Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I saw the sun begin to dim
And felt that winter wind
Blow cold
A man learns who is there for him
When the glitter fades and the walls won't hold
'Cause from then, rubble
One remains
Can only be what's true
If all was lost
Is more I gain
'Cause it led me back
To you

- Pasek and Paul

Chapter 1

“…and I really don’t think this is a good idea. I mean it’s only been a month and you pretty much came back from the dead and –”

“Merlin.”

“– there’s no way that shoulder is ready for men in armor to be whacking at it –”

“Merlin!”

“– with sharp, pointy objects, and for you to be swinging your own sharp, pointy object back at them and I just think this whole tournament is –”

“MERLIN!” the prince finally bellowed. His servant abruptly stopped both his yammering and his somewhat unorthodox cleaning attempts.

“Stop. Just stop,” Arthur begged, massaging his forehead. “My arm is fine. I’m fine. And I’m doing this tournament. Now would you just do your chores like a normal servant instead of going on and on about it like an overprotective nurse-maid? At this rate I won’t be able to compete to my full ability because of the headache that you caused!”

The younger boy opened his mouth to reply, but seeing Arthur’s glare snapped it shut again, shoulders slumping and head drooping, as though he was one of the pig bladders the peasant children played with that had been abruptly deflated.

For just a moment, the prince felt bad.

Merlin had been incredibly loyal and worried and extra attentive during Arthur’s recovery, and though he pretended not to care, the truth was that he cared a great deal. Almost everyone else in his life – even to some extent his own father – had waited with bated breath to see if Arthur the Prince of Camelot would survive, to know the fate of the heir and future of the kingdom. But Merlin? Merlin had begged and pleaded for Arthur to get better. Not the prince, not the heir, just Arthur – his master and friend.

It was the first time in the boy’s almost year of service that Arthur really made that realization. Sure, he’d risked death and his father’s wrath to save Merlin when the servant had drunk poison for him, but while he had cared for the boy by that point he’d still done it more out of a sense of honor and duty to repay the debt than a burning affection.

But after the Questing Beast, Arthur knew – knew something had changed in him over the last year. Merlin – clumsy, idiotic, loyal and brave Merlin – meant a great deal more to him than just a servant. The rules of class and propriety made it hard to always acknowledge, but somehow despite them, Merlin had wormed his way into the prince’s life to the point the older boy thought of him as something more than a mere manservant and closer to the role of younger brother and best friend. Because Merlin always, without fail, did what was best for Arthur the man, not Arthur the prince. He was the only one that made Arthur feel real.

So he did feel bad, pulling the master and servant card out now, but really, just because Arthur cared for Merlin way more than he probably should, it didn’t mean the boy wasn’t still blessed with the gift to drive him to distraction!

With the air of a kicked puppy, Merlin shut up and went back to his chore of gathering up the prince’s soiled laundry and, trying to ignore him, Arthur went back to his paperwork.

It was hard, though, to ignore a sulking and silent manservant. Harder than concentrating in battle. Harder than enduring endless council sessions. Harder than winning an argument with Morgana. Arthur was just about to give up and break the silence when a knock sounded on his door.

“Enter,” he called.

A castle page crept carefully into the room.

“The king sent me to get you, sire,” the boy said, bowing so low he almost tipped over. “He wants you to come to the council chambers at once.”

The day’s council session had concluded only two hours prior. Arthur couldn’t fathom why his father would call him back.

“Thank you,” he said to the messenger, waving him off as he stood. He glanced at Merlin who was giving him a questioning look, obviously wondering if he should come too.

“Well, don’t just stand there, idiot. Let’s not keep the king waiting!” Arthur teased, hoping the younger boy would recognize it for the apology he could never actually voice.

Merlin grinned, and all was right with the world again, at least for a while.

*****

The council chambers were mostly empty when Merlin trailed in behind Arthur – just Uther, Gaius, Sir Ector – head knight under Arthur, and Sir Leon standing around one end of the table, and a few guards scattered here or there. A small, grimy chest sat on the table.

“What’s going on, Father?” Arthur asked, striding up to join their group while Merlin sidled over to stand behind Gaius.

“What’s that?” Merlin whispered to his mentor, asking for the extra, magical summary of events, because the look on the old man’s face told him there was something.

“It was unearthed in the lower town this morning during some renovations on the wall. It bears the royal crest, so Leon had it brought here…”

“And?” Merlin pushed in a whisper, knowing there was more.

“And it fairly pulses with magic, but I cannot admit that part to the king. Can you not feel it?” Gaius added under his breath, eyebrow rising as he glanced back at his ward.

And now that he thought about it, Merlin could feel something – a throbbing pulse, pushing at his senses – hungry, demanding, waiting…

Which was a problem. Anything giving off that kind of magical feel was not something that should be messed with lightly, but explaining to the King of Camelot why an ordinary-looking wooden chest bearing his royal crest shouldn’t be opened without ending up on the pyre for having magic was not an easy task.

“Did you open it yet, Leon?” Arthur was asking, as Merlin tuned back in to the others in the room.

“No, sire. I brought it straight here, as it does have the royal mark,” the knight answered, pointing to a place on the lid where some of the dirt had been brushed away. Both the king and Arthur leaned in closer to look.

“This is the old crest!” Uther exclaimed, leaning in father and brushing some more dirt away. “This hasn’t been used since my grandfather’s time!”

Arthur looked excited and the king studied it for a moment longer, all the while the pull of the beating magic on Merlin seemed to grow stronger, throbbing along with the worry and fear and indecision.

There was something in the box. Something powerful and strong and…evil. And he needed to stop the king from opening it, but he had no idea how.

The Uther reached for the latch and Merlin was out of time and…

“My lord,” Gaius said suddenly, stepping forward. Uther stopped. “Are you sure it is…wise…to open it? Surely it was buried for a reason,” the physician suggested, sounding every bit the calm, collected professional.

Merlin breathed a small sigh of relief, until Uther laughed. “Gaius, my old friend, I appreciate your healthy paranoia but, it’s just an old, wooden chest. Do you see anything on the box that would make you suspicious of it?”

Gaius hesitate before reluctantly saying, “No.”

“Sir Leon,” the king added, turning to the knight. “Was there anything odd or dangerous where it was found?”

“No, my lord,” the knight answered at once. “It would never have been brought into your presence if we suspected it of ill-intent.”

“There you go, Gaius. No cause to worry,” Uther said. Then he pulled up the latch and threw open the lid.

Author’s Note:
Got quite a bit of this written, but I’m going to make myself keep to uploading one chapter a week, to give myself a safety net. Hope you like it and as always, feedback makes my day! *Scurries off to finish working on the next chapter of “Silence” before readers come after her.*

Chapter Text

Author’s Note: I’m trying to update weekly, on Friday or Saturday, but I’m home sick and the next few days are looking to be crazy, so I figured I’d let this out a little early. Thanks for all the reviews/favorites/follows! You all make my day!

And for those of you cussing that I’m posting on this instead of “Silence,” I promise I’m working on that one. And it’s getting so much closer.

Chapter 2

Merlin cringed, holding his breath as he waited for disaster…except nothing happened.

“It’s empty,” Arthur muttered, peering down into the chest and looking highly disappointed. He reached out and stuck a hand into it, passing it around as though to double check what his eyes were telling him.

And then all of the windows imploded.

The sun was instantly blotted out as evil laughter rose from the seemingly empty box, and a whirlwind with the force of a cyclone filled the chamber, whipping the shards of glass into a flying army of razor-sharp daggers.

Merlin didn’t think – there wasn’t time! – he just reacted, jumping into the center of the room, fingers splayed and eyes flashing gold.

He tried to freeze time and halt the deadly fragments, but they fought back, refusing to obey as the laughter deepened, so he abandoned that plan at once and instead pushed back himself. He had no spells, no battle plan, just a deep, raw, guttural need to protect! Protect and save and keep from harm!

A wave of blue energy burst from him and surged outward, like a translucent bubble, covering the room and its shocked occupants, forming a magical shield.

The laughter stopped. Instead, a hiss of anger sounded from nowhere, as if whatever curse had been awoken by opening the ancient chest had a consciousness of its own. The shards of glass fell to floor outside the shield, but then the very walls of Camelot began to tremble and the floor to buck and roll as if it were the waves of the sea.

“The chest, Merlin!” Gaius shouted at the straining boy. “You must destroy the source!”

Merlin turned, panting as he tried to maintain his shield and his footing at the same time, but apparently the curse also heard Gaius’s instructions. A shot of concentrated evil flew out of nowhere and pierced him in the side, trying to defend itself as he turned his concentration on the innocent-looking chest. He staggered and screamed, but kept his feet. Chunks of the walls and ceiling were starting to break loose and he knew time was running out. Camelot would be destroyed in minutes if this continued.

Side burning and head feeling ready to split from so much strong magic so fast, Merlin again just let his instincts take over. With one hand, he willed the shield to hold while he reached toward the box with the other. Another blast of power came at him from behind, hitting him in the shoulder, but he didn’t stop. Instead he focused and pleaded and then just squeezed – with his hand, with his mind, with his soul…squeezed and forced and shoved the evil curse back into its container.

It didn’t go quietly. It wailed and screamed, hurling stones and pure evil against Merlin’s protective, blue shield, the pitch of the unseen voice rising as it was sucked farther and farther…until finally the darkness slipped back into the box, the voice disappeared, and the lid slammed shut as the sun suddenly burst back through the empty window frames.

He wasn’t done, though. Back in the box didn’t mean defeated. Calling on the rage and emotions he’d only felt once before, on the Isle of the Blessed, Merlin saw the sky darken, felt the clouds pile up and energy charge the air, and then he let it all loose in a jolt of lightning that he directed through the window and right at the chest, obliterating it and the table it sat on. He breathed hard for a moment, then let his hands sag and looked around.

The council chambers were in chaos, rubble and people strewn about like broken toys. Two of the guards weren’t moving, Sir Ector had a gushing wound across his forehead and Sir Leon was down with a gash to the leg. Gaius was dazed but alive and the King, who appeared to be unconscious, had been knocked protectively to the ground behind his chair by…

“Arthur!” Merlin gasped, lurching for the prince who was lying in a growing pool of dark, red blood on the ruined floor, a large shard of glass embedded deep into his chest. The boy fell to his knees beside his friend.

“Arthur!” he cried again, tears streaming down his pale face.

Arthur looked up with pain-dazed eyes, fingers twitching slightly as he if wanted to reach for the foreign object sticking out of his flesh but hadn’t the strength. “Merlin,” he whispered catching the eyes of his servant even as blood started to trickle from the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Merlin,” he gasped, his voice barely there.

Then Gaius was beside Merlin, examining the prince, and shaking his head slowly, tears of his own running down his weathered cheeks.

The wound was mortal; there was nothing that could be done.

Emotion welled up in Merlin – brotherhood and friendship, devotion and loyalty – hot and strong and alive. “No,” he whispered, then threw back his head and shouted it, let it tear from his throat in a growl. “NO!”

His friend would not die this day, not die like this!

He pushed Gaius aside and then grasped the deadly shard of glass and yanked it from Arthur’s chest, heedless of the bleeding gashes it left behind in his own palms. The prince arched his back, groaning in pain, but Merlin didn’t stop to comfort him. Instead, he placed both hands on his friend’s wound and magically shoved – everything he had, magic and love and destiny and his very soul – deep into his master’s being.

Sparks of blue and gold shot out and a blinding light encompassed the two of them. Magic rushed from Merlin into Arthur. There was no incantation, just an overwhelming need to save his friend! He could not lose him! Merlin could feel himself draining, growing tired and weak, but he didn’t care because beneath his hands he could see that a miracle was happening. Arthur’s wound stopped bleeding, his heartbeat steadied, and the color returned to his face as the edges of the fatal injury began to close. After a moment, Arthur closed his eyes in peaceful sleep, breathing regularly.

Merlin broke away, slumping to the ground in a heap, side and shoulder throbbing and feeling totally empty. His friend wasn’t completely healed, but Merlin had nothing left. Hopefully, he’d done enough.

An unearthly stillness hung in the air, as if everything teetered on the edge of some unfathomable divide, and then the stunned king roared to his feet.

“SORCERER!” he screamed, sword already in hand and swinging wildly as he rushed toward the paralyzed and exhausted boy on the ground. “GET AWAY FROM HIM! I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF FOR THIS!”

Eyes wide with horror, Merlin could only sit there and watch. He was too drained and too shocked to even contemplate moving out of the way of the enraged king and his sword.

“SIRE! STOP!” Gaius was suddenly shouting, standing between Merlin and the furious king. “You cannot do this!”

Uther shoved Gaius aside without care and swung his sword back, preparing for the killing stroke.

“If you kill Merlin, Arthur will die!” Gaius yelled from where he’d landed on the glass-covered floor.

Finally, Uther paused, swinging around to point the sword at Gaius’s throat instead. “What does that mean, and do not LIE to me!”

Two of the guards had recovered enough from their shock to realize what was happening around them and they suddenly appeared at Merlin’s side, hauling him painfully to his feet and twisting his arms behind his back. Helplessly, he stood there, still dazed, as he watched Gaius speak with desperation.

“The spell he used, my lord! To save Arthur! It wasn’t ordinary magic!”

Through his terror and bone-deep exhaustion, Merlin also registered some confusion. He hadn’t actually used a spell – just magic and will-power.

“It was…ah…what is called soul magic, sire! Merlin used the force of his very soul to heal Arthur, and the mixing of their blood sealed it!”

“What mixing of blood?” Uther growled, his eyes crazed and full of hate.

“His hands,” Gaius nodded, not daring to rise from the floor. “Look at the boy’s hands.”

The guards yanked Merlin’s hands forward and, maintaining crushing grips on his wrists, flipped them palm up. For the first time Merlin noticed the bleeding cuts left from pulling the deadly glass from Arthur’s chest.

“Merlin gave some of his own life to bring Arthur back from death; the mingling of their blood has sealed it. They are forever connected now, sire, and if you kill Merlin the prince will die as well.”

The shock of what Merlin had just done was starting to wear off, extreme terror replacing it. He’d done magic in front of Uther Pendragon!

“Is this true?” the king screeched, turning back to Merlin and leveling the point of his sword at Merlin’s chest, uncaring of the fact he drew blood. “Are you connected to my son, your filth tainting him?”

Merlin had no idea if what Gaius said was true or not – the old man was skilled at lying through his teeth if needed, even in extremely dangerous situations – but Merlin still felt it was only partly untrue when he nodded quickly. After all, he and Arthur were connected, just by fate and destiny and friendship instead of magic.

Uther swore loudly, cursing Merlin and magic and the very gods, before pulling back and crashing his fist into Merlin’s face. Pain erupted in the boy’s head with a shower of brilliant lights and while he clung to consciousness, he would have gone down like a sack of meal if not for the two guards still restraining him.

“And you, Gaius, my old friend,” the king snarled, turning back to the physician who had crawled over slightly and was worriedly checking a still unconscious Arthur. “You hardly seem surprised at the fact this monster has been living in our very midst for nearly a year with magic.” His voice oozed with unspoken threats.

Blinking, trying to keep his legs under him and what he ate for breakfast in his stomach, Merlin watched in horror as Gaius breathed deeply, then drew himself to his knees.

“Noooo…” Merlin whispered in a small, keening wail.

“You must understand, sire, that a man will do anything to protect a son that he loves,” the physician answered calmly.

“Then you had better do everything in your power to keep mine alive!” the king hissed, leaning close. “Because the moment Arthur draws his last breath is the moment I throw your vile ward on a pile of green wood and send him to the underworld in flames! Guards!” he yelled, turning around to see which of his men were still standing in the destroyed chamber. Sir Ector stepped forward and took over restraining (which by this point was really more like supporting) Merlin, freeing the soldiers to answer the king’s command, joined by another man who had pulled himself from the ground and was trying to hide a strong limp. “Take Arthur to the physician’s tower and insure the old man doesn’t leave his side!”

Merlin blinked back tears as he watched two of the men carefully lift Arthur from the floor and carry him away, the last dragging Gaius up and forcing him from the room. The boy knew in his heart this was most likely the last time he would ever see the kind physician who had become like a father to him, or his master for that matter, and it broke his heart.

Uther waited until they had all left before turning back to Merlin. His eyes narrowed and he raised the sword once more, stepping closer.

“Sire,” Sir Leon interrupted hesitantly. He’d pulled himself to his feet, clutching his oozing wound with one hand and a partially crumbled pillar with another. “Sire, Merlin saved the prince, and all of us. Perhaps a measure of mercy has been earned?”

“Those who practice magic will never deserve mercy, Leon,” the king reprimanded. “Go to the physician and have your leg tended.”

Through pain and exhaustion-blurred eyes, Merlin saw Leon glance at him with sorrow and pity, before he bowed awkwardly and hobbled from the room.

Only Merlin, Ector, and the king remained and Merlin…he knew – he was going to die. It didn’t matter what Gaius or anyone said, Uther had vowed to eradicate magic from the kingdom, and Merlin was magic. He wanted to face death bravely but he was so tired and terrified and sad… So he just let the tears crest his eyes and hung his head as Sir Ector continued to hold him, waiting for the killing blow and hoping it wouldn’t hurt too badly.

“You know where to take this creature, Ector,” Uther spat, glaring at Merlin with the utmost disgust.

Merlin glanced up at the older knight, thought he saw a small measure of regret on the man’s still bleeding face, before the king’s warrior raised his fist and a second blow to the head finally sent Merlin spiraling into black oblivion.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

The curse from the chest had taken a toll on more than just the council chamber, though thankfully the most intense damage had been concentrated there. Still, it was only a few minutes after Gaius had been escorted to his chambers – under guard – and settled the prince into the best patient bed, that the wounded had started showing up, the first being Sir Leon himself.

The physician was slightly amazed that they were let through and he was allowed to treat them, but he tried to be thankful for small mercies and patched them up the best he could, in between caring for Arthur. At one point, there was a rather loud disturbance from outside his door and he was certain he heard the angry voice of the Lady Morgana, demanding that she and her maid be allowed inside to see Arthur and help care for those who had been hurt, but they were denied entry and, after a prolonged argument, eventually left.

Gaius sighed and went back to his healing.

Leon’s leg was bad enough Gaius ordered him to a bed of his own after bandaging it, and then dosed the protesting knight with a sleeping potion, knowing it was probably the only way to keep him down.

He was grateful the kind knight was sleeping soundly by the time the guards arrived a little later with orders to “search” for magic. With tears glinting unshed in his eyes, the old physician watched as they carted off everything belonging to his ward, right down to the innocent, little drawings he’d tacked to his walls and bright pebbles he’d kept just because he thought they were pretty. Then the men had moved on and Gaius had stood stoically as the objects and mementos of a lifetime of work were callously destroyed. His only bit of satisfaction came from the fact that, with the exception of Merlin’s very ordinary and nonmagical possessions, they left empty-handed – the books of magical information as well as Merlin’s spell book remaining safe in their hiding places.

Uther had no new fodder for his rage against them, though Gaius was certain that wouldn’t really matter. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he would be allowed to live through to the next day, and certainly his usefulness would run out once Arthur regained his health – if the prince lived.

As for Merlin, he had no idea where his boy had been taken, or if he was even still alive. Gaius prayed the king had bought his story – though he was only half convinced it was a lie. Once, long ago, Gaius had read something about Soul Magic. From what he remembered, it has been complicated and horribly difficult, requiring extreme preparation, power, and incantations. Merlin had the power, but not the other two, but what he’d done to save the prince had looked an awful lot like what had been described on those old pages, and Gaius had learned long ago not underestimate anything where his young ward was concerned. So, while it had been a desperate lie to save the boy he loved like a son, it was born from a worry of truth.

Now as he shuffled from his worktable to a half-empty shelf, his feet scuffing through the detritus of his life that lay broken on the floor, he prayed that his boy wasn’t suffering too badly, and that somehow, they might be allowed to see each other again before they died.

He rummaged on the shelf for a moment, found the parcel of herbs he needed – grateful that the guards at least had the presence of mind to leave his medicines undisturbed – and then turned around, trying to ignore the way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He returned to his table and added a few leaves to the concoction in the pestle, grinding them in. Finally, he scooped it all into the folded cloth he had set aside.

Only Leon and Arthur remained in the chamber with him, Arthur lying on the bed nearest the hearth. The area around him was the only spot in his chambers undisturbed by the searching soldiers, and now he settled on a stool at the prince’s side, laying a weathered hand on Arthur’s sweaty brow with fatherly concern.

Merlin had brought Arthur back from certain death but the young prince was still far from healthy. Arthur had yet to wake and while his wound had stopped bleeding and was roughly half the size it had been when he’d received it, it was showing signs of infection and the boy was running a fever.

Sighing again, Gaius reached for the compress covering the wound, removing it and replacing it with the fresh one, pleased that it seemed to be working and was drawing out the bad humors.

“Will he live, Gaius?” a groggy voice asked. Gaius jumped slightly and then turned to see Leon, fighting to sit up with his leg elevated and the effects of the potion still coursing through his veins.

“I believe so, though there is still danger.”

Neither one spoke of how many other lives were hanging in balance with the prince’s, though Gaius knew the kind knight was thinking of it.

