Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’ll never get free.

There is blood in the water 

“Merlin!”

      Merlin bolted upright and blinked. He was sitting at the small table he and Gaius often shared meals at. There were papers scattered around the floor and the table, a half-eaten bowl of porridge on the table, now cold. Merlin peeled a shred of paper from his face that had gotten stuck there during his sleep.

“You alright?”

     Merlin looked to the door, heart still pounding from his rough awakening. It was Leon, dressed in full chainmail and looking prepared to take on the day. Merlin cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Yes. I was just,” he struggled to find his words.

     Leon nodded as Merlin trailed off, effectively ending the discussion of his sleeping at the table. Merlin gathered the papers that had been strewn about the room.

“Where’s Gaius?”

     Merlin smoothed out the papers he had been writing on before he had fallen asleep. They were covered in notes about medicine. He had been going over everything Gaius had taught him since he had first arrived in Camelot. Sure, magic was great, but medicine was a little bit easier to sneak under the noses of the people.

“He went to Ealdor last night. My mother had sent a letter about a sickness growing there and he went to help. Why?”

“Can you act as a physician?”

     Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, in a pinch. What’s going on?”

Leon nodded. “Alright. We need you in the lower town. There is something you should look at.” 

     Merlin stood up. “Uh, sure. Let me get my bag.”

     Leon stood in the doorway as Merlin threw together some supplies. He shoved herbs into his leather bag. The bag had been a gift from Gwen before she had even entertained the idea of being with Arthur. It was sewn together with leftover scraps from her father’s blacksmith aprons. She had given it to him when she heard he was going to be trying to study healing under Gaius. It was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given him. He used it every chance he got.

Just as he finished packing, Leon cleared his throat. “How’s your arm?”

     Merlin thought back to the week before, when he had to play the Dolma and he had stalled in his return to Camelot. His wrist had been accidentally burned during his little break. It had healed well, now just a light pink scar.

“It’s fine. Thanks.”

     Merlin finished gathering what he needed and nodded at Leon. Together, they headed toward the center of the palace where two horses were waiting. Merlin felt his heart drop into his stomach a little. Normally he’d walk to the lower town, even with Gaius when he was doing his rounds. The horses signal some sense of urgency, a type of urgency that Merlin didn’t really like. It meant something was terribly wrong.

     Leon offered to help Merlin to get on his horse, which Merlin accepted. They soon were trotting along at an even pace to the lower town. Merlin figured things must have been serious, but not terribly so. The smooth pace they were riding along at meant that while things were urgent, they weren’t panic-inducing. If the people saw a knight of Camelot and the court physician's apprentice speeding along, they would panic. It was a smart move on Leon’s part to set the pace at a slow trot.

When they reached the lower town, Merlin and Leon dismounted and Merlin followed Leon into a nondescript house.

     When they walked inside, they were greeted by a young, lovely looking couple. 

“You’ve brought help!” the man said in relief. “My wife, Eyra, she’s with child. Our first,” the man beamed proudly despite the worry that garnered in his eyes.

     “But she hasn’t been well the past few days. This morning when she woke up, she was coughing blood. That’s when I asked the guards for help.”

     Merlin looked at the woman, Eyra, who lay on the one bed off to the side of their small home. She was beautiful in her own way, with fair skin and freckles paired with dark hair. She reminded Merlin of Freya, actually. He felt a deep pang in his chest when he realized this before going up to her.

“Hello, Eyra. I’m Merlin. I'm here to help you. How long have you-,”

     “About five months,” Eyra said weakly, giving Merlin a soft smile. “I think it’s going to be a girl.”

     Merlin smiled back at her as he took her wrist in his hand. Her pulse was weak, her hand clammy. Gaius had taught him a great many things about treating people, and the first thing he really nailed into Merlin's head was making sure the patient didn’t know how ill they were. 

“How long have you been feeling unwell?” Merlin asked as he knelt down by the bed and opened his bag, rummaging around for the right thing.

“A few days. It wasn’t bad until this morning.”

     Eyra began to cough as if to prove her point, but she soon settled. She cleared her throat before speaking again.

“A few other expecting mothers, they said they felt unwell also before losing their children. You won’t let that happen will you?”

     Merlin looked at Leon. Is this what he meant by urgent? If it wasn’t just Eyra who had this sickness, if other pregnant mothers were getting ill, it could be a sign of something more. Merlin recalled the time the water had been injected with magic to make the people get sick.

     “Do you boil your water?”

Eyra’s husband answered this time as Merlin found a clean cloth in his bag and damped it with some tonic before placing it on Eyra’s forehead. Eyra sighed with relief.

     “Yes, always. We never even bathe without boiling our water.”

“Alright. Eyra, I’ve given you a topical for your head. You looked as though you had a headache.”

Eyra nodded weakly.

     Merlin dug around his bag and pulled out two vials. One was filled to the top, the other was almost empty. Merlin held up the almost full vial. 

     “This is a red raspberry leaf tea. Boil it in water for at least five minutes, and then strain it before drinking it. Do this three times a day. It should help with your breathing and coughing.” 

     Merlin held up the almost empty vial. “This is a tonic, you see the dark green color?” Eyra and her husband nodded, “When you take it, mix two drops into a full cup of clean water. The color should be a light green, a little lighter in color than birch leaves. After you mix it, drink it once before bed and again when you wake up.”

Merlin handed Eyra’s husband the two vials. 

     “If you can afford it, refrain from working, both in labor and around the house. You need to stay in bed for at least two days. Don’t do anything strenuous and don’t lift anything heavy, alright? Try not to stand around, if you can’t lay down then sit. Don’t get up unless you have to, it could affect your baby.”

Eyra and her husband nodded furiously, hanging on to Merlin’s every word.

    “Try to eat things that are green in color, Eyra. Like cabbage.” Merlin added helpfully. Eyra nodded.

   “Would dandelion greens do?”

     Merlin flashed her a smile. “That would be perfect. Get plenty of rest and drink at least a cup of water every three hours at a minimum, more if you can help it. If your coughing gets worse, or if you cough up blood any other color than bright red, come and get me and we’ll help you.”

Eyra smiled gently. “Thank you, Merlin.”

When they left the small home, Merlin turned to face Leon.

     “She’s not the only one?”

Leon crossed his arms and shook his head.

     “There’s been seven women in the past week who have gotten ill in the same way. The women are all fine, but all seven of them lost the child.”

Merlin frowned. “Well, we’d best get prepared in case this turns into an outbreak. Which means I need to head to the woods.”

     Merlin walked over to his horse and mounted it, adjusting his bag on his side. Leon also got on his own horse.

“The woods?”

     Merlin nodded, ushering his horse to head down the path to where the outer gate was. Leon followed.

      “That vial I gave them? The liquid one? That was the last of the stores for nettle leaf potion. It’s something we use for pregnant women. It’s like a cure-all. It helps women heal better and faster, and it’s very potent. That’s why you mix it with water. It can be dangerous, but it all depends on how much you use and which part of the plant you use. For these potions we use the roots, not the leaves. And this type of stinging nettle is found about three hour’s ride from here in a meadow where it grows wild. I’ll need to get the plants and then brew the potion.”

Leon glanced at the gate of the town and then back at Merlin. “I’ll go with you.”

      “Oh, you don’t- I mean-,”

“Arthur insisted that this be taken care of as quickly as possible. He entrusted me with making sure it gets solved. I’ll go with you.  I’ll even help you carry the plants.” 

      Merlin rolled his eyes at Leon’s smirk.

“Alright. Let’s go save some lives.”

They rode in silence. Not that Merlin wanted it to be, but he figured the speaking randomly was’t something that Leon would like.

     It was awkward.

     Merlin didn’t really know Leon very well, but Arthur trusted him. Leon was the last knight who had served under Uther and under Arthur, and he seemed to be fiercely loyal to Camelot. Merlin respected that about him.

But Merlin didn’t really know him.

     They hadn’t spent that much time together one-on-one, and mostly gave one another a friendly smile and wave when they crossed paths.

     Being alone, in the woods, with nothing to do except be in one another’s company, it was very awkward, Merlin silently wished that something would happen. Maybe a wild squirrel attack. That would be a conversation starter.

Well, Merlin got his wish.

     They had been riding for just over two hours when they heard yelling. They stopped riding and listened. It was someone yelling for help.

     Leon hopped off his horse and walked off the trail they had been taking.  The trail itself was safe, it was a route traders often took when going to Camelot and other towns and cities. That was why the yelling was concerning. It wasn’t long until they reached a man, laying on the ground, holding his leg.

