Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was only darkness at first, thick as mud and just as cold, suffocating and heavy, pressing against skin and bone.

Then there was a light. Except it wasn’t a light. It was a rat so white it seemed to glow, standing out against the darkness with a contrast that was nearly blinding. It was sniffing at the air, looking for something, wandering in the dark that had no end. But the dark pressed in on that rat, gathering around it like a cloud until the rat faded, faded…

Until the rat was gone. Devoured by the dark.

~oOo~

Merlin woke with a gasp, thrashing and tangling himself mercilessly in coarse material. He kicked and flailed until whatever was trying to trap his legs was flung away. He clawed at gritty soil – soil, not stone – until he was upright and his brain finally realized that he wasn’t surrounded by the dark.

On the contrary, he was out in the open, in the woods sleeping by a tiny brook gently babbling over smooth rocks, and light filtering through the trees in soft shafts of gold. There were birds twittering, a breeze rustling through the leaves and the smell of soil and wood.

Merlin flopped back onto the bottom half of his bed roll, stared up through the trees to a golden morning sky, and breathed.

I’m not in the dark. I’m free of the dark, he thought, over and over as he often did these days when waking up from another nightmare. He turned his head, taking in the trees and the undergrowth, then tilted his head back toward the tiny cottage he and his mother had repaired. It was more like a shack, really; a hunting lodge long since abandoned, big enough for only a cot, a small table, a few crates of supplies and an equally small fireplace put there more for warmth than cooking. Merlin did all his cooking outside. He did most things outside these days – unable to stand the confined space for very long, but needing it should it rain. Even then, he always left the door and shutters open.

Merlin levered himself upright feeling tired despite having given in to an early night. He leaned forward with his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees.

He was looking better, his mother often said when he went to the village to spend time with her. He wasn’t as horribly thin as he had been when he first arrived, she liked to say, although it seemed more for her benefit than for his. He was still disconcertingly thin according to the uneasy once-overs she would give him, the way she would watch him eat as though every bite he took was a god-send, the way she would always press a loaf of bread or cheese or some vegetable into his hand before he left, even though he wasn’t going that far.

She worried even as she mentioned, again and again, the progress Merlin was making.

Merlin dropped his gaze to his thin hands clasped round his bony arms. He lifted his right hand, palm up. He took a breath to speak.

The breath caught in his throat as if trying to dive back into his lungs. He choked on it, coughed, and took another breath to try again.

He nearly gagged just as the words reached his tongue. The gag morphed into a quiet sob.

Merlin clenched his hand into a fist that shook.

TBC...

Chapter Text

Arthur’s boots scraped over the filthy stone floor of the oubliette. The light of his lantern glittered on the slime coating the walls. In the corner diagonal from the ladder was a pile of old, molding hay, much of it scattered about, but some of it still in a pile. In the opposite corner was a hole that seemed to vomit up the most putrid smells - that of urine and waste left to rot. In the far right corner was an even smaller hole in the wall, just big enough for rats to get through.

Arthur slowly closed the shutters of the lamp, letting the darkness creep in around him. The shutter slid the final inch with a squeak, and the darkness swallowed him.

Arthur’s eyes immediately strained to see something, anything, making his eyeballs and head throb without mercy. He heard something scratching…

Arthur fumbled with the shutter until it opened, driving back the dark with is flickering light.

A month.

Arthur recalled with unwanted vividness seeing Merlin curled up on the patient bed. His skin had been like shriveled, white parchment pinpricked with scabs and oozing sores. It had shrunk tight to his joints and between the spaces of his ribs, and had made his shoulder blades and spine like something you could cut yourself on. That skin had been caked in layers of filth, more filth matted in his shaggy hair and beard, and he had smelled as the oubliette smelled now. Like something left to rot.

A month.

Merlin had screamed in terror and pain when he’d been dragged from the dungeon, according to one of the guards. Those guards, the ones meant to take care of Merlin, to move him from the oubliette to a cell, had been sacked, placed in the stocks, and then forced to spend a day in the oubliette. Which, maybe, wasn’t punishment enough, but it had sent a clear message – don’t ever assume to interpret the will of the king.

A bloody month.

Arthur hurried up the ladder and pushed aside the unlocked trap door. As soon as he was out he sucked in several deep lungfulls of air through his nose, clearing out the stench of the oubliette. Some distant part of his brain casually mentioned the possibility of cleaning the oubliette out. A louder part suggested burying the blasted thing and never using it again.

One more deep breath, and Arthur felt steadier. He hadn’t realized he’d been shaking. But, then, this was the first time since he’d started making his trips to the oubliette that he had attempted to brave the dark, short as it had been.

A month.

Merlin had been down in that thing for a month.

Arthur had often tried to soften the thought with the assumption that Merlin had probably summoned some magical light to keep the darkness back. It was a comfort that had been thoroughly smashed when Gaius had explained that Merlin would have become too weakened and addled to be able to use his magic.

Merlin had still been in that solid darkness for lords knew how long.

Arthur took another breath, then walked as regally as he could through the dungeon before the shakes returned, passing the new guards who kept their attention on their midday meal and not their king per his instructions. They were to pretend he wasn’t there.

Arthur tried not to hurry up the steps, but as soon as he was out the door, back into the sunlit halls of the citadel and momentarily alone, he exhaled a great breath of relief. He composed himself once more as he walked back to his chambers.

It was strange how you could perform an action over and over and not know why you were performing it. He had only wanted to visit the oubliette once: to understand what Merlin had gone through, to see if it was really all that bad, to punish himself – he didn’t know. But one visit had become two, two had become three, and today would make it the fifth time he had visited, at least once a week since Merlin had left, and if time permitted. And if it was meant to have accomplished something, enlightened him or punished him, then that accomplishment had yet to happen. Maybe it never would.

Which would be fitting. Arthur was the last person on this green earth who deserved any kind of closer.

Arthur reached his chambers where a pile of papers waited to be looked over, signed, or denied. The majority, he knew, would be letters demanding why in the world he wished to bring about the legalization of magic, and so soon after his father’s death from an illness brought about from his depression over Morgana’s betrayal (which, at the time, had been yet another distraction from Merlin’s unknown plight), while others would be further correspondence from the various Druid leaders, who were the only representatives of magic that Arthur knew of (and who weren’t trying to kill him).

The papers were neatly stacked and organized on the table, his chambers spotless as if only recently built and furnished.

They were also empty, and it caused a mild pain in Arthur’s chest that had yet to alleviate. He liked to tell himself that the pain was merely frustration, because he could really use Merlin’s help right about now in all these magical matters. He was painfully aware that he was fooling himself.

But Merlin wasn’t here, life continued moving forward, and a king could not rest simply because his friend wasn’t around (and, lords, why was it so easy now, after all this time, to call Merlin a friend? When the boy was miles away and no doubt wanted nothing more to do with him or Camelot?)

Arthur picked up the first of the papers from a stack on the right and began to read. No sooner had he started when there was a pounding on his door, followed immediately by a startled sounding “Gwaine!” and then Gwaine bursting in, Lancelot trailing behind trying to stop him.

Sadly, this Arthur had gotten used to, as well as endured as a show of penance (and because if he didn’t allow Gwaine his occasional tantrums, then Gwaine would find worse ways of acting out, such as throwing a tantrum in front of all the lords and knights).

“Sir Gwaine,” Arthur greeted. Gwaine stepped up to Arthur’s desk, standing rigid as a tree. Lancelot stepped up beside Gwaine looking harried, exasperated, but not particularly contrite. But that was Lancelot in a nutshell for you – passive-aggressive when he wanted to be, but still respectful of his station if not his king. And that, too, Arthur endured.

“Seems we have ourselves a bit of an issue, sire,” Gwaine said with as much bitter emphasis on the word “sire” as he could muster, which was quite a bit.

Lancelot rolled his eyes at Gwaine, then straightened respectfully. “A messenger has arrived from Annis’ kingdom, sire. He says the message he has is one of great urgency. It concerns a danger making its way toward Camelot.”

Arthur nodded. “I’ll meet him in the throne room. Gather the knights so they can be present for what he has to say.”

Lancelot bowed, “Sire.”

Gwaine gave him a two-fingered salute, “Queenie.”

“Gwaine,” Arthur growled, because there did have to be some limit. Arthur was still the king.

When Lancelot and Gwaine left, Arthur dressed himself in one of his finer jackets. His father would not have approved, but Arthur had long since decided that such decorum was a waste of time when it came to urgent matters. He would rather his men see him as another man, a fellow knight and someone who prefers receiving the news of approaching danger as quickly as possible over dressing regal and imposing. The ‘imposing’ he used only for the lords and those from neighboring kingdoms.

As Arthur made his way to the throne room, he could not help but think of Gwaine and Lancelot and the battle of wills fought over a sorcerer in an oubliette. He’d had to arrest Gwaine four times for trying to sneak into the dungeons to break Merlin out, and locked him in a tower chamber each time (Arthur, under the impression that Merlin had been moved to a cell, hadn’t wanted Gwaine to be within range to communicate with him). Lancelot had mostly given him the silent treatment. But Arthur had asked Lancelot, one day, why he didn’t help Gwaine free Merlin.

“Knowing Merlin, he wouldn’t want to go,” Lancelot had said sadly. “He wouldn’t want to leave you unprotected. And I’m sure he believes staying where he is will prove to you that he’s still the same Merlin he always was.”

It was a poetic kind of irony that Merlin had left, anyways.

Neither had Arthur yet to be in any danger. On the other hand, what with the laws to reassess, angry lords to appease and Druids to meet with on his grounds, neither had he been in a position to be ambushed. But patrols had also been quiet save for the occasional bandit attack that was easily quelled, and all Arthur could figure was that word of magic’s legalization had spread, and all magic user were waiting with baited breath to see if Arthur was a man of his word.

Really, it was only fitting that there would rise a problem, now, just as they were all getting lulled into a false sense of security. Arthur entered the throne room and took a seat on the throne. His knights plus Gaius soon gathered, and when they had all arrived, Arthur gave a nod to the guard by the door. The door was opened and a bearded man dressed in a mix of rough tunic, breeches and animals skins hurried in, dusty from the road and with a determined look on his face. He was escorted to the throne, where he knelt in respect while holding out a scroll. Leon took it and handed it to Arthur.

“Rise and state the matter of the situation,” Arthur said. “I’m told of a danger moving toward Camelot?”

“A danger moving toward all the realms, sire,” the man said. “The details have been provided on the scroll by queen Annis, but the long and short of it is…” he took a breath, and seemed suddenly unsure of how to proceed. “Well, sire, it’s going to sound a bit mad. But I promise you that what I say and what is written on the scroll is all true. Queen Annis would never mislead you on such a matter.”

Arthur nodded, “I know. Go on.”

“Well, sire, the nature of the situation is a man. But not just any man. A giant of a man, as tall as a tree, and leading an army made of shadows. He has been traveling across country, taking lands as he goes, and none yet have been able to stop him. He has already decimated three villages in our kingdom, claiming the location of those villages for himself. Annis has sent her entire army after him, but he refuses to fight unless it’s with her strongest champions. And, believe me, sire, we tried to attack. But, well, it seems this giant is well versed in magic. We can’t go anywhere near him unless we agree to his terms. A battle with our greatest champion for the land. If our champion wins, the giant will leave. If the giant wins, the land is his. But none have yet to be able to defeat this being.”

“And it is heading for Camelot?” Arthur asked.

“Annis met with the rulers of those realms the giant had already passed through. It seems he is on a steady course, one that has already taken him across the borders into Lot’s realm. Should he continue on this path, he will soon cross Camelot’s border.”

The messenger gestured at the scroll in Arthur’s hands. “All the details of Annis’ research and a compilation of accounts is in that scroll. She has sent one to every kingdom, even those not in the giant’s path since we have no idea if his intent is to eventually invade all the realms. There is also a map marking where he has been and where he is likely to end up. The queen begs your assistance to help stop this being.”

Arthur nodded again. “And she will have assistance. I’ll need to review this information, but tell your queen that we will be riding out to meet this giant as quickly as possible.”

The man bowed again. “We thank you, sire.”

The man was dismissed, and Arthur immediately called his top knights to meet him in the war room. There they unrolled various sheets of parchment from the scroll until they found the mentioned map, while Gaius looked over the information. Arthur had servants fetch the maps of the realm and for Lot’s kingdom as well, to determine what lay in the giant’s path.

Arthur paled.

The giant’s path would take it directly to Ealdor.

~oOo~

Arthur felt not unlike he was preparing for war. Which, based on Annis’ information, he most certainly was, futile as it seemed. Others had apparently tried brute force against this being, charging on the giant only to be met with an invisible resistance that held them back. A magic shield, Gaius had called it, and a powerful one to keep an entire army at bay.

“What do you know of Giants, Gaius?” Arthur asked while Gaius packed his medical supplies. There were also stacks of books on his table, ones he requested from the library in order to research as they traveled. Since Arthur’s contribution to all the packing had been a list of weapons for the black smiths to sharpen and squires to pack into the wagons, there was little else for him to do save for gathering whatever other information there was to gather. He also helped Gaius while doing so, fetching bandages and bottles as Gaius asked for them.

“Not much,” Gaius said. “But then what there is known of giant society speaks of an intelligent but rather uncomplicated race. Being as large as they are, they can be rather territorial, living mostly by themselves or with a mate. Most are said to reside in the mountains and places too difficult to reach for men of our size.”

Gaius went to the table and began packing a few of the books into a leather satchel. “What is known is that in giant society it is customary to keep that which belongs to whoever they defeat. This includes land, herds, even a mate and children. Even an entire kingdom at one time if the tales are to be believed, although which kingdom is still up for debate.”

“Are they generally a magical race?” Arthur asked.

It surprised Arthur when Gaius shrugged, as if it were a matter that was neither here nor there.

“They will practice magic if it suits a particular need. However, for a giant to have enough power to be able to hold back an entire army… well, as I said, they are an uncomplicated race, but that does not mean they aren’t full of surprises as well. It could be that this giant managed to defeat a sorcerer, one with many magical secrets. Or it could be he stumbled onto something of power. Giants will also keep whatever they happen to find.”

Arthur nodded, rolling a bottle of white potion between his palms.

“Gaius…” Arthur said, hesitant, not wanting to ask this question but needing to know. “How might Merlin take my… our arrival to Ealdor?”

Gaius paused in his packing. He looked up, and pressed his lips into a thin line until they seemed to vanish.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“But you have said he’s doing well.”

Gaius said nothing for a moment, which was never promising. He then resumed packing.

“Health-wise he is improving, according to his mother.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “And yet why do I sense a ‘but’ you’re not willing to tell me about.”

“Mostly because it’s not my place,” Gaius said sternly. But he immediately softened. “It may be best that you keep your focus on dealing with this giant, and worry about Merlin only after the matter is dealt with.”

“Except that Merlin might be able to help us,” Arthur said.

Gaius sighed and looked up. “Or he might not. Arthur, I know you will want to seek him out when we arrive at Ealdor, but please heed my advice – let Merlin be the one to come to us. Do not try to seek him out. It could only make matters worse.”

Arthur scowled at this. If they would indeed need Merlin’s help then there would be no time for waiting. But, then, Arthur remembered the day when he had gone to Merlin, and asked to see some of his magic. He remembered with painful clarity the way Merlin had paled, how he had started to shake as tears filled his eyes. He remembered Merlin’s fear and despair as Merlin said no then broke down weeping as though something inside him had been torn open like a wound.

What right did Arthur have to ask anything of Merlin?

Merlin had bruised his trust.

But Arthur had broken his mind.

“I won’t seek him out, Gaius,” Arthur said. “I swear.”

Gaius nodded, looking sad and old. “Thank you sire.” He managed to squeeze one more book into the bag before closing it and carrying it to the door to add it to the small pile of supplies. Halfway there, he stopped and turned.

“Arthur,” he said. “You are not a perfect man, and you have made mistakes. But you are learning from your mistakes and letting what you learn make you a better person. You are a good man, Arthur.”

Arthur chuffed bitterly. “Then why do I feel like anything but a good man?”

Gaius smiled. “Because good men also never realize that they are good.”

“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur said politely. “But you don’t need to try and make me feel better.”

“Doesn’t make what I said any less true. You would not have earned Merlin’s loyalty and the loyalty of your men if you were otherwise.”

“If you haven’t recalled, Giaus, I abused that loyalty and lost it,” Arthur said hotly.

“That does not mean it cannot be earned back,” Gaius said.

Arthur highly doubted it.

TBC...

Chapter Text

The problem with going to face an unknown threat while dragging along an army of men plus an army of servants and supplies was that it forced a rather slow pace. Horses pulling wagons and men in armor could only go so fast, and Arthur felt their methodical journey like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

But hurrying wouldn’t have made a difference even if it were possible. There would be no crossing the border until the courier arrived bearing either Lot’s permission or denial, and waiting for that permission was less like an itch and more like an ache growing at the base of Arthur’s skull. A giant could show up at Elador’s doorstep at any moment, and while Lot had so far proven to be mostly Cenred’s opposite (at least where his deference to Arthur was concerned) Arthur didn’t know the man well enough to know if he would be the type to ride to the aid of a tiny, outlying village or leave it to the wolves.

They finally reached Essetir’s border with just enough light to set up camp. Arthur hardly slept that night, lying on his bed roll, staring up at a clear sky awash with stars. There was every chance that he would never see Merlin, and that Merlin would avoid him like a plague. Arthur was as prepared for that eventuality as one could get, he supposed – in that he hated the thought of Merlin there but avoiding him, but would respect Gaius’ request to leave Merlin be.