Thinking of his Merlin, just like Gaius. The boy who was himself wounded and couldn’t be anywhere good, who was probably suffering and scared, cold and alone… Who Gaius wanted to protect with all his breaking heart and couldn’t…

His shaking hands squeezed the dirty compress without conscious thought even as the tears finally crested his eyes and rolled down his wrinkled cheeks. He quickly looked away from the knight and rubbed at them with the sleeves of his robe. Then he stood, making his way through the debris to Leon’s bed.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to sit up yet, Sir Knight,” he chastised gently. “Your wound was deep and you require rest for it to heal.” Gently but firmly, he pushed the man back down into his pillow.

“What happened in here, Gaius?” Leon asked, forgoing protesting as he looked around the chambers that had been relatively whole when he’d fallen asleep.

“Soldiers,” the physician replied, knowing it was all the explanation the other man needed.

“I’m sorry, Gaius,” Leon said sincerely. “You don’t deserve this, and neither does Merlin. I have long thought that not all magic could be evil, and today Merlin saved us all. I know that.”

“Do not let the king hear you say those words,” Gaius whispered, standing to check the knight’s bandage, grateful to see it had stopped the bleeding.

There were suddenly loud voices from just outside the door and, almost as though Leon’s “traitorous” words had summoned him, Gaius recognized the voice of the king, questioning the guards.

“You should –” he started to say but Leon beat him so it.

“So tired, Gaius,” the man said pointedly, instantly going limp and closing his eyes. Gaius smiled briefly and hurried back to Arthur’s side, sitting on his stool just as Uther Pendragon stormed in.

“How is my son, physician?” the king demanded without preamble.

“He is fighting hard, my lord,” Gaius answered, reigning back the urge to return the question with a demand to know how his son was, knowing that now was not the time to antagonize the furious man.

“Will he live?” Uther asked, unknowingly echoing Leon’s earlier question.

“Yes, I believe so, provided his fever remains manageable.”

“Make sure it does!” snapped the King, kicking something that might have once been Gaius’s stew pot out of his way as he moved to Arthur’s side and started down at him.

“Fight this, Arthur,” the man whispered, placing a gentle hand on the prince’s head. “Fight this vile magic!”

“You do realize that Arthur would be dead, along with many others, and your entire castle destroyed if it hadn’t been for magic don’t you, sire?” Gaius could not resist saying quietly.

“Watch your tongue, old man!” the king hissed.

Gaius bowed his head submissively.

“You’re certain they are connected?” Uther demanded after a moment, moving away from Arthur to pace the room, heedlessly smashing more of the items rolling around the floor. “My son and that…that monster?”

“Yes, sire. Without a doubt,” Gaius said with certainty, the half-lie rolling off his tongue without any shame or guilt. “Part of Merlin’s soul and life force has been poured into Arthur to keep him alive. If you kill the source of that sustaining help, the good of Merlin’s spell will come undone and Arthur will die of his wound.”

“And if I wait until Arthur is healed?” the king asked cruelly.

“The passage of time will have no effect on the outcome if the boy’s life is ended,” Gaius said firmly. “I can find the reference for you, in writing, if you’d like,” he offered, hoping the king wouldn’t ask, as he had only the vaguest idea of where he’d once read that spell and worried it might lie in books that had long ago met the flame during the purge.

“You do that,” Uther ordered, his eyes ice cold. “And heal my son!” he added as he marched toward the door.

“Sire?” Gaius called before he could stride through it. The king stopped but didn’t turn. “What is to be done with me?”

Uther never answered, just walked out, and Gaius let his head drop.

“Does the spell actually exist, Gaius?” Leon’s soft voice eventually drew the old man’s head back up.

“Yes, somewhere, in something I read long ago,” he answered with a sigh, checking Arthur’s temperature once more. “But I don’t remember where.”

“Then we’d better get looking, hadn’t we?”

Gaius glanced at the knight in surprise.

“It’s not as though I can do anything else,” the man said with a soft smile. “My physician ordered me on bed rest.”

Gaius gave a watery laugh then stood – bones creaking – and started gathering torn books and loose pages from the ground. It wouldn’t be in any of those books, but he could at least get them out of the way and prevent further damage before he pulled out the hidden tomes. “Thank you, Sir Leon. You are a true friend.”

“Just doing what I’m sure Arthur himself would do if he could.”

*****

Merlin honestly hadn’t expected to ever wake up again, but when he finally came to hours later, it wasn’t any kind of comfort. His head throbbed, his side and shoulder burned, and worst of all, he found he was chained at the wrists and ankles to a cold, hard slab of stone in a dungeon room he’d never seen before. His breath quickened as he instinctively tugged against his restraints, but all it did was fill the chamber with an ominous sound that echoed all around. Trying not to hyperventilate, he forced himself to lie still and turned his head from side to side, attempting to figure out where he was by the dim light of the single torch that had been left in a sconce on a far wall.

His jacket and footwear had been removed, along with his scarf, and he felt exposed and cold, but as he swiveled and strained, desperate to look around, he realized his neck wasn’t completely bare. There was something chilled and metal wrapped around it – something that he could feel with more than just his skin. Something that hurt his soul and left him empty, as though a part of him was missing.

His magic! He couldn’t feel his magic!

“No, no, nooooo!” he gasped, tugging desperately against the chains on his wrists, trying to free his hands so he could figure out what had been done to him, what the mad king had put on him.

“It’s very effective, don’t you think, sorcerer?” a cold voice hissed from the shadows behind Merlin. He couldn’t turn his head to see, but he didn’t need to. It was Uther Pendragon.

“I haven’t had a sorcerer strong enough to need the collar for many years, but according to the traitorous physician, I can’t send you to the flames as you deserve. Since I can’t burn your evil, I have to contain it.” He appeared in the corner of Merlin’s eye, a looming shadow that radiated rage and malice.

“To think you’ve been here all this time, a canker in the heart of Camelot, tainting my household with your filth!” Uther walked along the slab, his gloved fingers trailing over the stone and the chains, stopping at Merlin’s bare feet, which had never felt more vulnerable. “To think I appointed you, I personally gave you access to my son!” the king seethed.

“I promise I would never hurt Arthur!” Merlin gasped desperately. “Or Camelot! I’ve only used my magic to help, for good!”

Uther slammed his fists onto the table. “Magic can never be good! It’s pure evil!”

Something glinted in the king’s hand in the flickering torchlight, and Merlin realized he was now holding a knife. The trapped boy started to tremble as tears slipped down his cheeks. “Please, sire!” he begged. “I promise…I won’t hurt anyone! Please don’t…” He was babbling but he couldn’t help it. He’d never been more scared.

“To think that a clumsy idiot like you could be such a viper,” Uther went on, ignoring him as he played with the knife in his hands.

“Please!” Merlin pleaded again, sobs now choking his words. “Please, just let me go!”

“Let you go?” Uther laughed, a sound that was more terrifying than his screaming. “I would sooner reduce my own kingdom to ashes than let a creature like you go free!”

“What are you going to do with me then?” Merlin whispered, his words ragged from held back sobs as Uther grasped his right foot in a crushing grip. The boy squirmed and jerked, desperate to get away somehow, but he was trapped.

“My son is hanging by a thread at death’s door. My kingdom is in rubble. And I have been lied to and shamed by a worthless piece of peasant trash that I can’t kill, all because of magic. So, what am I going to do with you?” the king mocked flatly, twisting Merlin’s foot harshly in the chain and brandishing the knife. “I’m going to exact from you so much misery and pain you will wish I had just killed you, and I’m going to make sure you are incapable of ever leaving this place again.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Gaius woke with a jerk when his head slipped from his fist, shifting upright and looking around his dim room.
It was deep into the night and he was alone with Arthur; Leon had been helped back to his own quarters several hours earlier. The old physician ran his hands over his face to wipe the sleep from him, then sat up to check on the prince. It was only then that he discovered he wasn’t actually alone.

Uther Pendragon sat silently in a chair beside his son’s bedside, his face unreadable in the shadows. Gaius thought about apologizing – for sleeping, for not realizing the king was there – but then decided he had nothing to apologize to this man for. He’d done nothing wrong, so he simply carried on with his work.

He felt the prince’s forehead, relieved to find it cooler to the touch. It looked like the boy’s fever was waning. A quick check under the compress showed a wound that was once again closing much faster than it should have. In just a few days, Arthur would be fine.

“Will my son live?” the other man asked again.

“Yes, sire,” Gaius answered firmly.

Uther nodded and then glanced away, making no move to leave. Gaius finished his ministrations and then sat back in his chair, unsure what to expect now.

“I located the description of the spell. It’s in the book on –”

“I know,” the king interrupted. “I read it.”

Gaius fell silent, taking Uther’s reply as acceptance of the information Leon and he had finally been able to find. It was at least one, small relief.

The quiet stretched for a long time before the king finally broke it. “We were the last of an era, Gaius. You and I. My most loyal man and dare I say it…last real friend. I trusted you, Gaius. Without fail.” He sounded angry, the rage still simmering there though more contained than it had been earlier, but beneath it, the physician thought he heard a measure of real hurt.

“None of that has changed, sire,” Gaius answered softly, knowing that entering into this conversation was a huge risk, but as he was already facing execution, he really had nothing to lose.

“You sided against me! You sided with magic! With that creature! You taught him sorcery!”

“Merlin is not a creature, my lord,” he said softly, sadly. “He’s only a boy. A very scared, very loyal boy. And I didn’t teach him anything, sire. He was born with magic. He had no choice in the matter. He did, however, have a choice in how he used it, and he has only ever used it to help your son and your kingdom. Even knowing you would have him killed for it.”

Uther opened his mouth to retort, probably to order that Gaius shut his traitorous mouth before the king marched him down to the scaffold that very instant, but the old man shifted and continued speaking before he had the chance. If he was going to die, there were things that needed to be said first, even if the hearer would never really listen.

“One month ago, Arthur recovered from the bite of a Questing Beast. Something that’s impossible, and we both know it. How did he do it?”

“It was a miracle,” Uther snapped, laying a protective hand on his sleeping son’s shoulder.

“Yes, it was, but not of the kind you are thinking. Did you know that Merlin, the boy you are condemning as a monster, rode to the Isle of the Blessed and offered his own life in exchange for your son’s? A life for a life – the balance of nature and magic. Offered to die so that your boy could live. Except Nimueh has never played fair and she tried to take several other lives instead, so Merlin fought and accidentally killed her, thus satisfying the demands of the bargain and allowing both boys to live.”

“Nimueh’s dead?” Uther said, sitting up and eyeing Gaius sharply.

“Yes,” the old man answered. “And your kingdom is safer for it. One more time Merlin has saved us all. He saved Arthur from the poison in Bayard’s challis. He saved Arthur from the Questing Beast’s bite and rid you of one of your greatest enemies. And he saved us all today without any thought for what would happen to himself afterwards. How can you still call this evil?”

“Gaius, you know better than any the evil magic brings! You have stood by my side as we faced it! And now you would betray me and all our years together, for that wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

“He is the son of my old age, the boy I never had, Uther,” Gaius said, not bothering to hide the tears now. “He is the best boy, the most pure and loyal and good, and I love him with all the power of my heart. Surely you can understand that – that a father will do anything for the son he holds dear. I see the way you look at Arthur. I watched you take his place to fight the Dark Knight, have seen you sit vigil at his bedside many times as you do know. You know that love, my lord. Please don’t fault an old man for feeling it as well, for loving and protecting his boy.”

Uther said nothing, sitting silent for an impossibly long time.

“Please, sire,” Gaius finally begged, his voice catching. “Where is my boy?”

“The prisoner is contained,” the king answered coldly, rising now. “You will tell Arthur and anyone who asks that he has been banished, taken far away to a distant wasteland and left. That is my mercy for saving Arthur – a life for a life. If anyone, but especially my son, ever learns otherwise, you and anyone the boy ever held dear – his mother, that serving wench, the people he associated with in the town – will be killed. Do I make myself clear?”

Gaius nodded, his head drooping.

“You have lost my trust, and it will never be given again. Your years of service and your irreplaceable medical knowledge have led me to grant you your life, but your status as a Freeman has been revoked, your place on the Council withdrawn, and your freedom severely curtailed. I will remove the guards on your door once Arthur is healed, and you may continue to serve this castle and these people, but you are not to leave the outer walls unless directly ordered by myself or Sir Ector. If you violate any of these restrictions, I will set up your execution myself.”

“Yes, sire,” Gaius answered – bowing – his feelings a jumbled mess. “Thank you, sire.”

“And you will send someone for me the moment my son is awake.” With that last, clipped order, Uther turned and strode from the room, leaving a reeling Gaius in his wake.

*****

Silent tears ran down Merlin’s face as he lay unmoving in his chains, too exhausted and in pain to bother shifting around. He was covered in cuts and bruises, curtesy of the king, and everything hurt, but the worst by far was his right foot. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it – had felt it when the king’s knife bite deep into the flesh at the back and side of his ankle. Uther had tightened a rag around it afterward, to keep him from bleeding to death, but that was poor comfort. The pain was wicked, and even worse was the knowledge that as much as he tried, Merlin could no longer move his right toes or foot.

The foot was useless now; he knew enough about medicine to understand that. The wounds might heal, but the ability to use it – to walk, to run, to do anything – would never return. He’d been permanently, and very purposefully, crippled.

Not that it really mattered, he thought bitterly. It didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere beyond this torture chamber for the foreseeable future anyway.

All because he decided to keep a kingdom from collapsing and save his best friend from certain death.

The tears fell even harder as he gazed numbly at the dark, stone ceiling.

He didn’t even know if it had all been worth it because he had no idea if Arthur had survived.

Footsteps suddenly echoed off the walls of the chamber. After a few long minutes, two men appeared in his limited rage of sight: the king, and the royal executioner.

His breath hitched a little and he turned his eyes away, pointedly not looking at the looming figures.

So, Uther had decided to kill him after all. At least death was better than a life spent in torture and agony, he supposed. He hoped it would be quick and painless. And he wished he could have at least seen Gaius and Arthur one more time, though if he was being killed, it must mean the prince had died – his spell had failed.

He just hoped someone would think to look after his mother.

The stillness around him stretched to the point of uncomfortableness, and Merlin wondered what they were waiting for, why they didn’t just get it over with. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer and the boy turned his red, tear-filled eyes back to the towering figure of the king.

“The physician tells me you killed Nimueh,” the man spat.

Merlin blinked. That was not what he’d been expecting.

“He also says you’ve saved my son’s life, multiple times. Why?”

The young warlock sniffed and tried to control his voice as he answered, too shocked to tell anything but the truth. “Because…he is my friend, and someday my king.”

The king’s hand shot out, fisting into Merlin’s hair so tight the tears started back up again as his head was forced backwards.

“I don’t believe you!” the man snarled, eyes cold with pure rage. “Magic is friend to no one!”

Merlin gulped, painfully aware of how exposed his throat was in this position, and of the executioner hovering just out of reach with a wickedly-sharp looking knife.

Uther leaned down, whispering right into his ear. “Gaius tried to suggest I should show you mercy. He tried to appeal to me, one father to another. Except the problem is, I have to let you live, don’t I. So, there is my mercy, boy – I grant you your pathetic life. But, only once I’m thrice sure you will never harm anyone ever again.”

Thrice? Merlin thought with sudden panic. But the collar, and his crippled foot, and…oh no, oh no, oh no…

Uther stepped back and tightened his grip on Merlin’s hair even as he placed one hand on the boy’s forehead, holding his eyes open, then looked right at the executioner.

“Blind him.”

“No! Please, no!” Merlin cried in sudden panic, struggling with all his might against the king and the chains. But it was no use. The henchman moved with swift accuracy, and then Merlin’s world exploded as agony ripped through his head and a scream of pure anguish tore from his throat in the form of one word – “ARTHUR!”

Author’s Note:
Thank you so much to everyone for the support. I love hearing your thoughts on this story and hope you will keep sharing them with me. And please don’t kill me for this last chapter.

I’m sorry this chapter was a few days late going up. The last week has been a seesaw of emotions. My grandmother slipped through to the next life on Sunday and then a few days later it was my birthday.

This coming week is going to be even more demanding on my time, with family gathering and a funeral and everything. So, I’m letting everyone know right now that I’m taking next Friday off. The next chapter will hopefully go up in two weeks. Thank you for your patience.

Chapter Text

Last chapter…
Uther stepped back and tightened his grip on Merlin’s hair even as he placed one hand on the boy’s forehead, holding his eyes open, then looked right at the executioner.

“Blind him.”

“No! Please, no!” Merlin cried in sudden panic, struggling with all his might against the king and the chains. But it was no use. The henchman moved with swift accuracy, and then Merlin’s world exploded as agony ripped through his head and a scream of pure anguish tore from his throat in the form of one word – “ARTHUR!”

Chapter 5

“MERLIN!” Arthur cried as he jerked awake in a panic, sitting straight up and panting as if he’d just run a marathon. He’d shoved the covers off his legs and was attempting to get to his feet before he even realized that he wasn’t in his own bed.

“Sire!” someone was saying, old, weathered hands attempting to push him back into the mattress. “You must stay put! Your wound is only just starting to heal properly!”

The prince blinked for a minute and finally registered that it was Gaius.

“What’s happened?” he demanded, still trying to get out of bed. “Where’s Merlin?”

“Arthur!” Gaius said rather sharply, the man’s tone finally breaking through the cloud of panic and confusion that surrounded Arthur enough that he stopped fighting. “You must lie back down!”

The young man complied, but only because the sudden burst of energy had drained away as fast as it came and he now felt rather weak and lightheaded. Still, the worry that had roused him in the first place didn’t abate and he turned to old physician for answers.

“Gaius, where is Merlin?” he demanded. It was all coming back to him now in jolts and flashes. The council chamber…a strange, dirty box…magic and whirling glass and sharp, horrid pain…and Merlin – skinny, clumsy, hopelessly inept Merlin – jumping into the middle of it and saving them all with magic! A warm gold and blue magic that felt so comforting and familiar, that Arthur recognized from a night when he was sure his life would end in a cavern full of monstrous spiders. Merlin had done magic, had saved them all and poured life back into Arthur himself, right in front of the king. In front of his father!

Oh, what had his father done to his friend! His heart started to race again and he once more tried to shove Gaius’s trembling hands away. He’d been unconscious for who knew how long! What had been done to Merlin? He’d just heard him – felt him – screaming in pain! He knew he hadn’t imagined that!

“Where is he?” he pleaded again, boring his eyes into the other man’s.

Gaius finally stilled and dropped into a chair, his posture resigned and his face the picture of sorrow.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Arthur cried, gulping. “My father just killed him!”

But the physician was shaking his head.

“Merlin has been…banished,” he muttered sadly. “Taken away, far away, never to return.”

“No, but I just felt… I heard him! He was crying, and then calling my name! I know I did!”

“You were gravely hurt, my lord, and have been suffering from a fever,” Gaius offered, but Arthur pushed both the old man and his words aside.

“I know what I heard, Gaius. Merlin is hurt. Where is he?”

“Sire, you must –” but he never got to finish his sentence as that moment the door opened and a castle guard stepped inside.

“Ah, Humphreys,” Gaius said quickly, getting to his feet. “I was just about to come out and ask you to send for the king. As you can see, the prince is now awake.”

The guard stared for a moment, scrutinizing, as though he suspected something else was going on, but finally he nodded and left, shutting the door.

Arthur watched the door close, watched Gaius breathe deeply and his whole posture slump, and he narrowed his eyes. “Gaius?” he asked quietly. “Why is there a guard on your door?”

“Because the king has decided to show mercy,” the physician said bitterly. “And allowed me to keep my foolish, old head. Now, please let me tend to your wound before your father arrives here in person to see you.”

And Arthur let his lips snap shut, his mind reeling.

*****

It was a relief to be back in his own bed, even if the trip there had left him winded and his wound throbbing under the bandages. Arthur pressed a hand against it as he settled back into his pillows with a hidden grimace and observed the decidedly frosty air between his father and Gaius.

“Let me check to make sure it hasn’t reopened, sire,” the old man muttered quietly, pulling his hand gently away and working at the bandages. For once in his life, Arthur submitted without protest, too busy watching the king as he stood back against the table, arms crossed and eyes hard and cold as he followed the physician’s every move.

A few moments later, Gaius was retying the binding. “It’s healing well, Arthur,” he said, patting him affectionately on the shoulder once, and then quickly drawing his hand back as if afraid the motion would be seen.

“Thanks to Merlin,” Arthur insisted softly, his head cocked toward his father.

The prince was a little surprised by his own calm acceptance of what had happened. That his servant had magic. After all, Merlin had essentially lied to him for almost a year, but Arthur found he didn’t even care. In that moment when the boy had stepped forward and revealed his secret to save them all, Arthur had been overwhelmed by such a sense of goodness – of warmth and care and friendship – that all thoughts of anger and betrayal had simply vanished. Merlin was good, therefore his magic was good, end of story.

Gaius didn’t answer, just let his head hang further. “You should rest, sire,” the man said shakily instead. He held out a vial of greyish liquid, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice how his usually steady hand was trembling. “This will help you sleep without pain.”

“I just woke up, Gaius. I’m not about to go right back to sleep.”