“Thank goodness! I was thrown from my horse on my way to Camelot! Can you help me?”

     Leon walked over to the man on the ground. He was clutching his leg and grimacing, but there was no blood to be found around.

Merlin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. And he started to dismount his horse when he saw someone with a sharp-looking sword approach Leon from behind.

“Leon!”

     The knight turned around at Merlin’s cry and was met with a brutal slash to his stomach. Leon yelled in pain and fell, holding his stomach, where blood was pouring out now. The man who had been on the floor, the shorter of the two leaped up. Merlin was so focused on Leon that he didn’t even see the third man’s punch until it hit him.

     Merlin was knocked to the forest floor. Whoever had punched him was strong. The person’s knuckles smashed into his nose and Merlin felt something crack. Blood began to freely flow from his nose. Before Merlin could get up, he was met with a swift kick to his ribs.

The person who had punched him lifted Merlin off the floor and studied his face for a moment, before looking at Leon on the floor.

      “Well, it seems we’ve caught some servants of Camelot. Tell me, boy,” the man punched Merlin in the stomach, hard. It knocked the wind out of Merlin and his vision went hazy as he tried to find breath. The bandit chuckled at Merlin's gasping.

“What do you know about the sorcerer Emrhys?”

“He’s not just powerful. He’s important. The druids say he’s the most powerful wizard to walk the earth.”

    Leon groaned from his position on the floor. He hadn't moved at all since he fell. Merlin felt the blood from his nose trickle down into his mouth and he tried to wipe it away on his shoulder, but it didn’t work very well. The blood dripped past his lips and he spit it out.

“That’s all I know about him,” Merlin shook his head. 

     The taller bandit looked to the bandit clearly in charge, the one who had punched the wind out of Merlin earlier.

“Think he’s telling the truth, Lord Malagant?”

Lord?

     Merlin studied the older man. He looked weathered, but somehow still seemed strong. His wrinkles were just as harsh as his eyes, his skin was tanned from days in the sun. He certainly didn’t look like a Lord. But, then again, Merlin didn’t look like a powerful sorcerer.

Malagant looked Merlin up and down. He seemed emotionless. He nodded.

     “I don’t know, Balin. It seems the boy is telling the truth about the wizard. But he is not honest. He knows more. More than his companion.”

Vortimer, the shorter bandit, pressed a foot on Leon’s wound and pressed down. Leon cried out in pain and Merlin’s heart jumped into his throat.

     “Wait! Wait! Stop!”

  Vortimer stopped pressing on the wound, but didn’t take his foot off of Leon’s stomach. “Oh?” he asked, his voice lilted.

     “The Druids,” Merlin choked out, his face burning in the shame of giving away some secrets. “They know more. I’ve overheard some things about Emrhys.”

“And that would be?”

Merlin looked at Vortimer’s foot on Leon’s wound and then looked back at the other man’s face.

     “He is friends with a follower of the old religion who lives in the outskirts of the kingdom. In a shack. She helped the King once, I don’t know what for,’ Merlin added quickly, not trying to give out any more information than he had to. “But she gained Emrhys’s trust afterward. I’ve heard rumors that she knows everything. You can hide nothing from her. She would know where he is. She knows where everyone is.”

“Do you have a name?”

     Merlin swallowed some of his blood.

“The Dolma.”

The bandits all turned to look at one another.

      “I’ve heard that name before. Someone said they saw her healing the Queen of Camelot.” Balin said. “She must have been the one who broke Lady Morgana’s curse.”

     Merlin’s heart pounded. He just needed to stall them until he had enough time to figure something out. He just needed them to look away and he could use magic to figure out a way out of there. It was now clear that Morgana was involved in this, somehow.

     “That’s all I know. I wouldn’t know where she would be. Neither would Leon.” Merlin nodded at his friend who laid now, unmoving on the ground. The trio of bandits gathered together now, Vortimer taking his foot off of Leon and trotting over to the others. They formed a circle and began to talk in quiet, hushed voices that Merlin couldn’t quite make out.

     Merlin looked around, desperately for a solution. He looked at the tree by which the bandits had gathered around. His eyes trailed up to a hanging branch. It looked sturdy enough. His throat burned from the the gash to it, but he was going to try anyways.

“Forbærne firgenholt!” he whispered.

     The branch hanging from above the group cracked. The trio looked up just in time to see the branch crash into them. The three of them crumpled to the ground Vorimer and Balin were bleeding from their heads, but Malagant had only been stunned. He quickly pulled himself up and looked fiercely at Merlin.

“You have magic?”

Before Merlin could answer, Malagant was at Merlin’s throat, his hand grasping around Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s windpipe was crushed from the action, and he couldn’t breathe.

     “You?” Malagant asked quietly, more to the air than anyone else. His grip tightened on Merlin’s neck. Merlin struggled to breathe. At this point, he wasn’t breathing at all, making wheezing noises. Malagant threw Merlin to the ground by his neck. Merlin coughed, trying desperately to gather air. Malagant approached him and, with one swift kick to the head, Merlin fell into darkness.

     When Merlin woke up, his head ached and his throat burned. He was confused at first when he woke up, when suddenly he felt something sharp on his wrists. He shook himself to full awareness. He tried to figure out where he was. It was dark, wherever at that was, with only a dim light from a single torch

     He then realized that he was tied up, hanging, actually, by his wrists. He stood on the tips of his toes, struggling to take the weight off his wrists and shoulders. His neck felt bruised and his throat raw. He looked up, seeing that the chains that held him were suspended from the ceiling. He looked in front of him, seeing Leon on the floor by him, his shirt stained with blood, his chain mail missing.  

In front of him was Malagant, looking at him with his arms crossed, his face was stern.

    “You’ve killed one of my men.”

    Merlin looked to his left, where Balin was standing, a rather large knot of his head. Vortimer was nowhere to be found, so Merlin guessed that the falling branch had cracked the l latter’s skull. Good.

“If you try anything, I'll kill your friend here.”

      Merlin looked at Leon, who was pale, laying on his back. His breathing was shallow. He had lost a lot of blood. Merlin shivered. He was shirtless, and where they were, a cave of some sort, wasn’t the best place to be without the aid of clothing. At least his trousers were still on? 

     “Now, Merlin . Lady Morgana is already on her way. She doesn’t know that you have magic yet, I’m sure she’d want to hear that in person, but she has given us permission to get any information out of you in any means possible. To be honest, I have no complaints. I’m sure Balin doesn’t.”

Balin narrowed his eyes at Merlin, and in the dim light saw that he was holding a rather long, flexible stick, probably taken from the same branch Merlin had caused to fall onto the men earlier.

     Malagant nodded and Balin moved to where Merlin was. It was only a moment before Merlin felt the searing pain across his back. His skin split open as the branch whipped his back. It felt as though there were thorns that dug into his skin as the branch was whacked against his bare back. He felt his veins open and something warm became pittering down his back in a streaming trickle. His blood. Merlin didn’t say anything, only grimacing.

whack

     This time, Merlin was prepared, and that had made things worse. He had tightened his muscles which he could feel rip painfully as the branch struck him. The nerves that were once peaceful in their existence were now burning in protest. Merlin, despite himself, made a noise that came from deep within his throat.

whack

     The cool air now surrounding open wounds begins to sting harshly. It feels like someone is burning a brand into his skin. The pain doesn’t fade once he is struck again, but instead only intensifies as Merlin moved his toes to try and get a better standing to keep the weight off of his shoulders. This time he cries out.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me, Merlin. Where did you study magic?” Malagant asked coolly.

    Merlin felt the blood stream down the backs of his legs and said nothing.

Malagant smiles.

     When they’ve finished, Merlin feels numb. The shredding of his back has dulled to nothing more than one single mass of pain that stills when he stops moving. But when his shoulders scream that they’re being torn apart at the seams, and he has to move to try and figure out a way to give them relief, his back arches as the searing begins once again. The smell of blood is the only thing that he can focus on.

     It is quiet now. Malagant and Balin have left, probably because after the twenty-fifth lash (Merlin wasn’t exactly sure about this, he had lost count at ten), Merlin had dropped his head and relaxed as best he could Balin hit him once more before Malagant stopped him. Merlin had feigned passing out, and it had worked.

(Gods, when had anything worked?)

     They had left the cave to discuss what they were going to do next, leaving Merlin alone.

Their first mistake.

Despite the spinning in his head, Merlin took a deep breath.