But what if he did run into him? What then? Say he was sorry? Pretend he hadn’t seen Merlin? It also begged the question of how Merlin would react, whether he would be formal out of respect to Arthur’s station…

Or if he would run, screaming, as if Arthur were a monster in the dark.

The latter, if nothing else, had become good motivation for Arthur to keep his promise to Gaius. He wouldn’t be able to deal with it, especially knowing he had brought it on himself. But the what-ifs filled his mind and flooded out all other thoughts, and it was with great irritation that he realized he was nervous. Nervous! About potentially running into Merlin, his idiot sorcerer of a manservant; so idiotic he had resigned himself to a month of hell in an oubliette just to prove himself to Arthur rather than doing the sensible thing that was saying to hell with it all and blasting his way free, before he had gone mad.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. No, he wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to pin this on Merlin no matter how much his brain wanted to just for some peace of mind. Maybe Merlin should have said to hell with it and blasted his way free, but it was Arthur who hadn’t gone into the dungeons to ensure his orders had been followed. It was Arthur who hadn’t wanted to go down, in case his orders had been followed and he saw Merlin in one of the cells, or heard him call out.

It had been Arthur who had wanted to pretend, just for a moment, that Merlin didn’t exist. A moment that had lasted for over a month. He had wanted to pretend that he hadn’t been lied to and deceived and betrayed, again, by someone close to him.

Except that was the rub, because the definition of a betrayal was someone who turned against you, who wanted to harm you, who lied and deceived to achieve the end that was your downfall. And Merlin was and always had been the complete opposite of that. So what did one call it when someone lied and hid who they were in order to save your life day in and day out? What was that? Because it certainly wasn’t a betrayal.

Arthur hadn’t realized that his train of thought had led to sleep and dreams in which Arthur searched the castle for his wayward manservant, only to never find him, until he was shaken awake. Arthur blinked blearily up into the face of Leon.

“The courier has arrived,” he said.

Arthur practically flung himself from his bed roll and onto his feet.

He nearly laughed in relief when Lot’s message not only granted permission to enter his lands, but invited him, asking Arthur to meet with Lot just outside of Ealdor where a blockade of men was being established.

Arthur felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment that their path was to take them beyond Ealdor. He wondered if that made him a coward.

They crossed the border, following the directions provided by Lot that took them within sight of the village, skimming just close enough for them to see the thatch-roofed huts and hear the laughter of children. Arthur frowned at that. The village should be emptied, evacuated should the giant break through the blockade.

Lot’s directions took them across a shallow stream and to the peak of a wide hill. What met Arthur was a scene only ever witnessed on the eve of battle – tents of various size lined where the hill crested, men in armor practicing fighting techniques, and blacksmiths repairing and sharpening swords. The area rang with shouted orders, metal clanging against metal and the laughter of men currently at ease. As Arthur and his knights entered the camp, he was met with casually curious but brief looks, as though the arrival of an army of the neighboring kingdom were an everyday event.

And maybe it was, because it wasn’t just Lot’s banners that were flapping in the wind. There were banners from Nemeth, Annis’ realm, Bayard’s, and others besides, some Arthur had never even seen before. They weren’t as many as Lot’s banners, but enough to know how far spread word was of this giant.

Arthur saw Lot and several of his entourage heading his way, a sour-faced man with flaxen hair striding alongside him and eying Arthur in immediate disapproval. Arthur dismounted to meet Lot halfway, and the two clasped hands.

“It’s a strange thing to say about an army from a neighboring realm within my borders, but you’re a damn sight for sore eyes, Arthur,” Lot said.

“Has the giant made an appearance, yet?” Arthur asked.

“Not yet, but scouts have been sent to track him. Their last message gave an estimate of his arrival being sometime in the early hours of the following day.”

Arthur nodded. “It gives my men enough time to rest from their travels.” A wisp of smoke pulled Arthur’s attention toward Ealdor, where the cooking fires could be seen and smelled.

“Forgive me for asking such a blunt question, but why has the village not been evacuated?” Arthur asked, and somehow managed to keep his tone curiously civil.

“They are aware of the situation but are apparently a stubborn group,” Lot said soberly. “They wish to stay and fight if need be. Something about having saved their village once and being damned if they nearly lose it again.”

Arthur’s lips twitched toward a smile.

“But should things look dire I have men standing by to escort those unable or unwilling to fight to safety.”

Arthur nodded, and couldn’t help wondering if Merlin would be among the ones unable to fight, or among those willing to fight. Knowing Merlin, Arthur highly doubted he would be among the unwilling, no matter his state of mind.

“There is plenty of room to set up camp on the edge of where part of the woodland has crested the hills. It should offer an excellent vantage point to see when this giant bugger is coming.”

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur said. He turned, about to lead his men to the location for their camp.

“Oh,” Lot said as an afterthought. Arthur turned to him to see an amused smile on his face. “And ignore any rumors you hear of a wild man in the woods. He’s harmless; mostly just runs if he’s spotted.”

Arthur’s chest tightened. He forced a smile on his face, swallowed back the bile in his throat, and went to ready the camp.

~oOo~

Setting up camp took the better part of the day, and in between were consultations with Lot on what he knew of the situation and what he had planned. Lot had no intentions of meeting the giant head on, but instead planned to save his troops for the final confrontation should all those who challenge the giant fail.

“I have… called on the aid of sorcerers,” Lot said, eying Arthur askance as he said it.

“A wise move,” Arthur said, much to Lot’s surprise, but then Arthur was well aware of the rumors of Camelot’s changing laws being a ploy to lure sorcerers out into the open. Never mind that Arthur had been meeting with the druids and those few sorcerers willing to hear Arthur out.

Night came before Arthur had a chance to go down into the village and alert Hunith to his presence. Not that he needed to, Gaius having gone down already. Arthur doubted Hunith would want to see him, anyway. Not after what he had put her son through.

But he wandered the village that was near silent save for the grunt of a pig when Arthur passed its pen, and the bark of a dog somewhere in the distance. Doors and shutters were closed, and only a few of the tiny huts had candles lit, their meager light visible through the chinks of old wood.

Hunith’s hut, at first, seemed to be dark. But as Arthur wandered by, he saw the faint glow of candle light seeping through the bottom of the house’s little wooden shutter. It wasn’t a bright light, not to read by, and the hut wasn’t exactly large enough or cluttered enough to need a light to get around. Perhaps it was some peasant superstition – light a candle in the night for good luck or something. Arthur continued on.

The snap of a twig made him freeze.

Perhaps it was nothing – some fox coming in to harass the chickens, or a pig or cow shifting in their stall. But the sound had come from outside, and the crack of the twig too loud to be caused by something as small as a fox. Arthur slipped around the side of the barn and watched, concealed, in the direction the noise had come.

The night was clear and cool, the moon full and high in the sky, casting everything in blue-silver and black.

A shape detached from the shadows of a house and crept skittishly along the edge of the muddy little road. It was hunched and tense, like a dog that had recently been kicked, but very much a human – a skinny, ragged, barefoot human. A beggar, no doubt, come to steal scraps or maybe a chicken egg or two.

Except it wasn’t the barn they were creeping toward, it was Hunith’s house.

Arthur stiffened, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. The figure slowed as it approached, coming in close enough for Arthur to see more details. The figure straightened and glanced nervously around.

Arthur’s hand dropped to his side. His heart stuttered. His ribs closed in on his lungs until he could barely breathe.

“Merlin,” he whispered in alarm.

Merlin’s thin, pale face seemed to glow in the darkness, smudged with dirt and shadowed with stubble. His eyes darted everywhere like a spooked animal uncertain if the danger had passed. When the way seemed clear, he hurried on, a thin and tattered thing, as if only just released from the oubliette, breathing fast and trembling.

Merlin slipped quickly inside the hut as if his life depended on it.

Horror and curiosity moved Arthur as if his limbs had a mind of their own, bringing him to the house and peering through a gap in the shutters like some bloody thief. He heard Merlin and Hunith before seeing them, then after a bit of maneuvering, spotted them on the floor before the fire – Merlin facing the tiny hearth and Hunith on his other side, wiping the dirt from his face with a wet cloth.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said miserably. “I didn’t want to wake you. I tried—“

Hunith clucked her tongue. “Oh, Merlin, it’s fine. You know this. I had only just gone to bed. I wasn’t even asleep.”

This, apparently, didn’t help to make Merlin feel any better. He sat there in dejected silence until Hunith had finished. When finished, she set aside the clay bowl of water and cloth, then rose and fetched a blanket from out of a small chest at the foot of her wooden cot. She shook it out before tucking it around Merlin’s bony shoulders.

“I saw…” Merlin began. Hunith stopped her fussing and went still.

“Yes?” she prompted.

“I think… I might have seen Camelot’s banners. But I might have been dreaming.” He looked at Hunith, half hoping, half afraid, and suddenly Arthur wanted to look away and not know which it was – hope, or fear.

Hunith brushed his hair from his temples. “Camelot has come to fight the giant,” she said. “That is all.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, neither happy nor disappointed.

“Giaus is here,” Hunith went on as if hoping to elicit a better response. “He came by this afternoon.”

“Oh,” Merlin said in that same flat voice.

“He’s doing research. I invited him to use my house to keep his books so they don’t get damaged in the weather. So he’ll be here if you wish to visit him.”

“Okay,” Merlin said, still flat.

Hunith kissed his forehead. “Try to get some sleep.”

She returned to her bed, while Merlin curled up on the floor. The small fire and the candle were the only light, the candle on the hearth near Merlin’s head, both lights surrounding him in a soft glow, as though they were the only light left in the world.

Arthur pulled away from the shutter’s gap and the sight of Merlin curled up and impossibly small on the floor, keeping every part of him well away from the darkness beyond the border of the light.

Gaius had been wrong.

Merlin was not ‘doing better.’

It hardened Arthur’s resolve to leave Merlin alone.

TBC...

Chapter Text

Merlin woke well before dawn, which he still found ironic after all this time, considering how much trouble Gaius always had waking him before the sun could breach the horizon. It was as though Merlin had developed a kind of hyper-awareness that included the passage of time, because he always knew the exact moment when the people of Ealdor not only went inside but went to sleep, and the exact moment when they would wake up.

The fire had died to embers, but the candle continued to burn, its flame cradled in a stump surrounded by a puddle of cooled wax. He blew it out, then peeled it from the stone floor to take with him and form a new candle, since it was only fair. It wasn’t right that he was using so many of his mother’s meager supply of candles. And for what? To satiate a childish fear of the dark?

His mother would beg to differ and say that if it meant a good night’s rest for him then he could use every candle she had. But she was his mother and would no doubt burn her own home if it meant Merlin getting some rest.

But he was her son, and he would not let her make such sacrifices.

Merlin crept heel to toe from the house. Once outside, he broke into a crouched run, darting between the huts and within the shadows until he reached the safety of the woods. There he straightened and ran all the way to his shack.

Arthur was here. In Ealdor.

To fight a giant, that was all. It wasn’t like Arthur had come to hunt him down and drag him back to that… that pit. He hadn’t come pestering Hunith about Merlin’s whereabouts or demanding where he was. Arthur being here meant nothing.

No, it means everything.

It meant… Merlin didn’t know what it meant. It meant Arthur was here, and Merlin was here, and nothing had happened and Merlin had no idea what to make of it; whether his growing trepidation was his instinct telling him to run or simply a brain that still couldn’t separate Camelot from his nightmares.

Merlin reached his shack out of breath, heart laboring and legs as wobbly as a new born colt. He knew of the foolishness of running on an empty stomach, but fear was illogical in its motivations like that. Better hungry and weak than discovered and… and what? Merlin had never figured that part out. He hadn’t cared to. The need not to be seen even by those he had grown up with was irrational and tenacious, and listening to it was easier than fighting the panic that often tried to consume him when he stayed for too long.

Merlin leaned up against the side of the shack. Gods, he was pathetic. And here he thought he was getting better. There had been days when he’d been able to stay in the village and clamp down on his fear despite the sounds of everyday life trying to ratchet that fear up. Then word had come of the giant destroying villages, and Lots men – and men from neighboring kingdoms – had flooded their tiny patch of the world, filling it with so much noise and chaos, and now all Merlin wanted was the safety of his solitude.

Except at night, when he couldn’t bear to be alone.

Pathetic and a walking contradiction; that’s what he was. And now Arthur was here, and Merlin didn’t know what he wanted – to run, to march up to Arthur and scream at him to leave, to walk up to Arthur and beg his forgiveness for abandoning his destiny, for abandoning Arthur. To say to hell with destiny and stay right where he was.

Merlin pushed away from the shack over to his water barrel, where he took the cup hanging on the nail and plunged it inside, filling the cup to the brim. After a few good, deep swallows, Merlin went inside to his small crate of supplies and pulled out a crust of bread and bit of cheese from a sack. His stomach may have been grumbling fiercely, but his appetite felt a little weak. Merlin sat on his cot and ate his bread and cheese.

Arthur was here to fight a giant said to be indestructible.

Merlin slumped with his upper back against the wall, the food forgotten in his hands. He started to laugh.

Arthur was here to find an indestructible giant. And of all the places this confrontation could have taken place, it had to take place here, near Merlin’s village. Because Kilgarrah had been right - there was, apparently, no escaping destiny, and either the gods were that cruel or simply indifferent to what Arthur had put Merlin through.

Because Merlin had a decision to make – stand by and let Arthur get slaughtered, or step in and help. Problem was, Merlin already knew the answer.

Merlin wasn’t going to let Arthur die. He couldn’t. Not even four years ago when Arthur had been a prat not worthy of much in Merlin’s point of view, Merlin had still slowed time and pushed him out of the way of a dagger. Even when Merlin hadn’t thought Arthur mattered, he had mattered enough for Merlin to risk himself to save someone who had been little more than a stranger.

Because that was the problem with Arthur – he was a hot-headed prat who listened to the wrong people and acted before thinking, but he was still worth fighting for. And Merlin, being Merlin, wouldn’t be able to stand by and watch as Arthur was slaughtered.

Saving Arthur wasn’t forgiveness, it merely was what it was – one man trying to do what was right, and another man keeping him alive in the process.

Merlin knew this was how it would play out, with the possible result of the both of them being slaughtered, and if there was a god of irony then he would laugh and pat himself on the back for a job well done, when the man who wanted nothing more to do with Arthur died by Arthur’s side trying to save his life.

Merlin laughed and laughed until laughter broke into a sob. Because the other problem… the other problem was that Merlin still could not bring himself to use his magic. He tried, he did, but every time he pushed himself, every time he managed so much as a syllable, he would start choking on the words as they tried to cram themselves back down his throat.

There would be no point in helping Arthur, but Merlin would, anyway. Because Merlin was Merlin, and Arthur was Arthur, and the more things changed the more things stayed the same. Merlin rather hated himself and Arthur for that.

The blasting sound of a horn tore through the silence of the woods. Merlin snapped his head upright, blinking away the tears.

The giant was coming.

Merlin launched himself from his cot, the remains of his bread and cheese falling to the dusty floor. He ran, splashing through the stream that hit the bare skin of his feet with its cold like a slap, then he scrabbled upward when the land inclined. He stopped at the edge of the forest where it ended at the top of the hill, and there scaled the tallest tree that would provide him an unobstructed view of the hill.

It was a pretty place, the hills beyond the woods – a great stretch of open land rolling like heaving emerald ocean waves all the way to the mountains. He and Will used to come to these hills to fight with wooden swords and pretend they were brave knights.

Real knights from various kingdoms stood at the ready, armed with swords or pikes, morning stars, crossbows, maces and lances. They shifted uneasily while horses stomped and snorted.

And swarming slowly over the hills like a shadow was an army, led by an impossible man.

~oOo~

Arthur’s hand was tight on the hilt of his sword, his sweating palms making the leather moist and uncomfortable. He had gone forth slaying bandits, armies, monsters, even the undead – faced these dangers head on, focused only on the battle and the needed moves that would save his life. But some things even a king trained from birth to kill could find unnerving enough to cause a bit of a sweat, and what came creeping over the hill like a gargantuan shadow was one of them.

The army was close enough for Arthur to see enough detail to make his heart beat fast and a bead of sweat run down his back. These were not men he was seeing, but skeletons so dark they seemed to have been dipped in ink, and dressed in rags that flowed like gauze in a breeze. Their weapons were vicious, serrated things and what bits of armor they wore were as dark as their bones.

And leading them was the giant. He lumbered like a tree with legs, eating up the distance quickly with his long stride. Each step he made thundered against the ground, and the closer he got, the more the ground vibrated with his footfalls. He wore little save for a loin cloth, a chest-plate like bits of armor hammered together, arm guards, thigh guards, and a heavy cape of bristling fur various shades of red, black, brown, yellow and silver-white. He carried a massive spiked club also of metal, and carried no shield.

The giant crest the hill, stopped, and surveyed the armies before him. A smile wrinkled his cheeks behind a black beard that hung all the way to his pot belly. Then he laughed.

It was like a deep drum, that laugh; a sound that went down to the bones and shook them, that went into the gut and churned it, that gripped the spine and chilled it. He leaned casually on his club and shook his head ruefully.

“You little men never learn,” he said in a voice like a fiery bellows. “No army has ever stopped me. Do you honestly fancy yourselves any different?”

King Lot stepped forward, his hand on his sword. “Merely a precaution,” he said, glaring. “We know of your fondness for challenges. Well, I suppose you could say we have a fondness for protecting our lands and people.”

