be best to keep Carter’s forest fairies between ourselves. He has a lot to worry about as it is, and this is just an unnecessary distraction.
“Yes,” Merlin agreed, nodding vigorously. “Things are complicated enough as they are.”
“As you wish, Arthur,” Sir Kay agreed. “What your father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Arthur was still eyeing Merlin, and he nodded very slightly. “Now that we know Tully leads these bandits, our priority is to hunt him down and stop him. We can discuss the implications of the existence of forest fairies … later.”
"I look forward to it," Merlin said, giddy with relief.