     “Unspanne þás mægþ!” he hoarsed out. The chains around his wrists unlocked and Merlin dropped to the floor in a crouch. His feet were blissfully now on solid ground, but hunching over causes his back to scream in pain as the nerves and skin were ripped and shredded. Blood was still flowing from the wounds. His brain was muddled, trying to conjure up the right spell through the haze and he vaguely remembered a rather archaic healing spell that Gilli had done once.

“Þurhhæle licsar min.” he whispered.

     Suddenly, there was a blinding light coming from his back and an intense heat, so hot that Merlin fought not to cry out so as to alert his captors. He recalled Gaius commenting on the spell once, how it worked by heating up the skin and cauterizing the wound, causing bleeding to stop. It worked well enough, but it was a crude fix.

     Merlin turned his attention to Leon, scrambling to his friend, who still hadn’t moved. Merlin put a hand to Leon’s forehead. He was burning up with a fever. Merlin lifted Leon's shirt gently and saw the angry red lines that surrounded the wound. Blood poisoning. Merlin raised a hand over Leon’s chest.

“Ic hæle þina þrowunga!”

     Merlin watched as the wound slowly began to redden less and less. That would have to do for now, at least until Merlin could get them out there. He gently shook Leon.

“Leon!”

     Leon didn’t say anything, but he did groan, which Merlin took as a good sign. But there was no way Leon was going to walk out of here on his own two feet, and if Morgana was on her way, there was no staying here. If Morgana was coming, she would find out and then she would know and then she would tell everyone that Merlin had magic and everything Merlin had worked for so long for would be over, and for some reason Merlin’s head was aching, why was it aching? Did Morgana do something to him?

There came voices from just beyond a pathway, and Merlin swept a hand to them.

     “Folge min bebod!”

There was a flush of wind and then silence. Merlin was breathing hard. His nose was bleeding. Why was his nose bleeding?

     Two people lay on the ground, their bodies rough and torn from being thrust back into the cave walls. Their skulls were cracked open, one of them leaking something that looked like mince.

     Merlin felt a wave of nausea overcome him. It took all the power in the world to turn away from Leon and empty the contents of his stomach, which was nothing but bitter bile, onto the floor.

     He was trembling as he wiped his mouth. His feet were bare and stained red with blood. He wondered whose blood it was before kneeling back by Leon. His wrists are raw from where the chains had dug into him. He saw a pile by Leon. It was his shirt! He grabbed it, now trembling from the cold, perhaps and tried to shrug it on, letting out a painful gasp as his ravaged skin was touched by the rough fabric. His hands were shaking now as he cried out. He quickly stifled himself. They had to get out of there, to somewhere warm and safe.

      Merlin, breathing laboriously now, pulled Leon up from the floor. Merlin reached around int he dark and found his brown jacket that he always wore. Working with trembling fingers, he ripped the jacket’s sleeves off, then two more strips off the jacket before tying them together so he had two long pieces of fabric. 

      He tied one around Leon’s upper chest, and the over to Leon’s thighs, creating a makeshift sling. He used the extra fabric to tightly bind Leon’s wound. Merlin didn’t know how he was doing this, he didn’t really know what he was doing at all, actually, but he just knew he needed to get out of there, and Leon was coming with him.

     Since the wound was more towards Leon’s left side, Merlin flipped him over onto his stomach, briefly and got under him before rolling Leon’s right side onto his back. He took the slings and slipped them over his own head, so he was sort of tied to Leon.

      Merlin tried to rise to a kneeling position, but stumbled at Leon’s body weight was pushed against his wounds. He cried out as pain racked his back. He bit down so hard on his lip that it started bleeding. Great, more blood. 

Taking a steadying breath, he rose to a kneeling position, successfully this time. The slings were holding Leon in place, thankfully. 

     Merlin placed one hand on his own knee and the other on the ground for support as he slowly rose from the ground until he was upright. The slings were supporting Leon’s thighs and chest against Merlin’s body, taking a lot of weight off of Merlin’s back, and, most importantly, keeping Merlin’s hands free.

     As Merlin thought of this, Leon's hands sort of flapped limply around Merlin’s chest, getting in the way. Merlin made a noise of frustration, before noticing a small red square. The fabric he used a scarf! He managed to reach down (with an extreme amount of pain) to get it. He used it to tie Leon’s wrists together in front of him. Now, Leon’s armpits were just above Merlin’s shoulders and his wrists were resting on Merlin’s chest.

Merlin looked around the cave and then, stepping over the bodies, walked the path to get out of the cave.

     Merlin’s feet ached and his back screamed in pain. Leon was still and quiet, which was concerning. They had only been walking for a little while, or maybe it was a long while, Merlin couldn’t tell.

     Merlin’s throat burned. He would do all the chores in the world without complaining if it meant getting some water. Merlin had been following a river he had seen, going against the current. If he kept going upstream, he would eventually find something. But he couldn’t stop to drink water. He had no idea how close Morgana was to them, and if she caught them… not to mention that if Merlin stopped, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to get back up.

      The only way he could tell how far they’d gone was the sun. When they had been attacked, it had been mid-morning. Merlin had left the cave when the sun was at its highest peak. Now, the sun was low in the sky and the air was cooler than before. Merlin’s blood had dried on his legs and his back and it was now causing him to be colder. His sweat, along with Leon’s on his back, was making him shiver despite his constant movement.

It was slow going to say the least.

      Merlin wondered, as he stepped over a rather long fallen branch, where Gaius was. His mentor, his father-figure, Gaius was easily the most important person to him in Camelot, even more than Arthur, even.

      Would Gaius know something was wrong? Would he even notice that Merlin was missing? What about Arthur? The selfish prat. He would notice only because his clothes wouldn’t be washed, his bed not made.

     As Merlin trudged along, he thought about destiny. What a lot of horse shit was that, huh? Two sides of the same coin? Sure. That made sense. Arthur was about as far removed from Merlin as possible. Here Merlin was, loyal servant, most powerful magic-user to ever walk the earth, still being treated terribly by someone he’d given his whole life to. Destiny? That was stupid. 

Merlin stumbled along a little further. He felt movement on his back.

“Leon?”

     Leon stirred a little, though his head still hung down low.

“Hang on a little longer. We’re almost there, alright? Don’t worry.”

Merlin sounded so secure in his surety, he almost believed it himself.

      By the time the sun had risen, Merlin’s fingers were numb. At this point, he didn’t know where he was. He was going off on feeling alone. There was something familiar about where he was going, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

He was tired.

     Tired wasn’t the right word.

     He was exhausted. He was more than exhausted. He felt like he was a million years old. His joints ached, his feet stung, and everytime he took a step it was like the grass was stabbing him with a million little pinpricks.

     His feet were bare, his shoes long gone, and he hadn’t been very careful when he stumbled along the forest, and the soles of his feet felt wet, but he couldn’t tell if it was blood or sweat or water from the damp ground.

He kept going

Merlin kept walking and walking, even when he reached stone steps. He had to keep going. He had to keep going.

So he did. 

He trotted along, slowly. The forest floor was no longer damp, but cool and smooth on his feet. That was odd. Maybe he was by a waterfall?

     “Merlin?”

     Merlin looked up from the floor wearily. He saw two figures running up toward him, and his heart skipped a beat. Had Morgana finally caught up to them? Had Balin and his horrible, awful switch?

In the dim light of dawn, the first person came into focus. He was ruggedly handsome, with wide brown eyes and scraggly beard.

“Gwaine?”

     Gwaine was saying something to him, motioning to the other person with him, but Merlin wasn’t really able to focus on, or hear, what his friend had to say. Merlin was suddenly all too aware of the burning sensation on his back and the blood which had been collecting and collecting from his wounds for years and years and years.

      His back felt very light, and Merlin wondered if Leon had finally slipped from the makeshift slings as he tried to move forward on shaking feet, but Gwaine was in front of him, acting as a human wall. Merlin tried to look up at Gwaine, to ask what was going on and where he was, when he found himself unable to focus on his friend’s face, which was fuzzing and twisting and blurring in an odd way.

“Morg…”

Merlin tried to warn them before passing out into his old friend’s chest.

Chapter Text

Everything was cold.

     His back was warm. 

His back burned.

     But he was so cold.

     Merlin could barely recall what was going on. He vaguely recalled a bout of vomiting and dry, heaving coughing. His whole world felt wobbly and spinning, like it was a hazy dream. It was a lot like the time he had been poisoned by Nimueh, but at least then he’d only had the poisoning (and fever) to worry about. This, this was worse.