The giant chuckled. “I can appreciate that, I suppose. I do have a fondness for protecting what is mine as well. So…” he lifted his club and rested it against his shoulder. “Who would like to test their mettle first? Step forward, now. Quick as you can.”

No one moved, not right away, which might have been far more humiliating had it not been a shared hesitation. Then a man did step forward – a barrel-chested fellow favoring the combination of skins and furs of Annis’ people, and rivaling Percival in both height and muscle. He, too, had an impressive club, but it was a child’s toy compared to the giant’s.

“This quick enough for you?” the man said.

The giant chuckled. “Indeed. Your name, good sir?”

“Galek. And yours?”

The giant answered by lifting his club, giving it a few good swings, then bringing it down straight towards Galek’s head. It was a braggart’s attack, but Galek proved swift for a man of his size. He leaped back easily, and the giant laughed merrily.

“Finally, a challenge!” He swung again. The giant’s movements were slow, Galek smaller and quicker compared to the giant. One would think small and quick the advantage, but each time Galek darted for the giant’s legs in order to smash his Achilles tendon, the giant would step away easily as thought expecting the move.

And the giant laughed and laughed, like a child having a merry old time.

Then Galek began to tire, his movements slowing and his swings messy. The giant tutted sadly.

“It always comes to this,” he said. “Such a pity.”

The giant brought down his club. Galek did not leap away fast enough, and the club struck, smashing him into the ground like an insect.

The giant sighed. “So be it. I presume he is not the only challenger, yes? It was a good go, I will give him that. I will return tomorrow at the same time to face the next challenge.”

He lifted his club that dripped with blood, then lifted Galek’s body and slung it over his shoulder like a piece of meat. The giant turned and lumbered away as the army slowly retreated like an outgoing wave.

Lot made his way to Arthur, looking grim. “I think,” he said, “That a bit of joint strategy may be in order.”

“But my lord, surly if we attack now while the thing’s back is turned…” said the waxen-haired man.

Lot rolled his eyes and shot the younger man a sharp look of reproof. “Landes, for the last bloody time, you read the reports. You know what happened when that monster was attacked.”

“But…”

“No, I will hear no more of it or you are dismissed.”

Landes shut his mouth, his jaw twitching in irritation.

Lot sighed. “My apologies. Landes is a bit too eager when it comes to matters of battle. More the charging forth type than the planning type. And I think you would agree that we are in dire need of a strategy.”

“Very much so,” Arthur said. He looked toward the giant, but he had long since vanished behind the hill. “More than that we need information. Have you brought any scholars with you?”

“About half the scholars I could find in my kingdom,” Lot said.

Arthur nodded. “Good. I’ll send my court physician to speak with them. He has much knowledge on these matters.”

“I’m wondering if any knowledge would help at this point,” Lot said.

Arthur could feel his expression turn grim as he recalled what little Gaius could tell him on giants. They were going to need far more than swords and knowledge.

Arthur’s eyes scanned the area as though the answer would appear right in front of him were he to look long enough. As he searched, his gaze was accosted by a flash of red, and he fixed on a wiry shape slipping from the branches of a tree before darting into the forest like a startled deer.

A feeling of melancholy and regret filled Arthur.

They were going to need magic for this.

TBC...

Chapter Text

Merlin was a bit filthy. Possibly too filthy for a visit with Gaius. Not that Gaius would have minded, but then maybe he would mind, being a physician who despised filth in his chambers if he could help it. Filth led to illness, he always said, and he wouldn’t be happy with Merlin’s state – all dirt-stained and tear-stained as he was.

Merlin hadn’t meant to cry, but after seeing that giant and what he had done to that man, knowing that Arthur would eventually be one of the challengers and that Merlin would be there to protect him but unable to use his magic…

No, Merlin wasn’t supposed to think about that. He was supposed to clean himself and visit with Gaius and ask what he should do, because Merlin had no idea and like hell he was going to summon Kilgarrah and put up with any of his damn riddles that were about as helpful as a rock to the head. Besides, the only clear place to land was currently being occupied by a very skittish army.

Merlin had already washed his face in the stream, and now removed his shirt in order to get to the rest of himself. He needed to remember to wear his shoes. He’d become prone to forgetting about his shoes. There was just something about the feel of the earth, rocks, twigs and water beneath his feet – the coolness, the grittiness, sometimes even the pain that reminded him of where he was and, most importantly, where he wasn’t. Because there were times when his brain would start to wonder if this was all a dream, then the panic would creep in. But all Merlin had to do was step outside onto the soil or rocks, or prick his foot on a stick and the panic would recede quicker than it had come.

Merlin splashed water on then under his arms, scrubbing them, the cold making him shiver.

The reverberating crack of a breaking stick snapped Merlin’s attention and awareness to the surrounding woods. He stilled his movements and slowed his breathing while listening to the familiar sounds of the forest.

His location was no secret. The children of Ealdor would often stumble across Merlin’s camp, or attempt to slip in unaware to make off with something as a test of courage. And, sometimes, Merlin would let them, to show that there was nothing to fear. Other times, however, they would come when he was still at the shack, and they would see him and run from the wild man in the woods. His mother had told him the stories the children liked to spin, about how Merlin was a fae that would spirit you away to fairy land, or the one about him being a werewolf that would peel the skin from your body. Stories only the children believed but not the adults, who had always thought of Merlin as odd, and his current choice of living little more than proof that he’d always been touched in the head. The latter Merlin had figured out for himself, and Hunith’s silence had only confirmed it.

But there were more than just children venturing into these forests.

The armies had only been here for three days, now, and those who did come into the woods were mostly looking for game to hunt, paying neither Merlin nor his abode any mind save to ask him about any deer or rabbits. He was just a boy in the woods, after all, nothing harmful or worth anyone’s time.

Merlin heard the echo of laughter, but it was fading away, going the other direction. Merlin went back to his washing.

“Well, well, look at this.”

Merlin leaped to his feet and whirled around.

Three men in the livery of Essetir stepped from the woods, crossbows in hand and padded boots to muffle their footsteps. They were smiling in a way Merlin didn’t like, jostling and nudging each other as if they had just accomplished something important.

“We come out to bag a bit of meat and we get the wild kid those brats in the village are always going on about,” said the tall, skinny one.

“Ga, look at him,” said the youngest, perhaps no older than Merlin. “Think someone in the village taught him how to wear pants?”

The stocky one snorted. “I bet the women teach him all kinds of things for a few favors, if you know what I mean. Bet they give him a biscuit afterwards for his services.”

“You think he ate the chap who owned this here shack?” said the youngest.

Merlin’s heart hammered, fear dancing with anger in a maelstrom that made his hands shake and his blood boil.

“What the hell do you want?” Merlin snapped through gritted teeth.

The skinny one blinked in mild surprise, then smiled. “Oh, will you look at that. All civilized with your speech. Bet that cost a fun night for whoever taught you.”

The stocky one spat on the ground. “We really going to let some half-naked animal give us lip?”

“Naw,” said the skinny one. They had spread out, surrounding Merlin, closing in on him. Then, suddenly, he was on the ground, his feet knocked out from under him and the impact shoving the breath from his lungs. He barely had time to register what had happened when a kick to the ribs rolled him onto his other side.

“You know,” said skinny. “Seeing as how he’s a bit of an animal I suppose there’d be no trouble in skinning him, yeah?”

The other two chuckled.

Merlin heard the hiss of a knife being pulled from a sheath. He groped on the ground looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon. His hand found the stream and one of its many smooth, round rocks. He gripped it, while boots crunched closer.

Merlin flipped onto his other side at the same time his hand came up, throwing the rock at skinny and pegging him in the head. Skinny stumbled back with a cry onto his backside. Merlin scrabbled to his feet and ran.

“Come back here you little bastard!” Skinny called.

Merlin pounded over the ground, his conditioned feet able to ignore the pricking twigs and scraping rocks. He ran until he came to a tree he could climb, and scaled it with practiced ease. He climbed as high as he dared until the branches creaked. Looking down, he was able to see patches of the forest, and saw the three men run past.

Merlin sighed in relief. He waited a few minutes, hopefully putting as much distance between himself and those men as possible. Then he began to climb down with the intent of racing back to Ealdor.

“I see him! There, in the tree!”

Merlin froze, then he climbed back to where he had been. He saw the three men surrounding the tree, laughing.

“Ga, just like a cornered bear,” said the stocky one.

“He’s too scrawny to be a bear,” said the youngest one. “He’s more like a little kitty. Don’t you want to come down, little kitty? We’ve got a bit of string for you.”

The men laughed. The stocky one picked up a pinecone and chucked it at Merlin. “You like a taste of your own medicine, kitty?” he said.

The others picked up pinecones and rocks, throwing them at Merlin with everything they had. Most of them missed, but a few of the smaller stones made it through, pegging Merlin on the feet and legs, sometimes his shoulders, arms, hands and back.

If Merlin could just use his magic, he could deflect the barrage. If he could use his magic, he would make the bastards pay.

Merlin tried while ducking the onslaught and flinching in pain with each hit. But the words refused to come, stuck in his throat where past attempts had made them clog.

“Aw, this is boring,” said skinny. “Ansel, go up there and drag him down. We need to show him what happens when you mess with a knight.”

“My pleasure, Lesk,” the younger one said. He smile a wicked smile as he began to scale the branches.

“No, leave me alone!” Merlin shouted.

The men just laughed louder.

“What do you lads have up there that’s such a riot,” said a new voice, a familiar voice, one that made Merlin’s heart beat fast with hope and relief.

“Gwaine?” Merlin called desperately.

“You shut it, animal!” Lesk spat. “This doesn’t concern you lot so bugger off.”

“Merlin?” Gwaine called back, ignoring Lesk. Then Merlin saw him peering up through the branches, his eyes wide and smile large.

“I think this concerns us quite a bit,” said the brilliant voice of Lancelot. “You see, that supposed animal you have cornered is a dear friend of ours.”

“Am I supposed to give a damn?” said Lesk. “He assaulted us. He needs to be punished. We’re bloody knights, he can’t treat us like that.”

Gwaine whirled around. “Knights? Really? Funny, I thought you were a bunch of little boys tormenting one of the local peasants. Not very knightly, wouldn’t you say, Perc?”

“Not very knightly at all,” said Percival, and Merlin could easily picture him folding his massive arms and flexing his great muscles.

“Oh, is that how it’s going to be, then?” Lesk said. “Ansel, get down here. There’s lessons to be taught.”

“Um,” Ansel stuttered, looking between Lesk and the knights of Camelot. “Are we sure about this?”

“Dead sure,” Lesk said.

Ansel hopped from the tree.

Merlin didn’t see all of what happened next, but he heard enough to get the basic idea of three knights of Camelot humiliating three knights of Essetir. He did see Gwaine step sideways as the stocky fellow charged him, and trip the fellow as he stumbled past. He heard the familiar clank of a sword hilt striking a helmed head, Lesk cry out with an indignant “ow!” and then, finally, a “Let’s get out of here!” Followed immediately by the pounding of booted feet fading away.

“All clear, Merlin,” Gwaine called.

Merlin moved as quickly as he could down the tree, hampered by all the tiny bruises forming on his feet and legs. It was just as he was about to hop from the last branch that a pair of hands lifted him off and pulled him into a rib-crushing hug.

“Percival, mate, he can’t breathe,” Gwaine said.

“Oh! Sorry,” Percival said, and swiftly released Merlin. Merlin gasped in a breath, stumbling back, but looked at his three friends and smiled in a way he hadn’t smiled in ages.

“Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival. By the gods am I happy to see you.”

“I bet,” said Gwaine, pulling him into a more sensible hug. “Considering you were cornered in a tree. I knew I shouldn’t have left.”

“Trouble does seem to favor you, my friend,” Lancelot said, and when Gwaine released Merlin, Lancelot enveloped him.

“So does luck,” Merlin said laughingly. “You have no idea how grateful I am you showed up.”

“Thank Arthur’s need to get a better lay of the land,” said Gwaine. “And those three for having a laugh like a donkey’s bray. That kind of laughter never bodes well in my experience.”

Lancelot cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “We… might also have been seeking you out. In a sense. More like hoping to run into you, really.”

Merlin became puzzled. “Why hope to run into me? I wouldn’t have minded you finding me.”

Now it was Percival’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “Well… you see…”

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Oh for the love of… Arthur made it an order of sorts that we were not to bother you.”

“What? Why?” Merlin said, his heart sinking into his stomach.

Gwaine shrugged. “I guess he thought you wouldn’t take it well, what with half of Camelot showing up and all.” He studied Merlin critically. “So… how are you taking things?”

Merlin remembered his half-dressed state, and both blushed and scowled at what had to be Gwaine misinterpreting the situation.

“Well enough,” Merlin said tersely. “I was just bathing when they snuck up on me, that’s all.”

Gwaine nodded, although not quite mollified.

“Speaking of which, I’d like to dress, now,” Merlin said, and walked as fast as he could back to the shack. He was well aware of how he looked – less dirt smudged but his face still stubbled, and his body bony in the way that always made everyone worry about his eating habits.

He hadn’t gone far from the shack, and ducked inside where he grabbed a fresh shirt from where it hung drying on a line of string tied to two nails. He slipped it on and instantly felt less vulnerable. He also remembered to put on his socks and shoes, though doing so made him feel oddly confined.

Merlin stepped outside the shack to the three knights standing awkwardly near the water.

“Er… is this where you live?” Lancelot asked.

“It’s… where I like to go,” Merlin said honestly. “When I need some space.”

Lancelot nodded, but the three knights looked only a modicum less tense. They were worried, Merlin got that, and he wished he could tell them that there was nothing to worry about except for the small, obnoxious matter of there being quite a bit to worry about – such as how he was supposed to help Arthur without magic. But, then, that’s why he was going to visit Gaius.

And, since Merlin was being honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind making the short journey in the company of three knights. Not because it would do anything, but because his brain was strange when it came to matters of peace of mind. And if it made entering Ealdor that much easier, then so be it, he’d let his mind have what it wanted, even if it was a bit embarrassing to need three seasoned warriors by his side just to walk into his home village.

“Merlin?” Gwaine said with concern, and Merlin realized he had stopped adjusting his shirt and was now sagging in dejection.

“Sorry, just thinking too much,” Merlin said.

Gwaine smiled, much to Merlin’s relief. “I always say thinking’s a dangerous pastime. So what’s your schedule for today? Or are we intruding on a moment of solitude.”

“I was going to see Gaius, actually,” Merlin said. He added, pretending it was an afterthought and not a carefully contemplated decision, “You can come along if you’d like.” He smiled back. “Make sure I’m not cornered in any more trees.”

“Gladly,” said Gwaine happily.

~oOo~

It was strange the difference made when entering Ealdor in the company of two knights. It didn’t make the sudden attention directed their way any less uncomfortable, but it made walking through the town without giving into the urge to hide in the shadows possible. Most of the attention was on the knights, however, because it was next to impossible to ignore the bright red capes and shining chain mail of two royal knights.

But it wasn’t long before the whispers began, and they were hard for Merlin not to hear.

“Do you think he did something wrong?”

“Probably. That boy was always strange. Then he goes off to Camelot only to come back mad as a hare.”

“I told you! I told you he was a fugitive and now they caught him.”

“We should have run him out. Now we’ll get the blame for hiding him.”

And on and on. No one remembered Gwaine, it seemed, even after he’d spent a week in Ealdor making sure Merlin was settled and going to be all right. All they saw was the capes, the chain mail, the swords, and Merlin walking between them like an unchained prisoner being escorted.

But Gwaine and Lancelot heard the whispers as well, and Gwaine threw an arm around Merlin’s shoulders in brotherly comradery.

“I see the hospitality hasn’t changed much, eh, Merlin?” he said loudly enough for those nearby to hear. The whispers stopped, and those speaking too loud looked away, their faces touched red with embarrassment.

Merlin smiled gratefully. He’d been painfully aware from the moment he’d arrived of what most in the village thought of him, and that the only reason he hadn’t been run out was out of respect to Hunith and those who chose not to forget what Merlin had done for Ealdor. But it was still a precarious situation, all the more so with knowledge of a giant not far from their doorsteps. And skittish villagers had a bad habit of running out anything they deemed to be a threat, even skinny peasant boys who had grown up alongside them.

Gwaine and Lancelot maintained their escort all the way to Hunith’s hut, but left Merlin to enter on his own after Merlin had thanked them sincerely. He had barely stepped through the door when he was greeted with a surprised and joyful, “Merlin!” and enveloped in old arms and the dry yet gentle scent of herbs.

“Oh, my boy, it is good to see you,” Gaius said.

Merlin, smiling to make his face hurt, wrapped his arms around Gaius and buried his face in his shoulder.

“It’s good to see you too, Gaius,” Merlin said. It had only been a month since they’d parted, but a month that had felt like an eternity. Merlin looked up to see Hunith standing by their little table now piled with books, beaming with joy.

Gaius released Merlin, then held him at arm’s length as he looked him over, and the joy wavered on the cusp of disappointment and worry.

“Are you eating well?” Gaius asked with some trepidation.

“Well enough,” Merlin said, and to evade further interrogation added, “Mum told me you might be needing help with some research?”

It was to Merlin’s great relief that Gaius allowed the change in subject, and Gaius’ smile returned, if a bit weaker than before. “Indeed I do. Not that my research into giants as been fruitful thus far, but a young pair of eyes could make a difference.”