“Drink the potion, Arthur,” his father ordered, stepping into the conversation for the first time.

“Not until you tell me where my servant is, Father,” Arthur announced, fixing his father with his most stubborn gaze.

“Gaius, you will wait for me in the hall,” the king said angrily.

“Yes, my lord,” the physician said setting the vial on the bedside table and then bowing instantly and shuffling away

Arthur only held off until the door had closed. “What have you done with Merlin, Father?”

“Arthur,” his father said, moving to stand next to his bed, his voice like ice. “You will listen to me now and then this will be the last we ever speak of it. The boy was a sorcerer! He had magic – evil!”

“Magic he used to save my life!” Arthur protested, unable and unwilling to sit quiet and just listen, but his father rode right over him as though he hadn’t even spoken.

“He deceived me, he deceived you, and he betrayed us all! Now, I blame myself partly for this, for awarding him the position in the first place, for allowing you to…care for him…when it was against propriety and my better judgement!”

“Would you rather he hadn’t saved me?” the prince cried, wishing he could be having this conversation out of bed, fully dressed, and with his sword at his side. He felt decidedly at a disadvantage. “Do you hate magic so much you would rather I’d been killed than that Merlin had used it to save me?”

“Of course I don’t wish you dead, Arthur!” the king snapped. “But that has nothing to do with the crime that creature committed!”

“Creature?” Arthur yelled, breathing harshly as his anger took a toll on his healing body. “He’s not a creature, Father! He’s a boy, with name, and he’s my servant and my friend!”

“See! I never should have let you come to care for him! To view him as anything other than a lowly servant!”

“What have you done with him, Father?” Arthur demanded again, pushing himself more upright on the bed, ready to spring from it if need be.

“He should have been killed! He should have been put to the pyre before the sun had even set for what he did, such a blatant, arrogant mockery of Camelot’s laws and the royal household! But I knew this would be your reaction! Knew that the welp had some sort of hold over your affections!” Uther seethed, pacing wildly. “And I knew, if I upheld what the law rightly required, you would resent me! So, for the sake of our kingdom and peace in our royal house, I spared him!”

“I don’t believe you!” Arthur snarled, the memory of Merlin’s anguished cries still bright in his mind.

“I personally ordered him to be taken to the far edge of the Perilous Lands and then left there, with orders to kill him on sight should he ever return to our kingdom. I swear it, on my honor as a knight!”

“The Perilous Lands, Father?” Arthur cried, pushing the covers aside and trying to climb to his feet. “That’s not mercy, that’s just a prolonged and more torturous death!” His father’s hands settled on his shoulders, pushing him back into the bed in a less than gentle fashion.

“It’s as much mercy as a practitioner of magic ever deserves! Now, you are going to stay in this bed, drink your potion, and heal!”

“But Merlin –!”

“And you will never, under any circumstances, utter that name again! That is a royal order from your king, Arthur, and I will be obeyed!”

Arthur wanted to argue – had so much rage and worry and fear – but his wound and head were pounding and he knew he would lose.

“Drink!” the king commanded, shoving the vial in his face.

Arthur took it and threw it back, anger showing in every move, before slamming the empty container on his bedside table.

He would concede the battle – this time – but not the war. Somewhere his friend was out there – in pain and distress – and Arthur vowed that he would find him, even if he had to search the whole of Albion.

Gaius’s potion worked swiftly and the prince found the room was soon swimming, the edges growing fuzzy and blurred. Hands that moments before had been harsh and demanding were now guiding him back into a warm bed, pulling covers up, brushing through his hair.

“Sleep, Arthur, just sleep,” his father whispered gently. “I promise, you will get past this betrayal and come to see that I am right. And I promise – never again will I let magic touch you like this, my son…”

Against his will, Arthur’s eyes dragged closed and he slept once more.

*****

Gaius heard the shouting match between king and prince from where he stood in the hallway, but as he found himself in the company of Sir Ector the old man worked hard to keep his face schooled to show no reaction. Still, he knew in his heart he was cheering for Arthur, for the young man who was passionately throwing so many of the same accusations at the king that Gaius himself had wanted to yell.

It was over quickly, however, and the physician knew who had won – the same person who held all the cards and would never relinquish any of them until someone pried them from his cold, dead hands. There was a long moment of silence from within the prince’s chambers, and then the king exited, pulling the door shut and turning to face the old man.

“Arthur is asleep,” he announced. “And I am satisfied with your diagnosis that my son will recover fully, though he must never know of his connection to the sorcerer.”

Gaius nodded. “As you wish, my lord,” he said softly, his heart hurting a little more each time his kind, good boy was disparaged.

The king looked at him for a long moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he spoke, quieter and with a little less rage. “You appealed to me last night, Gaius, as one father to another. For mercy. Very well, old friend, you may tend to your son now, or at least what’s left of him.”

Gaius’s head shot up in shock and he stuck out a hand to brace himself on the castle wall as he stared at the king, afraid he hadn’t heard right.

“Someone has to keep the prisoner alive,” Uther said dismissively. “Ector,” he finished, turning away from Gaius and to his knight. “Take him there and see he has what he needs.”

Author’s Note:
Thank you so much for all the kind thoughts and comfort offered to me and my family on the passing of my Grandmother. It means so much and I wanted everyone to know that. Also, thank you for your patience as I was late getting this chapter up.

If you are reading, I would love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again!

Chapter Text

Author's Note: I know I'm late, but better late than never. Sometimes, real life gets in the way of the best laid writing schedule plans. Thanks so much to everyone who is reading. Love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter 6

When Sir Ector led Gaius through the hidden door just before the normal guardroom in the dungeons, he was hardly surprised. Uther couldn’t very well keep Merlin locked in the regular cells without it quickly becoming common knowledge. Still, his heart broke as he followed the knight through the secret guardroom without looking at the two men stationed there, thinking of the lonely and bleak place his boy was now condemned to live.

As he trailed after Ector through the stone tunnel that wound around and up and down through the bowels of the castle, the torchlight threw shadows on the cold, jagged walls, and Gaius’s thoughts were dragged back to the past and the days when he used to make this journey to the King’s Dungeon far too often, days he was not proud to remember.

The King’s Dungeon was a highly guarded royal secret – only the king, his top knight, a few select guards, and Gaius knew of its existence. Built as a place to hold the Camelot rulers’ personal prisoners – often political and intended to be kept long-term – the six cells were slightly larger than those in the common dungeon, but that was hardly a comfort for those spirited away to live out their lives in the dark, isolated cages.

They passed the king’s personal torture chamber and Gaius sighed in relief that Merlin wasn’t there. Another turn, a short staircase, and they entered the cavern where the cells had been constructed ages ago.

Each cell was a metal cage of crisscrossing bars on three sides and solid rock at the back. Their only amenities were a privy hole covered by a stone seat with a small opening – to prevent escape more than for ease and comfort – and a bare, wooden bunk attached to one side. Each cell was set far enough apart from the others that prisoners could not reach one another. It was chilled and dark, the only light from the torch Sir Ector carried, though several plain sconces held unlit torches on the walls, and slight breezes tugged at Gaius’s robes, indication of the hidden airshafts that existed to keep prisoners and guards alike from suffocating in the deep tomb.

Only one of the cells was currently occupied and as Sir Ector lit the other torches and light fell across his boy, Gaius couldn’t help reaching out to grasp the bars of the nearest cell as his breath left and his knees threatened to buckle.

“Oh, my boy,” he whispered even as tears ran down his weathered cheeks.

Merlin seemed to be barely conscious or sleeping, lying limp and still with his face turned away and his thin chest rising and falling in shallow but thankfully steady breaths. There were chains on his wrists and ankles and another long chain attached to a glinting metal collar that Gaius recognized with horror. It stretched across the cell to tether Merlin to the stone wall, as if the boy could somehow overcome his bound magic, injuries, chained limbs, and a highly secure cell and still escape.

“Gaius,” Sir Ector said quietly, breaking him from his thoughts as he gestured for him to enter the cell the knight had just unlocked. The old man clenched his teeth but nodded and stepped up to Merlin’s side.

His son was covered in dirt and dried blood – welts, cuts and bruises peeking through the shredded remains of the boy’s clothing, but the worst thing was his dear boy’s face. A dirty rag was thrown carelessly across his eyes, and beneath it, Merlin’s pale cheeks were streaked and crusted with dark red.

Horror and despair rushed through Gaius as his physician’s training filled in the unseen blanks and he groped weakly for the edge of the bunk, collapsing on it with a cry and letting his satchel clatter to the floor.

“No, Merlin…” he moaned. “Oh my boy, my poor, poor boy…” Gently, as tears poured from his own eyes, Gaius reached out and stroked his surrogate son’s filthy hair, heart shattering.

Blind! His boy had been blinded! Those tender, caring, intelligent blue eyes that saw so much more than everyone else realized were gone, callously removed by a man who was himself blinded by hate.

Merlin suddenly whimpered and moved slightly, turning into Gaius’s touch even as his fingers clenched and his chains clanked softly. The sound pierced the old physician and he swiped angrily at the moisture on his face, shoving his emotions deep inside. There would be plenty of time to fall apart later; right now Merlin needed him. Firmly, he turned to the knight that had accompanied him.

“Sir Ector,” he said, in a voice that most in the castle knew to listen and obey. “I require hot and cold water, clean rags and bandages, and warm bedding, as well as honey and more of my store of cloves and yarrow!”

“Gaius…” the knight said, something like doubt passing over his face as he hesitated.

“My orders were to see that the boy lives, were they not?” Gaius pressed angrily. The knight nodded. “Then bring me what I need!”

Sir Ector stared at him a moment longer, then nodded again, a small, solemn shake of the head. He quickly closed the cell door once more, Gaius hardly caring that he was now locked inside with Merlin, and then hurried off, his footsteps echoing on the stone as the cell dimmed slightly with the loss of one of the torches.

“Ga’s?” a thready whisper sounded in the lonely silence and the old man turned back to his boy, whose hair he was still carding gently.

“Yes, Merlin, it’s me. I’m here,” he answered brokenly.

“Ga’s,” the boy repeated, shifting a little, his face twisting in pain as he fought the pull of unconsciousness. “’M s’rry. S’rry. Used m’gic…”

“Sh, my boy. It’s all right. I’m not angry,” Gaius lied. The truth was, Gaius was so angry it hurt inside, like a giant burn, but that anger was not directed at Merlin but rather at Uther and his cold-hearted cruelty and stubbornness.

Merlin reached out weakly searching for Gaius with a shaking hand, and the physician grasp it tenderly in his own.

“Dark, Gaius,” Merlin whispered, gaining a little strength in his words with the physical contact. “He took them. He made it…dark,” the young warlock’s voice cracked on the last word.

“I know, Merlin,” Gaius said, tears falling again. “I’m so sorry!”

“You fix?” the boy asked next, and what was left of Gaius’s heart shattered. Gently, he removed the filthy cloth and saw the sagging eyelids for the first time, before bowing his head in renewed sorrow.

“No, my boy, I cannot. Not even magic can fix this.”

A little sob shook Merlin’s body and his grip tightened on Gaius’s hand, but he simply pursed his lips and nodded. “I know,” he whispered.

They sat in silence for a moment, sharing their loss and grief, before Merlin spoke again.

“A’thur?” he asked, his face turning toward Gaius urgently.

“He’s going to be fine. You saved him,” the old man soothed, once more running his free hand through Merlin’s hair. “More than that, he has completely accepted your magic and is worried sick about you,” Gaius pressed on, relieved to finally have some good news. He glanced around, to make sure they were still alone, and then leaned close. “Uther has made me promise not to tell him about you, but I assure you that when I can, when the time is right and Uther has dropped his watch and his guard, I will…” He trailed off as Merlin began rapidly shaking his head and fidgeting, even as he groaned at the pain it caused him. “Merlin, what? What is it?”

“No,” the boy stressed, gripping his hand tightly and struggling like he was trying to sit up. “No. Can’t tell Arthur! Can’t! Never!”

Gaius pushed him back down and Merlin’s weakened body complied, though he continued to protest. “Why, Merlin?” Gaius asked in distress. “Arthur could help you! Maybe manage to save you from this place!”

“No,” Merlin argued again, though his voice was losing what little energy he had found. “Uther’d ‘urt him. Must keep safe! An’ now useless. Broken. No, Ga’s, ne’er tell!”

“Merlin –”

Merlin suddenly levered himself up with great effort onto one elbow and clenched Gaius’s hand, turning his face so he would be staring right at the old man if he’d still had eyes to stare with. “Promise, Ga’s. Promise!”

“I…I…” Gaius started to protest, then stopped, bowing his head in defeat. “I promise, Merlin,” he muttered sadly, knowing in his heart that his promise to Merlin held far more weight than his words to Uther ever would. Still, deep in his heart he added a clause to his vow, one Merlin never needed to know about, that said he would break this oath on one of two occasions, depending on which occurred first: the death of Uther Pendragon, or his own passing. He would honor his boy’s wishes and stay silent, but not forever. Maybe time and healing would help change Merlin’s mind, restore his faith in himself and his understanding of his worth to others. Gaius would do everything in his power to convince him to change his mind.

With a groan, Merlin collapsed back onto the hard wood, his hand falling away from Gaius’s grip as his strength oozed away. “Th’k ‘ou,” he breathed and then fell silent, allowing both of them to hear the sound of returning footsteps.

They said nothing more as Gaius waited for Sir Ector and the supplies. When the knight emerged into the cellblock, the physician saw that he had recruited both guards to help carry everything, their arms full. Shoving emotions and thoughts of despair from his boy’s pleas aside, the old man went to work.

With gentle, melancholy hands, he treated his boy the best he could – finding wounds, washing and binding them, applying stitches when needed, and tenderly soothing all with honey and herbs. His heart broke again when he discovered the boy’s crippled foot, but he held in his tears and treated it like the rest. There was little he could do for the empty eye sockets besides wash and bind them, but thankfully the heinous act had been done cleanly. Finally, he helped Merlin drink the cool, clear water and then followed it with a generous dose of painkiller.

After he was done, he implored Sir Ector to lift his son – which the knight surprisingly agreed to without protest – while he spread the warm bedding onto the stark wooden slab that served as a bed, and then carefully tucked his boy into the blankets after making him as comfortable as he could.

“I will return tomorrow,” he whispered to his already sleeping son, glancing up at Sir Ector to see if he would dare contradict his words, but the knight remained impassive. “Try to rest,” he added, soothing his hand across Merlin’s forehead and hair one last time, before standing and gathering his satchel.

Leaving Merlin behind in that cell – chained and blind and alone – was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he forced his tired legs to shuffle forward, knowing he had to appear to obey if he was to keep this privilege of visiting and helping his son. Still, he had to close his eyes as he heard the lock click and didn’t move until Sir Ector laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Come, Gaius,” the knight said softly. “We will return on the morrow.”

Feeling broken, exhausted, and ages old, Gaius opened his eyes and followed the knight back to the castle proper.

*****

“Physician!”

Gaius jerked awake with a groan at the sound of the demanding voice barging into his head unwanted.

After seeing Merlin and leaving his damaged boy behind, it had taken Gaius ages to fall sleep. Only the fact that he was no longer a spry, young man – that his aged body demanded rest no matter how much his troubled mind and broken heart resisted it – had led him to succumb to slumber. And now…

“Physician!”

…he was being summoned in the dead of night by an angry dragon. No wonder Merlin had always looked so annoyed when he’d sneaked from their chambers on his not-as-stealthy-as-he-thought midnight dragon rendezvous.

Thoughts of his missing ward quickly sobered Gaius, all that had happened crashing back down and rousing him more effectively than any smelling salt or potion. Slowly, he dragged his aching bones from his bed and donned his robes once more.

The trip to the dungeons was a path that was becoming all too familiar. He passed the place where the hidden door to the King’s Dungeon was and sent up another silent prayer to the gods for his boy’s sake, but forced himself to keep walking past it.

As he approached the regular guard room he paused, trying to think of a plan. There were no prisoners in the normal dungeons at the moment, so he couldn’t use the excuse of being called to visit one of them, and he really had no other idea of what to say to gain him entrance, especially since it was highly possible Uther had issued orders to restrict his entrance anyway.

That left magic. Which he had sworn to never use again. Sworn to a king that had now lost all of his loyalty.

He sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound…

It was harder than it should have been to recall the words to the spell, but a few whispers later and the guards were slumped at their game of dice, sleeping peacefully.

A wave of dizziness washed over Gaius, his body unaccustomed to the use of even that little amount of power after so many years, but he forced himself forward and slipped around them, heading down to the dragon’s prison. As he rounded the corner and was out of sight, he lifted the spell. It wouldn’t do to have someone stumble upon the guards asleep at their posts and arouse suspicion. He would just have to repeat the process when he left so he could safely return to his chambers.

The path was long and dark, and every twist or turn pulled his thoughts back to Merlin. Finally, he emerged into the cavern below.

Kilgharrah was waiting for him.

“Where is the young warlock?” the dragon demanded without preamble.

Gaius sighed and seated himself wearily on a boulder.

“Merlin cannot come to you,” he said quietly.

“What has happened?” the dragon spat angrily. “Two days ago I sensed ancient, evil magic destroying Camelot, and then it stopped. Since then I have tried repeatedly to contact the boy but have had no response! What has happened to him, old man? I demand you tell me!”

“Merlin has been…found out,” Gaius replied, unable to hide the emotion in his voice.

“NOOOOO!” Kilgharrah roared, throwing his head back, the force of his cries bringing dust and pebbles down from the roof of the cavern. “Curse Pendragon and his entire line! This death will bring about the destruction of us all!”

While Gaius secretly agreed, at least to the part about Uther, he didn’t say as much. Instead, he shook his head and attempted to interject into the dragon’s angry ranting.

“Merlin is not dead!” he cried forcefully. Kilgharrah paused. “His magic has been bound, and he’s been imprisoned, like yourself.”

“Then you must free him, Physician! At once! Before the monster who calls himself a king harms him!”

Gaius knew better than to open his mouth and tell the dragon that it was far too late for that. “I cannot!” he yelled, anger of his own flaring. “Do you not think I would do so if I could? I love the boy as my own son – I cannot bear to see him locked away and suffering! Did you not hear when I said he has been imprisoned like yourself?”

“You must think of a way,” Kilgharrah demanded haughtily, ignoring him.

Gaius’s temper snapped, the unreasonableness of a dragon the final straw on top of days of terror and helplessness. “He is collared and bound to the cell by a chain forged in magic!” he cried, jumping to his feet. “It is the same chain which holds you in this deplorable prison! Do you not think that had I a way to break it I wouldn’t have done it years ago, instead of leaving you down here to rot and fester, becoming more and more bitter and angry and full of revenge? I am an old man, as you love to remind me, but I remember you, Kilgharrah, from the days before the world lost its sanity, when dragons roamed free with their lords! You were kind then, and noble and brave. You can throw my cowardice and past transgressions in my face, remind me of my shame, but I am not the only one who has changed in the last twenty years!”

Kilgharrah glared at him, eyes flaming, and Gaius wondered if he had finally crossed a line and was about to be burnt to a crisp. But then the giant jaws snapped shut and the beast shifted, head dropping.

“That is the first shadow of the Gaius I once knew I have seen for years. Welcome back, my old friend. Now, tell me what has happened.”

Exhaustion and sadness washing through him once more, Gaius sat back on the rock and explained everything, though he judiciously left out exactly what had been done to Merlin as punishment.

“I am grateful for your talent of deception, old man,” the dragon said dryly after hearing of the lie Gaius had spun to save both their lives. “Though, it may not all be a fiction.”

“You believe they are actually connected?”

“Yes, though that connection is much deeper and older than the little bit of fancy magic the young warlock performed for the prince. It has been foretold for ages. It is their destiny.”

“Is it also Merlin’s destiny to spend his life locked in a madman’s cell?” Gaius asked bitterly. “He might be magic’s prophesied savior, but what everyone forgets is that he is still just a kind, gentle boy of not even seventeen summers yet.” His voice cracked unbidden on the end of his sentence.

“I do not know,” the dragon admitted sadly. “Destiny has gone dangerously off track and I cannot see how it may be saved. Perhaps it cannot.”

“So, what do we do now?” Gaius asked, heartbroken.

“You said the young prince has accepted the boy’s magic?”

Gaius nodded, remembering the one glimmer of light in all the dark tragedy.

“Then now more than ever, the fate of the entire future rests on young shoulders of the Pendragon prince.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Arthur woke to the first glimmer of dim sunshine trying to fight its way through the fabric of his curtains. He opened his mouth to yell at his incompetent manservant for failing at his job once again when the memories of the last few days crashed back into him and he gasped at the force of them.

“Merlin!” he muttered urgently, and threw the covers away as he jumped out of bed.

The pull of new skin and lingering soreness reminded him that he’d been injured (should have been dead – again) and was still healing, but a peek beneath the bandages convinced him it was fine to ignore the ache. The wound was almost gone, and even the twinge of the Questing Beast’s bite had disappeared.

He suddenly paused in the act of pulling his tunic over his head, a strange conversation from a month ago flashing through his mind. Merlin – appearing to say goodbye. Arthur – surviving something not possible to survive.