     He had come into awareness eerily and terribly slow. It was like he was trying to move through thick, hot mud. Or blood. He was only able to comprehend a few things. The first was that he was uncomfortably cold. He was shivering, freezing. It was as if ice was creeping up his spine.

     The next thing he realized is that he was on his stomach, and despite this his back burned, and he couldn’t figure out why.

     His throat was ashy and his tongue felt rough, like the blankets they used to keep the horses warm in the winter.

Warm. Oh he’d give anything to be warm!

     He felt something cool on his lip and he tried to pull away. It was cold, too cold, but when he tasted water he realized it was ice. Of course it was ice.

     He was too tired to open his eyes, and honestly he didn’t care anyways. There were soft murmurings around him, above him, below him , inside of him, and he shivered.

     Why was he so cold? His fingers were cold. He hated cold fingers. They reminded him of his childhood in Ealdor, when the grain crops had done poorly for three years in a row. With no grain to trade or to sell, they were stuck eating thin cabbage soup and field peas from his mother’s small vegetable garden, and with no money to buy cloth Merlin had to go without a winter cloak. When he helped his mother in the early hours in the fields before the sun came up, his fingers would go numb with cold, pale white and frigid.

     Cold fingers reminded him of sleeping next to his mother by the dying fire in their little hut made of branches covered with mud and straw, kept alright by Merlin’s magic alone and what little wood they could spare; coal was often too rare a find.

     Cold fingers and cold toes and cold nose and ears.That was home to Merlin for such a long time.

But home wasn’t always welcoming.

     Merlin felt something warm and damp on his back and then there was pain, so much pain, it was like a deep stinging. But it was like he couldn’t quite put his finger  on where exactly the pain was. 

     It was something that his mother had taught him when he was younger, since he tended to get hurt often, especially when he was goofing around with Will instead of doing work. She had told him, instead of focusing on the pain as a whole, the deep, burning, aching-,

Try to focus on one little part.

     “There’s no use in trying to ignore it. It’s there, isn't it?” she would say, as she would pat him on the back lovingly, giving him a gentle smile that he would look at through his tears.

     Merlin had done that, often. Every little nick, scrape, cut, even when he was feeling exhausted and drained from a day’s work. Focus on one feeling, one emotion, one muscle, even on one blood vessel, or on one scab.

     But now, at this moment, he couldn’t focus on anything, no matter how hard he was trying. It felt like his whole body was burning at once (minus his fingers and toes, of course), and he couldn’t point anything out, It just hurt, and there was nothing he could do about it.

That fact made tears prickle in Merlin’s eyes.

     He just felt so sick and he was hurting so much, and there was nothing he could do about it. That was the worst part. He couldn’t focus on anything, he couldn’t really think of anything. All he could do was wallow in his brutish, unkempt, raw existence.

He supposed that was all he ever did, in the end.

     “Has anyone seen Merlin?” Arthur had asked the group of knights earlier that morning. The air was fresh and cool, there was even some dew on the grass. It hadn’t frozen yet, it wasn’t that cold, but it was definitely cold enough that one might wear an extra layer, or perhaps some fur. Camelot hardly ever saw snow, the most snow they had was a light dusting on the ground. Most often it would snow late at night or very early in the morning, it would melt before it hit the ground, or it would melt before first light. 

      However, just because it wasn’t snowing didn’t mean it wasn’t cold. Arthur knew for a fact that Gaius, during this time of year, often had to treat hypothermia or frostbite.

     In fact, that was one of the first things Arthur had been concerned about when he had become king. After years of watching his father’s court, and subsequent pleas from the citizens of Camelot, Arthur knew that more often than not it was the poorest in the city who faced the worst of the cold, since they hadn’t any spare coins to keep warm. Arthur knew realistically he couldn’t give wood or coal to every single person in the city, but it could ensure there there was basic requirements for homes that required better heat insulation, so he’d given orders for at the start of winter for thick, plant-fibered blankets be given to those whose houses were more susceptible to the cold. He’d even sent out some extra hands to help the elderly or families with very young children to put up the blankets along the inside of the walls. 

     Arthur knew of the cold of course, but the palace, and his room, were warm enough that he could walk around in his night clothes and not feel bothered. However, once we went outside that safety net disappeared, and his night clothes would no longer suffice. To be honest neither would his regular clothes. He’d need thick gloves, an extra layer under his normal wear and perhaps a warm coat which was kept in the back of his wardrobe, hardly ever needed unless the wind was terribly bitter and cold.

Which is why it was terribly annoying that Merlin had disappeared after serving him breakfast.

     Grumbling in annoyance when he realized that Merlin was nowhere to be found, Arthur managed to dress himself in some sort of presentable way (both for a king and for the weather ) and went to the field just outside the place where he and his men trained. Everyone who needed to be there was there; Gwaine and Percival among others, knights who perhaps weren’t part of Arthur’s inner circle. There were others knights of course, Vidor, Carodoc, Gregory, to name a few, but they never seemed quite to fit in with Arthur’s merry little band of brothers.

     Arthur felt a small pang of guilt in his chest as he watched Percival and Gwaine. Arthur’s friends, his brothers, were few and rare. Elyan had been killed when they were searching for Gwen when she had been held captive at the Dark Tower. Then there was Lancelot, who had sacrificed himself to banish the Dorocha. Gwaine and Percival were one of last three, them and Leon of course.

     Leon, who was also nowhere to be found. Arthur was about to ask Leon when he remembered that the day before he had asked Leon to deal with a mysterious illness that had been plaguing the people. Women who were with child were getting sick rather quickly and seemingly out of nowhere, resulting in the loss of the child. The first he had heard of this were a few weeks prior, when a peasant woman, who was a midwife had come to him concerning three women who had all gone through the same sickness with the same symptoms within a few days of one another. Arthur had looked into it, and ever since the numbers were growing. He had gotten word that a young couple had asked for help when the wife had suddenly gotten ill. He had asked Leon to deal with personally.

     He knew, realistically, that it was probably naturally caused. Not that the illness was natural, they had never seen anything like this before, not in Camelot and not in any other kingdoms or outlying villages. But the illness might have been caused just due to the environment, maybe the food was contaminated perhaps. However, there was a part of him that worried that it had something to do with magic. He recalled, rather unpleasantly, that time Nimueh had poisoned the city’s water supply with magic. He worried that perhaps this was the work of Morgana, or some other dark forces that wished harm on his kingdom. 

     Arthur was no fool, if this continued, and the recovered women were not able to have children after having the sickness, then the birth rate would decline. There would be no more children born in Camelot, and as a result the city, and the kingdom, would not have a future.  If the recovered were unable to have children after getting the sickness remained to be seen, but the midwife had some some jargon about ‘women’s linings’ and ‘vitality of the womb’ which seemed to infer that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for the ill to be able to conceive again. That was the most worrisome part of all.

     Gwaine ripped off his helmet and flipped his hair. Percival, (who hadn’t been wearing a helmet but had been, in fact, holding a rather larger sword) rolled his eyes at this. Gwaine grinned at Arthur,  oblivious to the fact that there was blood streaming from his nose. Arthur looked at the hilt of Percival’s sword and saw it was dark red. Must have been one hell of a sparring practice. 

“No, your highness. Not since this morning.”

       Percival nodded at this gruffly. “Leon as well. He said he’d get Gaius or Merlin to investigate that sickness you were talking about. Gwaine-,” the larger man turned to the shorter one, ‘is that blood on your face?”

     Gwaine frowned and wiped the back of his hand on his nose. “No?’

“That’s not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question, Gwaine.”

          Arthur looked at the way Gwaine grinned a Percival. He had this careless, reckless nature around him that seemed to radiate into his smile. Percival looked annoyed, although he seemed to be smiling back. Percival was more reserved than Gwaine, a little gentler in spirit (certainly not in body), and more mild in his manner. Despite his great size and considerable strength, Percival was certainly the most softhearted of the knights, probably the kindest man Arthur had ever met. Arthur looked at Gwaine again. He couldn’t count the number of times he had seen Gwaine look at someone like that, anyone really, women, men, and anyone in between. Percival, however, Arthur could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Percival look like that. He could, in fact, actually count with one finger. 

     It was obvious that the friends were perhaps looking to be a little closer. Ah well, Arthur had more important things to do than worry about who favored who. They could figure it out themselves. He narrowed his eyes at Gwaine, whose nose was now gushing blood at this point. It fell onto  Gwaine’s shirt haplessly, a stain in the making. The king rolled his eyes. God help Percival. 

     Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are possibly the worst knight I’ve ever trained, Gwaine.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

      “In any case, I’d like you to head to Gaius if he’s still here.  I know he was going off to do some work.”

     Gwaine nodded assuredly. Percvial stood there, still holding the sword he had used just moments before to bash Gwaine’s face in. It was quiet for a moment as the three just sort of stared at one another. Arthur groaned to himself. At this rate, he’d be old and grey by the time the duo had done anything more than just sort of twitch around one another, since that’s what they were doing now. Sort of twitching. It was more manly than dancing around one another.

     Ah, to hell with it. Arthur figured he’d try to lend a discreet, but helping, hand.

     “Your nose looks terrible, Gwaine. You need to get it looked at. Why don’t you have Gaius attend to it while you’re there. Percival,” Arthur turned to the giant man, “Please make sure he gets there, and stays there” This time, Arthur cut Gwaine a sharp look. The sneaky bastard tended to ignore orders of rest from Gaius and often made himself worse because of it, “-without getting anything on fire?”

     “That was one time!”

Chapter Text

Now, Gwaine was sitting on the edge of Merlin’s bed sullenly, arm crossed and brows furrowed. Gaius had left the room, leaving Merlin under his care, while he went on his other rounds. Gwaine looked out the window. It was dawn.

      Gwaine turned his head back to Merlin, who was sleeping fitfully on his stomach with a light blanket covering the wounds on his back. Earlier, when Gwaine and Percival first brought Merlin in, Gaius had tried to wrap the oozing wounds with bandages, but Merlin, unaware or not, had ripped them to shred and refused to have anything on his back, and they managed to compromise with the thin, light cotton blanket, which Gaius explained they would have normally cut up later to use as bandages.

Merlin was sleeping fitfully, a thin beading of sweat caking his brow. His head was turned to one side, his brows furrowed despite his face being relaxed- the only thing about him that betrayed his unconscious state.

     Leon, being more injured than Merlin, was resting in the latter's room. Gaius had been quite pleased with his progress, Gwaine had noted. Despite the whole being stabbed, Leon was faring better than Merlin. Gaius had twitter about Leon first when Gwaine and Percival had brought the two in.

Gaius had Gwaine remove Leon’s shirt and ordered him to boil some water with salt. Then with fine wooden tweezers, plucked out dirt, sticks, leaves, and some leftover bits of cloth that had gotten stuck in the wound. 

    Meanwhile, Merlin lay on his stomach on Gaius’s cot, unmoving but sometimes making odd noises that could be a mix of groaning and trying to speak.

Gaius then took the salt water and after letting it cool, poured some into Leon’s gaping wound. Gwaine thought it looked bad, but Gaius assured him that it wasn’t so much as stab as a slash, and that nothing vital had been hurt.

     Once Gaius had thoroughly rinsed the wound out, he had Gwaine boil some cotton thread in the salt water and once it dried and was pulled taught, stitched the wound closed quite neatly, and then gently wrapped Leon’s stomach in light cotton bandages. He also gave Leon some sips from a bowl that he had mushed some plants together in.

“Will he be alright?” Percival had asked Gaius, as he covered Leon with a blanket.

     “Yes, I believe so.” Gaius had said, looking at Leon and nodding assuredly. “I’ll send word to the kitchen to bring some salty beef broth and perhaps some marrow. That should help with the blood loss.”

Then Gaius had turned his attention to Merlin.

     Gwaine watched as Gaius crushed up various plants and herbs, and watched with interest as one of the plants he mixed began to foam up.

“Goldenrod.” Gaius told him, before slathering it onto Merlin’s wounds. Merlin made a heart-breaking sound, like a puppy whimpering, as Gaius wiped away the goldenrod. He then applied another paste that looked bile yellow.

      “A Yarrow paste,” Gaius said, using much less than before and being a little bit more delicate this time. “It should help him heal and keep it clean.”

That had been a few hours ago. Gaius had gone off to the kitchen to get some broth for Leon, as well as to go on his rounds. Apparently, Merlin had seen some people in his stead and Gaius wanted to check on them.

     Now, Gwaine was sitting on a wooden chair, elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands and his nose aching from where Percvial had dealt a blow earlier. There was some bruising under his eyes, but Gaius assured him earlier that his nose wasn’t broken.

Gwaine looked at Merlin, who was still asleep, and sighed. How long had he known his friend for? How much did he owe Merlin?

     Quite a lot, he thought.

     Merlin had turned him from a drunken gambler into a knight. Merlin had stuck up for him many times. Despite Arthur’s complaining, Gwaine was sure that Merlin had to be the bravest man he had ever met.  When Merlin had trudged into the city, pale, cold, shivering, and fell into Gwaine’s arms with Leon in tow, Gwaine had only reaffirmed that fact to himself. Merlin was scared, but he kept going, for God knows how long he had carried Leon on his back.

     It wasn’t until Percival had lifted Leon away from Merlin that they had seen the wounds on Merlin’s back. Merlin had warned him before he fainted, a half finished sentence of worry. Gwaine knew he was talking about Morgana. Who else could it be? Gwaine wasn’t the smartest man, but he did have a little bit of common sense, even if he chose to ignore it most times.

     There were still questions, of course, as to what happened to the duo, but it wasn’t hard to piece together at least some of it. Morgana, or perhaps one of her allies, had confronted them in the woods and demanded information. Merlin was still alive but wounded, so Gwaine had to guess that Merlin had refused to say anything. If he had, he’d be dead, or maybe even less injured.

Gwaine had thought about Merlin a lot, ever since he had met the man. Even now, serving Camelot, his mind sometimes wandered to him. If there ever was a question, between Arthur and Merlin, Gwaine knew what he should decide, but ultimately, he understood what he would do. Arthur was wonderful; he was a good friend, a mentor, a teacher, a brother, but Merlin… Merlin was different. Despite the jokes and the games he and the other knights played on Merlin, if it came down to a choice, Gwaine knew exactly where his loyalties would lie, and they weren’t with the king. 

     Gwaine put his head in his hands, despite the pain in his nose. He knew it was treason, even if it was only in his head. He knew in his very core if it came down to it, if the only option was to choose, he knew who he’d pick, and if he told anyone this, he’d certainly be executed for treason. Or at least painfully maimed. 

I am the violence

I am the sickness

Gwaine looked up, his spine tingling. Percival walked out of Leon’s room where he had been sitting at his friend’s bedside.

     “Gwaine?”

Gwaine blinked. “Did you say something?”

     “No? You alright?”

Gwaine’s blood seemed to pulse a little more heavily against his veins. He could have sworn he had heard something, someone, talking. Maybe it was all just in his head.

    “Yeah, I just-, thought I heard something.”

The larger man walked over to Gwaine and put a gentle hand on his back and gave him a reassuring, if awkward pat.

     “You’ve been here awhile. Why don’t you go get some rest?”

“I’m fine.”

     “You look like a walking corpse, Gwaine.”

     Gwaine looked down at what he was wearing and frowned. It was the same clothes he had been wearing earlier in the day, when Percival had taken him to get his nose checked out by Gaius. There was still blood on his shirt, and Gwaine honestly wasn’t sure if it was his or Merlin’s.

He grabbed a spare shirt off of a shelf. Gaius often kept clean shirts of the knights close by. Afterall, they seemed to have a knack at getting injured. Might as well keep spares around.

     He changed his shirt, keenly aware of Percival’s eyes looking at him.

Scars, there were always scars.

    “Well, all better now, see?”

Percival didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Gwaine knew that disapproving look. Every time  he looked at him that way, it made Gwaine feel like he’d been hit in the head by a frying pan. Percival had already given Gwaine the same look earlier in the day.

     When they had walked in that morning, in the same room they were in now, Gaius was rummaging through some papers. He had taken one look at Gwaine’s face and rolled his eyes.

“Sit down. Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself now.”

Percival had cut Gwaine a questioning look as Gwaine sat down on a chair. Gaius poked and prodded at Gwaine’s nose, causing some wincing. He made some noises that had made Gwaine a little concerned.

“Is it broken?”

“No, I don’t believe so. There won’t be much we can do. Just keep your head elevated, especially when sleeping, you’ll make it worse otherwise. I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with the pain as much as you can.”

“Oi, what’s a little pain between men, right?”

There came the look.

But that was the, and this was now. 

Now, where two of his dear friends lay injured, possibly on death’s door and for some goddamn reason there was nothing he could do about it.

Chapter Text

     Arthur, for all his faults, was a wise man. Although sometime rash and often quick to anger, the years of ruling, both by his father’s side, and on his own as he now did, had hardened him beyond his eyes. Gwen had often commented on how he often looked aged in the dim candle light. Arthur was a wise man, and as such he never slept without the aid of a knife under his pillow.