Gaius led him to the table where the books were scattered, and handed him a rather heavy tome with various sections bookmarked using ribbon. Hunith left them to their studies, needing to tend to the chickens and then see about some wool that was owed her for helping one of the women deliver her baby.

The hut was quiet save for the whisper of turning pages and the muffled sounds of village life. But while Merlin looked at the words on the book, his brain kept dwelling on too many matters to comprehend what the words were saying. After another minute of trying to focus, Merlin gave up and closed the book.

“Gaius,” Merlin said.

“Hm?” Gaius replied, distracted.

“Arthur is going to face the giant as a challenger,” he stated.

Gaius looked up, sunlight flashing off the lenses of his spectacles. He, too, closed the book he’d been reading.

“Yes,” Gaius said. “If it comes to that.”

Merlin nodded, chewing his bottom lip. “Which means he’s going to need help. My help.”

Gaius arched an eyebrow in a show of mild surprise. “Are you?”

“Gaius,” Merlin said with a small, weak smile. “This is me we’re talking about. You know I won’t be able to sit by while Arthur goes out to face something of powerful magic.”

“Even after what Arthur put you through?” Gaius asked, not in surprise but genuine curiosity.

Merlin could only shrug, but he didn’t really need to answer. He could see the understanding on Gaius’ face, because Merlin was still Merlin despite everything that had happened. He didn’t know where he stood with Arthur, whether he hated him, feared him, or was indifferent to him. But what he did know was that he couldn’t stand by and let Arthur face that giant alone.

“Except…” Merlin said. His eyes stung, and he quickly wiped them with one hand. “Gaius, I haven’t… I haven’t been able to use my magic.”

This time Gaius’ eyebrow arched even higher. “The last time we spoke,” he said, “You had said you never wanted to use your magic again.”

Merlin gave a humorless chuckle. “I think I made due on that promise. I’ve tried to use it, just to see if I could. You know, to see if, maybe, I’d changed my mind.” Merlin bit his lip, shook his head, and then looked at Gaius imploringly. “But I can’t get it to work. Even today, when some of Lot’s men were harassing me, I couldn’t call on it.”

At Gaius’ widening eyes Merlin quickly added, “Oh, no, it wasn’t too bad. Gwaine and Lancelot found me and chased them off. But even when I was scared, I couldn’t get my magic to come.”

The skin of Gaius’ forehead wrinkled deeply as he processed what Merlin told him. He then stood and pulled his chair closer to where Merlin sat on the other side of the table.

“May I?” Gaius said, holding out his hands as he sat back down. “I want to make sure there might not be some physical ailment behind your situation. It’s always good idea to rule out what you can.”

Merlin nodded enthusiastically, hoping (even knowing it wouldn’t be so) that perhaps the issue was a matter of the body and nothing more. Gaius checked both of Merlin’s eyes, then had him open his mouth to check his tongue, teeth and what he could see of the back of his throat. He then tilted Merlin’s head up by his chin and felt his throat. After that, he had Merlin stand and remove his shirt, frowning at the small bruises from the rocks Merlin had been assaulted with. Gaius first placed his hand on Merlin’s chest, then his ear, listening to his heart, after which he moved behind Merlin to listen to his back and breathing. He asked Merlin about his eating and drinking habits, if he’d had any problems with his digestion, if he’d been feeling nauseas, sick, dizzy or suffering from headaches.

“Sometimes,” Merlin said hesitantly while twisting his shirt in his hands. “Usually… usually after a bad dream, or if I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well?” Gaius asked.

“Just… bad dreams, like I said.”

“Have you tried making a mild sleeping draught? You know how,” Gaius said.

Merlin gave him an apologetic expression. He did indeed know how, and while most of the time the draughts helped, there were also times they trapped him in his nightmares, and the latter made him afraid to try anything stronger than a relaxing tincture.

Gaius, however, seemed to register this sad tale from Merlin’s visage alone. He patted Merlin’s shoulder in understanding, then allowed him to shrug into his shirt when the gooseflesh on his skin made it obvious he was getting chilled.

They both sat back down.

“Well, apart from you looking abysmally thin,” Gaius said with a pointed look. “Which, really, I know there’s no reason for when Hunith told me of Ealdor’s good harvest this season, you seem the picture of health. Well, as healthy as one can be when not able to have a substantial night’s rest.”

“So, it is me, then,” Merlin said dejectedly. “I have made it so that I’ll never use my magic again.”

Gaius chuckled softly. “Oh, I don’t believes it’s a matter of having cursed yourself or any such thing if that’s what you think.” His expression softened, turning forlorn. “What you went through, Merlin, not even the strongest man would be able to walk away from unscathed. Such traumas can often leave us afraid of those circumstances and all involved that led to that trauma. And when afraid, the brain will do what it thinks is best to protect itself, sometimes without us realizing that it’s happening.”

“Then how do I make my mind stop trying to protect me?” Merlin asked, leaning forward eagerly, desperately.

Gaius’ look of sympathy and remorse was answer enough. But he said all the same, “I’m not sure. But… it is possible to break through these fears. However, and I am sorry to say this – I wish I had a better answer – but it is an answer only you can find for yourself.”

Merlin’s heart sank to his feet at this. He’d been trying for a bloody month to use his magic again, and if a month’s worth of attempts amounted to nothing, then how long would it take? He didn’t have another month, let alone days should Arthur meet with the giant sooner rather than later.

Merlin wasn’t given any more time to lament on the matter when a knock on the door ended the conversation. He opened it to find a contrite Gwaine and Lancelot, along with a grim Leon and Elyan, standing outside the door.

Gwaine cleared his throat uneasily. “Er… Merlin, mate. It seems we got ourselves into a bit of a pickle with those lads giving you grief. We need your help.” He glanced at the other three knights uneasily, who shared his expression. Gwaine took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and met Merlin’s gaze.

“And that means Arthur needs to speak with you.”

TBC...

Chapter Text

Merlin thought for sure his heart was going to pulverize itself on his ribcage. Its beats were so hard and so fast it made him think of a bird that would rather thrash itself against the bars of its prison than stay caged. His hands were shaking so hard that even clasping them together barely mollified them, and sweat was tickling down the canal of his spine.

Gwaine said, quite a number of times and as reassuringly as he could, that Merlin wasn’t in trouble.

“We’re the ones in the pig sty, mate, not you,” he said, and chuckled nervously. “Arthur just wants to hear your side of the story, that’s all.

They were escorting him out of the village and up the hill to the camps, and the closer they came, the harder Merlin’s heart pounded until he thought he was going to be sick. He barely even felt the weight of Gwaine’s arm settling across his shoulders, but when he did, he tensed, feeling suddenly and inexplicably trapped. Gwaine must have sensed this when he pulled his arm away.

Merlin let Gwaine’s words echo in his head – he wasn’t in trouble, he wasn’t in trouble, he wasn’t in trouble - but what his ears heard and his brain repeated the primal, instinctual part of him refused to listen to. It drowned the mantra out with only one desire screaming through his skull.

Run.

Merlin had no idea how he managed not to listen to that part of himself. Logic, perhaps, gently countering that running often only made matters worse, and that if he were in trouble then he’d be in chains. Thank goodness for that quiet, subtle logic, because without it Merlin was quite sure he would have bolted.

Their destination was not Arthur’s camp but a neutral spot between Arthur’s camp and Lot’s. There they stood as the three soldiers who had tormented Merlin argued their case, Percival arguing back, while Lot and Arthur and another, scowling fellow listened. As Merlin and the others approached, Lot raised a hand, silencing the three.

“Is this the lad you claim they were tormenting?” Lot asked.

“It is,” Lancelot said.

Merlin glanced at Arthur, but he was unreadable as he often was when dealing with official matters.

“Boy,” Lot said, pulling Merlin’s attention away from Arthur. “Is it true? Were these three men harassing you?”

Lesk rolled his eyes and said imploringly, “Sire, please, there’s no possible way you can take his word for it. He’s a wild idiot, barely civilized.”

“Yeah!” Ansel piped up. “Yeah, he exchanges sexual favors so he can learn how to talk and things.”

The wide-eyed looks of pure incredulity touched with just a hint of fury (more than a hint on Gwaine’s part) silenced Ansel and made him shrink back. Lot, however, looked more amused than annoyed.

“So this is the feral lad I’ve been hearing so much about?” Lot said, grinning. Merlin’s face flushed hot with embarrassment, anger shoving back some of his terror. He opened his mouth with a ready, if possibly foolish (but he didn’t care), retort on the tip of his tongue.

“Actually,” Arthur said before Merlin had a chance to speak, making Merlin jump. Arthur’s voice was tight, controlled, but tainted with irritation. “I know this young man. He is… was…” Arthur faltered, and for a moment – no longer than it took to blink the eyes – he seemed uncertain, even nervous. Then he twitched out of his hesitation and pushed on. “My manservant. And I promise you that he’s incredibly intelligent…” he added under his breath, “Much to my own surprise most of the time.” Which nearly made Merlin forget his current situation and smile. It certainly surprised him.

“Circumstances…” Arthur went on, but again hesitated, no doubt trying to find the right words without giving too much away. “There were circumstances – that is, an issue, one of a personal nature that brought him back to his home in Ealdor.” He glared daggers at the three soldiers. “To recuperate.”

Lot looked from Merlin to the soldiers and back. “Is this true, lad?” he asked.

“Yes,” Merlin said softly, and hated how timid he sounded.

“And did these men harass you?”

Merlin scowled, and said with a hard voice, “Yes.”

“Do you have any proof of their misdeeds?” Lot asked.

Merlin swallowed, feeling his face grow hot again. He took the hem of his shirt and slowly lifted it, just along his side, exposing where some of the rocks and pinecones had struck him.

“They were throwing things at him,” Gwaine clarified, also glaring at the men.

Lot, looking grim, nodded. “I see.” Then turned to his men. “So you not only tormented a man from one of my villages but the manservant to the king of Camelot,” he stated.

The men could only stare, their eyes so wide they seemed about to pop out of their heads. Ansel stuttered weakly, “We – we didn’t… know.” As if that could possibly make a difference.

Lot sighed and turned to Arthur. “I sincerely apologize for this and swear that these men will be dealt with. Even if the boy had been wild he is still a part of Essetir and under my protection. My men acted dishonorably. For that reason, they will be made an example of.”

The three men paled, Ansel gaping with a gasp.

Lot turned to the sour-faced man. “Landes, I believe Ealdor has stocks that they use to punish thieves, yes? I want these men stripped of their armor and placed in those stocks until nightfall, then placed in the wagon cages. I want the men to know what happens when they disregard honor for sport.”

“Yes, sire,” Landes said, and none too happy about it.

Lot faced Arthur. “I hope you find this punishment to your satisfaction,” he said.

“So long as it involves them being pelted with rotten vegetables,” Arthur said with a smile.

Lot smiled back, then left, heading back to his camp with Landes and the three soldiers in tow. As they left, passing close by Merlin, Merlin heard Landes complaining, something about having shown weakness in front of Camelot, and Lot arguing to the contrary. Apparently Landes was a man who favored pride above honor.

“Well,” Arthur said, yanking Merlin’s attention back to him. “Now that that’s settled.” He looked at Merlin, and there was that discomfort, again; that uncertainty that was so alien on Arthur, hidden behind a thin, brittle mask of kingly stoicism.

“Thank you, Merlin,” he said formally. His mouth opened, as if about to say more. But then he snapped it shut with a click of his teeth. He nodded once to Merlin, then walked off back to the Camelot side of the hill.

Merlin watched him go, feeling lost and uncertain himself. He had expected… he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, really. But he remembered expecting something more than what had just happened, and the lack of anything happening left him feeling dazed.

“You’re free to go, Merlin,” Gwaine said with some concern.

Merlin blinked out of his reverie, and with a nod, started back down the hill. Halfway down, he glanced back in the direction of Camelot’s camp, where Arthur would be making battle plans and fretting silently over what the hell they were going to do if none of the challengers were able to defeat the giant. Merlin was currently alone, Gwaine, Lancelot and Percival heading back to the camp, barely visible except for their red cloaks.

Merlin looked away and cupped his hands as he would when about to scoop water. He breathed a word of magic at his palms, the magic that should have summoned the light that had been his only friend in the darkness when Clive had disappeared.

Nothing happened.

Merlin’s throat tightened until he could barely breathe, and his eyes stung. He blinked rapidly until the coming tears finally receded.

Had Arthur been here, he would have called him an infant girl. And maybe, this time, he would have been right, because crying like a child wasn’t going to solve anything.

Merlin dropped his hands to his sides and hurried back to his mother’s hut. He would figure this out. He had always been good at figuring things out if he did say so himself, and he would figure this out.

The resolve did nothing to lessen the fear clenching his heart.

~oOo~

Arthur decided that life in general was out to punish him. Here he’d been, so firm in his promise to leave Merlin be, and doing quite nicely by it, and instead it’s Merlin who comes to him and not by choice. Which was monumentally unfair almost to the point of cruel, all the more so with circumstances being uncomfortably similar to a trial, even if Merlin was only a witness.

But Merlin had been pale to the point that Arthur was amazed he hadn’t passed out, and Arthur couldn’t have ignored the way Merlin’s hands had been shaking if he’d wanted to. It was unfair that them finally meeting face to face had to be forced, with Merlin no doubt under the misconception that he was in trouble, or going to be. And it was unfair that Arthur had wanted to say so much – I’m sorry, it will be all right, you will be all right – but he couldn’t, because Arthur had wanted to end the matter before Merlin really did pass out.

Arthur sat sprawled in a chair within his tent before a rickety table groaning under the weight of maps of the area. What was done was done, he supposed. Merlin hadn’t passed out, the idiot soldiers who’d tormented his manservant had been dealt with, and Arthur could only hope that Merlin processed the outcome as something positive.

That Merlin didn’t have to be afraid of Arthur.

But making Merlin not afraid of him was an issue for another time. There was a giant with an army, and a village that would need defending if this monstrosity couldn’t be defeated. He’d sent out men to search the area (and thus Gwaine, Lancelot and Percival coming across Merlin and his tormentors), searching for caves, ruins – hell, even a magical portal if such things existed - that would explain where the blasted giant and his immense army had vanished to. Reports had already begun coming in, but all of them stating the same lack of discovery. Arthur had already asked Gaius if it were possible to make an entire army temporarily invisible or hide them behind some type of illusion. Apparently it was possible, but not for very long. Magic did have its limits, it seemed, and both invisibility and illusions weren’t something you could summon and discard on a whim. Invisibility, for example, required a very complicated potion.

It continued to unnerve Arthur how much Gaius knew about magic. Arthur knew why Gaius knew, of course – from his years of helping Merlin – but it was still an uncomfortable reminder of all that had happened behind Arthur’s back, both for and against him.

Leon entered the tent, and Arthur was more than happy to be pulled from his increasingly depressing thoughts. He sat up straight, ready to receive more reports.

“Please tell me someone has found something by now?” Arthur said.

Leon’s expression went immediately apologetic. “I’m afraid not, sire. Kay, Ludwick, Gyre and Hensworth have just returned. Gyre and Hensworth report being hindered by a group of hunters from the north. They… er… blocked the bridge with nettles and thorn bushes while crowing something about finding the giant first. I’m afraid some are starting to see this matter as little more than a game.”

Arthur gave Leon a flat stare. “A game?”

Leon pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded.

Arthur sagged back against his chair, rubbing his forehead. “Lords, that’s all we need. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the challengers here came because of some rumor about getting a mountain of gold for killing the giant or some rubbish. And right now those idiots are the only thing standing between that giant and Ealdor’s destruction.” He sighed wearily. “But at least their idiocy buys us time, I suppose. Although time for what I have no idea.”

“There’s still your plan to have the giant followed,” Leon said.

Arthur grimaced. “True, but I still worry about the giant taking it as an act of war. He seems the type who enjoys an excuse to wreak havoc.”

“But he seems to enjoy the challenges even more,” Leon said. “Any retaliation would be toward the one attempting to follow him.” Leon winced. “Not that that’s any better.”

Arthur nodded. He then stood and leaned over his maps, studying them. “We could place spies…” He grunted. “No. Blast it, they’d have to be miles out without being seen, and we have no idea if the giant’s path to where ever he’s hiding goes through the woods, so hiding men in the trees would be pointless.”

“I also worry about Lot’s men,” Leon said.

Arthur looked up in alarm. “How so?”

Which prompted Leon to shift uncomfortably. “It’s nothing serious, but there are complaints of some of Lots men heckling some of our men. Mostly the usual of telling our boys to give up, they’ll find the giant first, they’ll only get in the way and so on. But…”

“But also viewing our situation as little more than a game,” Arthur spat bitterly, whirling around to pace the short distance from the table to chair. “Except I’m guessing that with them it’s less about hoping to win a mountain of gold and more about upstaging Camelot. Damn it, we need to be working together on this, not use it as a means to inflate our bloody pride,” he growled.

Arthur flopped back into his chair, rubbed his knuckle against his chin as he thought, then scooted the chair closer to the table and leaned over his maps, tapping various points with his finger.

“We’ll just have to follow the blighter. We’ll position men here, here and here…”

~oOo~

Merlin woke with a strangled gasp, flailing a little against the dark that closed in on him like a fist. His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets until finally landing on the fading embers of the dead fire. Panic made his heart race, hands shake and body generally uncooperative as he fumbled his way across the floor toward the wood pile and the stick his mother used as a poker. His knuckles collided painfully with the pile of wood, but he ignored the throbbing pain, grabbing a handful of sticks that he tossed into the hearth. He stirred the embers until some of them caught the wood and a small blaze began to rise. Merlin then added logs, one after another until the fire crackled merrily.