That skinny, incompetent idiot had done it then, too, hadn’t he! Done something dangerous and highly illegal to save the prince’s own skin.

And how many other times had he done it in the past?

With a frustrated growl, Arthur yanked the shirt down and then threw on the rest of his clothes with renewed vigor. He was so intent on stuffing various things into a satchel, wondering where exactly Merlin kept most of what he wanted, that he almost missed the urgent but quiet knock on his door.

Panicked, he shoved the pack under the rumpled covers of the unmade bed and sat on the edge, trying not to look guilty as he hollered, “Come!”

Morgana and Guinevere slipped quickly inside, closing the door. The king’s ward looked at him and gave an uncharacteristic sigh of relief.

“So, you are alive,” she said, trying to sound her normal self and failing completely.

“Of course, I’m alive. Why would you think I wasn’t?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because Uther seems to have completely lost his mind, refusing to tell me anything, refusing to let me speak to Gaius, and then…after what happened to Merlin!” Her voice grew in anger as she spoke, her customary fire returning as she began pacing the room. “For all we knew, you could have died and he was trying to keep it hidden!”

Two days ago, Arthur would have shot up, launching into an argument about how that was his father and her king she was accusing of madness, but somehow, that desire had just fizzled away as he thought of his missing servant…

“Wait, what?” he cried, suddenly catching the end of her words. “What happened to Merlin?” he demanded, surging to his feet, terrified that something else had happened while he slept.

“He’s been banished,” Guinevere spoke softly, sounding very near tears. “Didn’t you know?”

“Your father ordered him taken to the Perilous Lands!” Morgana was seething. “The Perilous Lands! Some reward for saving the country, and your life –” she continued, but Arthur stopped listening, his heart unclenching slightly.

Banished, as his father had said. But not burned. They weren’t here to tell him of the pyre Uther had ordered built while he was asleep. Or even of one two days before. They weren’t here to tell him that on top of it all, his father had lied to him when he was most vulnerable.

Merlin was still alive. Injured, alone, and highly incapable of taking care of himself, but alive. And that meant Arthur could find him.

“Well, I’m not dead,” he said shortly, breaking into Morgana’s rant. “So, you can go now.” It wasn’t that he was angry with her, but he couldn’t very well sneak out to rescue his hapless servant while they were standing in his room.

Morgana exploded.

“Don’t you care at all? Doesn’t it bother you that your servant, who follows you around like a loyal puppy and just saved your life, has been banished to the worst place on earth? Can’t you see the unfairness? That what Uther is doing is wrong? I thought you learned this lesson, back when Merlin drank poison for you! Thought you’d grown a little! I can’t –”

Arthur’s temper flared at the unfair accusations. “Of course I care!” he shouted, running his hand through his hair. “But there’s nothing I can do right now so if you could –”

“Morgana,” Guinevere’s soft voice cut through their argument and they both turned. Unnoticed by either of the royals, the quiet serving girl had been straightening Arthur’s chambers – to keep herself busy and because she’d seen a need and a way she could help. She’d just started making Arthur’s bed and was now holding up the lumpy, incriminating pack that she’d discovered hiding under the covers, a small, knowing smile on her face.

Morgana stared for just a moment, then turned to Arthur who was a fighting a strange mix of anger and embarrassment.

“You’re sneaking off?” she asked shrewdly, eyebrow cocked.

“Well, I would if people would stop dropping in without notice!” he grumbled impatiently.

Morgana smirked, though it looked a lot more like a smile. “It seems that for once, I have underestimated you,” she said loftily. “Come on, Gwen,” she added, turning on her heels. “Let’s leave Arthur to get on with it.”

Guinevere set his bag back on the bed and turned to obey her mistress, but she paused by Arthur and tentatively placed a hand on his arm. “Find him, please,” she whispered pleadingly. “Keep him safe.”

Arthur nodded firmly. That was exactly his plan. Guinevere nodded gratefully back and then followed Morgana from the room.

When the door closed, Arthur let out a sigh of relief and then burst back into action. He slung up his pack, strapped on his sword, then grabbed his oldest, least-adorned cloak from the wardrobe and rushed out of the servants’ entrance. The fleeting thought crossed his mind that he shouldn’t just abandon his duty like this. He should report to his father, help with repairs to the damaged castle and city, deal with angry visitors who had arrived for a tournament that had now been canceled, but then he remembered the look of pure goodness he’d seen on Merlin’s face right before he blacked out as the boy saved him with magic, remembered the agonized screams he knew had been real that had pulled him back to consciousness, and he squared his shoulders and didn’t turn around.

Arthur made it to the stables without meeting anyone else in the eerie shadows of early morn, but his luck ran out when he entered the dimly-lit building. A figure rose stiffly from a pile of straw, slapping dust from his clothes.

“Leon?” Arthur asked, staring in surprise. “Were you sleeping in the straw?”

“Sleep is a very generous term for it,” the normally good-natured knight grumbled.

“Why?” Arthur blurted, beyond puzzled.

The knight reached down and picked up a pack that had been hidden before. “Because princes who are disobeying their father’s wishes don’t normally send out messengers to announce their departures,” the man muttered.

Arthur felt sure that some of Gaius’s medicine must still be running through his veins because his knight was making absolutely no sense. Leon saw his confusion and laughed, stepping toward him with a rather pronounced limp and gripping his shoulder.

“When I heard you had awakened, I knew it was only a matter of time before you’d end up here, and I also knew that this is not a quest you should undertake alone.”

“So, you slept in the stables so you could catch me sneaking off so you could sneak off with me?” the prince fought the urge to laugh.

“Well,” the knight admitted, limping over and beginning to saddle his horse, “to be honest I rather expected you to come in the middle of the night.”

Now Arthur did laugh, turning to see to his own horse. “I would have, but my father had Gaius drug me,” he finished bitterly. Then his frown returned. “Are you sure you are fit for this, Leon? You’re obviously injured.”

“I will manage fine, don’t worry about me.”

Arthur felt a swelling of affection for the older man, wondering what exactly he had done to deserve the good and loyal people who surrounded him, working in the shadows and asking for no reward or praise. He was starting to discover just how many of them existed and it was humbling. “Leon,” he said seriously, stepping toward the knight and extending his arm to grasp the older man in the knight’s grip. “Thank you,” he said honestly.

“It’s an honor, Sire.”

“This isn’t without risk, though,” Arthur went on, all laughter gone as he thought of the very sobering reality of what he was doing. He was defying his father, but his father was also the king. “The king is not in a forgiving mood. I will pay for this when I return, I’m certain. I can’t be sure I will be able to protect you from his wrath.”

“I’m not asking for your protection, sire. I’m aware of what I’m doing and what I’m risking,” Leon answered firmly. “A knight must be loyal to his king and his vows, but a man must also be loyal to the convictions of his heart. Sometimes, when those are at odds, a man must choose. I’m making that choice, of my own free will, Arthur, because eventually kings and kingdoms will change –” he leveled a very pointed look at Arthur that once again made him feel humbled – “but a man has to live with his choices and actions forever.”

“Still, I don’t want to see you in trouble for this, Leon,” Arthur answered, moved by the knight’s honest confession. “It would probably be much easier if I just went alone, as I planned.”

“What? And let that night in the straw be for nothing?” Leon cried, in mock outrage. “Arthur, remember who taught you to be stubborn. Like it or not, you have my loyalty and my help. This is the right thing to do; it’s the noble thing to do, and I’m coming. I’ve been relieved of duty for several weeks because of my injury, and what a knight does in his free time is up to him. Besides, I’d much rather ride out with you than lie in bed and drink those vile potions Gaius concocts.”

“HA!” Arthur laughed, slinging himself up onto his horse. “You’re sneaking off, too! Perhaps it’s not my father we should fear when we return, but rather Gaius!”

Leon grimaced, using it to hide the wince as he copied the prince’s actions and mounted his horse.

“Still, thank you. I know what you’re risking,” Arthur added again.

“You’re my prince,” Leon said with conviction, and Arthur again detected something different – some measure of respect and loyalty and honor that had changed slightly, perhaps deepened – in that statement. It sobered him and filled him with a new sense of purpose. It was something he’d have to talk to Merlin about, once he found the idiot. He nodded at Leon, and then the two eased their horses quietly from the stables and out into the still-sleeping town.

00000

Dark.

Merlin’s whole world was dark now. It didn’t matter if he was sleeping or awake, the darkness was ever-present, like a second skin.

And cold. Everything around him was cold and so horribly still.

The thickness of the receding sleep and the bitter coating left on his tongue told Merlin he was rousing from the depths of one of Gaius’s potions, and as the constant, gnawing pain returned full force he couldn’t deny that he was completely awake.

Still, the darkness remained – pressing in, smothering, mocking.

And always would. Because Uther had taken his eyes.

He was blind.

Merlin had never been afraid of the dark, perhaps because even though his life had been hard, he’d always felt protected and loved. His mother had taught him to live life boldly and without fear, to be the light when the darkness tried to crowd in. And of course, he’d never really been helpless or completely lost – he’d always had his magic to protect him and light the way, except that now, Uther had stolen that, too. For the first time in his life, Merlin was truly helpless.

And so, for the first time, he was also very much afraid of the dark.

“Gaius?” he whispered, his voice rough and broken, like a half-swallowed sob.

There was no answer.

“Anyone?” he tried again, but all he heard was the faint echo of his own words off the stone of an empty, undefined space.

He shuddered and fell silent, even more frightened now he knew he was blind and alone.

That fear grew as the hours passed, to the point it outweighed the pain of his injuries. No matter how much he hurt, he couldn’t stand lying there, stretched out and exposed, so he forced himself to move. He shifted and moaned, discovering limbs bound in chains that clanked and rattled eerily in the cold blackness, until he’d managed to wedge himself into the far corner of the pallet bed. Then he sat there, back against the hard stone wall, uninjured leg pulled up to his chest and the blankets he’d found wrapped tightly around his shaking figure, his bandaged face pressed against his knee and the fingers of his hand tightly gripping the cold, iron bars of the cell wall to his right, as if that contact could somehow ground him in this new, terrifying world of darkness and silence.

It was in that position that Gaius found him, hours later and body gone stiff from pain and fright, when the old man was finally allowed to make his welfare visit.

“Oh, Merlin, my boy,” he heard his mentor sigh as a gentle hand touched his skin that had started to sweat, the first signs of a fever and infection.

“Gaius,” Merlin breathed, leaning into the hug his friend offered, but still refusing to give up his white-knuckle grip on the bars.

“You should be lying down,” the old man chided gently.

“The darkness was smothering me,” Merlin answered softly, and while he was rather sure Gaius didn’t understand his statement, the physician didn’t press it. “You’re allowed to visit?” he asked to change the subject, feeling some of the fear slip away now he wasn’t alone. He heard the sound of a lock clicking, of footsteps moving off, and realized for the first time that a guard must have brought Gaius to him, had relocked them both in whatever cell had become Merlin’s new home, and had now left them for the time being.

“Yes, for now, to help treat your injuries. And you’ve developed a fever.”

“I know,” Merlin replied. “My foot is burning. And a spot on my left side.”

Gaius clucked his tongue, and then Merlin endured several long, painful moments as the physician worked to flush infection and rebind his wounds.

“The guard left your supper. Could you eat a little, before I give you the pain medicines that will make you sleepy?”

“I’ll try,” Merlin said quietly. He’d try anything, if it meant prolonging the time Gaius could be with him. “But first…the privy hole…can you help me?” he asked, ashamed to need assistance but aware now of another pressing need he couldn’t keep ignoring.

It was inelegant and clumsy, Merlin hopping and leaning heavily on Gaius, tripping over lengths of cumbersome chains, but together they succeed in getting the warlock where he needed to be, accomplishing the task, and returning to the uncomfortable bed, where Merlin lay winded from just that small exertion.

“Arthur has sneaked off to go looking for you,” Gaius said quietly as he brushed gentle hands through Merlin’s dingy hair. “He accepts you, Merlin, magic and all.”

A warmth flooded Merlin for the first time since he was brought to this horrible dungeon, though he couldn’t bring himself to smile. “He will be a great king,” he whispered in return, grateful his sacrifice hadn’t been completely in vain.

“I could tell him…someday…when he returns…” Gaius started, but Merlin shook his head quickly, knowing exactly what the old man was implying.

“No,” he said firmly. “He must never know, Gaius. You promised.”

Gaius sighed, but said nothing else on the matter. “Can you eat now? There’s broth and some hard bread.”

It was hardly a feast, but given he was a condemned sorcerer being held in the darkest, most secret prison in the land, Merlin knew it could have been a lot worse. He struggled back to his corner with Gaius’s help, and then swallowed the few shreds that remained of his dignity and allowed his almost-father to feed him.

After a while, footsteps sounded beyond his cage as someone approached. “Gaius, it’s time to go,” an unknown voice said.

“Just a moment,” his old friend replied to the guard, then Merlin felt the edge of a vial press against his lips.

“Drink this to help fight the infection,” Gaius ordered.

He obeyed, gagging slightly on the taste.

“And this for the pain and to help you sleep,” his friend said, presenting one more.

Merlin swallowed again, and then Gaius’s hands were urging him out of his corner and back down on the hard bed, fussing with blankets and smoothing over his hair before gripping his own hands tightly.

“Don’t succumb to the darkness, my boy,” the old man leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Fight to keep the light. You are strong, the strongest person I know, and you can survive this. Now rest, and I will return as soon as I can.”

Sadly, Merlin nodded, even as he was forced to let go of Gaius’s warm, familiar hands. He listened as his mentor gathered up his things and left the cell, the lock clicking into place once more. As the sound of footsteps faded away, the boy slipped his fingers back out from under the blankets and resumed his desperate grip on the iron bars of his new home, the tears he’d refused to let fall while Gaius was there to see now wetting the bandage around his missing eyes as he gave in to the pull of the sleeping draught.

Author’s Note: I’m late again, but only by a week. Also, I’m sure I will find a million glaring typos when I look at this in the morning, but I’m still throwing this up tonight because if I don’t, it will be another week before I get to it. I’ll just have to fix anything I come across that I missed later.

Again, thank you to everyone who is reading and following. As always, I’d love to hear what you think.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Merlin dreamed of his mother that night. All during the hours of his drug-induced slumber she danced through his head, the way he remembered her from his childhood – laughing at his little jokes and holding him close when his boyish heart broke and the tears came flowing out, when the place that was supposed to mean home and safety rejected him again and again because he was different.

“The world will not always be kind, my little bird,” she soothed. “But you always can be. And the world will sometimes be dark and cruel, but you don’t have to let it win. There is a light inside you, Merlin. Share it – it’s your gift. What makes you special.”

He woke to the same darkness as before, but somehow her words still seemed to echo in his mind, making it less fearsome.

He would never see her again – never again be held in her arms – but he still knew what she would want.

Don’t let them win, Merlin.

Keep your light, Merlin.

His mother would want him to fight.

Gaius wanted him to fight.

Even Arthur, though his friend could never know the truth, would want him to fight.

Merlin thought of his prince, defying his father to try and find him.

He thought of Gaius, willing to risk death for his sake.

He thought of a dragon – chained and left alone in the dark for twenty long years, filled with bitterness.

And he realized no matter how scared he was, how much he now hated Uther, he didn’t want to become the same.

He might now be fated to live in the dark, trapped in a small stone and metal box, but somehow, he knew he still wanted that life to make his mother proud.

The black still pressed in, stealing his breath… The cold silence still made him shiver and twist and feel so very alone… The bed was hard, the chains restrictive, and his wounds throbbed… There was a hole left deep in his soul where his magic used to sing that ached like a severed limb… And the all-encompassing fear did not suddenly go away. But he stubbornly clung to the memory of his mother – of home and light and goodness – while his battered fingers gripped the metal bars like a lifeline, and he forced himself to promise her that he would not give up.

Somehow, he would not change, not let the darkness win. That was his vow.

*****

The flames of a small fire danced merrily, eating through the dry wood and filling the dark clearing with the comforting scent of smoke. Arthur and Leon sat in silence on either side of the little blaze, each lost in thought. Arthur stared at the fiery tongues, mesmerized by the shapes they created, soothed by their warmth.

Did Merlin have a fire tonight, wherever he was?

Was he warm? Was he safe? Was he hurt?

Suddenly, the friendly, little flames morphed in the prince’s mind. They grew and intensified, became the angry inferno of a pyre, burning hungrily through wood and cloth and flesh, devouring a terrified, dark-haired boy…

Arthur blinked and looked away, shaking his head to clear the vile image. “What do you think of magic, Leon?” he asked his companion quietly.

The knight looked up, pulled out of his own musing. He took a moment before speaking, obviously gathering his thoughts. “I think that it is far more nuanced and complex than we have been taught to believe,” he finally answered carefully.

“Do you believe it’s evil?” Arthur pressed, leaning forward earnestly.

“It can be. We both know that – we’ve seen it.”

“But it’s not always,” the prince filled in. His hand drifted to his chest, rubbed at the bandage that covered an almost-healed wound that should have been mortal. “What Merlin did, it wasn’t evil was it.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Leon agreed.

Arthur sighed, shifting on the ground and running his fingers through his hair as his thoughts continued to whirl. He was confused, angry, somewhat frightened, and so many other emotions he didn’t even know a person could feel all at once. “All my life – everything I’ve ever been taught – everything my father and Camelot stand for…how can it all be wrong?”

“It’s not all wrong,” the knight answered quickly. “Your father is a good king. But even good fathers and good kings have flaws.”

“He sent Merlin away, without question, even though Merlin saved my life,” said Arthur, anger creeping back in. “He would have killed him, if he wasn’t my servant.”

Leon didn’t answer that statement and for a while they fell silent, but Arthur’s thoughts were plaguing him and refused to be held back.

“I should be angry with him, you know. Furious. I mean, the idiot has lied to me for a year now, breaking the law right under my nose! I should abhor magic, like my father, and hate the very thought of Merlin, want him dead or rotting in jail…”

“But you don’t,” Leon prodded gently.

Arthur shook his head. “No, I don’t. I mean…he’s Merlin! The boy stops to help worms off the flagstones after a rainstorm. How could he be evil?”

Leon laughed. “I know what you mean. But, are you sure it isn’t more than that? Perhaps the fact that he’s also your…friend?”

Arthur frowned, shifting away from the flames and reaching for his sword, an unconscious gesture whenever he felt slightly vulnerable or off-kilter. “He’s just my servant, not my friend. Besides, princes can’t have friends,” he said shortly.

“I thought we’d already established that not everything your father taught you was the truth,” Leon quietly answered back, his words bolder than normal.

Arthur refused to answer that, though the truth of it rang through him uncomfortably. “Did you know?” he finally asked, when the silence stretched too thin. “That he had magic?”

“No,” Leon answered. “Though I probably should have, as I think back now.”

“Do you think anyone knew?” Arthur asked, strangely relieved by the fact that Merlin had been lying to everyone, not just to him.

“Gaius,” Leon answered firmly.

The truth of that statement slammed into Arthur hard. Of course the old man knew. Merlin was like his son; he would do anything to protect him. “So that’s why Gaius has fallen from my father’s favor,” the prince muttered quietly.

“Truthfully, he’s lucky he kept his head,” the knight said darkly.

Arthur frowned. Gaius was indispensable to the kingdom, and the closest thing Arthur had to family outside of his father. To know he was living in fear, was in danger in his own home… It added to the anger and horrid confusion the prince was already feeling. “We should sleep,” he said abruptly, tired of conversation. “I’ll take first watch – your leg needs rest,” he ordered, falling back into command. It was the truth, but he also needed time in silence with his own thoughts to figure out exactly what he was feeling.

Leon nodded and settled down on his bedroll without argument. A seasoned knight able to grab a bit of sleep anywhere, it wasn’t long before his quiet snores joined the crackle of the wood in the clearing. Arthur, however, remained wide away, his thoughts in turmoil as he kept his gaze on the deceptively innocent flames.

*****

All his life, Merlin had never been very good at being still. Even when injured or sick, which had been often in his childhood, he’d fought the need to stay down and heal. Gaius had often told him that he deserved to grow up to be a physician, as revenge for being the worst patient ever.

Now, as the hours of what he thought was his third day in his cell wore on, he found himself growing restless, despite the fact he was still terrified and in pain.

Don’t let them win, Merlin, he kept hearing his mother’s voice whisper in his mind.

He sighed, even that small sound echoing strangely in the unknown darkness, and forced the numb fingers of his right hand to release their anchor-hold on the grid of bars. The world around him was a formless void, which only fueled his sense of panic and terror. But he wouldn’t be going anywhere better for well…ever. Somehow, he needed to know what was around him, to give some kind of definition to this space where he would need to carve out the rest of his sad life.

Using the bars for leverage, he sat up and pushed himself back to his corner again where he could lean against the stone wall.

“Start small,” he whispered.

He took a deep breath and reached stiffly for his own bare feet. With slow, careful fingers he felt the metal cuffs that circled his ankles, judged their width and thickness, where they were rough and how close they were to his skin. His legs were sore and bruised beneath them (as were his wrists,) leftover gifts from when he’d struggled while bound to Uther’s torture slab.