     But often, Arthur would lay awake in bed, listening to the shadows that would surround him. His mind became as tempestuous as the sea that he had only seen once, as a boy. He often found it hard to slink into the night’s quiet embrace. It was if someone would tie a rope around his chest when he laid down, and as the night drew on they pulled on it tighter and tighter until he couldn't breathe. It was then on these nights, most nights, that Arthur would silently draw the covers and pad gallantly out the door, so as not to awaken Gwen who slept soundly beside him.

       He would then walk out of the inner castle and onto the walkway that overlooked the training fields, deserted this time of night, and take in the stars. He would lean on the half-walls on the walkway and stare up into the night sky. The stars had always fascinated them. Ever since he was a child. They were so mysterious in their existence, given how far away they were. They were like the sun in their power, but it was if someone had snapped their fingers and since the dawn of man they often gave a gentle glow that Arthur found comforting. When he was younger, he’d try to count all the stars in the sky. Now that he was older, he’d only count in sections. See? Arthur was a wise man.

So it was on this night, a night made for the sleepless, that Arthur stood in his bed clothes, with bare feet and a coat, his knife by his side, counting the stars.

      There were many things that troubled him. Taxes, wars waging on other lands, things that once seemed so complicated but now seemed so simple in the whole scheme of things. Now he had to worry about Morgana on top of treaties and trade deals. Not to mention Merlin. God, Merlin. His servant, his friend, Merlin.

      It seemed like ages ago when Merlin had disappeared, but it had only been one day and one night that Merlin and Leon had been missing, but that one day, afternoon, really, and night had nearly destroyed them. Arhur had heard Gwaine’s calls from the Citadel, and Arthur had run down the stairs just in time to see Merlin collapse into Gwaine’s chest.

     His first thought had been, of course, about what an idiot Merlin was for being out during this during a time where war was on the horizon. But when he got closer he saw that Percival was lifting up an unmoving Leon, whose shirt was coated in blood the curses fell straight from his mouth.

“Get Gaius!” Arthur ordered one of the guards who had rushed over at Gwaine’s yells. The guard nodded and went off the stairs to get Gaius.

      His attention was on Leon at first. Percival gently laid Leon down on his back. Two guards came rushing over with a stretcher, and Percival deftly put Leon onto it. Arthur was able to get a better look at Leon. His oldest friend was pale in the face, his lips were blue. Around Leon’s midsection were strips of brown cloth wrapped and tied into makeshift bandages. Arthur knelt down and put a hand to Leon’s cheek. It was cold as ice. There were no signs that Leon was even alive except for the shallow breaths he took that moved his chest up and down.

     “Arthur,” Gwaine said, and Arthur turned around. Gwaine was supporting Merlin on his chest. Arthur moved over and placed an arm around Merlin’s back, before he noticed the red stains that  permeated the fabric. Arthur drew back his arm, and saw that it was stained red.

     “Get another stretcher!” Arthur ordered the guards who had brought the first one. Together, he and Gwaine put Merlin face down onto the cold stone floor. Arthur drew up Merlin’s shirt to see where the bleeding was, and a horrible sound was caught in his throat.

      The wounds on Merlin’s back were lash marks, crossing in all manners. They were puckered red and angry, but scabbing. The blood that had been on Merlin’s shirt must have been from the contact of Leon on his back. They were about half an inch in width, and some were long, trailing the length of Merlin’s back, but others were short, no longer than the length of a dinner knife. They looked like they had burned, probably to stop the bleeding, but the areas that the scabs had peeled away were oozing a clear liquid that Arthur knew couldn’t be good. In fact, none of this was good. These were lash marks. Someone had done this to Merlin.

     His eyes drifted to Merlin’s bare forearms. There were some minor scratches that looked like they were made by plant thorns. His wrists were rubbed raw, clearly there had been heavy-duty restraints on them. Merlin’s nose and mouth were coated in a fine crusty layer of dried blood, and there was a swipe across his forehead. Merlin was also barefoot, and the soles of his feet were bleeding profusely. Gwaine took off his coat and then an inner jacket, put his coat back on, and wrapped the jacket around Merlin’s feet, applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding.

“What the hell happened?”

Gwaine looked up from Merlin’s feet. “He tried to tell me something before he collapsed. I think he was trying to say Morgana.”

Arthur shook his head, trying to get the image of Merlin out of his mind. Stupid, idiotic, Merlin. They had managed to put together a version of what happened, thanks to Leon’s story-telling in the bouts of consciousnesses. Leon and Merlin were ambushed, and that was when Leon was injured. Leon regretfully admitted he didn’t recall much after that, but he had remembered hearing a bit of the conversation between Merlin and someone, whose name he didn’t know, asking Merlin about The Dolma and Camelot.

Arthur cursed loudly when he heard this. Of course, the Dolma had something to do with this. She must have.

      Leon also admitted that he had heard their captors talking about having Morgana meet them in person, what for, he didn’t know, the details were foggy. He also told Arthur about how he recalled Merlin carrying him on his back throughout the night, barefoot, in an attempt to escape after somehow getting free of his bonds.

Arthur had to admit that Merlin was brave, for an idiot. Most men he knew would have left Leon to his fate and escaped on their own. But of course, Merlin was the only one dumb enough to bring Leon with him.

      Arthur rubbed his eyes tiredly. All of this was the work of Morgana. God, Morgana. He often found himself thinking of better times with her. He and Morgana had practically grown up together, sword-fighting and playing and arguing. She really was like a sister. Arthur tried his hardest to picture Morgana as an evil figure, a heartless, corrupted witch who wanted nothing but power. However as the days went on it was becoming harder and harder to see Morgana as anything but his sister. Deep down, Arthur hoped he could save her, that maybe if he could just get through to her, things could go back to the way they were. Arthur had never told anyone this, not even Gwen. He had never spoken it out loud either. He knew that if he spoke the words out loud it would cement Morgana’s place in this world.

“They’re beautiful.”

     Arthur nearly jumped out of skin. Instantly his hand was on the hilt of his dagger and he was quick to draw i He faced where the voice was coming from. It was a figure wearing a cloak that nearly enveloped  them whole. It reminded Arthur of one of the knight’s children wearing their father's armor. The figure turned to face them,

“The stars. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

      The figure, a woman, most definitely a woman due to the light, kiting voice that asked the question, withdrew the heavy cloak hood that had been obscuring her face. She had fair skin and dark eyes, and her hair was a dark brown that hung low in waves, almost to her waist.

“Lower your weapon, your highness. I am a friend..”

     Arthur did not recognize the woman and did not lower his dagger. “How can you be a friend if I’ve never met you before?”

The woman gave him a modest, small smile, and her eyes sparkled with something that Arthur couldn’t quite place.

     “You have met me, briefly, many years ago. Although I believe I was in a different form. You did kill me.”

Arthur’s arm felt weak, and for some reason, despite himself, he lowered his dagger. The woman smiled again, and Arthur swore  that, just for a moment, she shimmered in the pale moonlight, like she was made of water.

    “You look at them often. The stars. They remind you of the freedom you gave up, don’t they?”

Arthur swallowed hard. “I gave up nothing.”

      “You did. Once you took the crown from your father. The crown is light on your head, but heavy on your heart. Once you became King, you were no longer Arthur Pendragon. You transformed. I do happen to know a little something about that. Just as I know of Merlin’s suffering.”

Arthur frowned at this, and raised his dagger again. “What do you know about Merlin?”

     The woman's eyes flashed blue, and suddenly the dagger was scattering in the wind and was flown over the side of the wall. Arthur felt a chill run down his spine. Magic.

     “I will not bend for a sword. I have no ill intent toward you, Arthur.  I would ask the same of you for me. Merlin is a dear friend,” the woman’s eyes flickered for a moment, as if she were unsure about  the word friend, “and I am in his debt, and right now, what he needs is you. I’m here to remind you of your duties to him.”

“Duties? To Merlin ?”

     The woman didn’t seem aggravated at Arthur’s question, but instead she smiled warmly.

“You are head of state, but you are the least among men, King. You must know your people are safe before you can find any respite. It’s your duty to be King and trusted friend. Merlin is dying. You need to help him with something you detest.”

     Arthur scowled. “Magic?”

     The woman nodded, and her image flickered again. For the first time, Arthur noticed two things. One, she was standing in a puddle left over from the day’s rain, the hem of her cloak touching the water ever so slightly. The second was that, despite the cold night, there was no cloud on her breath that came when someone breathed in the crisp and spoke.