But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. The darkness waited beyond the light like a solid wall, cold and hungry. Merlin’s shaking hands tipped his little candle as he tried to grab it. He had to wrap both hands around it, and when he touched the wick to the flames of the fire, he nearly burned himself.

He didn’t care. The wick caught a flame, adding to the light and driving the darkness back, but only a little.

It still wasn’t enough. Merlin looked around frantically for another candle, but instead saw silver-white moonlight pouring through the gaps in the shutters. Merlin gripped his candle like a weapon and untangled himself from his heap of blankets on the floor. Hunith hadn’t let him go back to his shack, not after what happened, but like it mattered, because he would have stumbled his way back to his mother’s, anyway.

And now he was about to stumble away from it. He shuffled quickly but quietly to the door. He opened it slowly, trying not to make the hinges creak, but the very second it was wide enough he slipped out into the cool night.

Moonlight wasn’t sunlight, but it was still light, bright and silver and putting details to the shapes the darkness tried to hide. Normally, on these nights where the darkness felt like it was closing in on Merlin, if the night was as clear and the moon as bright as it was now, he would go to the hill, lie on his back and stare at the open night sky flooded with stars until he either dozed or no longer felt so confined, then he would return his mother’s house or his shack and get what sleep he could.

But the hill was occupied, and to get to other hills would mean having to go past wary guards and men itching for a row. So Merlin walked, letting his feet take him where they would. They brought him to the base of the hill well away from the camps. It wasn’t the same as the hilltops, but it was still open and the sky was still wide and endless above him.

Merlin’s feet seemed to have a mind of their own, taking him past the Camelot side of the hill. He saw the light of cooking fires and the softer lights of candles glowing within the thin walls of the tents. The light flashed off the armor of those men posted on guard, and Merlin could almost make out the lumps of men wrapped in their bedrolls.

“Merlin?”

The sound of his name being said by a painfully familiar voice made Merlin startle so bad he dropped his candle while spinning around. He stumbled back, nearly falling, and wondering if he was dreaming, hallucinating, something, because there was Arthur in only his red shirt and breeches – no armor or cloak – with a small lantern in one hand like those spirits said to guide the dead through the dark into the afterlife. Arthur held out the other hand, but made no move to approach Merlin.

“Merlin, calm down, it’s all right.” He added under his breath, “Gods, you’re skittish.” Then said loudly, “What the hell are you doing out here? Do you know how dangerous it is? We’ve got so many bloody nervous guards they keep firing their crossbow if so much as an owl swoops by. What do you think they’d do if they spotted you wandering along, hm?”

Merlin couldn’t speak, or even think to speak. Arthur’s sudden appearance and the near-normalcy of the situation, of Arthur’s reprimand, addled Merlin’s brain to the point where he was now dead certain it had to be a dream. Nothing had come even close to normal since the day Arthur had discovered Merlin’s magic. Merlin was surprised he even remembered what normal was.

Arthur’s face slowly morphed from annoyed to concern as Merlin’s silence stretched on for almost a minute.

“Merlin?” Arthur said with so much worry that it threw Merlin for even more of a loop. “Merlin, are you all right?”

Merlin twitched, blinked and nodded. “Um… I was just taking a walk,” he said weakly.

“Ah,” Arthur said, still troubled. “I suppose I can’t fault you for that, seeing as I’m out here myself for the same reason.”

“Bad dreams?” Merlin blurted without thinking.

“No. More… troubled thoughts actually,” Arthur said, and there was that concern again. “Then I saw the light from your candle and…”

“Went to make sure it wasn’t some vile beast come to wreak havoc on your men,” Merlin blurted again. “Giving no thought to your own well-being what so ever.” It wasn’t a reprimand, nor could it even be called banter. It was stating a fact, because that’s who Arthur was. Ride into danger first, consider own well-being only after everyone else was safe.

Except when they have magic, said Merlin’s treacherous mind. Then they don’t matter. Then they’re forgotten.

Merlin twitched his head, flinging those thoughts back to the shadowy corners of his brain where they normally liked to skulk.

Arthur chuffed and tried to scowl, although it was rather marred by his amusement. “I take my well-being into consideration just fine, thank you very much.”

“No,” Merlin stated again, sadly, “You don’t. Because at some point in time –after everyone else has failed – you’re going to challenge the giant… and fail.”

Arthur’s small smile faded. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I see… I see I damaged your faith in me as well as your trust.”

Merlin, however, immediately shook his head. “It has nothing to do with what you’re capable of, Arthur, because you’re capable of quite a lot, actually. It’s just… it is what it is. The giant has magic, powerful magic. I mean, he’s doing all this for the bloody fun of it, Arthur. You could see it on his face the first day of the challenge. He knows he’s going to win because he has yet to lose. So it doesn’t matter how capable you are, he will defeat you, and I won’t be able to stop him because my bloody magic…”

Merlin snapped his jaw shut, realizing his mouth had run away with the words he hadn’t thought himself ready to say in front of Arthur. Except that Arthur needed to know. He needed to understand that swords and valor would not be enough. He needed to consider his own bloody well-being.

Arthur stared at Merlin, pale and shocked. Then slowly, like warm candle wax, his features softened though the amazement remained.

“I thought you wouldn’t care,” Arthur said, his voice hushed.

Merlin’s eyes darted left and right as growing agitation and a need to leave made him shift like an impatient horse. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to talk about this.

“Why wouldn’t I care?” he said.

“Well, just, after everything and…” Arthur said. “I was under the impression you might have hated me.”

Merlin shrugged, still looking away. “Doesn’t mean I want you trotting off and getting yourself killed.”

“So you do hate me,” Arthur said, his tone neutral.

Merlin growled, running both his hands through his hair and wishing he had something to kick at. He didn’t want to be here, having this conversation. And yet here he was, because apparently mortals really were the playthings of gods.

“I don’t know!” Merlin snapped, dropping his hands to his sides. “And what does it matter? None of it matters because you’re going to die because you’re going to stupidly march out there at some point in time during this mess and face that giant and I’m going to die with you because for some bloody reason I can’t possibly begin to fathom I refuse to let you do that despite the fact that there’s not a bloody thing I can do about it!”

Arthur stared at him, bewildered and unnerved. “What do you mean there’s nothing you can do about it?”

Merlin shook his head. “Arthur, please, if you know what’s good for you, don’t face this giant.” With that, and before Merlin could say anything else, he turned and walked quickly away.

“Merlin!” Arthur called. “Merlin, what do you mean there’s nothing you can do? Merlin!”

Merlin stopped. He glanced over his shoulder to see Arthur hovering in the dark.

“I can’t use my magic,” Merlin said, because Arthur needed to know.

Merlin continued on. Arthur didn’t stop him.

TBC...

Chapter Text

The hill was silent save for the banners snapping in the wind. The sky had become overcast sometime during the night, and it made Arthur wonder if the natural world was feeling just as grim about the situation as he was. Everyone was lined up along the hilltop, their eyes fixed on the rolling hills as they waited for the giant to make his appearance.

Then he did. He crested a hill far in the distance, and his army soon followed like spilled ink spreading over the landscape. The giant’s steps were slow and ponderous but the length of his legs made his arrival unnervingly fast. He had his club resting casually on his shoulder, while his cloak was barely stirred by the wind.

The giant smiled, showing filthy teeth.

“Are we ready to play?” he boomed. He let his club fall from his shoulder to rest its thick end on the ground. “I certainly am. Let today’s challenger step forward.”

The man who walked onto the battle field was dressed in heavy, cumbersome looking robes of deep blue and violet trimmed in silk. His head was bald and his face clean, and as he approached, the giant frowned, then shrugged, as though something about the man displeased him but at the moment it didn’t matter.

“You may make the first move,” the giant said dismissively, as if already bored.

The man lifted his hands, spat out strange sounding yet unnervingly familiar words, and a fire-ball launched from both palms straight at the giant. The giant spun around, presenting his cloak, and the fireball exploded harmlessly against the strange fur.

The sorcerer gaped. The giant glanced over his shoulder wearing a beatific smile. Then he turned and swatted the sorcerer with his club as though he were little more than a fly. The man went flying and smashed into a tree, where he crumpled to the ground. He didn’t get up.

The giant sighed. “Such a pity. I was hoping for something a bit longer. Any other challengers wish to step forward? I would prefer this day to end with at least one true trial.”

The next man to step forward was massive, his muscles so thick they were more like fat, giving him a round belly and legs like tree-trunks. And whereas the past two challengers had been like mice compared to the giant, this man was, at least, more like a mole. He carried a massive battle ax and was dressed in only leather breeches and a fur cape, as if his muscle alone would be his armor.

The giant smiled approvingly. “Now this is more like it,” he said. This time the giant made the first move, and despite all the bulk, the challenger proved to be quite agile. He leaped aside, then went in swinging at the giant’s legs only for the giant to side-step him. The giant swung again, only for the challenger to sidestep him. This went on for a good amount of time, each combatant going in, then dancing or dodging from the path of the attack, and the giant laughed.

Then he stomped his foot on the ground. The entire hill shook as if caught in a massive earthquake. The challenger stumbled, and when he did, the giant swung his club and sent the man flying with more force than the giant had used with the sorcerer. The challenger didn’t just smash into a tree, he plowed through it. He plowed through several, thin enough to give way to his bulk and fall. When the man finally landed he, too, didn’t get up.

The giant laughed hardily. “Oh, now that’s what I call a good day,” he said. He lumbered over to the fallen opponents, gathered them both by the legs and swung them over his shoulder like chickens to be taken to the butcher. The giant turned, and he and his army departed.

Arthur glanced toward the trees where he saw a flash of familiar red and brown as Merlin scurried down the branches. Arthur recalled Merlin’s words from last night, and felt his stomach knot.

~oOo~

Merlin hurried down the tree, nearly slipping twice in his haste. He jumped from the last branch to the needle-littered ground, and once down he took off in a run.

A sorcerer and a giant of a warrior. A sorcerer and a warrior. And they couldn’t even make a dent on that giant. Two men with years of knowledge and training, and the first was dead in a moment while the second was sent flying like a piece of wadded-up parchment.

Merlin staggered to a stop and leaned against a tree. He turned his back to the rough bark and slid down to the ground. His hands were trembling so hard he had to clasp them between his knees to get them to stop.

“What are we going to do, what are we going to do, what are we going to do…?” Merlin said, over and over again breathlessly, his stomach churning violently and his eyes stinging with the promise of tears. He gulped repeatedly, then took several deep breaths until he was relatively sure he wouldn’t vomit. He pulled his still shaking hands from between his knees, cupped them and held them up.

Merlin spoke a single word of magic. Nothing happened. He tried again, pouring all his focus and concentration into the magic, and for a moment he was so certain he had seen a spark, a flicker, a flash of light there and gone. He tried again. Again. Again.

His cupped hands remained empty.

Merlin lifted his hands and scraped his fingers back and forth through his hair, making it stand up.

“What are we going to do?” he croaked.

Even if he could perform his magic, what did it matter? Nothing could touch that giant.

Merlin surged to his feet and moved at a fast walk back to Ealdor and his mother’s hut. There he waited for Gaius to return from having observed the battle on the hill. Gaius soon stepped through the door, looking only momentarily surprised on seeing Merlin.

“I assume you saw the challenge as well?” Gaius said.

“Gaius, what are we going to do?” Merlin said, pacing. “You saw how easily that sorcerer was taken down. The magic that this giant possesses, it’s… it’s impossible, isn’t it? I can shield against a spell but not that easily. That fire spell should have at least sent him staggering, but it was as though nothing had struck his barrier or whatever it was that protected him.”

“I know,” Gaius said moving to his books. He began sorting through them. “But it was his cloak that deflected the blow, thus why he turned his back on his opponent, which no seasoned warrior in their right mind would ever do unless they had a reason.” Gaius pulled out several tomes and Merlin knew them well enough from research, rearranging and dusting them to know they focused on magical artifacts and enchantments.”

“I believe the cloak may be the key to his power, or at least his protection,” Gaius said. He held up a red-bound leather book before handing it to Merlin. “This one in particular talks of being able to enchant objects to hold a particular spell. Which, of course, is a magic we’re both quite familiar with. However, the book also speaks of ways in which an object can hold more than one spell, and that’s what I’ve been focusing my research on. I believe that it’s possible the giant’s cloak was created in a manner to hold much of his power.”

“Like a magic staff?” Merlin asked, flipping through the book.

Gaius shook his head. “No. Staffs merely enhance power or direct large amounts of power. No, I believe the cloak actually holds power, and quite a large amount at that.”

Merlin frowned at this. “But the book says that objects are limited in what they can hold, and that by using a constant bombardment of magic you can weaken the object’s power.”

“And that,” Gaius said, holding up a finger, “has been what is hindering me in my research. See, that is the trouble with magic. There is so much it is capable of, so much that hasn’t been researched or properly understood. You yourself are proof of that, Merlin. There are also ways of getting around certain limitations, certain spells that when combined the right way can do what most might think is impossible. Flight, for example. There was a sorcerer named Evland who had attempted to create a spell that would allow one to fly. He wasn’t able to, and mostly ended up injuring himself in the attempt. Then he realized that rather than creating a spell that would make him fly, he would use a spell to make him lighter, light enough that he was able to leap great distances and land safely. It was later said that he was able to construct a pair of wings that actually worked when combined with the spell, but whether that’s true or not is a thing of debate. At any rate, there are ways to get past the limitations of a spell or enchantment, and if that’s so…”

Gaius shrugged helplessly.

“He really could be unstoppable,” Merlin finished, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“Not completely,” Gaius said. “Not if we can understand the nature of his powers.”

Merlin snorted bitterly. “That’s not going to happen, not unless we can get that cloak, or at least find out where he keeps going after every battle.”

“Arthur is already working on the latter. He has men positioned to follow the giant. They should be reporting back to him at any moment.”

Merlin’s heart beat fast with a surge of hope. “Do you think his plan will work?”

Again, Gaius shrugged, looking grim. Obviously it was too soon to tell, but more than that this giant was proving himself to be clever, and had already proven himself to be arrogant and certain of victory. It could be that his location couldn’t be found, but it could also be that his location could be found, but was so impenetrable that it didn’t matter.

And with Merlin’s magic refusing to do his bidding, there was little Merlin could do to help.

Gaius, on the other hand…

“Gaius, how are your enchanting skills?” Merlin asked.

“Not the best, to be honest,” Gaius said. “Enchanted potions I can manage, but objects are, unfortunately, another matter altogether.”

“But what if we kept the enchantment simple? Just as long as it’s something that would be able to point in the direction of a source of active magic.”

Gaius grimaced slightly. “That might be tricky. It would be simple enough even for me, yes, but until you actually came to the source of active magic, then whatever we enchanted would keep pointing to you since you are magic.”

Merlin slumped, scraping his hand through his hair, then tossing his hands up. “It’s the only idea I’ve got, Gaius.”

Gaius nodded in sympathetic understanding. “Then we’d best get started.”

~oOo~

It was midday when word finally came that Arthur’s men had finally lost sight of the giant. The man in charge of delivering the news had been contrite, as though he alone bared the responsibility for what he saw as a failure.

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “It can’t be a failure since this is only the beginning. I need to see where the giant was last spotted.”

It was tempting to take as many men as possible should their search of the giant’s last known location yield results. But with so many others trying to be the first to locate the giant, and being rather vindictive about it, the less conspicuous he was about their endeavors the better. He took Gwaine, Percival, Lancelot and the messenger, and had Leon, Elyan, Kay and Fenrick take a squad each and head out in various directions, keeping up the pretense of haphazardly searching just like everyone else with only the hope of stumbling on to something.

“The giant’s path was deceptive,” the messenger, Sir Tyron, explained. “He kept to the hills for quite a ways before suddenly turning to lead his army into the woods. It’s a thick woodland, one you would think would slow an army of that size down, but it’s in this woodland where we lost them.”

While following Tyron to the location they came across the men Arthur had positioned along the hills to follow the giant. Arthur sent them back to camp for food and rest. Then they came to the woodland Tryon had spoken of, where another man waited as a marker. The underbrush was indeed heavy with ferns, fallen logs, shrubs and young trees, and the carpet of moss so spongey and thick that mere seconds after stepping on the stuff it sprung back into shape.

A giant’s footsteps, however, not even spongey moss could recover from immediately, and Arthur and his men found several massive indents in the ground. But there were only five imprints before the footprints vanished, and moss having recovered.

“Do you think this is where he spirited off?” Gwaine asked.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his face and wishing that his father’s hatred toward magic hadn’t been so absolute that he hadn’t even thought to prepare his men to counter magical attacks. Because that would mean having to teach them about magic, and heaven forbid that the knights of Camelot should know their enemy and have the means to counter them. That would have made life too easy.

Arthur rubbed at his aching forehead and tried to banish the bitter thoughts from his mind. Still, it amazed Arthur how much his father’s prejudice had crippled him, and amazed him even more that Camelot had survived what should have leveled the kingdom to the ground.

Except Arthur knew why they had survived. At least, he knew now. Bitter thoughts became melancholy thoughts, but those he also shoved to the back of his mind. Regret wasn’t going to solve their current dilemma.

“Spread out,” Arthur said. “See if you can find any more tracks, broken branches or… I don’t know, something off or odd or that you might think is magical in nature. Maybe he vanished or maybe he used magic to cover his tracks, but I don’t want to leave until I know there’s nothing to find. And mark where you’ve been. It’s too easy to get lost in a woodland this thick.”