Those were thoughts he didn’t want to dwell on; he quickly slipped his fingers down to find the chain that connected the shackles, following it link by link, trying to gauge its length so he could memorize it.

“About two feet,” he whispered again, forcing himself to speak out loud to combat the silence but unable to summon anything more than a whisper yet.

Next, he gently examined his injured foot. There was no change to his inability to move it, but he still had feeling and the wounds appeared to be healing better now that Gaius had flushed out the infection. Maybe somehow, with patience and creativity, he could figure out a way to still get around.

“Not like I have far to go anyway,” he muttered.

After that, he moved quickly up his own body, using his fingers to examine his hurts, find the ragged state of his clothing, discover how much give he had in the manacles on his wrists. He hesitated slightly when he reached his neck, not even wanting to touch the thing that had cut him off from his magic.

Merlin had heard about chains that could restrain a sorcerer’s magic, but he had always rather hoped they were just a myth. After all, magic was everywhere – it came from the earth and the air, from the heart and the soul. How could a piece of metal stop the very force of life?

But somehow, through dark magic he couldn’t even begin to comprehend, someone had figured out how to do just that, because the proof was locked cold and solid around his own neck.

Grimacing, he brushed his fingers across the offending metal. He expected to find it smooth and unmarked like the bands on his wrists and ankles were, but he was surprised. Cut deep into the surface were harsh lines that circled the entire piece.

“Runes,” he breathed as his mind finally lit up, though knowing that didn’t bring him any closer to understanding what the collective symbols meant no matter how carefully he examined them.

Eventually, he gave up. Instead he took a moment to feel the chain that was attached to the collar. He knew it tethered him to his cell, that it was locked to a ring stuck fast in the very stone of the back wall, but he didn’t know how long it was, how far he could move. He would have to figure that out…but later; he wasn’t quite done.

Taking a deep breath, his reluctant fingers traveled upward to his face. It was the first time he had touched it since Uther took his eyes. He didn’t reach for his wounded eye-sockets – couldn’t yet bear the thought of feeling emptiness where it never should have been – but he did allow them to trace the edges of the bandage, follow it around his head, try to accept that it was as much a part of his appearance now as his beloved neckerchief used to be.

Arthur used to tease him mercilessly about his fashion choices. At first, when they were just getting to know each other and the prince had been a much bigger prat, it had been a bit mean.

“What’s that thing?”

“Raiding the rag pile again, Merlin?”

But Arthur had changed, grown up a lot, and now the teasing was much more good-natured…like the ribbing between brothers.

“Don’t forget your neck-warmer, Merlin…”

“There’s a spot on my boot, Merlin. Just use your neckerchief…no one will know the difference…”

“We really need to update your wardrobe, Merlin. It’s embarrassing…”

He touched the bandages one last time and then lowered his hands to brush over the collar at his neck before he let them fall back into his lap, wondering bitterly what Arthur would think of these additions to his wardrobe.

“I finally lost the neckerchief, Arthur,” he whispered to the empty air.

“Only three days down here and the little sorcerer brat has already gone mad, talking to himself.”

Merlin jumped a mile at the unexpected voice from the front of his cell, shrinking back into his protective corner as his chains rattled. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even heard footsteps approach.

“Who’s there?” he asked hesitantly.

“Someone who’s glad to see the likes of you in this cell, though if you ask me, you should have been on a pyre instead. Still, at least this will be the easiest job in the kingdom, after what the king did to you… Walk down here five times a day to make sure a batty sorcerer whelp hasn’t flown the coop, then sit around playing cards for the rest of my shift.”

“You’re one of the guards,” Merlin said softly, trying to calm a heart that was still racing from the unwelcome surprise.

“And you’re a crippled blind bird in a cage, boy.” Merlin winced as the guard unknowingly stole his mother’s old pet name for him, turning the comforting word into a cruel sneer. The door on the front of his cell suddenly rattled threateningly. “Don’t get too comfy, little birdy,” the man snarled, and then Merlin heard him turn and stalk off, back to the path that would return him to the real world, where people who weren’t prisoners got to stay.

*****

The boy sat frozen for hours (at least it felt like hours, but he also had to admit that he’d completely lost his ability to track the passage of time) after the guard left, afraid to move. For the first time he realized how isolated he was – how vulnerable. Anyone could sneak up on him and he’d never know it. They could come and hurt him, drag him away, take him back to the torture chamber and he wouldn’t see it coming and couldn’t fight back. They could watch him, just creep up and observe his every moment, and he would never know! That guard had said he would check five times a day – had guards been checking on him five times a day since he was locked up and he’d never even noticed? Was the awful man standing there right now, watching and hating him?

His hair prickled and breath quickened, paranoia grabbing him hard, and he brought his good leg close, burying his face in his arms, his mind screaming.

I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to be here! PLEASE, LET ME OUT!

Please, LET ME SEE AGAIN!

Please! Gaius! Arthur! ANYONE!

But he didn’t dare let those anguished cries actually leak past his lips because now he realized that while he might feel so terribly alone, he could never really be sure that he was. His life was on display for the few who knew of his existence, and privacy was just one more thing Uther had taken away.

Don’t let them win, my son.

My boy, you must keep fighting.

The imagined voices of his mother and Gaius kept at him, though, nagging at his brain.

Come on, idiot, you’re usually a lot more stubborn than this.

And Arthur’s voice joined the others in his head.

“Shut up,” he muttered without raising his head, very near tears. “Just shut up and leave me alone.”

I’m the prince, Merlin. You can’t tell me to shut up. And I won’t leave you alone until you stop hiding.

“I’m in a cage,” the boy said back, fully aware that he was arguing with a voice in his own head, but too tired and hopeless to care. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

How do you know until you look?

Merlin raised his head from his arms and let it fall back against the cold stone behind him, sighing in defeat. He was locked in a dark pit in the ground, who knew how many miles away from a prince who didn’t even know where he was, and yet Arthur had wormed his way into Merlin’s existence and mind well enough that somehow, the prince was still yelling at him.

“Bloody prat,” he whispered, then forced himself to ignore the fear of who might be watching and unfold.

He spent the next chunk of time crawling around his cell on hands and knees, a painful and humiliating experience but another harsh, new reality of his life. The metal box was larger than he expected, but completely empty other than the pallet bed and the privy hole in the corner, and the front side that held the door was beyond his reach. The chain that attached to his neck abruptly choked him before he could reach it, but a vague sense of something in the space before him led him to believe that the wall of bars wasn’t too far away.

“Home sweet home,” he whispered, massaging his sore neck before rolling back onto his knees for another pass around the cell, slower this time so he could start to create a mental picture of the space. It was hard, building images through touch. It took so much concentration, not to mention the anguish crawling on the rough, stone ground caused his injuries and knees, that he actually forgot about the guard’s impending return until he was startled once again by a shout.

“Merlin! What happened?”

The boy paused his searching abruptly when he heard Gaius’s panicked cry and twisted so he was sitting on the ground, his chains clanking around him. He heard hurried footsteps and the door of his cell rattled.

“Open this up at once!” the physician demanded.

“Back off, old man,” the harsh voice from before spat and Merlin heard the very familiar sound of a weapon being drawn. Worry shot through the young warlock. He fully understood why the guards would be hostile toward him – Uther’s hatred of magic had been learned well by most of the people in the kingdom – but Gaius was liked and respected.

“I’m under orders to check on him,” Gaius responded, though Merlin detected a tremble of fear in the words that most people wouldn’t catch.

“Brat’s just on the floor, not dead. Now step back, or you can join him.”

“I’m fine, Gaius,” Merlin muttered shakily, trying to reassure his mentor even as his own mind raced at the thought of what all this meant, fear returning.

There was rustling and undefinable noises for a moment, the click of the lock opening, and then Gaius shuffled quickly inside. He was followed by the clatter of a tray being carelessly thrown on the ground, spilling what it held.

“Make sure the sorcerer brat eats,” the guard laughed, and Merlin was sure it was his dinner that was now scattered across the filthy floor. “You have an hour.” Then the door clanged shut and the faceless guard stomped off.

Various bundles dropped with small thumps as Gaius rushed to his side. “What’s happened?” his old friend repeated, crouching with difficulty before him, his gentle, warm hands touching his face and arms, looking for new injuries.

Merlin reached out shakily, groping until he found the physician’s arm.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! He’d been so stupid! Selfishly moaning and wallowing about his own fate, never once pausing to wonder what was happening to his friends and those he cared about. Gaius had stood up for him, defend him to the king, saved his life! Gaius had also sheltered and protected him for over a year, a crime punishable by death!

“Gaius!” he whispered in horror, gripping tightly and ignoring the man’s questions as he felt something building inside of him, something he’d been suppressing since his world had fallen apart. “You’re in trouble! Because of me and my magic! Because you cared for me! Are you a prisoner, too? Have they hurt you? Please, tell me!” he begged, tears starting.

“No, no, my boy,” Gaius soothed, his hands now on Merlin’s shoulders and face, trying to calm him, but the boy had been too long alone in the dark and silence with only his worst fears for company. He found he couldn’t stop the meltdown now it was started.

“He’s going to kill you, isn’t he!” Merlin wailed, his voice breaking. “As soon as I’m well enough, he’s going to kill you for protecting me! It’s all my fault and I can’t stop it this time!”

Merlin had never cared for Uther, but he’d also never really feared him either, believing with the innocence of youth that somehow luck and fate would protect him and if not, his magic would always be there if he really needed it. But the last few days had completely obliterated that delusion. He now knew exactly what kind of man Uther was and what he was willing to do. The king had tortured, crippled, and blinded a boy not even seventeen…locked him away…would have killed him without thought if he could…

Merlin truly feared Uther now, and the thought of what the mad king would do to this man he loved so much was more than he could take. So suddenly, he was sobbing, the pent-up sorrow and emotion he’d been unable to express for his own loss finding escape as he gripped the only father he’d ever known.

Then Gaius was next to him, sitting on the hard ground and gathering him into his arms, rocking and soothing.

“Sh, sh, Merlin. It’s okay, just breathe. It’s not true, I’m just fine. I’m not locked in a cell. I’m not going to be killed. I’m not in danger. Just breathe, my boy. I’m fine.”

“But…the guard…” Merlin hiccupped, unable to turn off the panic and tears now that he’d given them release. “They would never dare speak to you like that before! They respect you!”

“Uther is very, very angry and I’ll admit I’ve lost favor with the king,” Gaius said. “But I’m not going to die, Merlin. I promise.”

The chains on his wrists prevented Merlin from throwing his arms around the physician like he had only a month ago on the Isle of the Blessed, but he reached out and tightly clutched his robes, burying his face in Gaius’s shoulder as he soaked up the comfort of the familiar cloth, breathed deeply the aroma of herbs and wood smoke that teased of home. “I’m sorry, Gaius…” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry… It’s all my fault and I’m so sorry… Please forgive me…” he pleaded, his voice muffled.

A hand cupped the back of his head and loving arms pulled him close. “There is nothing to forgive, my boy.”

They stayed that way for a while as Merlin fought to calm down. Eventually, though, Gaius eased his hold and pulled away.

“Merlin, why are you over here on the ground? Did someone hurt you? What happened?”

The boy sniffed and wiped the back of a hand across his cheeks where tears had leaked from beneath his bandages, chains jangling with every movement. “I was just figuring things out,” he said quietly.

“Figuring what things out?” He heard Gaius stifle a groan as he climbed slowly to his feet.

“The space,” Merlin answered, crawling self-consciously back toward his bed before his friend could strain himself further by trying to help him stand and hop. He reached the hard, wooden ledge and clumsily managed to pull himself up and collapse onto it. “What’s around me.”

“Oh,” Gaius answered, his voice incredibly sad for just a moment before he slipped on his professional physician mask. “Your wounds are far from healed yet, my boy. You should not be crawling around in the dirt.”

“How else am I supposed to get around when no one is here?” Merlin replied, allowing Gaius to help him completely onto the bed and letting him fuss with the blankets.

Gaius sighed but didn’t answer, instead stepping away to retrieve his bags of supplies he dropped as well as salvage what he could of Merlin’s dinner from the ground.

“Tell me the truth,” Merlin said later as he nibbled on a dusty bit of cheese, propped once more in his safe corner while Gaius finished tying off the last bandage that had been changed. “Will my foot heal?”

“The wounds will close, yes.”

“But the ability to use it? Will I be able to move it again, walk on it?”

“I don’t believe so,” the old man answered sorrowfully, patting his hand. “I’m sorry, Merlin.”

So that was it. Permanently blind and crippled. Even if Merlin were ever to be released from his prison, he was essentially useless now anyway, no good to anyone, even as a servant.

He swallowed thickly and turned his face away – suddenly exhausted – but he won the fight to keep his emotions reined in this time. Tears wouldn’t change anything and he’d cried enough for one day.

“Tell me what I’ve missed,” he requested quietly. “Tell me about everyone.”

Gaius helped him lie down again, tucking surprisingly warm blankets around him, then settled carefully on the edge of his narrow bed and took his hand.

“Gwen came to see me today, worried about how I was coping with your absence. She’s volunteered to help take over some of your chores you used to help me with, until I can…until I…” His voice broke and he didn’t finish. Merlin was grateful. He wasn’t sure he could handle hearing about Gaius’s need to find a new apprentice now. “Anyway,” the old man continued rather thickly. “She’s very sad you’re gone and misses you.”

Merlin shifted his right hand – the one not clasped in Gaius’s aged ones – so his fingers could clutch the bars once more, a physical anchor in his dark void that was becoming an unconscious habit.

“Sir Leon, who was under strict physician’s orders to remain abed has disappeared,” Gaius continued, his voice lighter now. “I suspect him of sneaking off to keep our errant prince company.”

For the first time in a long while, Merlin let a tiny smile form. “I’m not the only bad patient,” he muttered tiredly.

“Indeed, my boy, you are not,” Gaius laughed gently.

As his mentor spoke quietly, filling him in on all the latest palace gossip – everything from the servants down to the kitchen cat who appeared to be pregnant again – the exertion of the day began to take its toll. He never even heard the guard return to order Gaius out; by then he was fast asleep and lost in a world of peaceful dreams where life was still light and good.

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the support! Your comments and reviews, as well as follows and likes mean so much to me! Life is a little stressful right now and they honestly keep me going. I wanted to apologize for not responding to any of them lately – trying to survive to the end of the school year. But I also wanted you to know that I read and cherish each review, and as soon as I can, I will be responding.

Thank you!

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Gwen felt like she was living in a daze since…the incident. Her eyes were perpetually red – though she tried to hide them – and her body felt numb. She went about her duties like a ghost, her body there but her mind caught up in a constant state of worry for her best friend.

Where was Merlin?

Was he hurt?

Was he lost?

Would Arthur be able to find him?

Was he…was he already dead?

The absence of Merlin felt as if a hole had been carved out of her own heart, and the wound was made deeper by the fact that Arthur was gone as well.

The fact that the prince had run off to try and find his servant, without question or prodding, stirred strange feelings in Gwen that she wasn’t even sure how to deal with, let alone what they might mean, so she buried them, shoving them deep inside, incapable of processing them at the moment when the sight of every pile of rubble or toppled wall was a reminder of the fact that Merlin was gone.

Kind, gentle, quirky Merlin – the boy who spread smiles and sunshine wherever he went – was gone, and once more someone she loved had been ripped from her because of the king’s fear and hatred.

Just like her father. She was still mourning him, still trying to heal, still trying to find a way back through her grief, and now it had happened again, with her dearest friend. True, Merlin wasn’t dead – she prayed that was true – but he was still gone.

It wasn’t fair. It was wrong and…

“OOF!”

The tray in Gwen’s arms went flying into the wall with a mighty clang as she rounded a corner and crashed right into another servant. Both fell to the floor in a messy and painful tangle, the sack the slightly younger boy had been carrying spilling open.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Gwen cried immediately, her cheeks glowing red as she pushed away from the lad. “I should have been watching where I was going!” she babbled, grabbing up the items that were scattered on the floor and trying to shove them back in the boy’s sack. “I’m so so –”

She stopped abruptly, freezing as it finally registered what she held in her fingers. A faded, worn and well-loved red neckerchief.

“’S all right, Gwen,” the boy – Roger she remembered absently – said, shoving what looked like a few pieces of paper and some bits of pretty glass back into the sack and taking it from her numb hands. “You okay?” he asked, helping her to her feet.

“Where are you taking that?” she whispered, her tray still lying forgotten on the ground.

“To the kitchens. Tim – one of the king’s guards…big and mean, missing a tooth…you remember him, right?”

Impatiently, Gwen nodded, finally snapping out of her shock and the stab of pain it had sent through her enough to gather up her tray and the dropped dishes.

“Well, the king gave him the sack and ordered it be destroyed…and Tim pushed the order off on me. Told me to take it out to the smithy and have it burned. But, I figured – a fire’s a fire, right? And the kitchens is a whole lot closer than the smith, so…”

With a jolt of relief, Gwen understood that neither the guard nor Roger had any idea what they were carrying – a bag containing the confiscated belongings of a convicted sorcerer.

“Well,” she said, willing her voice to stay light and not show the great fear and panic she was feeling inside, “I have to go there anyway. How about I take it for you, to apologize for not looking and knocking you down.”

“Oh, thanks, Gwen! You’ve just made my day! See, Daisy said she was off laundry after the dinner bell and I was hoping to meet her afore she started walking home and –”

Gwen cut him off with a nod and a smile, taking the sack he held out and clutching it so tight her knuckles turned pale in order to stop her hand from trembling. “Go. Walk your girl home,” she said with a little laugh. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Thanks again,” he called with a grin, and then was gone, vanishing around the corner at a breakneck pace.

The moment he was out of sight, Gwen sagged against the wall, tears forming as she hugged the large, lumpy bag close.

“Oh, Merlin,” she whispered, voice breaking.

She hid the sack while she returned the tray to the kitchens, they quickly lugged it from the castle, afraid at every moment someone who shouldn’t would notice. When she finally crept through her own door and locked it tightly behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. And then, as she reverently emptied the contents of the cloth bag onto her table, she finally let the tears flow.

Two worn and mended tunics and a pair of breeches.
A faded jacket and some boots that were more hole than leather.
A blanket and some thick socks.
Three beloved neckerchiefs.
A small mending kit with two carefully kept needles and some bits of string.
A few books, some handwritten notes and drawings, a tiny bundle of clearly treasured letters from Hunith, and then a fistful of what most would call rubbish but to a gentle, wonder-filled boy had been treasures – smooth rocks and colored glass, a shell and a broken button with the Pendragon crest.

Bag empty, Gwen sank onto a bench, staring at the small pile of belongings, all that were left of a boy the king was determined to make disappear, all because Merlin had saved them. It hurt so badly, like she was being cut in two. With a whimper, she pulled Merlin’s blanket around her shoulders and clutched a neckerchief to her heart, finally giving release to the grief that had threatened to consume her for the last week.

*****

Gaius had just returned from caring for Merlin, his heart heavy with sorrow and despair and his steps slow and weary, when there was a quiet knock on the door. He straightened and tried to paste a neutral expression over the exhaustion and grief, but when the door creaked open and Gwen’s gentle face peeked around it, he couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that made his shoulder’s sag. He didn’t have to pretend with the girl – she would understand.

“Gaius?” she said hesitantly. “May I come in?”

“Of course, my dear girl,” he said waving her forward.

She slipped inside, a large basket on her arm, and pushed the door closed, latching it.

“It’s late. Are you all right?” Gaius asked worriedly, shuffling to his cupboard and reaching for the remainder of a small loaf of bread. His heart throbbed quietly, thinking of Merlin and his pitiful rations, but he also knew he had to eat. He was Merlin’s only support – only connection to the outside world. He had to take care of himself, if only for his boy’s sake.

The maid seemed strangely nervous, her hands toying with the handle of her basket as she came up to the table and set it down. “Yes. I just…well, I know things have been hard for you since…since Merlin –” her voice cracked on the name “ – was taken away, and the king hasn’t let you leave and I know you don’t have help now, to run errands and make sure you have supplies, so I thought – ”

“Gwen,” Gaius broke in. He loved the girl dearly, but he really was too tired to sift through her rambling tonight.

She stilled and nodded. “I thought you might need a few things,” she finished.

Gratitude swelling, Gaius watched as she withdrew several loaves of brown bread, a crock of chilled milk, some cheese, a dried fish, and a few apples.

“Gwen” he cried, eyebrow climbing as he watched her, “this is too much! “I cannot accept all…”

“Please, Gaius,” she stopped him. “I want to help. And I know Mer…” Her voice threatened to crack again, but she straightened instead, her hands clamping firmly on the handle of the basket. “Merlin would want to see you are taken care of, Gaius, I know it. My mistress provides for all my needs and now that Father is gone…” She trailed off again and Gaius was reminded that he was not the only one who had recently suffered a loss. His expression softened as she finished. “Please let me share.”

“Thank you,” he said with heartfelt sincerity. She let go of the basket and wrapped her arms around him, holding on tightly. They stayed there for a moment, enjoying the comfort of a dear friend and the freedom to feel grief away from prying eyes, until Gaius pulled back. He intended to put the stores away, but when he glanced down at the still half-full basket, the corner of a very familiar piece of fabric caught his eye, poking out from beneath a covering cloth.