“Merlin needs help. You and your men will need to find a woman called Forridel. She was once under your rule, but fled the city out of fear for her life. Tell her that Merlin needs her help, and she will come. The wound inflicted by Morgana’s men will need her care. If not, Merlin will die, and both of your destinies will die with him. You are two sides of the same coin, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur felt flummoxed. “Destinies? What are you talking about? What about Merlin and I having destinies? Who are you?”

     The woman glanced over her shoulder at Arthur, her eyes twinkling. “They call me now Lady of The Lake. However, I think Merlin would best know me as Freya.”

Freya turned her back to Arthur and glanced up at the bright stars, the gentle glow of the moon illuminating the front of her face ethereally. “They really are beautiful.”

      And, right in front of Arthur’s eyes, she shimmered, and her form turned to water as it splashed in the puddle. She had disappeared, leaving Arthur alone.

Chapter Text

“We need to find who ?”

     “A woman who goes by Forridel. I’ve been told she lives in Gedref.”

Percival frowned at this. “In Nemeth?”

     Arthur crossed his arms tiredly and nodded. “To the south, in Rodor’s kingdom. He has long been an ally to Camelot. We can enter his langs with no trouble.”

“Isn’t Princess Mithian of Nemeth? Fine woman she was. Honestly, Arthur,” Gwaine shot Arthur a mischievous grin, “we should go pay her a visit.”

     Percival put his hand to his face and Arthur rolled his eyes. Of course Gwaine was thinking about women at a time like this.

“Can you just, Oh, I don’t know, go be stupid somewhere that’s away from me?”

     “What? I’m only kidding!”

Arthur shook his head. They didn’t have time for this. If he and the others were going to save Merlin they needed to do so as soon as possible. Percival must have picked up on the king’s annoyance because he cleared his throat.

     “That’s about two day’s ride there and back. What makes you so sure that this woman is there, and that she’d be willing to help?”

Arthur recalled Freya’s sparking eyes, her face basked in the moonlight, an expression like she hadn’t been out under the moonbeams in years.

     “This woman owes Merlin her life, apparently. She’s a healer.”

“Magic?” Gwaine asked, his eyebrows raising. “Thought that stuff was bad news.” Arthur felt the familiar drop in his stomach and shook his head. 

     “This might be the only way to save Merlin’s life. The sleep he’s in, he won’t wake up unless he gets help. If saving his life means allowing magic into the walls of this city, it’s not even a choice.”

     Percival had gotten his supplies and horse ready before the others, call it old-fashioned hard work, and decided to stop by Gaius’ to check on Merlin and Leon. As he lumbered into the room, he could smell a faint aroma, something pleasantly sweetish.

Gaius was taking a pot off the fire and looked up at Percival. “Ah! My boy. How are you doing?”

     Now, Percival was anything but a boy, being tall and insanely strong tended to do that, but Gaius always referred to him as such and honestly, he didn’t really mind. Gaius reminded him of his grandfather, who was just as kind but if not more forgetful than Gaius. 

“Alright, Gaius. We’re heading out to find someone to help Merlin.”

      Gaius got this pained look in his face and nodded solemnly. The mere act of it sent twinges of sympathy into the bowls of Percival’s being. 

“Yes, Gwaine told me.” He noticed Percival staring at the pot and set it down on the table.

     “Echinacea, purple cornflower,” he added helpfully, seeing Percival's blank stare. “It can fight infection.”

“Infection?”

     Gaius nodded, and motioned for Percival over to Merlin. He lifted the bandages that were wrapped around Merlin’s back. Percival almost gagged.

The smell reminded him of rotting meat. The lash marks were deep red,and oozing yellow pus. He had seen infections like this before, but not so soon after getting the injury. 

      “It has to be magic. There’s no way these would become so bad so quickly. Without real help, he’ll die in a matter of days.”

Percival put a hand to his mouth.

“Leon?”

    Gaius shook his head.

“His wound is healing fine. He’s only sleeping so much because of all the blood he’s lost, but in a few days he’ll be up and walking.”

    Percival's heart dropped to his stomach. He had felt this way only once before, when Cenred’s army raided his village. There was nothing he could do as he watched his mother, his sister, and his grandfather die. Their house had been set ablaze, with the doors barred and blocked, there was nothing he could do in time. His life was spared only because he had woken up early that morning to go and hunt. When he came back, the village was well on the way to burning to the ground.

     He had pounded on the doors, screaming their names, listening to his mother plead with him to escape before the army came back to finish off survivors. He had tried so damn hard , but he had to listen as the screams quieted from inside the house, slowly, one by one.

      He knew this feeling he was having. It was watching someone die.

Gaius turned to Percival and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

   Percival, my boy. You need to find Forridel and get her to help Merlin. Otherwise…” Gaius trailed off, looking at Merlin with a glassy look in his eye.

     Percival knew Merlin was like the son Gaius had never had. In fact, there were rumors floating around that Merlin was Gaius’s nephew, which was how he had even landed in Camelot in the first place. Rumors and blood-ties aside, Gaius really did care for Merlin like a son. Losing Merlin would be devastating, not just to the knights and to Arthur, but also to Gaius. It was probably more pain than he could take with his old heart.

Percival looked Gaius dead in the eyes.

   “We will find her and bring her back, Gaius. I promise.”

     By the time they had reached the outer lands of Camelot, it was mid-afternoon. The ride had been swift and quieter than usual. Each man was caught up in their own whirlpool of thoughts. Their distracted minds and determination to move forward pushed their horses past their usual limits, and they had reached  Gedref in record time.

     Arthur had gotten off his horse when they reached a populated area of Gedref and asked around for Forrdiel. Apparently, she lived in a single house on the northern outskirts of the villages, so the knights were forced to backtrack, taking a path they had ignored before, until they reached a single house standing along a river.

    It was more of a shack that had been crafted into a home rather than an actual house. The walls were made of pieced together wood of differing quality and type, and there were no windows visible in the front or on either side.  There was a small garden fenced in by the front, that had almost grown cabbages and carrots peeking out from the soil.

The trio dismounted and walked to the front door.

“Is anyone home?” Gwaine asked.

“The fire’s on.” Arthur commented. They looked to the chimney, where there was a steady stream of smoke drifting into the sky.

    They walked up to the door, and Arthur knocked.

“Coming!” came a voice from inside the house, lilted and most definitely female.

    The door opened, and a woman appeared, smiling at them. However, she was clearly confused as to why strangers were at her door.

“Can I help you?”

    Arthur cleared his throat. “Miss, uh, Forrdiel?”

“Yes?”

    “I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. I’d like a word with you.”

The woman’s face was blank. She blinked once, twice, three times, took one good  look at the three of them, and promptly slammed the door shut.

    Gwaine looked over at Arthur, amused. “Don’t get that everyday.”

Arthur groaned and pounded on the door again. “Forrdiel? I promise, we’re not here to hurt you.”

    There was some clanging and banging from inside the house, and a distant voice called back to them. “That’s what happened last time!”

Percival cleared his throat and knocked, this time more gentle than before, which the back of his knuckles.

    “Miss, we’re here because Merlin needs your help.”

The clanging behind the door suddenly stopped. It was quiet for a moment, before Forrdiel spoke softly.

    “Merlin?”

“Yes, Miss. He’s been hurt badly. We think you’re the only one who can heal him.”

     Again, there was quiet, then the door opened, just a crack. The woman looked through the crack with her pale grey eyes and looked them up and down. 

“How was he injured?”

    “He was tortured, miss. By Morgana's men.”

      The door opened wider, and the trio finally got a good look at her. She was wearing a simply woven blue wool tunic that fell past her knees over a long-sleeved white shirt. She had simple shoes of leather that had been repaired over and over again by the looks of them. Behind her, they could see what the banging around had been. There was a trunk open on the table, half filled with belongings.

“You’d better come in."

Chapter Text

     Forrdiel was nothing if not accommodating. She was pulled up two chairs to the table in addition to a wooden crate, which Gwaine was made to sit on. Percival stood, his massive hand gently cupping the wooden cup which was filled with some sort of ale she had offered them.

    When they had all settled in, and Forrdiel had lit the fire, she had asked them to explain themselves, and so they did, with Gwaine mostly telling the story of how they had found Merlin and Leon, with Percival and Arthur interrupting when they felt Gwaine had forgotten an important bit. By the time it was over, the fire had almost died down completely in the hearth. 