His men nodded, and they split apart, each taking the opposite direction deeper into the woods. Every so often, Arthur would stop and gouge a mark into the trunk of a tree – a C for Camelot. But the further he went, the less there seemed to be to find, as if the very woods themselves were conspiring to keep the giant hidden.

A twig snapped somewhere in the distance, its crack sharp and jolting. Arthur froze like a deer, his heart hammering and his ears straining for any more sound.

“Gwaine?” he called. “Hello?”

No one answered. An animal, then, maybe a deer or badger. Arthur continued on but more slowly, his footfalls more careful and his ears taking in every noise from bird calls to a falling twig clattering through the branches. Arthur turned to another tree and made a mark.

And that’s when something hard and heavy made violent contact with his skull. Day turned immediately to night for Arthur, long before he hit the ground.

TBC...

Chapter Text

“Bloody, stupid necklace,” Merlin muttered irritably under his breath as he once again pulled the leather cord of one of his mother’s self-made clay pendants from around his neck, and the eagle-shaped charm from where it pressed itself like an overly affectionate pet from the skin of his chest. He held the necklace out, but the blasted thing continued to point at him and only him. Although this time he was sure it had wavered a little to the right.

Just in case the movement hadn’t been a trick of his hyper-hopeful mind, Merlin didn’t place the pendant back around his neck, but wrapped it around his hand, hiding the charm in his palm to avoid any time-wasting questions from anyone he happened to run into. He continued deeper into the woods in the direction Elyan had pointed him in. He’d run into Elyan at the camp, where the knight and his squad had come back from searching for the giant in order to refresh a few supplies. Elyan had told him that Arthur and some of the knights had gone searching in the hills. Merlin had followed, coming across another of Arthur’s men who pointed Merlin in the direction of a very dense woodland.

A very wide, dense woodland, and Merlin was starting to seriously wonder if he might have overshot or under shot where Arthur and the others had gone in. Or if he hadn’t got turned around. It would be easy to get lost in a place like this, and in his anxiety Merlin hadn’t thought to mark his path.

Merlin unwound some of the pendant and let the charm hover. Yes, he was sure of it, it was most definitely leaning a little to the right. A smile of triumph and relief broke out on Merlin’s face. He adjusted his baring right, and kicked through the wet underbrush, stepping over logs and stumbling over hidden indents in the ground, slapping aside twigs and leaves. He honestly hoped that whatever magic was hiding the giant, it didn’t allow sound to get through or Merlin was in trouble…

Merlin suddenly found himself gripped by the throat, and he was yanked back against a chest made solid and uncomfortable by a metal chest plate. Something pricked his side, and he glanced down to see the point of a knife threatening his flank.

“Well, well, well,” said the horribly familiar voice of Lesk. “If it ain’t the feral boy traipsing through the woods like a little lost fawn.” The knife slide up, ripping through the thin material of Merlin’s shirt and writing a stinging line on his skin. “You know, I’ve no problem with gutting fawns. Especially fawns as annoying as you. No funny business, now, little fawn.” The knife moved to Merlin’s throat. “Just keep moving forward, and all will be right as rain between us.”

They moved together forward, the going slow with so much of the forest debris getting in their way. But they apparently didn’t have to go far when Lesk suddenly called out, “Got another one!”

They stepped into a very small clearing, but one shielded by trees growing close together and curtains of hanging lichens. The small glen was crowded with four armed men in the livery of Lot, and with them Lot’s man, Landes.

And kneeling on the ground, his hands tied behind his back and his mouth gagged…

“Arthur!” Merlin cried out.

Arthur’s eyes widened in horror.

Lesk shoved Merlin forward and cuffed him across the head. “Quiet, you little idiot,” he spat.

But it was Lesk that Landes was glaring at. “You’re the one who needs to be quiet, Lesk. You’re bloody shouting could have given us away. Now tie him up and put him with his king.”

“Gladly,” Lesk growled. Merlin’s hands were yanked behind his back, the pendant still wrapped around his hand and ignored. Course rope was tightened cruelly around his wrists, while another man gagged his mouth with a foul piece of cloth. Once trussed up like a pheasant for the cooking, Merlin was shoved to the ground on his knees next to Arthur.

“Good,” Landes said, hands clasped behind his back as he stood before his two prisoners. “Was he the only one in our vicinity?”

“So far,” Lesk said. “We saw the others going opposite ways, so we shouldn’t have to worry about them.”

Landes nodded, looking imperious as though Arthur and Merlin were little more than bugs he was contemplating squashing. “Then get them up and bring them.”

Arthur and Merlin were hauled to their feet by their arms, making the tight ropes rub painfully against their skin. They were more dragged than marched as they left the glen, following Landes.

“I am sure you want nothing more than to demand what is going on and that we untie you and so on and so forth,” Landes said, still with that casually indifferent air of superiority. “It’s nothing personal, I promise you. I’m merely tired of you making a fool of my king. Really, if anyone should get the honor of defeating this giant menace then it should be Lot. These are his lands after all. The problem is, Lot is too bloody soft. He doesn’t care that him not defeating the giant will make our realm look weak, he just wants the blasted thing dealt with.”

Landes stopped and turned to Arthur. “I, on the other hand, have a better sense of patriotism.” He turned back, and they continued on. “But neither am I a fool. You won’t be harmed, I promise you; I simply need you out of the way until the giant is dealt with.”

Arthur said something, but with the gag in the way it was little more than desperate gibberish. Landes waved it away dismissively.

“When the giant is dead, you will be released. Mind you we’ll have to force a potion on you, one that will erase your memory – I don’t think all of your memory, you never know with these potions, and the sorcerer who made it was rather mad. All the same, afterward we will send your men out to find you and then that will be that. No hard feelings and such. Ah! Here we are.”

The company stopped. Merlin and Arthur were shoved on ahead, only to be pulled to a rough halt.

Merlin’s heart launched itself into his throat, beating frantically like an animal thrashing in a trap. They were standing at the lip of a pit, not so deep that the bottom couldn’t be seen, but deep and shadowy enough to send a massive wave of terror crashing down Merlin’s spine.

“In you go,” Lesk said. Both he and Arthur were shoved into the pit. Merlin landed on his shoulder, his head cracking against the hard ground and the pain of it filling his eyes with dark spots and making the world spin. He glanced up to see a thick piece of cloth – a blanket or large cloak – being pulled over the hole, blocking most of the light. He heard Landes instruct the men to hold the cloth in place with rocks, then cover it was as much forest debris as possible.

The light died, little, by little, by little, as more and more dirt, leaves and twigs were tossed onto the cloth. Until there was no light left.

Merlin couldn’t breathe. The only sound was his rapid respirations that weren’t getting enough air into his lungs.

And scratching.

Welcome back, said a voice like Morgana’s, sickly sweet and condescending. That is, if you even ever left.

~oOo~

Let it never be said that Arthur didn’t have some appreciation for the superiority complexes of others – namely the advantage of the enemy being so certain in their victory that they didn’t think to search Arthur more thoroughly. Or, in the case of Landes’ men, search him at all. It took a bit of maneuvering and rubbing his wrists raw, but Arthur was able to get the small dagger hidden up his sleeve into his hand. Sawing at the ropes was the greatest test of his patience he’d ever endured; greater, even, than those tests of patience Merlin had always subjected him to. But he soon managed to weaken the rope enough to pull and snap himself free.

Arthur ripped the gag from his mouth, and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Merlin?”

No answer, save for the sound of raspy, ragged, and uncomfortably fast breathing. Still gagged, right. But even gagged Merlin would still have made some kind of noise, in frustration over Arthur not noticing the obvious, or to at least let Arthur know where he had landed.

Arthur moved forward on his hands and knees, feeling around until his hand landed on what felt like leather and buckles. But he’d barely touched what he was sure was Merlin’s foot when it was jerked away, accompanied by a whimpering yelp muffled by a gag. There was scraping, the sounds of shuffling, and more whimpering.

“Merlin?” Arthur said. He continued forward, reaching out again, this time his hand landing on the cloth of Merlin’s leg – his skinny calf by the feel. Once again, his hand barely made contact with Merlin, and Merlin reacted, kicking out, the whimpers growing louder and faster until they turned into hiccupping sobs.

“Merlin why are you…?” Arthur began.

It hit Arthur, then, like a slap to the face and a punch to the gut at the same time – the dark, the musty smell, the dank, cold air.

Oh, gods, Arthur thought, frantic.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, as kindly and calmly as he could. “Merlin, listen to me. It’s all right. You’re all right. This isn’t the oubliette, Merlin. You’re not in that place, this is just a pit, nothing more. Nothing we can’t get out of. Merlin?”

Merlin’s sobs had settled into something like strained weeping, so lost and childlike it made Arthur ill to hear it.

Had Merlin cried like that, down in the hole?

Arthur inched slowly forward, still feeling his way. “Merlin, please, it’s all right.” He reached out, aiming upward, and his hand brushed over the pointy knot of Merlin’s trembling shoulder before the joint was jerked violently away.

Arthur sat back on his haunches and rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. He needed to get Merlin to calm down, but the only way that was going to happen was to show Merlin that he wasn’t where he thought he was. Arthur felt around until his hand made contact with the dirt wall, and he used it to pull himself upright. He jumped up, as far as he could go, hoping to at least touch the lip of the pit with the tips of his fingers, but all he felt was more of the wall. He dug his fingers, then the toes of his boot, into the soft dirt and tried to climb, but the dirt gave way, dropping him back to the ground.

“Hey!” Arthur called, not sure if it was a good idea should Landes and his men still be around, alerting them to the fact that Arthur was no longer gagged. But it might also mean them removing the pits cover, and that was only if Arthur’s knights didn’t hear his cry, first. Either way, if it stopped Merlin’s panic, then it didn’t matter.

“Hello!” Arthur called. “Is anyone there?! Hello!”

Merlin made a strange sound, a strangled noise as though he were choking. Arthur dropped back to the ground and felt his way quickly to Merlin. His hands found Merlin’s arm and shoulder, and this time Merlin didn’t pull away. But whatever was happening to Merlin, it wasn’t good, not the way he was shaking, so tense he seemed ready to snap. He felt almost as though he were convulsing, but only when he made the choking noise.

“Damn it!” Arthur hissed. He pulled Merlin against him, felt Merlin’s face until he found the gag and pulled it away. As soon as he did Merlin doubled-up in Arthur’s arms, dry-heaving violently. Arthur took the opportunity to pull out his knife and cut Merlin’s bonds.

Arthur pulled off the rope, and the moment he did Merlin began struggling – not merely squirming but kicking and fighting like a cornered cat, desperate with every fiber of his being to get away, screaming a scream so loud it tore into Arthur’s ears like a blade.

“Merlin stop it!” Arthur screamed back, holding Merlin tight against him with both arms wrapped around Merlin’s chest. He could feel Merlin’s heart beating, and didn’t think it was possible for any heart to beat that fast. “Merlin please stop!”

Then he heard it, the words within the screaming.

“You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real, you’re never real, you’re not real!” Over and over and over again.

“I am real, Merlin! I am real!” He tightened his hold on Merlin. “Do you feel that? How can that not be real? Please, Merlin, you need to calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself, please!”

Merlin stopped. The struggles, the screaming, ended so abruptly that dread ripped through Arthur that Merlin’s fright had killed him. But he felt the rapid heartbeat and heaving breaths against his arms. Then Merlin slumped against him, shaking and spent.

“You’re not real,” Merlin said weakly, still sobbing.

“I am, Merlin,” Arthur said.

Merlin suddenly pushed away from Arthur. “You’re not real! You can’t be! You never are! You put me here! Why would you come, why would you be here? You put me here, you put me here…” Merlin’s voice weakened, collapsing, giving way back to sobbing. “You put me here.”

“Gods, I hate you. I hate you so much…”

Arthur chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. His throat tightened until he thought he would choke.

“You left me here,” Merlin wept. “You’re not real.”

Arthur searched out Merlin, found his wrist, and followed it up to Merlin’s quaking shoulder. He sought out Merlin’s other shoulder, and on finding it, clasped it, and gave both shoulders a squeeze.

“I’m here now, Merlin. I’m not a dream or hallucination or… or whatever you think I am. I’m here and real. You feel this?” He gave Merlin’s shoulders another squeeze. “I’m real, Merlin. You’re free of the oubliette, I promise you. This is a pit, nothing more. Feel the dirt beneath your hands, you know I’m telling the truth.”

Arthur heard the soft sound of fingernails scraping through soil. But Merlin still wept, still shook.

Arthur had never been the most tactile person beyond shoulder squeezing, clasping arms and hugging Gwen. He’d never been particularly comfortable with it, especially where other men were concerned. But he pulled Merlin to him, then wrapped his arms around him, with one hand chafing Merlin’s bony back, ignoring the discomfort of his fingers catching on the knobby spine.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur said and, damn it, his eyes stung with the threat of tears. He, too, was going to cry. But how could he not? Because this was what his friend, his best friend, had gone through. This was what he had suffered. This was what Arthur had left him to, and it made Arthur heart sick and angry and wishing he could tear that oubliette apart with his bare hands. So he blinked and let the tears fall.

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur said, his voice thick. “I’m so sorry for everything. You’ve always been there for me, Merlin. I see that, now. I understand. You’re Merlin and you’ve always been Merlin and nothing else matters. And I swear to be there for you as much as you were there for me. I swear on my honor and life and bloody kingdom.”

Arthur felt movement, then felt the light weight of Merlin’s hands settle on his shoulders and grip the fabric of his coat and mail as if holding on for dear life.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, causing more tears to fall, and already hating himself for what he was going to have to ask of Merlin.

“Merlin, listen to me. We need to get out of this pit. But… but we can’t do that unless…” He swallowed thickly. “Unless we can see.”

He felt Merlin stiffen.

“Merlin, please. Can you use your magic?”

Merlin began trembling again. His heartbeat picking up speed.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice threatening more tears. “I can’t.”

“Can you try, at least?” Arthur said gently. “If you can’t, that’s fine, we’ll find another way. There’s always another way. But it never hurts to try, right?”

Merlin made a small, whimpering sound, and Arthur winced. He could have kicked himself, considering the last time Merlin had used magic in front of Arthur.

“It will be a good thing, this time, Merlin. I promise you. I swear on my life. Try, if you can.”

Merlin pulled away and Arthur let him. He heard Merlin say a word, a single word carried on a strained, shaky whisper. But nothing happened. Merlin said the word again, louder this time and with more force, and still there was nothing. Again, this time with desperation, as though Merlin’s life depended on it.

“Hey,” Arthur said. He reached out, found Merlin’s hands cupped in the air, and gave them a brief, reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath, calm yourself. I’m no expert on magic but I know what a stressed mind can to do your concentration. Just take your time.”

Arthur heard the click of a dry throat swallowing. “Yeah,” Merlin said, still unsteady. But the pit filled with the sound of Merlin’s inhale, followed by Merlin’s exhale. There was a moment of silence.

Then, there was the word.

A familiar ball of blue light flickered above Merlin’s palm, struggling to live. Arthur beamed, hope filling him.

“That’s it, you’re doing it,” Arthur said. The light grew stronger, more stable, and filled the pit with its gentle glow, the same glow that had saved Arthur so many years ago. He stared at the globe in wonder, then turned his gaze to Merlin.

Merlin’s face looked drained of color, but that could have easily been a trick of the light. He watched Arthur, his eyes red-rimmed and looking large with a mixture of terror and hope. Tears that had yet to dry glittered on his cheekbones and jaw. Arthur looked back at the light.

“I forgot how beautiful it was,” he said. And it was beautiful, like an orb of swirling blue clouds. He looked back at Merlin with a smile, and Merlin smiled tentatively back.

Then Arthur searched their current prison. He rose and moved beneath the entrance to the pit, reaching up to see how far his fingers were from the lip.

If we can get the covering down,” Arthur said. “I should be able to boost you up easy enough.”

“But you’ll still be down here,” Merlin said, still sounding shaky but at least he was talking and more aware.

“Well it’s not like I expect you’ll leave me down here, Merlin,” Arthur said, but with levity and a smile directed Merlin’s way. “I expect you to either find some form of rope or the knights. Come here. I’ll lift you up and you see if you can pull the cover down.”

Merlin stood and moved beside Arthur. “I’ll do one better. Step back,” he said, then said a word that made his eyes flash gold. The cover sagged inward.

“Damn it,” Merlin hissed in tense, nervous frustration that sounded more like controlled panic. He spoke the word again, with another flash of gold.

The cover collapsed inward, raining dirt and sticks down into the pit. The dust slowly cleared, and as it did, sunlight chased away what remained of the darkness. Merlin breathed out a heavy sigh of relief and released his light.

Arthur laughed and clapped him on the back. “Merlin, that was brilliant! Now, let’s get you out of this hole.”

They moved closer to one side of the opening, and there Arthur crouched and cupped his hands into a step. Merlin settled his foot in it, and with one massive heave Arthur all but threw Merlin to the edge of the pit and even a little past it. Merlin latched on to the edge and scrambled out, sending down a cascade of dirt and dead leaves.

It was funny. Arthur didn’t, for even a moment, consider the possibility of Merlin leaving him in the hole as some form of retribution, not until Merlin returned only moments later with a tired grin on his pale face and said, “Thought I’d left you down there?”