He froze.

“Gwen…” he whispered, clutching at the table. “What is this?”

The maid hurried to remove the cloth. Underneath lay a pile of precious treasures he never thought to see again.

“What have you done?” he exclaimed, fear making the words harsher than he meant.

“It was to be burned!” she defended quickly. “I bumped into a boy who was taking it all to be burned and I couldn’t…” She sucked in a deep breath, then pierced him with a challenging expression. “I couldn’t let them do that, Gaius. I just couldn’t! I couldn’t let them erase him so completely, as if he’d never existed! Like they did my father! So, I offered to carry the bag to the kitchens and then I just took it all. I kept two of the neckerchiefs – one for myself and one to give to Arthur when he returns – but I brought the rest here, and I don’t regret it. Merlin would want you to have it.”

A mix of emotions threatened to choke him. “Gwen, that was far too dangerous and risky!” he admonished, but still he reached with trembling fingers into the basket, desperate to touch the things that lay inside.

One by one, he pulled them out. Merlin’s clothes and blanket – a godsend really! Far from being sentimental about those particular items, he’d begun to worry how he could provide for a boy dressed in rags that no one was supposed to know existed. He set them aside, already plotting how he might smuggle at least the blanket down to help keep his boy warm. The books of medicine Merlin had been studying were next, and the physician couldn’t deny it was a blessing to have them returned.

But then, in the bottom of the basket beneath a ragged, much-loved blue scarf, Gaius found Merlin’s treasures. Bits of nothing to anyone else with no use or value, his sweet, kind boy had found beauty and joy so easily in the harsh world around him and collected the small reminders of it that he came across. As Gaius’s old fingers drew out the polished stones and colored glass, the sketches and scavenged trinkets, the emotions he’d worked so hard to hold back throughout the week finally overwhelmed him. Knees growing weak, he sank slowly onto the bench from combined sorrow and fatigue, Merlin’s keepsakes cupped in his hands.

Gwen sat next to him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. At first, they just sat in silence, gazing at physical reminders of a missing part of their hearts, but after a while she reached out a slender hand and brushed a piece of yellow glass, then turned a chipped button face forward, so the Pendragon crest would show.

“I scolded him at first,” Gaius said sadly. “When the window ledge began filling up with all of this…I called it nonsense. Told him his room was enough of a disaster without adding the rubbish of the whole kingdom to it.” He smiled, an achingly tight smile that felt more like a sob as he spread out the neckerchief, piling the treasures onto it. “Merlin just laughed. He said they were pretty and they made him smile. Power oozing through his body but colored rocks made him smile.”

“Do you really believe Merlin is still alive?” Gwen asked as Gaius reverently covered everything with the scarf. “Did the king really spare him?”

He sighed as he tucked the precious bundled into his pocket, fighting the urge to scoff with disdain. Spare him? What Uther had done to the boy hardly qualified as sparing anything, was no mercy. But he knew he could never tell Gwen the real truth, nor would he want her to know the horror that Merlin had suffered. Still this small comfort at least he could give her.

“Yes, Gwen, I do. I believe he’s still alive, and someday, he will come home.”

She squeezed him fiercely, then pulled away. “Thank you, Gaius,” she said, giving him a brave smile.

“No, child, thank you,” he answered, climbing stiffly to his feet and gesturing to Merlin’s belongings. “These mean the world to me, though I must beg you never to take such a risk again! If I were to lose you as well…” He trailed off, giving her a pointed glance.

“I meant what I said,” she returned, shaking her head as she stood and collected her basket, setting a small bundle of letters he had forgotten to remove onto the table. “I don’t regret doing it and I would do it again.” She stepped up and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Gaius,” she said quietly and then slipped out into the night.

Silently, Gaius sent a thank you to the gods for allowing his life to be touched by such strong, young spirits – Merlin and Arthur and Gwen – in his old age. But as he carefully folded Merlin’s clothes into his own trunk, setting aside the boy’s blanket to take down soon, and stashed the little treasures where he could see them but they wouldn’t draw attention, he sobered again, thoughts drifting as always to the boy all alone in a cold cell so far below him. And later when he crouched on protesting knees to gently add a well-read bundle of letters to the hiding place beneath the floorboard in his ward’s room, his heart clenched with an achingly familiar guilt that had been growing all week: what was he to tell Hunith?

*****

Merlin was sitting wedged into his corner again – what else could he do? – feeling particularly hungry, cold and miserable when the little hairs on the back of his neck prickled and the faintest of sounds told him he was being watched.

It was a guard. Gaius would speak to him and no one else was allowed to know he existed. He braced himself.

He’d had five guards so far. Three of them – Everard, Tim and one whose name he didn’t know – had been awful, delighting in his pain and humiliation and telling him over and over how he deserved everything that he’d suffered and more. Merlin had unfortunately had previous encounters with Tim. He remembered him as a large, mean-faced man who never smiled and no one liked. Even his wife, children, and dog all cowered from him in fear. Everard he’d seen around but never really interacted with before his imprisonment, and the nameless guard had a familiar voice but the boy couldn’t place him. He’d tauntingly refused to offer up his name when asked, telling Merlin he wasn’t worthy to utter it.

The two other guards were also nameless and unknown. While they didn’t actively torment Merlin, they were cold and indifferent, doing their job and speaking as little as possible. The boy appreciated the lack of hateful barbs and meals flung spitefully on the ground, but he longed for human companionship and being ignored hurt almost as much.

The one thing all his guards seem to share was a deep, burning hatred of magic and those who had it. He was hardly surprised – as if Uther would allow the “wicked sorcerer” to be guarded by anyone else.

In the ever-present darkness, the guard moved slightly – he sounded as if he was standing in front of Merlin’s cage – and he sighed, turning his face in that direction, well-aware the other was staring.

“Who’s there?” he asked wearily. His foot was throbbing mercilessly, he ached all over, and he was tired. Alone, scared, and tired.

“I didn’t want to believe it when I heard the rumors,” a quiet, very familiar voice said. The man sounded hurt, angry, and a little sad all at once, as if he’d been betrayed. “I didn’t want it to be true.”

Merlin’s mind whirred, trying to place the voice as he heard keys rattling and the lock on his door clicking open. Images of a tall, willowy man with curly, brown hair playing with two little girls with the same hair while a quiet, tiny woman looked on with a smile flashed through his head.

“Dane?” he gasped as the door swung open and the guard entered the cell. “Dane?” he repeated hopefully, leaning forward slightly.

Footsteps moved toward him and a tray was thumped down near his feet on the wooden platform that was his bed. It landed none-too-gently, but at least it wasn’t spilled across the floor by the door where he would have to crawl and grope around to find any scraps of food.

“So you really do have magic,” the man – Dane, he was sure of it – said bitterly.

“Yes,” Merlin answered softly.

“And you’ve been hiding it, and lying, all this time?”

“Yes, but it isn’t like that!” Merlin cried, his heart breaking at the accusation he could hear in the man’s voice. He reached out instinctively through the darkness toward the guard, his chains clanking, but his hands were slapped away.

“Don’t touch me, sorcerer!” his former friend snapped harshly.

Merlin jerked them back, cringing into the cold bars of his cell.

“Dane…” he whimpered, the rejection hurting more than Uther’s torture.

“Your food is by your feet. There’s ale and bread and some broth. I’ll be back for the tray in an hour,” Dane said stepping away, his voice suddenly shaky and quiet. Then he left, locking the cell and striding without stop across the cavernous chamber and away.

When Merlin could no longer hear his footsteps, he let the tears come, wetting his bandage as he allowed himself to remember.

It had been only the third day of his service to Arthur, when he was still new and overwhelmed by everything and constantly feeling lost. He’d rushed around a corner, his arms piled high with the prince’s clothes, and blundered right into a guard. Both went sprawling, the royal laundry scattered through the hall and all over the unfortunate guard. Merlin had begun spouting apologies as he gathered up socks and tunics only to stop short when he realized the man, still lying on the floor beneath the mound, was laughing.

It was the start of a friendship, with Dane making a point to say hello to the lad every time he saw him dashing about the castle, and Merlin pausing for a quick chat whenever his duties would allow.

Then, about six months after coming to Camelot, a fever swept through the lower town. Merlin was out nightly with Gaius, helping in any way he could, and one of their stops was Dane’s house. His wife and two daughters had succumbed and were fighting for their lives. They treated them and under Gaius’s dedicated care, Molly – Dane’s wife – had begun to improve, but the little girls deteriorated to the point Gaius sadly shook his head one day. There was nothing else he could do.

Merlin had looked at Dane, defeated and terrified as he sat with hunched shoulders across the small house by the hearth, and then back at the precious little girls whose lives were being drained and cut short, and made up his mind.

He sneaked back in the night and cast the spells; not even Gaius knew, though he was sure the old man suspected. Healing was not his strong suit, but thankfully it was enough. The girls recovered and the guard’s zest for life returned.

Merlin stopped by often after that, ostensibly to check on the girls as a physician, but they squealed and latched onto him with delight and he couldn’t help soaking it up. He’d never had any siblings and he might be the prince’s manservant and the most powerful magic user alive, but he was still just a boy of almost sixteen. He loved it.

One evening when Dane had night duty, he’d walked with Merlin back to the castle.

“Arthur was an even bigger prat than usual today,” Merlin groused. “Made me muck out the stables twice, because he claimed I didn’t use the right straw the first time.”

Dane laughed. “So, why don’t you quit?” he asked the boy. “Surely being Gaius’s apprentice is enough to keep you busy on its own.”

Why didn’t he quit, Merlin wondered, but only for half a second because he already knew the answer. Arthur, for all his faults, was a good man, and, destiny aside…Merlin liked him. Cared for him. Thought of him as –

“Because he’s your friend,” the guard said sagely, his eyes twinkling as he read the thoughts flashing across the young servant’s face before he could even utter them.

Merlin shrugged, unable to deny it. “It’s an unpleasant job, but someone has to do it, for the prat’s own good.”

And Dane laughed again, then they drifted in to a small lull. His friend seemed to be weighing if he should share something or not.

“I always knew I would become a guard,” the man finally said, glancing up at the stars that were starting to wink into existence.

“Why?” Merlin asked, curious.

“My father was a guard – one of the best. He would have been a knight, but you know the rules. Still, he wanted to dedicate his life to defending Camelot and her king. So he became a guard. One day a witch” – he spat the word and Merlin fought to hide a flinch – “came, demanding entry to the castle. He refused, trying to fight her off, and as she was dying, she cursed him. I had to watch him die a slow and painful death. Magic killed my father, Merlin,” he said, stopping suddenly and turning toward the boy, who paused and looked back, trying to maintain a neutral expression even as his insides were curling up. “I hate it, and I vowed then and there I would become a guard as well, so I could help protect the kingdom that had promised to eradicate its existence.”

Merlin didn’t remember what he’d muttered in response to that, though he couldn’t ever forget the sharp pains that had lodged inside his chest as he’d listened, heard the very fabric of his being cursed once more by someone who was his friend. It was hardly the first time, however, and it certainly would not be the last as long as he chose to live in Camelot.

And then it had all exploded – his life, Destiny, his future, and now he was sitting blind and crippled in a cold cell. Up until then, he’d been too hurt and scared to really give much thought to what was happening above, in the free world. Gaius had said Arthur (and Gwen) accepted him and that was all that really mattered. But now, after seeing Dane again, he thought of it – thought of all the other people he had known, talked to, smiled at, brushed shoulders with every day – and once it entered his head, he found he couldn’t get it to leave.

How many of his former friends and acquaintances now hated him? How many spoke of him as a betrayer and a traitor, believed him evil incarnate and cheered that he was gone? He adored Camelot and her people – for the first time in his life he was in a place where no one knew him as the bastard, the village outcast and freak. People liked him, and he’d drank it up like a thirsty sponge. This was his home and these were his friends – but now, how many of those same people were cursing his very name? Dane was. Was Cook? Paul in the stables? Bess in laundry? Little Kip the page boy?

He’d not just lied to Arthur – he’d lied to everyone. Built a life and friendships up on false understanding and pretenses, hid his very essence away. He’d had no choice, he knew that. And yes, he’d saved them and he would never regret that choice, but in a way, he’d also betrayed them all.

It hurt to think about, like being cut with Uther’s knife all over again, and he huddled into himself trying to smother the pain.

When Dane came back to remove the untouched tray an hour later, Merlin didn’t even try to reach out to his friend again. Instead, he only raised his head enough to mutter in a broken voice, “I’m sorry.”

*****

Arthur was grumpy.

No, actually, he was hungry and tired and wet, frustrated and worried and angry. It was pouring, he had mud everywhere, sticks in his hair, and the forest around him seemed to have a personal vendetta against him, or to have at least taken a vow to try and make his life as miserable as possible.

He was actually so far beyond grumpy that he wasn’t sure there was even a word to describe it in any language.

Try “prat,” Merlin’s cheeky voice flashed through his head.

Without thought, he coughed out a laugh, then instantly had to fight back very un-princely tears that tried to gather in his eyes.

“Everything all right, sire?” Leon asked from behind, his very polite knight’s way of enquiring if he had actually gone barking mad.

Arthur stopped walking and swiveled back to look at the older man, who was also covered in mud from head to toe and looked utterly miserable as he slogged next to his own horse – the forest had grown too thick for riding several leagues ago. “I’m fine, Leon. Just…”

“Imagining the ribbing Merlin would be giving you about now, sire?” the knight said, his face perfectly straight though a mischievous twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

The prince narrowed his eyes at the man, wondering not for the first time if he wasn’t a mind reader, but then shrugged it off. “No,” he said quickly. “But I am beginning to doubt the castle Map Maker. We’ve been all over these woods and there’s no entrance-path-road to the Perilous Lands. I don’t think he actually knew anything.”

“Well, they are called the Perilous Lands for a reason, Arthur. It’s a fair shot to say most of his map making was actual guess work when it comes to them.”

Great, Arthur felt like muttering. A large part of him felt like throwing a gigantic tantrum and sitting down right there, refusing to move again until it at least stopped raining and he was dry, but then the image of his skinny, frightened manservant skittered across his mind once more and he turned back around.

“Doesn’t matter. There’s a way in – there has to be – and I’m going to find it. I’m not leaving Merlin out here alone.” He ducked his head to the rain and started to trudge forward again.

“Sire!” Leon’s voice suddenly called him back. “Look!”

He halted and turned. Leon was pointing off to the left. He realized that the trees seemed to thin just a bit in that direction, and squinting, he could just make out what looked like a path…and a wooden bridge.

“Well, maybe I won’t have to execute the Map Maker after all,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he tugged his horse around and the two men set off toward the barely visible path.

Author’s Note: I’m very slow, I know. All I can say is real life and flaky muses. (sighs) Hope you enjoyed the chapter and would love to know what you think.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

The bridge turned out to be much farther away than it appeared. It seemed to take Arthur and Leon ages to slog through the swampy forest and arrive in front of it, and once they were there, the prince began to seriously doubt the wisdom of using it. Built of questionable looking sticks and boards, it was covered in so much moss and plant growth he was sure the forest was trying to reclaim the whole lot. He eyed the rickety thing warily.

“No one mentioned we had to cross a perilous bridge just to get to the Perilous Lands,” he muttered, turning back to Leon with a frown. “The Royal Map-Maker is very much going to get an earful from me when we return.”

“Are you insulting my bridge?”

Arthur whirled back. Standing right in front of the bridge’s opening and blocking all passage was a strange little man who most certainly hadn’t been there only seconds before. His mouth opened to cry “magic” even as his hand jerked to the pommel of his sword – reactions born from instinct pounded into him for years – but he somehow managed to abort both actions. He knew now that magic alone was not worthy of such a violent greeting.

Dressed in dirty clothes of brown and green with a leather cap fitted tightly to his head, the man raised a curious eyebrow, obviously reading his silent moment of struggle, but said nothing, apparently waiting for him to answer.

“No,” he replied to the still hanging question, scrambling for diplomacy. “I was merely commenting that the bridge’s…erm…construction style seems to…compliment its destination.”

The man gave a snort of laughter, dragged from him almost against his will.

“Who are you?” Arthur asked, handing his horse’s reins off to Leon and stepping forward. He was alert and on his guard, but something in his gut was telling him that while this man might have magic, he was no threat.

Like Merlin…

“I am Grettir, the keeper of the bridge. And who are you?”

“Arthur,” he replied, extending a hand. “A knight on a quest.”

“So, Courage has come to journey my bridge today,” the bridge keeper said, accepting the offered hand, but when he clasped it, he seemed to pause, a strange look crossing his face. “But, no…” he muttered. “You are early. Courage you were to be and while it certainly still applies, somehow you are now more than that…”

Arthur scrunched his face up in mild confusion and tugged his hand back when it seemed the bridge keeper had decided to keep it.

“Yes, well, thanks, I guess. But my friend and I seek passage into the Perilous Lands.”

Grettir finally spared Leon a glance, nodding at him. “It’s good you’ve brought Honor with you. I sense a change in him as well.”

All Arthur sensed was that while probably not dangerous, this little man was a few nuts short of a fruitcake, but he didn’t say that out loud. He’d sat through enough tactical councils to have learned it wasn’t wise to insult the ones with which you were you were hoping to negotiate.

Grettir was looking at him again, eyes boring into Arthur in a way that made him want to squirm. He tried to ignore it.

“Did a group of soldiers come this way lately with a…prisoner? A skinny, frightened bean-pole of a boy? Massive ears?”

“Why do you ask?” the man returned without really answering the question.

“He’s my ser–” Arthur started, then reconsidered. “He’s my friend, and he was banished for using magic, but he’s hopeless on his own and I need to find him.” All the urgency and worry of his mission came back to him as he spoke. It took great restraint not to shout at the man, order him to hurry. Merlin was out there in who knew what condition and they were standing there, nattering away about crazy nothings.

“Magic is stronger than you think,” Grettir said suddenly, his face darkening just a little as he spoke. “Strong enough, it seems, to turn destinies on their heads and throw the gods into a tizzy, though the cost has been steep!”

“That’s great. And yes, I’ve realized that magic is not the great evil I have always believe it to be, but Merlin’s been gone for too long and I need to find him,” Arthur said, his patience snapping and diplomacy flying with it out the window. He stepped forward forcefully and this time he did raise a hand to rest on his sword. “Now, I’m asking nicely to cross this bridge, but I’m also telling you that nothing is going to stop –”

He cut his words off abruptly because suddenly Grettir’s eyes were glowing gold and just behind him two innocent looking flowers had sprung to life from the very planks of the ancient bridge. Silently, they stretched and thickened, divided and spread, until the entire entrance to the bridge had vanished, hidden by a veritable wall of foliage.

Arthur waited to feel the rush of horror at seeing such a blatant display of magic, to feel the desire to wipe out the evil, but he didn’t. He just felt frustration, a strange rush of curiosity, and a large dose of incredulity.

“You’re blocking our path with flowers?” he asked, throwing a hand out in confusion.

“Do you want to test them?” the little man offered, humor along with something else sparking in his eyes. “I am the keeper of the bridge,” he reminded them firmly. “Only those I allow shall pass, young King.”

Arthur started. “I told you only my given name, no title,” he pushed through clenched teeth, drawing his sword and leveling it at the other man’s chest. The ring of metal from behind told him that Leon had done the same. “How do you know who I am?”

“Is it a secret?” the bridge keeper threw back, not looking the least bit alarmed as his eyes flashed gold once more and Arthur noted with consternation that his sword had been replaced with a bouquet of flowers exactly matching the ones that blocked the bridge.

“What is it with you and flowers?” Arthur growled, throwing his now worthless former sword to the ground. “And it’s still just Prince Arthur,” he added, frustration boiling over.

“The mantle and crown of prophecy passes at its own timing,” the little man said, a far-away look taking over his eyes, “heedless of the laws of men. Courage has become King, Magic at once both accepted and fettered, and my poor Fisher King must tarry in this mortal realm for a while longer yet.”

As if coming out of a trance, Grettir blinked his eyes and instantly the flowers blocking their path vanished. Arthur glanced down to find the welcome gleam of his sword. The prince shook his head and scooped it up, utterly confused and unnerved by what had just happened and been said.

“So, we may pass?”

Grettir nodded, the other-worldliness gone. “You may pass, if you wish, but if I may, Just Prince Arthur, a bit of advice?”

Arthur gestured for him to go on. His advice couldn’t be any more vague than the other things the little man had already spouted.

“Not all is as it seems, young King, and while you may enter and search, I do not think what you desire lies this way. Magic, King Arthur, is all around you, if you know where to look. Even in Camelot, in the heart of a magicless kingdom, Magic lives. When the time is right, all will be found, but perhaps, for the time being, this is not your true quest?”

Not his true quest? Arthur tried not to scoff. He couldn’t think of anything more pressing than trying to find Merlin, the servant who had saved his life.

“Well, thank you, Grettir,” he said, trying to sound grateful as he glanced back at Leon to see if his knight could make any more sense of the ramblings than he could. Leon just shook his head, remaining silent. “But,” he continued, turning back, “I think we’ll just…”

Grettier was gone.

“Are all people with magic so annoying? Because if so, that actually explains a lot about Merlin,” he muttered.