“No, actually,” Arthur said, much to even his own amazement. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise, though. Arthur may have made a great lament to Gaius about not having known anything about Merlin after Merlin had revealed himself, but that wasn’t true. It had never been true. Arthur did know Merlin. He knew his loyalty and his kindness, and that he was not a man prone to bouts of cruel vindication.

He knew that he trusted Merlin with a trust that was almost instinctual.

“Here,” Merlin said, and he began lowering what looked to be a length of dried-out vines braided together – not doubt constructed with a bit of magic. Arthur grabbed on and climbed out, the vines taking his weight easily. Once out, he gave Merlin another hearty clap on the back.

“I take back everything I ever said about you being useless and incompetent,” he said. “Merlin that was genius.”

Merlin beamed, and it was like seeing the sun come out after days of being hidden behind rainclouds.

“Come on,” Arthur said. “Let’s get back to the others.”

“Wait!” Merlin said, unraveling what looked to be an eagle pendant from around his hand. He held the pendant by its cord as the eagle floated in mid-air, wavering back and forth between Merlin and nothing.

“I had Gaius enchant this to locate sources of active power, and I think we’re close to where the giant goes to… vanish or whatever it is he does to hide.”

Arthur sighed, looking from Merlin to the pendant. They weren’t exactly in peak condition – Arthur’s head still throbbing from the blow he’d received and Merlin still looking pale and shaken, the hand holding the pendant trembling slightly.

Merlin, seeming to read Arthur’s mind or at least recognize his hesitation, said reasonably, “All we need to do is find the location and mark it somehow. Then we can go back, gather the knights, make plans and do all those other kingly things you do when getting ready for a fight.”

Arthur chuffed. “Good point. Lead on, then.”

Merlin took the lead since he was the one with the tracker, muttering about how irritating it was and explaining how it kept wanting to point to him since he, too, was a source of power. And if Arthur were to be honest, it was still difficult to wrap his head around that Merlin – clumsy, goofy, ridiculous Merlin – was supposedly so powerful to be considered a source of power rather than just knowing a bit of magic.

If Arthur were honest with himself, Merlin never ceased to amaze him. But like hell he was telling Merlin that.

The Pendant wavered more and more between Merlin and open air, like a pendulum picking up speed rather than slowing down. They had to stop every so often, Merlin turning this way and that until finally deciding on which way to go, and the pendant swinging out even more.

“We’re close,” Merlin said, sounding giddy. “I’m sure of it. Just a few more…”

An alarming, almost painful sensation like being doused with cold water in winter hit Arthur. The forest vanished, just vanished as though he had blinked while stepping through an unseen doorway, and where the forest had been was a massive corridor of storm-gray stone, with a vaulted ceiling high over-head and a gloom like perpetual twilight. The air was stale and cold, and echoed hollowly like the air in a tomb.

“Oh,” Merlin squeaked, looking as alarmed and unbalanced as Arthur felt. Merlin swallowed audibly. “I think we found it.”

TBC...

Chapter Text

Beneath what felt like layer upon layer of shock, dread and confusion at the sudden change in scenery was a veneer of guilt. Merlin had been so intent on following the various directions the pendant kept turning that he hadn’t thought to open up his awareness and sense the power for himself when he had figured they were near to avoid colliding with it.

And now here they were, which Merlin hadn’t meant to let happen. But glancing back over his shoulder showed him a sort of… airy ripple, like heat, hovering in the air in a jagged line. He moved toward it, put his hand through it, and sighed in relief.

“It’s okay,” he said with a tremulous smile. “We can still get out—“

“Wait,” Arthur said, drawing his knife from his sleeve. “Do you hear that?”

Merlin strained his ears into the moaning movement of air through the corridor. At first he didn’t hear anything of any real interest, but realized that deep within the movement of air was a rhythm.

Not unlike breathing.

Arthur began moving forward.

“Wait!” Merlin hissed, trying to whisper and be loud at the same time, which never really worked out the way anyone wanted. “Shouldn’t we get the others?”

“I just want to see,” Arthur said.

And knowing that Arthur wasn’t going to be happy until he took their surprise opportunity to assess enemy territory, Merlin heaved a defeated sigh and followed after Arthur.

The corridor was long – nightmare long, like in those dreams where you ran and ran and never got anywhere. There were no joining corridors, no doorways, nothing but this single hallway. And then the hallway ended, almost suddenly, it seemed, but tension and fear always did make everything seem sudden. They stopped where the corridor ended and crouched behind one of its pillars. Beyond the entry was a massive chamber, like a man-made cavern as well as a forest of thin pillars made from black rock striated with silver.

And spread throughout this chamber were statues – skeleton statues dressed in ragged robes, each carrying a different weapon. The giant’s army of the undead, or what looked like the undead. The real point of interest, however, was on the far end of the chamber, where sat a massive throne on a massive dais, so massive that it made even the huge chamber feel almost cramped. And sitting on that dais, slumped and asleep, was the giant wrapped in his cloak of different colored furs.

Merlin’s heart beat so fast it hurt. Lords, if there was ever an opportunity to be taken to discover an enemy’s weakness, this was it. Even if it would be foolhardy and dangerous and possibly end up getting them killed. But all things considered, it wasn’t as though there was much to lose. Either they would die by the hands of the giant here and now or out on the hill. Either way, Merlin’s earlier bout of self-preservation vanished. He wanted a look at that cloak.

Merlin did what he should have done earlier and opened his senses to any magic this place might have. The magic within the statues was currently weak, dormant, and the only other power he could sense was coming directly from the giant. So he didn’t have to worry about magical traps.

“Stay here,” Merlin whispered. “I want to take a look at that cloak.” He was about to creep forward when Arthur grabbed his arm.

“Are you mad? What if he wakes up and you’re too busy picking at his wardrobe choice to notice.” He took the lead. “I’m coming with you.”

Merlin heaved yet another sigh, but followed Arthur. Lords, they were mad. It really was a miracle all the dangers of Camelot hadn’t killed them sooner, even with the help of Merlin’s magical interventions.

They walked heel to toe and slowly, minimizing any noise until there seemed to be no noise at all save for the giant’s heavy breathing. They made their way to the far wall on the right, where the shadows were deeper (Merlin still didn’t know where the paltry blue glow was coming from. But in a strange realm full of powerful magic, neither did he bother questioning it). They crept along the wall, all the way to the dais and its throne of black and gold stone.

Merlin’s stomach churned at what he saw piled behind the dais. Bodies, dozens of them, more than dozens, tossed into a careless heap, some rotted to bones and others in the process of decay. But that wasn’t even half the horror.

Some of the fresher bodies had no skin on the lower part of their faces. Merlin recognized one of the bodies as belonging to that barbarian with the war hammer. His face, too, had been skinned.

Merlin frowned. He looked from the bodies to the cloak.

The area where the faces had been skinned were right where a beard had been.

Merlin’s eyes widened.

That wasn’t multi-colored fur the giant was wearing.

That was human beards.

Merlin frantically tapped Arthur on the shoulder. When he got Arthur’s attention, he pointed at the bodies, then at the cloak. He had to do so twice, and then realization dawned on Arthur’s face, looking more like horror and a need to be sick.

Merlin’s mind raced, pieces that had refused to come together suddenly flinging into place so rapidly he could barely keep up. Of course. Of course, that was how the giant was so powerful. That was how his cloak could hold so many enchantments. He takes a beard, places on it a single enchantment, and then adds it to the cloak, layering power upon power.

And how does one break through such a massive wall that seems to have no weakness? By giving it a weakness.

Merlin leaned in close to Arthur’s ear and whispered. “We need to get pieces of that cloak. As many as possible, from different areas. I can use what we get against him.”

Arthur nodded. He pulled another smaller dagger from his boot and handed it to Merlin. Together, they slunk toward the dais like foxes toward a hen house, and crouched beneath the armrest that towered overhead like a tree.

Arthur pointed to Merlin, then to the bottom of the cloak. He pointed to himself, made an arced sweep with his hand, and after delivering these gestures, made his way to the other side of the dais.

Merlin slunk closer to where the bottom of the cloak brushed over the smooth floor. He took a deep, quiet breath, swallowed, then quickly sawed off a piece of what looked to be a blond beard and sneering in disgust. He shoved the bit of beard into his pocket, then straightened and reached higher, cutting off a piece of black beard. He dug through the beards, going deeper to those whose enchantments would be older. The older enchantments would be the most difficult to deal with, so he continued to dig, taking as much hair as he could.

Something was nagging Merlin at the back of his mind, a creeping feeling of wrongness and dread that he would have brushed off as anxiety had it not kept getting stronger. Something was wrong.

Merlin stopped harvesting hair.

Something had changed. It took Merlin a moment to realize what it was.

The chamber was silent. The giant’s heavy breathing had stopped.

Merlin slowly looked up. Terror raced through him like lightning.

The giant was glaring down at him.

“Oh no,” he breath. Then he threw out his hand with a word of magic, and a fire ball went flying at the giant’s face. The ball exploded harmlessly but so brightly in the gloom that the giant reared back with a bass cry of annoyance.

“Run, Arthur!” Merlin cried. He leaped from the dais and looked right to see Arthur racing alongside him. They darted through stone statues that were starting to crack, black oozing from them like smoke. They heard the giant roar behind them, then heard his thundering footfalls giving chase. Merlin didn’t look when he let loose another, brighter fireball, then another, only hoping that they hit their mark and either staggered the giant or blinded him enough to slow him temporarily.

They entered the corridor that became a blur of blue, gray and black, they were running so fast. Merlin felt before he saw the tear into this realm. He pulled Arthur closer to him, then shoved him forward through the tear. Merlin leaped after him.

They both came stumbling out of the tear, but caught their balance and continued to run.

Fear could almost in itself be considered magic the way it fueled them to keep going, even when Merlin’s lungs began to burn and his ribs developed a stitch. But even that fuel was limited, and when it finally began to lag, Merlin was the first to stumble. Arthur grabbed him by the arm and hauled him upright, propelling him forward. They ran for what felt like forever, until Merlin once again realized that something had changed.

No more thundering footfalls followed.

“Arthur…” Merlin gasped, the air like a dry whetstone to his throat. “Arthur… stop. It’s… alright. Please, stop…”

Arthur didn’t stop, but he did slow to a fast walk, glancing over his shoulder periodically even as he, too, sucked in great heaving breaths.

“Where is he? Why isn’t he following?” Arthur demanded. “He was only three more strides away from overtaking us when I last looked back. Is he trapped in that realm until a certain time of the day or something?”

Merlin shrugged. “Could be… he’s going to wait… to challenge us directly tomorrow.”

“But why? We have pieces of his cloak we’re going to use against him.”

Merlin, however, shook his head. “He may not know that. He may have just thought… we were trying to destroy it.” He then had a very disturbing thought. “But if he’s offended, he might decide that tomorrow’s battle will be the last. If we lose…” he looked up at Arthur in terror. “If we lose, and we really did enrage him, he’ll destroy Ealdor.”

Arthur frowned at this. “Can he do that? I thought he had to face every challenger?”

“That’s what he wants to do. Arthur, he’s the one calling the shots – not for honor or glory but for fun. He’s like a child, and what happens when a child isn’t having fun anymore?”

Arthur’s face paled and his expression became grim. “He throws a tantrum.”

“Exactly. Arthur… Arthur, we can’t lose.”

“We won’t,” Arthur promised.

Soon they were hobbling more than walking, Merlin feeling so weighed down with exhaustion that, oddly enough, he almost felt like he could float away while his legs would try to sink into the ground at any moment. It was because he’d panicked so spectacularly down in the hole; that was all he could figure. He barely remembered it, though – that panic.

He didn’t want to remember it. It had been so real – the dark, the scraping, the absolute certainty that his freedom had been a dream.

He had honestly though he was still in the oubliette.

But Arthur had been there. Just like in those dreams, where Arthur would come down and say that Merlin was free, and he and Merlin would start up the ladder only for Merlin to wake up and still be in the dark.

But Arthur had been there and stayed, and hoisted Merlin out of the dark. And dreams, Merlin knew, were not so vivid to be able to feel as Arthur lifted him up into the light, feel the warmth above him and cool earth below him. There was nothing to feel in dreams.

So what did that make his freedom from the pit? A dream come true? Merlin chuckled, prompting an odd look from Arthur.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“Nothing,” Merlin said. “I’m just… really tired.”

Arthur chuffed. “I can imagine.”

They left the woods for the hills and arrived back at the camp to a frantic Gwaine and Elyan.

“Arthur! Where the hell did you alight off to? We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Gwaine said. His gaze went straight to Merlin and he stiffened. “What happened? Why are you both looking like death warmed up?”

“In a minute,” Arthur said. “Gwaine, Elyan, get everyone together and meet me at my tent. And someone fetch Gaius.” He continued half-carrying, half dragging Merlin all the way to his tent, where he sat him down in the tent’s only comfortable looking chair.

“Okay,” Arthur sighed, plopping down on the edge of his cot. “What do you need in order to use all the hair we collected to our advantage?”

Merlin chuckled again, trying to keep it from sounding hysterical but mostly failing. “I have no idea.”

~oOo~

Merlin found it both ironic and frustrating at times that here he was, the supposedly greatest warlock to ever walk the earth, and what he knew of spells and incantations could only fill a tea mug, and that was even after having thoroughly studied his magic book.

The problem, however, wasn’t knowledge so much as retaining that knowledge, and Merlin made a mental note to carry around a small journal fill with the spells he used most to help keep everything straight in his head. He would have done that sooner had his magic not still have been a secret at the time, and magic diaries were rather condemning as evidence.

Thank goodness for Gaius and his foresight. Or more his sentimentality, really – he had brought Merlin’s spell book, but had hesitated in giving it to him when Merlin had made it known that he still couldn’t use his magic. But he could use it now.

Lords, he could use his magic. The realization made Merlin so giddy that his hands began to shake, but that could have also been because of the exhaustion. The shaking became more pronounced when he found a spell that was exactly what they needed for their situation. He and Gaius wasted no time collecting the required materials and getting to work.

Arthur scoffed at the finished product.

“They’re… dolls,” Arthur said with a slight twist of displeasure to his lips.

Merlin glared at him. “They’re magical constructs,” he said. “Made to temporarily separate a sorcerer from his magic.”

“They’re little dolls made of straw, like what little girls put together when they need more dolls for a tea party.”

Merlin huffed. “There really is no pleasing you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Fine. They’re little magical dolls. Will they work?”

Merlin fidgeted slightly. “Er… they should, in theory.”

“In theory,” Arthur echoed.

“Yes. Normally you have to place the dolls where the target sleeps and, well, not light them on fire so much as cause them to smolder. But the hairs we collected should create a link to the cloak, or at least the parts of the cloak where the hair came from. It should weaken the cloak in places allowing us to get through his defenses.”

Arthur sat down in the chair that Merlin had long ago vacated to begin creating the dolls. “But only in theory,” he said.

“Arthur,” Merlin said wearily. “You made me two promises today. Now it’s my turn to make a promise. And that promise is that I will help you fight this giant, and I will help you defeat him. Magic is what I know, and if this doesn’t work I will find another way. But I know it will work. I’ll make sure it works.”

Arthur pressed his lips together and nodded. “Alright, then.” He heaved out a heavy breath. “I suppose we’ve done all we can for now. All that’s left is to...” he shrugged, “Get what rest we can.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, pulling two vials from his pocket. “Gaius made us some sleeping draughts. He said the more rested we are, the better.” He handed one to Arthur.

The other he stared at, apprehension gnawing at the back of his mind. The draughts helped him sleep.

But at the price of trapping him in his dreams.

“Merlin?”

Merlin looked up.

Arthur stared at him, studying him. “Take the cot.”

Merlin chuckled. “I’m fine on the ground, Arthur. Remember, I grew up sleeping on a floor.”
“Then at least sleep in a bedroll.”

Arthur got up from the chair and had a knight passing by fetch one of the spare bedrolls from the wagon.

“You can stay in the tent if you want,” Arthur said. “It’s big enough.”

Merlin, bedroll in his arms, shifted uncomfortably, the candle he kept in his pocket feeling suddenly heavy. “That might… not be a good idea,” he said. “I’m um… I’m a bit of a restless sleeper these days and, um… I need extra help in going to sleep, you see. Nothing big but you might find it distracting.”

Arthur just smiled at him. “Merlin, I can sleep through a contingent of knights snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Do what you need to. If it helps you sleep then that’s all that matters.”

Arthur readied for bed as Merlin laid out his bed roll for the night. They took their draughts, and climbed into their respective beds. On Merlin’s side of the tent, a candle glowed softly.

TBC...

Chapter Text

The morning was the same as it had been the past few days – overcast and cool. Merlin and Arthur had woken well before sunrise, and now stood with the rest of their camp at the top of the hill, waiting for the giant’s arrival.

Merlin could have sworn his heart was quivering in his chest. He had one hand in his pocket, gripping one of the little dolls stored there. There were four dolls in all, two in each pocket of his jacket, and he could feel their magic like a trickle of cool water along his skin. He glanced down the line of knights to Lot’s end of the hill, and could just see Landes constantly glancing their way. Arthur had contemplated alerting Lot of Landes’ treachery, but had preferred the thought of Landes in a perpetual state of squirming, forever wondering when Arthur would say something. The problem was that there was no physical proof to what Landes had done.

Neither did it matter, because Landes had failed.

Merlin looked back out over the hill, the small smile that had been tugging at his lips fading away.
The sound of thundering footfalls echoed through the hills. A great swathe of shadows poured over the rolling land, and at their head the tall, pale figure of the giant in his cloak of human beards. Merlin’s grip on the doll tightened until his palm itched.

The army stopped on reaching the top of the hill, but the giant continued forward, and the look on his face was one of contained rage.

“I choose the challenger today!” he bellowed before anyone had a chance to move forward. He swung his club from his shoulder and used it to point at Arthur and Merlin. “And I choose the thief and his little accomplice. You will pay for your intrusion, little men. And may it come as a lesson to you all. I will not be bested so easily.”

Every head turned in Arthur’s and Merlin’s direction, making Merlin feel painfully self-conscious and longing for the privacy of the trees.

Arthur unsheathed his blade and stepped forward, the very picture of calm. But, then, he was Arthur, trained from birth to kill, and trained to be a king.

“So be it,” Arthur said.

Merlin took a deep breath, straightened his back, and stepped up next to his king.

The giant smiled, laughed, and gave his club a few deft twirls. “This won’t be a challenge at all, I think. Let us make it interesting. If you win, I leave, but I suppose nothing changes there.” He frowned, glowering. “If I win, the land is mine to do with as I please.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t plan on losing,” Arthur said. He looked at Merlin, gave the slightest nod, and then charged forward.

Merlin startled at the abrupt attack but quickly recovered, darting to the right in a wide arc around the giant. The giant, wanting to go for what he thought was the easier target, attempted to make his way toward Merlin only to be forced to take a wide step back when Arthur went for his ankles.

The Giant’s abrupt change in direction put him sideways to Merlin. It wasn’t a clear shot to his back, but it was the best Merlin could hope for. He lifted his hand, said a silent prayer to the gods, spoke a word of magic, and released a fireball.

The fireball raced toward the giant and struck his cloak.

The section it struck began to burn. Merlin pumped his fist in the air in triumph.

And then the giant looked at him, face twisting in rage, and charged at Merlin like a bull.

Merlin immediately stopped celebrating. “Oh no,” he squeaked. He turned and ran.

~oOo~

“Damn it all!” Arthur snapped as the giant raced after Merlin, his smoldering cloak leaving a trail of smoke. Arthur charged after him, sweat pouring in rivers beneath his armor. He raised his sword and brought it down on the cloak, cutting away more pieces of human beard. But the giant’s massive strides had the giant pulling away out of reach.

Then Merlin stumbled and fell. But he rolled onto his back, cupping his hands together. He shouted a word of magic that made his eyes burn gold, and an even more massive fireball shot from his hands toward the giant’s face. The giant’s magic protected him from the flames but not the force and blinding light of the explosion, causing the giant to cry out and stumble back. Merlin continued releasing flame after flame, shoving the giant back.

And giving Arthur more than enough time to catch up. He ran with every ounce of energy he had. He dropped to his knees and slid beneath the cloak billowing out as the giant tried to twist away from the assault. Arthur lashed out with his sword.

And cut the giant across the tendon of his ankle.

The giant bellowed in pain and rage. His leg tried to buckle out from under him, but he caught himself with his club, using it like a cane. The sound of cheering rolled over the hill like the roar of the ocean.

The giant hobbled around, his face red with fury. He balanced on his good leg, lifted his club and brought it down, but Arthur rolled clear of the impact. Then the giant arched in surprise more than pain when another fireball breached his weakening magical defenses and set another section of cloak alight.

The giant was blinded by rage, now, swinging his club wildly in the hopes of hitting something. Which might have been humorous had Arthur not been so close. He rolled, flattened himself as the club swung overhead, the resultant wind it created buffeting Arthur. He scrabbled away on his hands and knees just before the club came down, raising a cloud of dirt and grass. Then the club was swinging again.

“Arthur!” Merlin called.

Arthur’s eyes widened when he saw Merlin, back on his feet, sending fireball after fireball into the cloak. His breath stopped when the giant pivoted around on his good ankle and swung at Merlin. His heart stopped when the club clipped Merlin and sent his body flying – not far, but landing hard and tumbling over the ground.

The giant laughed. He hobbled over to Merlin’s unmoving body and raised his club.

“No!” Arthur screamed. He was on his feet, running. The club arched over the giant’s head, then began dropping down.

Arthur threw his sword.

The blade spun hilt over tip and embedded itself in the giant’s back. The giant arched, screaming, his cry of agony like a roar. He staggered back away from Merlin and fell to his knees, reaching for the sword buried next to his massive spine.

Arthur continued running until he reached Merlin, and once there fell to his own knees by Merlin’s side.

Merlin’s left side was a mess, spotted with blood, his arm beneath his shoulder and his collarbone bent at an unnatural angle. But he was breathing, his chest rising and falling.

The giant’s roar of pain stopped. Arthur looked up, hoping to see the giant lying dead on the ground. Instead, the giant held Arthur’s bloody sword in his giant hand. The giant, breathing heavy with pain, smile a blood-flecked smile. Taking the sword in both hands, he snapped it like a twig.

“You haven’t won,” he said. “You’ve won nothing.” He then lifted his face to the sky, and hollered, “Attack!”

The army of ragged dead surged forward.

“You can’t!” Arthur screamed. “Neither of us have won or lost!”

“The rules are mine to create,” the giant said. “Just as they are mine to break.” And he laughed.

Arthur leaned over Merlin, covering him as the army charged with swords and axes raised. Two of the inky skeletons bore down on Arthur, ready to cleave him in two.

Just as the first skeleton’s blade came down, another blade intercepted it. Arthur looked up and smiled manically at Gwaine. Gwaine twisted his blade, disarming the skeleton, then with a sideways slash beheaded the thing, dissolving it into smoke.

The armies of Camelot, Lot and those having come to challenge the giant shouted war cries and converged on the army of dead, holding them back, steel wringing against steel. But the dead were many.

And the giant was climbing back to his feet, laughing like a lunatic. He swung his club, knocking away knights and warriors by the dozen.

A ragged cough pulled Arthur’s attention to Merlin.

“Merlin!” Arthur said on a hysterical laugh.

Merlin grimaced. He lifted his head, or tried to, and grimaced again with an, “Ow.” When he opened his eyes, they widened. He threw out his hand, shouting a spell, and several skeletons went flying back.

“Oh, gods, did we lose?” he panted.

“We’d be dead if we lost. The giant changed the rules, he’s using his army!” Arthur said quickly. “Please tell me you have a spell, enchantment, something that can help.”

Merlin coughed. “Got… something much better. Should have used it sooner but… wasn’t sure if I could.” He coughed again, then looked up at Arthur with a sheepish smile. “Did Gaius tell you about the dragon?”

Merlin then lifted his head, and bellowed into the sky with a voice so deep and inhuman that it made Arthur shiver. But when Merlin finished, slumping back to the ground, nothing happened.

“Merlin?” Arthur said urgently, his eyes in constant motion taking in the battle raging around them.

Then came the roar, a real roar that seemed to split the sky. And soon after came a dragon, huge and red-gold dropping out of the sky and laying waste to the giant’s army with great pillars of fire. The dragon dove, breathing out his flames that engulfed the dead, rose then dove again, cutting through their numbers as easily as a farmer cutting through wheat with a scythe.

The giant bellowed in rage. He turned to Arthur and Merlin, seething. He limped toward them with his club raised.

“No! I will not be defeated! I am never defeated!”

But before he had a chance to reach them, the dragon dove once more and snatched the giant in all four of his claws. The dragon flapped madly, climbing higher and higher as the giant squirmed like a fish. When the dragon was so high up he looked to be no bigger than a hawk, he let the giant go.

The giant’s impact with the ground made the very bones of the earth tremble, knocking all those still standing off their feet. A great cloud of dust rose in the air.

The army of dead stopped as though suddenly frozen. Stone began to spread down their bodies like moss, encasing them until they were once more statues. But then the stone began to crack, little hair-line fractures at first that soon grew into fissures. The statues slowly crumbled, first in chunks, then into pebbles, then into nothing more than dust carried away by the wind.

Arthur looked down at Merlin. “Actually, Gaius said nothing about a dragon.”

Merlin blinked, looking suddenly nervous. “He didn’t?”

“Not really.”

Merlin’s unease became fear.

Then Arthur laughed, because, honestly, at this point, it no longer mattered. He took Merlin’s face in his hands and planted a sloppy kiss on the crown of his head. But as soon as he pulled away, he quickly composed himself.

“Right. That never happened, by the way.”

Merlin smiled. “Of course not, sire.”

Arthur chuckled and ruffled Merlin’s hair.

~oOo~

Merlin loved pain draughts. Not so much the flavor, but definitely the after affects. He’d had to be put under as Gaius reset his arm, collarbone and two of his upper ribs, and on waking he’d been pleasantly numb if a bit loopy. But not so loopy that he didn’t find out what had occurred. Men had died, but not as many as were expected. It seemed both the giant’s magic and his strength had weakened to the point that his army wasn’t as difficult to battle as they had first seemed, and the giant’s club hadn’t packed its usual punch. But men had still died, and losses were still losses. There had been a memorial, in which the giant’s body had been dragged to the top of the hill, tied sitting upright to a pole and burned, while the names of the fallen were read. It had taken a whole phalanx just to get the giant’s carcass to sit upright. His cloak had been burned separately as a memorial to those taken by the giant.

Arthur was relatively fine. Bruised, sore and suffering several pulled muscles from having to exert more force to cut through the giant’s thick skin, but fine.

“You succeeded, my boy,” Gaius said with a smile. “You both won. Together.”

Merlin was in and out most of the time. At one point he and Kilgarrah had a bit of a mental chat. The dragon had been close by during Merlin’s time in Ealdor, aware of Merlin’s mental and emotional distress but giving Merlin what space he needed.

“I’m surprised you didn’t badger me with talk of destiny and two sides of the same coin,” Merlin thought.

“I am surprised as well,” Kilgarrah said with a smile in his mental voice. “It was your mother who stayed my voice.”

“My mother?” Merlin said in alarm.

“She spotted me one day as I was hunting. She sought me out and spoke to me of what you went through, begging me to let you be and not badger you to return to Arthur. After hearing your tale, I found myself agreeing with her. As I said, I could sense your distress, and I will be honest – I did not know what to do. I did not know what could be said to remedy it, so I chose to say nothing until you were ready to speak for yourself.”

Merlin was left momentarily speechless.

“What will you do, now?” Kilgarrah asked.

Merlin didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He didn’t have an answer, yet.

~oOo~

For once, the day dawned sunny, the clouds finally having broken up. The tents were dismantled, packed and loaded, and it wasn’t long before the hill once again resembled a hill, as though no battle had taken place.

“I thank you, Arthur Pendragon,” Lot said before he started his own journey back to his castle. “You saved my kingdom and its people. For that, Camelot will now be considered a friend to Essitir.”

“And Essitir is a friend of Camelot,” Arthur said. They clasped arms. He glanced over Lot’s shoulder at a fuming Landes. When the two broke apart and Lot moved past Arthur to finish preparations for departure, Arthur made sure to move past Landes.

“I’m more than happy to keep what you did to myself,” Arthur said. “You know, so long as you never attempt to make trouble for me again. I’m a king and a friend to Essetir, remember. My word holds more weight.”

Landes visibly paled and minutely nodded. Arthur smiled and continued on. He made his way down the hill to Hunith’s house, to see if Gaius had gathered all his books and was ready to depart. He knocked, then opened the door to Merlin helping Gaius load a few provisions into a satchel. When Gaius spotted Arthur, he closed the satchel.

“I need to ready my horse, Merlin,” he said. “Seems it’s time to go.”

The two embraced each other, like father and son, Gaius’ right arm around the back of Merlin’s neck to avoid the sling. Then they released, and Gaius headed out the door, giving Arthur an encouraging nod along the way.

An awkward silence fill the small house.

Arthur cleared his throat. “So…” he said. “Is your mother here? I wanted to thank her for the hospitality she showed Gaius.”

“She’s helping in the field,” Merlin said. “But I can tell her, if you need to head out.”

Arthur shrugged. “There’s no real hurry to be honest.” He shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what else to say.

But knowing exactly what he wanted to say.

Come back with us. To start over. To be friends again. He wouldn’t say those words, though. He didn’t have the right to. It was Merlin’s decision whether or not he would return to Camelot, and Arthur wasn’t going to push him.

But…

“Just so you know,” Arthur said. “You’re always welcome in Camelot. There…. There will always be a place for you, should you ever wish to return.”

Merlin gnawed on his bottom lip, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Arthur nodded in return. He turned to go, only to turn back.

“Just… just out of curiosity. Do you think you might return? Not necessarily to stay, more than likely to visit Gaius I suppose. I’m just… wondering.” He winced at how pathetic he was sounding at the moment.

Merlin’s look was both sympathetic and uncertain, which was answer enough to Arthur, and it made him feel open and vulnerable, but most especially sad.

“Do you…” He looked down at the floor, hating himself for wanting to ask this question. “Do you still hate me?”

It surprised him when Merlin’s eyes widened in alarm.

“No, Arthur. No. I mean… I was angry and scared…” He furrowed his brow and glanced away. “But I don’t think I ever hated you. Not… not really. Not deep down inside.” He looked at Arthur, and the vulnerability Arthur felt was reflected back at him in Merlin’s expression.

“When you found out about my magic, did you hate me?” Merlin asked.

“No,” Arthur said, and it was strange how easy it was to say. It was strange when he recalled wanting to hate Merlin and making excuses to hate him.

But deep down inside, he’d never hated him.

“I was angry and stupid because of it,” Arthur said. He tossed up his hands. “You know me, Merlin. I’ve never had the best anger management.”

Merlin snorted with amused agreement.

“But when I think about those days, I can’t say that I ever came to hate you. And I’m glad. I would have hated myself even more. And if you never forgive me…” Arthur said.

“I do.”

“…I’d understand… come again?”

Merlin smiled. “I do forgive you, Arthur. It’s just that… I don’t know if I’m quite ready to come back yet. It’s hard to explain, except that I don’t feel ready. Not because of you,” he added quickly. Only to wince. “Well, not entirely. It’s strange and it’s going to sound ridiculous, but every time I think about going back to Camelot, I think of things going back to the way they were, and it… it makes me nervous, I don’t know why. It’s not that I don’t want things to go back to the way they were. I guess I don’t want things to be so normal it’s as though what happened never happened.” He cringed slightly. “It’s like I’m afraid that if we forget it happened, it could happen again.”

“It won’t,” Arthur said fervently.

“I know,” Merlin said weakly. “I said it was ridiculous.”

“Well,” Arthur said, “things wouldn’t go back to the way they were, anyway. Having a powerful sorcerer as a manservant would be too strange. I’d have to make you an advisor or court sorcerer or something. And we wouldn’t forget. To learn from your mistakes you have to remember them.”

Merlin nodded. Arthur nodded back.

Then thought, to hell with it, moved forward and pulled Merlin into an embrace, careful of his injured arm.

“Whatever you decide,” Arthur said, “Know that I am and always will be your friend.”

Merlin’s good arm raised and returned the embrace. “And I am yours,” he said.

They parted, then they said their goodbyes.

As Arthur and his men rode from the hill, he glanced up to see Merlin standing on that hill, watching them go.

TBC...

Chapter Text

Two Weeks Later

“Bloody hell where the bloody hell is that bloody gauntlet… ah!” Arthur snatched the offending piece of armor from off his dresser and tugged it on. He had sent George on some random errand, because the man had started up with his brass jokes again and Arthur really wasn’t in the mood. He had knight hopefuls to test today, and was still feeling rather frustrated at yesterday’s rather pathetic display. Really, how these men honestly expected to become knights when they could barely keep their sword in their hands was beyond him.

Arthur hurried down to the training field, where the hopefuls waited, looking rather pale and nervous. Gwaine was there chatting some of them up, which would explain the collective unease. The man did like to exaggerate what was to be expected in these battles. Arthur highly suspected he was the one behind the rumor of hopefuls having been beheaded during the trials.

Arthur marched to the training field and unsheathed his word, giving it a few practice swings. “Okay, then, you lot? Who’s first?”

A rather shaky young man stepped out onto the field, and so began another day of disappointments – save for two young fellows who at least managed to keep their sword in their hand.

“Lords, they’re pathetic,” Arthur said during the break as he took a drink from the water bucket. Gwaine, lounging on the bench nearby, shrugged.

“I did offer the suggestion that you may be going a bit too hard on them…”

Arthur chuffed. “Gwaine, if this were war, no one would be going easy on them.”

Gwaine shrugged again, since he couldn’t argue with that one. “Could also be they’re nervous over fighting a giant slayer.”

“Except I didn’t slay the giant, a dragon did.”

Gwaine pointed at him. “Exactly. You weakened it, a dragon came out of nowhere and finished it. A dragon the same color as all the ones on the Camelot flags. It’s bound to make anyone nervous.”

“Not you, though.”

Gwaine snorted. “Never me.”

“You being an arse again?”

Arthur whirled around to face whoever dared to call him an arse. “Excuse m—“

Arthur’s voice caught in his throat.

Merlin stood on the edge of the training field, with a satchel over his good shoulder and cheeky smile on his face, looking every bit as he did the day he first came to Camelot.

A smile so big spread on Arthur’s face until it hurt. “You still making friends with arses?”

“Apparently so,” Merlin said.

Arthur barked a laugh, then trotted forward and pulled Merlin into a bear hug, Merlin returning it as best he could, while behind them Gwaine laughed, clapping his hands.

“So,” Merlin said, pulling back. “That position for court sorcerer been filled yet?”

Arthur chuckled, clapping Merlin on the shoulder. “It is, now.”

The End