Leon laughed, but sobered quickly. “So, we are going in, my lord?”

“You think we shouldn’t? You think the bridge keeper is right?”

“I think I’m here to follow you, Arthur. This is your choice.”

Arthur paused, stepping to the side of his horse and running a glove down his mount’s muddy, soaked mane.

On the one hand, the man appeared to have no ill will toward them. He had easily turned their weapons into useless bits of greenery…he could have harmed them at any moment and they would have been hard-pressed to stop him, but he didn’t. And Arthur knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that not all those with magic were evil. But, on the other, he had been tricked before and knew appearances could be deceptive.

Besides, it was Merlin. And that was what it really boiled down to right there.

Merlin.

His servant.

His friend.

The most loyal person he’d ever known.

Even if Grettir’s warning was correct, Arthur knew he had to check. He couldn’t come this far and then just walk away without making certain Merlin wasn’t there, injured and in pain and needing him. He would never be able to live with himself if he did.

He patted his horse gently on the head and ran a hand down his nose, silently acknowledged that the beast was just as weary, filthy, and exhausted as he was, then offered an apology with his eyes before turning back to his knight.

“We go on,” he said firmly, gathering up the reins in one hand, sword held at the ready in the other as he faced the innocent looking bridge.

“After you, my lord,” Leon replied, a steady grip on his own sword.

Arthur nodded and led his horse out onto the bridge.

*****

The king’s guard Dane made his way home from his shift through the streets of Camelot, lost in a turmoil of thoughts. It was a dark night, no moon and the stars blotted out by more low clouds threatening rain. Only the intermittent torches kept it from being pitch-black.

Pitch-black like the world had become for one forgotten boy.

The guard shook his head angrily, trying to push away the unwanted reminder, but no matter how he tried, it remained, swirling painfully around his mind with the rest and driving him mad.

Merlin – kind, thoughtful lad, laughing with his daughters.

Merlin – daring to tease the prince, a cheeky grin lodged on his face.

Merlin – sorcerer, magic-user, the devil’s own tool!

The thoughts were polar opposites and he could not reconcile them, could not make them mesh into the same image.

He’d entered the king’s dungeon that morning to make his first check of the day on the prisoner to find him attempting to hobble his way around the cell. The tattered remains of his clothing fluttered about him as he hopped and lurched and did absolutely nothing to keep out the chill or hide his bruised and starved body. Then, even as Dane stood there silently watching, the sorcerer’s good leg gave out as his balance failed and he fell – hard – sprawling on the ground in a mess of chains and limbs. The prisoner made no move to get up, just lay there, broken and – the guard realized with a start – sobbing.

And suddenly, against his will, Dane hadn’t seen an evil sorcerer, he’d just seen a boy. A boy who had been clumsy to begin with, and was now crippled, blind, and in chains. A boy who’s smile had once had the ability to light up a whole room and draw people to him, who was now sobbing, abandoned, and alone.

He'd just seen Merlin – his friend – and his heart had wrenched.

Before he could even really think about it, analyze his actions, understand what he was doing, he found himself across the cavern and unlocking the cage. He stepped up to the fallen boy – who flinched back in fright – and gently pulled him up off the ground, depositing him safely back on the hard bench that served as his bed.

Then Dane had sucked in a breath, as though just realizing what he’d done, and hastily backed out of the cell, ignoring Merlin’s calls and questions to know who was there, what he was doing. He’d relocked the cage and fled, back to the guard room at the top of the endless tunnel and steps.

For the rest of the day, he’d made his checks in silence, not even speaking when he’d brought the boy’s meals. After his second visit, Merlin gave up trying to figure out who he was, simply muttering a quiet “thanks” when he brought in the tray. Dane refused to acknowledge it, refused to really look at the sorcerer, tried desperately not to think at all and just do his job.

But it was too late. The wall of indifference and betrayal Dane had built up regarding Merlin had been shattered. And now, as he walked back to his home and the warm hearth and loving family that waited for him there, he wanted to scream, somehow give voice to the confusion and hurt that seemed to be clawing him apart from inside.

Dane was only tugged out of his dark and confused thoughts when he opened the door of his humble home and was met by two ecstatic squeals of “DA!” Before he could even get all the way into the room, his arms were filled with his two curly-haired daughters.

“Da, Da!” they yelled joyfully, dragging a smile from him.

“Whoa,” he laughed, grievous thoughts pushed aside by their pure happiness. “What assault is this? Denying me entry into my own house?” he teased.

The girls giggled and grabbed onto him tighter, attempting to push him back and weigh him down. He played along for a few moments, feigning weakness before he gave a mighty roar and broke free. With a laugh, he swept seven-year-old Janie up into his arms as she screamed in delight. Then with his free hand he reached out and started tickling nine-year-old Clover, who promptly melted into a puddle of laughter on the floor.

“Ah ha!” he shouted triumphantly as he reached behind and pulled the wooden door closed. “I have prevailed!”

Molly laughed as she set a pot of something that smelled delicious on their table. “And against such noble foes,” she added teasingly.

Smiling, Dane stepped forward with Janie still in his arms and kissed his wife firmly on the check. She returned the greeting, then turned back to the fireplace to fuss over the flat oak-cakes that were still baking.

“How’s my girl?” Dane asked next, setting Janie on her feet on a bench at the table and turning to really look at his daughter. When he did, he sucked in an angry breath as he finally noticed the dark bruise around the little girl’s left eye.

“Molly, what happened?” he demanded quickly, turning Janie around.

“I got in a fight, Da!” said Janie proudly before her mother could say anything, squirming back around to face him. “Tommy the cobbler’s son was saying bad things about Merlin and I said he should shut up but he wouldn’t so I whupped him good!”

She beamed, expecting praise for her bravery, but all Dane felt was his insides freeze up. “Jamie, you can’t do that!” he scolded harshly, gripping his daughter’s arm tightly.

“But, Da, you told me to always do what’s right,” she said, her face scrunching up in confusion even as tears started to gather in the corners of eyes. “He said Merlin was a bad person!”

Merlin – it all came back to Merlin once more. The kind, happy boy who his daughters worshiped as a sort of older brother. The boy who had lied, had magic – the thing that Dane abhorred more than anything. The boy who was now a prisoner whom Uther had decreed should disappear, his name blotted out and forgotten. The boy Janie had defended with all the furious righteousness of an innocent seven-year-old.

Janie, perceptive little person that she was, must have read some of his frantic thoughts from his expression, because she reached out and put her small hand on his face. “Merlin’s not bad, is he?” she whimpered, her eyes begging her father to restore her faith. “He hasn’t come to see us! Was he hurt in the earthquake?” Dane felt Clover at his other side, leaning close with the same questions on her worried face.

He sighed as he sank onto the end of the bench, pulling Janie into his lap and wrapping an arm around Clover. At the fire, Molly stood frozen with her back to them, posture stiff in a way that told Dane she was listening.

“Janie, Clover, you must never speak of Merlin ever again,” he ordered sternly. “Never! You must promise me this!” Because his own conflicted feelings and emotions aside, Uther Pendragon would show no mercy if word reached him that people were defending the sorcerer, even if those people in question were innocent little girls.

“But why, Da?” Clover wailed as the tears crested little Janie’s eyes and rolled down her pale cheeks. “Merlin isn’t evil! He’s our friend!”

Dane took a deep breath, knowing that his next words would break his daughters’ hearts, but at least they would be safe.

“Merlin was not your friend,” he said coldly. “Merlin was…a sorcerer. He did bad things – he hurt people. And now he’s…he’s dead.” Both girls were crying now, loud messy sobs that shook their tiny bodies. At the fire, Molly’s shoulders twitched and jerked as well. “And you must both promise me to forget all about him, never mention him again, to anyone!” he finished.

Neither answered, both were crying too hard. Feeling a measure of panic, he shook them a little, something he would normally never do. “Promise me!” he growled.

“I…I…I…prom….ise,” Clover finally hiccupped around sobs.

Janie was too distressed to speak, but she flinched out a nod, before turning to bury her face in his tunic.

Never had Dane felt more like a monster, but he swallowed his feelings and stood up, setting Janie on her feet. “Good,” he said firmly. “Now stop crying and run wash your faces. Your mam has worked hard to make – ” But before he could finish, Clover turned and fled, rushing up the ladder to the loft where the girls slept, Janie hot on her heels, their wrenching sobs only slightly muffled by the curtain that hung across the opening. With another soul-weary sigh, he turned to his wife only to see Molly slapping the oat-cakes on the table before walking stiffly out the back door.

Which left Dane alone with a rapidly cooling supper and his still jumbled thoughts, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and his daughters’ anguished crying.

*****

“Are they finally asleep?” Dane asked wearily as Molly stepped off the ladder. His wife nodded, her brown eyes sad, but she didn’t speak. She turned instead to clearing the table, putting the untouched food aside to save for tomorrow and stacking their few dishes on the little shelf while he sat before the fire, the silence between them loaded and heavy.

“Magic killed my father!” he finally blurted, unable to stand the incriminating quiet. “It is evil! All it does is cause pain and suffering!”

Molly stilled in her chores, sliding onto the bench next to him and taking his hand. “And magic saved your daughters,” she added softly, the gentle tears he knew without looking were trailing down her face evident in the sound of her voice.

The guard hung his head – so she’d figured that out as well.

Her rough, calloused hands moved up, one massaging his shoulder while the other carded through his hair. “You’re guarding him, aren’t you?” she breathed. “That’s what the sudden increase in coin is from, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, the tears he didn’t realize he’d been holding back since this whole mess had started surged out – tears of betrayal and anger, tears of confusion and grief, tears of shocked horror.

Molly pulled him close, holding him tightly. “Talk to me, Dane. Tell me what has really happened.”

And so he did. Sitting there by the dying glow of their fire, he told his sweet wife everything, including what had been done to the boy he’d just weeks earlier welcomed as a dear friend into their home. They were both crying hard before he finished.

“My father suffered so much before he died, Molly. The magic that caused it was evil and cruel, meant to hurt!”

“Uther Pendragon has no magic, but look how much he has made Merlin suffer and hurt,” Molly countered, tears still falling.

Her words pierced him, cutting through to what he suddenly realized was the heart of the problem. All this time he’d been blaming magic for all the pain and hurt he’d suffered when it wasn’t magic at all that had caused it, but people and their choices. The witch had had magic and she’d used it to hurt and kill his father. Merlin had magic and he’d used it to save Camelot. Had probably used it in a thousand big and little ways to help those around him – like sparing the lives of two little girls. Uther had no magic but he’d still used his kingly power to torture and imprison a teenage boy who had done nothing but save lives.

“Merlin’s not evil, is he,” he whispered, brokenly, letting his head fall into his hands. “Magic isn’t evil…just some people.”

Head resting on his shoulder, Molly nodded even as she hugged him tighter.

“Molly, what do I do now?” he begged. How could he continue guarding Merlin in good conscious after such a life-altering epiphany?

“You help him,” she said simply. “In any little way you can.”

*****

As the days that his poor boy had been locked up turned into a week and then dragged into three, Gaius realized something. Much like the dragon, Uther had washed his hands of Merlin, left the boy to rot.

Well, not actually rot…though Gaius felt that being able to let Merlin rot was probably one of the deepest desires of the king’s cold heart. Still, thanks to the lie the physician had spun, Uther was forced to keep the warlock alive, though Gaius shuddered to call his boy’s new existence living.

But Uther didn’t like to be reminded of his failures – of the magical creatures he couldn’t kill. In the twenty years that Kilgharrah had been imprisoned in the deepest pit under Camelot, Gaius didn’t think the man had been back to check on him even once since he closed the chain and walked away.

It was apparently going to be the same with Merlin. As long as the guards reported to Sir Ector, who in turn reported to the king, that “the prisoner” was alive and secure, the man was going to try and forget the traitorous boy had ever existed - which made Gaius furious! Merlin should never be forgotten! – but he swallowed his rage down, something he’d become very good at over the years in Camelot, and seized the opportunity instead.

If no one was really looking, no one really cared, there was only one thing stopping Gaius from trying to bring at least a little comfort into the life of his poor boy.
Which is why Gaius now stood in the hidden guard room, locked in a battle of wills with one of the soldiers who had been assigned to watch the king’s biggest secret, a wooden crate full of supplies making his old arms tremble.

“I request that you allow me to attend to the prisoner,” he said clearly, holding his head up and trying not to feel intimidated. The men stationed here wore the standard chainmail hauberk and cloth surcoat, but given the clandestine nature of their post were not required to wear the hood and helmet, which made what Gaius was trying to accomplish that much harder. It was much easier to argue with a faceless man behind a helmet. Still, for Merlin, he would do it because he knew this was it – the moment of truth. If he could get away with this first mercy trip, he knew somehow it would get easier.

One of the guards – a mean looking man Gaius knew was called Tim snorted. “You ain’t ‘attending’ him, you’re coddling the whelp.”

“I am under orders to see that the prisoner remains in good health,” the physician argued calmly.

“Come on, old man. Everyone knows that brat is like your own. You just want –”

“Oh, just let him go down,” Tim’s rant was abruptly cut off by the second guard, who looked up from the piece of leather he was working on to intercede. Gaius recognized the curly-haired man as Dane and he fought back a flash of anger. Merlin hadn’t said anything, but Gaius knew. Knew that the guard and his young ward had once been friends. Knew that was no longer the case and was one more anguish his boy was trying to bear.

“The King wants the kid alive, doesn’t he?” Dane continued nonchalantly.

“Yeah, but he looks like he’s heading to a Sunday picnic with all that stuff. Alive don’t have to mean comfortable. The brat’s a traitorous sorcerer!”

“What do you care?” Dane shot back at Tim. “The boy is never leaving that metal cage again…why do you care if an old man who loves him brings him a little food and warmth? It’s not coming out of your pocket nor does it affect your wages.”

Tim huffed and stomped back to the table in the guard room, throwing himself onto a stool. “Fine, but I ain’t taking him down. You can do it, since you’re feeling all charitable and such today.”

Dane didn’t argue. He simply stood, stashing his leatherworking in a pouch at his waist, and grabbed a torch before gesturing for Gaius to proceed him down the tunnel.

They walked in silence for many turns and steps before Gaius felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Gaius, stop,” Dane said quietly. “Let me carry the crate. It must be heavy.”

It was – very heavy, but he’d never expected help. He eyed the young man suspiciously. “Why?” he finally asked, unable to stop himself. “It is just items for the vile sorcerer.”

Dane hung his head, something like shame flashing across his face. “I was wrong, Gaius. Very wrong. And Merlin is not vile, nor does he deserve this. I…I wish to help, in the small ways that I can.”

The old physician studied the guard, searching for the truth, the last few weeks having taught him more than ever that trust should not be given easily. The man could be lying…could have orders from Uther to test Gaius’s loyalties…could simply enjoy teasing help and friendship before once more ripping it away. But, as they stared at each other in the flickering torchlight, he found nothing but anguished guilt and honesty. Finally, he nodded.

“Thank you,” he acknowledged, setting the crate on the ground and taking up the torch instead. Dane nodded and picked up the burden and then they were walking again.

“You’ll need to be careful, Gaius,” the younger man said again after a few more turns. “You should be able to bring and leave him things to help him down here, but you should be wary of visiting each day. That would get back to the king,” he told him sadly.

Gaius sighed. He’d arrived at that same conclusion himself just the day before, but he hadn’t wanted to entertain it. Still, now that Merlin’s wounds were healing as much as they ever would, he really couldn’t keep pressing his luck by visiting each day. But the very thought of leaving his son to endure alone in the dark for multiple days made him physically ill.

Dane seemed to read his thoughts because he said quietly, “Better a few days alone than a lifetime if you get yourself banned from here. I believe you’ll be safe if you limit yourself to a couple visits a week. Time them so you don’t always hit the same guards and it will probably slip through the cracks.”

With a great sigh, Gaius nodded, silence falling once more.

Long minutes later the tunnel opened up to the cavern that held the secret prison. Gaius was relieved to see that several torches were already lit in the space. Logically, he knew it made no difference to Merlin now, but he still hated it – hated that the guards often felt no qualms about leaving the boy deep underground with absolutely no light. He was sure Merlin could tell when they did that to him, that it frightened him, though the boy never complained. By the flickering of the welcome flames, Gaius could see that today like every other day, Merlin sat pushed back into his usual corner on his bench, but he raised his head and tensed at the sound of footsteps. The physician knew the moment his boy discerned two sets of footsteps, however, and watched as the tension in his shoulders eased slightly and a grateful expression trickled onto his face.

Dane placed the crate on the ground and unlocked the cell, before picking it up and setting it just inside the door. Gaius nodded his thanks and returned the torch before stepping into the cage, not even cringing as the grate was locked behind him.

“I’ll give you a little longer than an hour today, Gaius,” the guard whispered. “You should…explain to him what’s going to happen.” Dane lit a few more torches, and then left, leaving the two of them alone in the prison.

“What’s going on, Gaius,” Merlin asked as soon as the guard’s footsteps had faded, sitting forward with an urgent frown. “What was he talking about? What’s going to happen?”

The fear and panic that was never far from the surface in Merlin these days started to rise up and Gaius hurried to assure him. “What’s going to happen is that I have a few nice surprises for you today, my boy,” he said, purposefully keeping his voice light, as though they were in their own chambers and he was about to produce the treat he’d brought home for Merlin from the market.

Underneath the bandage, Merlin’s dirty face wrinkled in confusion so Gaius tugged the crate closer to the bed and then sat beside him, patting his filthy, freezing hands with his old, wrinkled ones. “Let me check your wounds and then I’ll explain.”

Three weeks of the same actions each day had established a known routine, so the job was accomplished quickly. With a thankful but also melancholy heart, Gaius checked his ward over, noted the cuts fading to scars, and at last removed the bandage from the injury to Merlin’s side, the wound having finally healed and scabbed over. Now, only the bandages on Merlin’s foot and around his missing eyes remained, as they would for the rest of his life. The physician changed them with care, wrapping the foot firmly even though the wounds had scabbed over a week ago. Though the boy still had no control over the movement of anything below where the king’s knife had sliced, there was feeling in the foot, and Merlin had found that if the limb was wrapped tightly so it didn’t flop about, he could maneuver around his cell better.

“This is your last visit, isn’t it, Gaius?” Merlin whispered once Gaius finished and was putting away his medical supplies, his voice almost a sob, and the old man cursed his boy’s ability to leap to conclusions.

“No, not at all, Merlin,” he assured quickly, sitting back on the bench next to his surrogate son. “But…things are going to change a bit, now that you are healed.” Merlin’s sucked in a hitching breath and so Gaius quickly continued. “The truth is that now Uther has you contained and dealt with, he would rather forget about you,” he said, anger rising in his voice.

“Like Kilgharrah,” Merlin said, nodding in understanding.

“Exactly like Kilgharrah,” Gaius replied. “But unlike the dragon who can survive on the prey that naturally finds its way into his cavern, you – as a human being – require a little more care to keep you alive. And for Arthur’s sake, he is determined to keep you alive.”

“That’s so comforting,” Merlin muttered, and Gaius smiled at the first spark of Merlin’s sarcastic humor returning.

“The king has consigned your keeping entirely over to myself as your physician and to the guards, who report to Sir Ector, who reports to the king. And as long as Uther is informed that ‘the prisoner’s status is unchanged’ he’s happy to forget about the whole matter entirely.” Merlin grimaced, but Gaius patted his hand and quickly continued. “I can’t come visit you each day as I have been” – Merlin gripped his hand tightly and let his head drop in sorrow – “but I can visit a few times a week, to make sure you are healthy of course.”

“You’ll still come?” Merlin asked in a voice that sounded so very young and small. “You won’t leave me here alone forever?”

“I promise, Merlin,” Gaius answered firmly, pouring every ounce of determination and love he could into his voice. “I promise I will never leave you here alone.”

Merlin leaned into him, chains clanking, and Gaius pulled him close and simply held him.

Eventually, Merlin moved away, swiping a grimy hand across an equally grimy cheek and smearing tears through the dirt. Gaius made a mental note to bring water for washing the next time he came.

“So,” Merlin said determinedly, forcing his emotions back under control. “You said you had nice surprises?”

The next half an hour was the best either of them had experienced in over three weeks as Gaius unpacked his crate of treasures.

First there were pillows, enough to make Merlin’s corner a much more comfortable place to spend his long days. Next were Merlin’s own socks – the very ones Gwen had saved – which Gaius pulled onto the boy’s icy feet, and his own blanket that still smelled like home, that the physician wrapped tightly around Merlin’s shoulders. There was a skin of clean water and a few loaves of bread – for the times the guards were less than careful with his meals – and best of all, a sweet cake that Gwen had brought to Gaius and the old man had in turned saved for Merlin.

“Eat it,” Gaius ordered gently when the boy started to protest about stealing his mentor’s own treat. “I get more joy out of you having it than I ever would from eating it myself.” Smiling, Merlin obeyed, savoring each bite.

Gaius then turned the crate on its end and slid it back against the stone wall next to Merlin’s bed, before placing a few special trinkets on the top of it. “Here,” he said, and gently guided the boy’s hands to them. “I know it’s not the same as seeing them,” he muttered sadly as the warlock’s fingers traced the curves and shapes of the bits of glass and smooth rocks he’d collected over the last year, “but I thought it might be a small reminder of home.”

“Thank you,” Merlin breathed, sorrow and gratitude at war on what Gaius could see of his face.

Lastly, Gaius pulled a piece of string from his robes. “Lean forward, Merlin,” he urged softly. When the lad complied, he wrapped the ends of it around his boy’s neck underneath the collar and chain tying them together tightly.

“What’s this?”

Again Gaius guided Merlin’s hand, this time up to the chipped button that hung from the string and now rested against his chest. His fingers ghosted it for only the barest of moments before the boy smiled. “Arthur’s button,” he said happily, rubbing the tiny dragon crest. “He told me to throw it away since it was broken, but it was so tiny and amazing – so fancy compared to anything in Ealdor – I just couldn’t. And then later, once the prat became my friend, I guess it reminded me of him.”

Gaius smiled back, sinking onto the bed next to his ward, thoroughly exhausted from all the work. “Keep it under your clothes where unfriendly eyes won’t see it,” he urged. Merlin rubbed it a few more times, then nodded, tucking it under the blanket and his ruined tunic beneath.

“How did you manage all of this, Gaius? How were you allowed…”

“Another perk of being forgotten is no one really cares what makes its way down here, as long as you stay down here with it,” Gaius answered bitterly. “Merlin, you do not deserve this punishment and should not be here, and I pray someday you will let me tell those who can help you escape.” The boy opened his mouth to protest, ready to spew forth the same arguments he had given every day prior, but Gaius continued speaking before he could get them out. “But until then, I will do what I can to try and help you endure this trial, and if that means carving out a pitiful little home here inside the stone and iron, so be it.”

Once more, Merlin leaned into him, this time sliding down until his head was in the old man’s lap. “Please don’t get in trouble…bringing me stuff. Not worth it,” Merlin muttered into his robes.

“I won’t, Merlin, I promise.”

“Keep Arthur safe?”

“I shall do my best,” Gaius promised with a smile.

“Call him a prat sometimes. He needs it.”

“Sh, Merlin,” Gaius shushed. “Stop worrying and just rest for a while.”

“I love you, Gaius,” the boy said softly, content to just stay there in his chosen father’s hold.

“I love you, too, my boy,” Gaius said, voice suddenly thick with tears as he smoothed the warlock’s matted, dingy hair.

And they stayed like that, soaking in and storing up each other’s strength and love for the dark, lonely days ahead, until Dane returned and reluctantly escorted Gaius away.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

As had been the case every night for weeks, Arthur again found himself sitting next to a campfire with Leon, staring pensively into the flames.

After a long while, Leon shifted slightly and reluctantly cleared his throat. “Your highness,” he began.

“Don’t say it, Leon,” Arthur growled, cutting him off, knowing what was coming.

“Arthur…” Leon tried again softly, using his ‘I care about you as a friend and brother voice,’ the one that never failed to get to the prince.

Arthur huffed out a breath and threw the stick he’d been playing with into the flames.

“It’s been over two weeks since we left Camelot…” said Leon.

“Which is far too long for my idiot manservant to be responsible for his own survival! Think what could be happening to him!”

“Think what could be happening in Camelot. You are still the Crown Prince, Arthur.”

Guilt that Arthur had been trying to keep squashed down burst back out. It did not make him happy that he’d had to sneak off like a coward, leaving behind a kingdom in shambles after the attack.

“Merlin is worthy of your effort and care, but there are others who need your protection as well. Think of Gaius, already in the king’s crosshairs. Or what of Morgana? If she were to challenge the king in your absence…”

That would be a disaster, Arthur thought. And sounded exactly like something Morgana would do. She would never accept the banishment of her friend without a fight. Just two months ago she’d earned herself a night in the dungeons for challenging his father over the death of Tom the blacksmith.

Arthur let out a sigh that was actually much closer to a groan and leapt to his feet, striding a few feet away from their fire. With troubled eyes, he gazed out at the empty desolation that surrounded them on all sides.

It had been quite a feat to find enough wood for a fire each night, but Arthur had insisted. They needed the protection, but it was more than that. He held out hope that Merlin would see it, would find them.

But a week of wandering in the awful place had yielded nothing – not a trace of the boy, not even a footprint.

Leon’s quiet words were more painful because they were only a reutterance of what Arthur’s own head and heart were starting to tell him.

“He’s not here, is he?” he finally said quietly, not turning around.

“No. I don’t think so. The little man – ”

“Grettir,” Arthur corrected without thinking. The gatekeeper had called him King, which had both unnerved and honored him. He felt the least he could do was remember the man’s name.

“Grettir implied as much at the bridge, sire. That we wouldn’t find him here.”

Arthur finally turned to face his knight, throwing his hands out in frustration. “Then where is he? Unless my father lied and had him killed!”

“Not that I know of. To my knowledge, there was no execution while you were unconscious,” Leon said earnestly.

It helped, but didn’t completely erase the worry that had settled deep into Arthur’s gut. He wanted to believe that Merlin was alive – needed to believe it – but his eyes had been opened to the fact that his father wasn’t completely the man he had always believed in. There were dark and vengeful parts of the king, that Arthur had either overlooked or chosen not to see. He suddenly found it not nearly as hard to imagine that his father could have had Merlin executed in secret.

“Perhaps it is as he said, Arthur. That good magic is stronger than we think.”

“He also said it was in the heart of Camelot, which is a load of dung, Leon, so what does that actually mean?”

“I don’t know, but sire, Merlin is also stronger than we often think, and for all his oddities, he’s a smart lad so…”

Arthur flopped back down beside the fire, snapping a dead weed off to worry between his fingers, his mind racing. “Are you saying he doesn’t…want to be found?” he finally ventured.

“I’m saying he’s frightened, my lord. Very frightened.” Leon sat forward, staring intently at Arthur, his face grave. “You didn’t see him after, Arthur. He was terrified. And injured. And he has no way of knowing how you’ve reacted to learning his secret, that you’ve accepted him. For all he knows, Uther has changed his mind and sent you to bring him back to face execution.”

“So, he’s hiding. Laying low to lick his wounds and keep his head squarely on his neck.”

Leon nodded sadly. “His loyalty to you is unshaken, my lord. I do believe he will come back, when it’s time.”

“If he survives,” Arthur muttered darkly, crushing the weed to dust in his hand and gazing off at the sky, unable to completely process the mix of emotions that was sweeping through him.

“You saw his magical display – that was no ordinary magic. The boy is much more than we ever suspected. If anyone can survive banishment, it’s probably Merlin.”

“But I’m not going to find him, am I?” Arthur said, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Leon leaned back, also glancing away.

“No, Arthur, I don’t believe so.”

Silence descended as Arthur processed Leon’s words.

To go back to Camelot without Merlin? To just leave him out there somewhere, on his own? It was unthinkable! And to resume life in Camelot without Merlin by his side, irritating him into being a better prince? He couldn’t image it. For him to just go on, without the…the teasing. The mischievous glances and sympathetic looks when council droned on for endless dull hours… The tart comments that stripped away pretense, but also the keen insight he could trust. The one true friendship that had absolutely no underlying motive...

Because somehow, the simple peasant boy from Ealdor had become –

EALDOR!

Arthur’s heart sank as the word hit him like a blow.

Ealdor. Hunith.

Because Arthur knew Merlin. He knew that no matter how scared he was or how much he was hurting, he would protect his mother at all costs. Which meant he would never return home, on the chance that the king would chase him there.

So Hunith had no idea what had happened to her son. And no one – save maybe Gaius who had himself been confined to the citadel – would ever think to tell her.

“Okay, Leon,” he caved, knowing when it was time to admit defeat. “We’ll return to Camelot. But, there’s one more place we must stop first.”

*****

Merlin was bored.

He was also sad, lonely, exhausted, terrified, still in loads of pain, and mourning his lost sight, freedom and especially the people he loved, but as time passed and his wounds healed as much as they ever would, he couldn’t help admitting that he was also becoming mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly bored.

Merlin had never been someone who could just sit around – he needed to be moving, doing, fixing. He loved people and learning, and every discovery from huge ones like unicorns down to the miniscule beauty of a single snowflake had always thrilled him.

Now he was stuck in a cage – blind and immobile – with absolutely nothing to do to take his mind off of how dark it was, how much he hurt, how vulnerable and alone he truly was.

If the terror of the unknown didn’t kill him, the boredom would.

Kilgharrah? he thought timidly in his mind.

He’d had an idea in the night. Or day. It wasn’t as though he had any real way to measure time anymore.

The great dragon had been chained beneath the castle for twenty years, but he’d still managed to communicate with Merlin. Maybe he could reach him? Have someone to talk to?

Because at the moment, Merlin would welcome any conversation, even one with a wily, manipulative dragon.

Kilgharrah? he tried thinking a little louder. The boy Mordred had been able to speak into his mind, and Kilgharrah did it whenever he wanted, but Merlin had never tried to do it himself. He wasn’t sure how it worked.

He waited, but there was nothing.

“Kilgharrah?” he finally ventured, saying the name out loud. “Dragon? Can you hear me?”

No answer.

He slumped back into his nest of pillows.

He didn’t know if he just didn’t have the skills to do it, or the dragon wasn’t listening, but a very large part of him suspected it was neither. He and Kilgharrah were both bound by a magic-forged chain which kept them from escaping, but only Merlin also wore the collar with the runes. Kilgharrah couldn’t leave, but he could still do magic. Merlin could do neither.

He played with a tear in the leg of his trousers, worrying it larger, before he forced his hands to stop. These were the only clothes he had – unless he wanted to be naked soon, he needed to squash that habit. Instead, he reached up and grasp Arthur’s button that hung from the string around his neck, running his fingers over the tiny dragon.

He needed to get up and visit the privy hole in the other corner, but the process of getting there was so painful and humiliating, not to mention slow and hard, he was trying to put it off.

As a distraction, he went back to naming his guards.

He couldn’t quite figure out their rotation schedule – something he suspected might be done on purpose to keep him off kilter – but he was sure now that he had six.

Tim was as awful as ever, probably getting worse. Merlin did everything in his power not to rile the man up, considering he was not only blind and crippled, but stuck on the end of a chain, but he’d still felt the man’s meaty fists more than once.

He didn’t tell Gaius that. He couldn’t bear to hurt the old man more.

Or Dane.

Dane!

The young guard had come to him a few days ago, bearing his meal, and apologized! Had set the food down carefully, told him he was sorry and asked for forgiveness, and there’d been a tart on the tray when Merlin had started to eat!

Merlin smiled. Things were still awkward between them – because Merlin still had magic and was blind now and a prisoner that Dane was paid to guard – and probably would be for a while, but they would get better. The boy knew they would.

Everard was cold and quiet. He brought Merlin his meals and he took the tray away, simply responding with “Be silent, Sorcerer,” whenever Merlin tried to talk to him.

But three of the guards were still nameless, faceless voids. One of them hadn’t even spoken to him yet – he only knew him as the “one who scuffs his feet.”

Merlin had decided to name them. He already had a Guard “D” in Dane and a Guard “E” in Everard, so naturally the other three needed to become Guards A, B, and C.

Tim of course didn’t fit, but he also didn’t count. Merlin preferred to think of him as little as possible anyway.

Yesterday, he’d decided to name “scuffs his feet” Bert, after a grumpy, old farmer from Ealdor who used to walk with a limp and yell at Merlin if he even got within shouting distance of his prize ram. As if Merlin had had any desire to go anywhere near that ram – it was meaner than…well…Tim!

“Leaves Guards A and C,” Merlin whispered.

It was still hard to talk out loud to his empty cell, but he was determined not to spend his days completely in silence.

“Biggest jerk gets named first,” he decided, going over the worst names he could think of. “Casper…Claude…Cornelius…”

Cornelius might work. There was a tailor in the lower town named Cornelius who really disliked Merlin, but it wasn’t his fault that Arthur always waited until the last minute to tell Merlin he needed something repaired!

Sadness washed through him, thinking of Arthur and chores and when life had been normal.

“Not Cornelius, then,” he muttered, fingers once more smoothing over the button as he thought. “Cletus!” he shouted a moment later, then winced as his voice echoed back to him, bouncing off metal and stone walls in the empty cavern.

Newly christened Cletus’s hatred of Merlin was as strong as Tim’s, but he used words and tricks as his weapons instead of fists. It was because of him that Merlin always checked his meals over with his hands now; he didn’t want to bite down on anymore rocks.

“One left for tomorrow,” Merlin said quietly, then with a resigned sigh, he tucked the button back under his tunic and swung his legs over the edge of his bunk. He couldn’t put off certain needs any longer.

The trip to the privy was slow and uneventful, but on the way back, Merlin caught his hand on something sharp as he was crawling, tearing a ragged gash partway down it. He sucked in a hiss as he crashed to his elbows, and quickly brought the wound to his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood mixed in with the grime.

Clumsily, he finished crawling back to his bed and pulled himself onto it, then sat there squeezing his tunic in his fist to help stop the bleeding.

Gaius wasn’t going to be happy with him.

*****

“Are you all right, my lady?”

Morgana started out of her thoughts, turning to see Gwen staring at her in concern, hair brush still in her hands.

“Yes, Gwen, I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile and gesturing for her to continue.

The soothing motion of the brush through her hair began again. “I’m worried about them, too,” her maid said very quietly after a while, and Morgana realized the girl’s hands were shaking.

“Oh, Gwen.” She turned in her chair so she was facing her friend instead of looking at her through the mirror. “Arthur will find Merlin,” she said, trying to act like she believed her own words and wasn’t still tormented by the twisted images from her dreams where there was Merlin and so much blood... “You know he will.”

“I know. It’s just…everything is falling apart and I don’t even know what to do, or how to think or feel…”

There were tears in Gwen’s eyes now, threatening to fall at any moment, so Morgana stood and took the brush from her maid’s hands, then led them both over to sit on the edge of her bed where she pulled her into a tight embrace.

They stayed that way for a while, drawing the comfort they’d both apparently needed from each other, before Gwen pulled away, wiping a hand across her face with an embarrassed smile.

“I’m sorry, my lady. I don’t know what’s come over me these last few days.”

“It’s perfectly fine. I would – ”

“I…I stole Merlin’s things back, from the king,” Gwen suddenly blurted out, cutting Morgana off as she turned back to look at her, brash fear on her face as if she could no longer hold back her confession. Morgana felt her eyes widen. “Well, not actually from the king, but from the servant who was told to destroy them. I realized what was in the sack and I made up some excuse and just took it!”

“Gwen!” Morgana cried in alarm.

“I know,” Gwen wailed, shaking her head. “I’ve never done anything like that before, but my lady, I just couldn’t help it! I was just so sad and…angry. Angry at the king! First my…my father. And now Merlin…” She looked away, her emotions steadying. “I gave it all back to Gaius. He needed it.”

Morgana stood, stepping away from the bed and her maid, moving to the window as her thoughts swam. Uther and Tom…

“I could have let him die, Gwen,” she admitted suddenly, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “Uther. I could have stood there and let Tauren kill him. I should have. Then he would have paid for what happened to your father, and Merlin would still be here…”

The thoughts plagued her, churning up her already chaotic emotions and secret fears. One part of her cared for Uther deeply – he’d practically raised her and had always treated her like she was his own, but that part was also tainted by a little girl’s knowledge that if it wasn’t for Uther, her father would still be alive. Now her feelings for the king had been hardened by his unwillingness to see reason and fairness when it came to magic – the blood of innocents like Tom that stained his hands. Banishing Merlin was the last straw.

Gwen was at her side in an instant.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she said without any hesitation.

Morgana stared at her. “How can you say that? How can you still want him alive?”

“It’s not him I care about – it’s you. The choices we make…they determine who we become. I would not wish that choice upon your soul. Neither would Merlin.”

Gwen’s kind words comforted her, like a balm on a wound she hadn’t realized was there. Still…

“I have these dreams, Gwen,” she breathed. It seemed they were confessing all tonight. “They are…not natural. I don’t know how, or why, or what they are, but I fear them. I fear their cause. And these feelings of rage and… There’s a darkness in me, Gwen. It frightens me!” Morgana shivered, from more than just the chill at the window. Gwen’s moment of anger was to save precious belongings and return them to an old man. Her moment of anger was to plot murder. What did that really say about her?

Gwen, ever perceptive, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “There’s a darkness in us all, my lady. Light and dark – that’s what makes us human. We just have to choose which side we trust more… Now, let’s get you to sleep.”

Wondering exactly when her maidservant had become so wise, Morgana allowed herself to be led away from the window and over to her bed.

*****

Just as he’d expected, Gaius was fussing over his hand.

“It’s not deep, but it’s already infected, and Merlin do I need to remind you what a risk even the smallest infection can be to you down here?”

Merlin bit his tongue, knowing that the physician’s chastisement was more because he was worried and he cared than because he was actually upset with him.

“You cannot keep doing this, my boy. You cannot – ”

“Gaius,” Merlin finally interrupted softly with a sigh. “What other choice do I have?”

The old man fell silent, and Merlin didn’t need eyes to know the look of sorrow that was creasing his face. “I’ve washed and bandaged it,” his surrogate father finally said, patting the back of his hand. “Do try to keep it clean.”

“I promise.”

“Now, speaking of clean, up you get.”

“Wha – ” Merlin sputtered, startled when a surprisingly strong Gaius threw back the blanket that was covering his lap and hauled him upright, chains clanking. He wobbled precariously on one leg – his injured foot held slightly off the ground – but the physician’s caring hands supported him.

“You are going to have a bath, and a shave for that peach-fuzz, and then a haircut. And there will be no arguing, young man, because I did not haul this water all the way down here to put up with any of your sass.”

Merlin broke into a grin. That was the closest Gaius had sounded to normal in weeks and it was exactly what he needed.

“Yes sir,” he said quickly and Gaius chuckled.

Half an hour later he was exhausted, but feeling better. It hadn’t been a true bath – his chains prevented him from actually removing any of his current clothing to put on fresh, but Gaius had helped him shift things around enough to clean off a good portion of the grime on his body. The following shave and hair cut had almost made up for the fact he was still dressed in the filthy rags.

“On my next visit, I’ll bring a needle and thread and we’ll see if we can’t patch some of those holes together before you actually become indecent,” Gaius said from the other side of Merlin’s cell, accompanied by small scuffing noises and Merlin laughed.

“There,” his guardian said a moment later, sounding a little breathless. “The floor is as clear of debris as I can make it without a broom. I shall throw the bathwater on it as I leave to give it a wash, but you must promise to give it at least an hour to dry before you move around. I will not have you slipping!”

“I promise, Gaius,” Merlin said, leaning back into his pillows, marveling at the feel of clean skin and a hairless face and Gaius’s fussing. Moments later, the man sat next to him.

“How long has it been. Since it happened?” Merlin asked, the question one that had been plaguing him.

“Three weeks and four days.”

“I lose track of the days,” he admitted quietly. “Seems like an eternity…”

A hand patted him gently on the knee and Merlin forced down the feelings of hopelessness that constantly threatened to swallow him whole. This had been a good visit, despite Gaius’s scolding. He didn’t want to spoil it with despair; he knew he’d need to cling to its memory to get through until the next one.

“So, tell me all the gossip, everything you can squeeze in before you have to leave,” he said brightly, bending his uninjured leg and trying to get comfortable.

“Well, Sir Pellinore had a toothache, but he refused to come to me for treatment until it was so bad he fainted on the training field, like a maiden.”

Merlin laughed heartily, imagining the whole scene.

“The kitchen cat had her kittens. Five. All black and white except one that’s gray. And Gwen stops by at least once a day. She misses you.”

Merlin missed her, too, so much. Besides Arthur, she was his dearest friend.

Speaking of prattish princes…

“Has Arthur returned?”

“No,” Gaius said, and Merlin could just picture his eyebrow raising in disapproval. “And Uther grows more angry and impatient each day. I fear Arthur will be in for an unpleasant welcome.”

“He won’t hurt him will he?” Merlin asked quickly, sitting up and grabbing for Gaius’s wrist. Uther Pendragon was the new monster of his nightmares and he no longer believed Arthur safe from his wrath.

“No, I don’t think so. You wouldn’t still be alive if Uther didn’t care for his son.”

Merlin relaxed marginally. “So, is what you told the king true, then? Did I connect us that day, with my magic?”

“No, Merlin.”

Merlin grinned again. “So you lied. To the king.”

“Yes, Merlin. I lied. To the king. But I do believe you and Arthur are connected, by destiny and prophecy – friendship. One should never underestimate the bonds magic forges.”

“Two sides of the same coin,” Merlin muttered, remembering what both the dragon and his mother had once told him.

Approaching footsteps suddenly echoed through the cavern and Gaius rose with a stifled groan.

“Stay strong, my boy,” he whispered, ruffling Merlin’s clean hair.

The warlock reached up and caught his hand, squeezing it tightly before letting go. With resignation, he listened as water splashed across the cold stone of his cage, then the door opened and locked shut. He turned away then, shifting until he was lying down and his blanket was pulled up to his ears, allowing the clank of his chains to drown out the sound of two sets of footsteps receding and leaving him all alone once more.