Her thin face was taunt, her brows furrowed and  troubled. 

    “He hasn’t woken up yet?”

Gwaine shook his head, and she sighed.

     “I would love to help, your highness,” she looked at Arthur, “But last time I was in Camelot you were hunting me down.”

     Gwaine and Percival both looked at Arthur, who shrugged haplessly.  “My father’s regime was rather…,” he paused, looking for the right word, “strict regarding magic. But I can promise you, as king of Camelot, that no harm will come to you during your stay. I’ll escort you myself there and back again. We can give you gold, if you'd like.”

She shook her head.

     “No, you needn’t pay me. Merlin saved my life. I owe him so much and more. That’s something I cannot ask payment for.  If you truly intend on keeping your promise regarding my well-being, I’ll go with you.”

Arthur nodded solemnly.

     “If I may,” Gwaine asked suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him. “What did Merlin do that saved your life?”

     Forridel was, once again, quiet for a moment. “Er, when I was fleeing Camelot, I got lost in the woods and came upon a river I thought I could cross alone, but I nearly drowned. He saved me.” She concluded, nodding as if to reaffirm the story. Percival detected she wasn’t telling the truth, but he supposed it didn’t matter how she owed Merlin, just that she owed him.

“Just let me get a bag together.”

     The trio watched as Forrdiel rummaged around the small hut, throwing a set of clothes, a mirror, and some bundles wrapped in oilcloth. She then went to the floorboards and knelt by the fireplace. She ran her fingers along the grain of the wood before pulling up harshly on the wood, revealing a small hole dug into the dirt underneath. She reached into it and pulled out an old-looking book, that had a cracked spine and yellowing pages.

She threw it into the back and then looked up at the staring faces. She gave a sheepish smile to Arthur. “Rodor is no more forgiving of magic than you, your highness.”

She tied up the rope at the top of her bag and nodded at Arthur. 

   “Ready when you are.”

     The ride back to Camelot was long. They had arrived earlier than expected in Gedref, and had decided to camp when the night fell. Gwaine lit a small campfire while they ate hard bread that Percival had thoughtfully packed earlier. They didn’t really speak, and soon they were rolled out onto their thin bedrolls (Percival also thoughtfully packing an extra for Forrdiel), staring up into the night sky.

Percival couldn’t sleep.

     He looked over at Gwaine, who was snoring softly, Arthur also had his eyes closed, although he couldn’t tell if he was trying to sleep or if he was actually sleeping.

     Percvial looked back at Gwaine. He looked younger in the dim glow of the firelight, his brow less furrowed. Gwaine was his closest friend, his ally, his... well, he was someone he cared about. But he was also an idiot and a player. everyone knew it, Merlin, Percvial, Arthur, Elyan, all of them, all knew that Gwaine wasn't a valiant knight. He made stupid jokes at the wrong time and about the wrong things, and he picked on people's insecurities. He also cared about himself first (and second, and third).

Sometimes, Percival wondered, if Gwaine really cared about anything at all.

     Gwaine was reckless. he would take stupid risks. Like that time Merlin had told him about when he and Gwaine jumped off a high wall into a pile of hay. When he did try in practice, he always had his guard down, like he wanted to be hit. Like he felt like he deserved it. Gwaine didn't seem to care about himself at all. But other times, fighting at Gwaine's side, Percival had seen glimpses of Gwaine, the real Gwaine, and he was brave and kind and valiant, and so many things, and for a few brief moments Percival could see Gwaine for who he real was; a broken, weary man who still found a way to care.

Sometimes Percival wondered if Gwaine could care about him like that.

Percival shook the thought from his mind.

     Not only was the idea inappropriate, being knights together, but Percival wasn't even if sure it was something that Gwaine would want. Everyone knew, of course, that Gwaine's preferences seemed a bit wild; one day he'd be in bed with man, the next a woman, the day after with someone in between, the day after with three people of varying aspects all at once. It didn't take long for anyone to figure out, watching Gwaine's eyes follow whomever in the tavern. It wasn't as if it was a big secret. Percival doubted his own inclinations were secret either. Percival had never shown interest in the women who fawned over the knights, pretty girls with flushed cheeks and flowers in their hair who fluttered their eyelashes at him over mugs of ale.

     That wasn't what Percival was thinking about. What he was thinking about was Gwaine, and how he bounced from one person to the next, never staying longer than a week. Gwaine wasn't looking for someone to love, he was just looking for someone to be physical with and maybe have some drinks with. He wasn't looking for what Percival was, and he was certainly not looking at Percival the way he really wanted Gwaine to. Gwaine was Gwaine. That's all he ever would be.

There was some rustling across the dying embers and Percival's heart skipped at beat, but Gwaine was still sleeping soundly.  Percival shifted slightly to see where the noise was coming from. It was Forridel.

     She was sitting up on her bedroll, rummaging through her bag. Percival's first thought was to stop her, but he decided to see what would happen. Forridel glanced over at the sleeping trio, and Percival shut his eyes quickly, waited a few moments, and then opened them slightly to see what she was doing.

     She had pulled out a small paring knife from her bag, along with a mirror. She placed the mirror on her lap, and used the knife to gently prick her finger. Percival could see the single drop of blood as it splashed onto the mirror. She muttered something that Percival couldn’t quite understand and her eyes flashed gold, briefly.

Magic.

Percival watched her gaze into the mirror for a few moments before she sighed softly.

     “Oh, Merlin. What have they done to you?”

     Percival couldn’t see what she was looking at in the mirror, but given the way she softly touched the face of the mirror, he guessed she was seeing Merlin, laying like the dead in Gaius’ chambers. 

“I promise, I’ll help you. I don’t think I ever did thank you for saving my life, despite your visits.”

     Merlin visited her? When?

      She chuckled softly, seemingly unaware of Percival's eyes on her. It was an odd thing, Percival thought. He had always had this idea in his head about witches being these dark, evil beings dressed in animal hide with dark circles under their eyes, chanting and scheming until their next evil spell. But now, with Forrdiel sitting by the fire under the stars, her blonde hair done up in a simple twist and her woolen blue tunic, she seemed human. She reminded Percival of his sister, actually. They both carried themselves the same way, courageously and unafraid, despite the dangers that they faced.

     “You're the bravest of us all, Merlin,” Forrdiel went on. “Helping me escape, making sure I had a good place to live,  it was only the surface, wasn’t it?” she gave the mirror a wistful smile, and glanced at a sleeping Arthur, before gazing back at the mirror. “You really believe in him,” she sighed, “If you trust him, then I trust him. Anyone you deem your friend, despite their appearances, are truly good. I will help you. I promise.”

     With that, she gave the mirror a hearty shake, and gently placed it back into her bag. She laid back down on her bedroll and gazed at the sky until her eyes finally shut, unaware of Percival's eyes on her.

     Meanwhile, Percival’s eyes opened. What was she talking about? Merlin had visited her? It was multiple times, if her words had meant anything. Not only that, but why did he trust Merlin that much? And why did Merlin, seemingly, seem to trust her?

          Percival rolled onto his other side, away from the fire and away from Forrdiel. Merlin was always a kind, pleasant person, no matter the circumstance, and he was also very likable. One look at his goofy smile and you felt instantly protective of him. Over the many years he had known him, they two had grown close. Sure, Percival teased him on occasion, but it was never with any malice.

          Percival shut his eyes and remembered the way he had seen Merlin stumbling into the Citadel, Leon on his back, leaving bloody footsteps behind him. He had taken Leon off of Merlin’s back, and the poor man had collapsed into Gwaine’s chest. Notably, however, he didn't seem like he was going to rest until he knew that Leon was taken care of.  He didn’t relax until Percival had pulled Leon away from Merlin. There didn’t seem much to Merlin. He was a poor village boy who had saved Arthur’s life by chance and became a servant of Camelot. He was clumsy and sometimes forgetful, but also warm-hearted. Not that those things weren’t important, but they didn’t seem world changing, or even something that demanded debt.

Perhaps there was much more to Merlin than he had once thought.

Chapter Text

     Forrdiel placed a hand on Merlin’s head and frowned.

“Gelácnian!”

     Nothing happened.

“Forbærning!”

Again, there was nothing.

      “Bebiede þe arisan ealdu?” She offered, this time sounding extremely unsure. Forrdiel groaned, took a deep breath and spoke again, this time with more power in her voice.

“Þu fornimst adl fram guman!”

     This time, her eyes flashed gold, and Merlin stirred, just a little. Forrdiel placed a hand to his sweaty forehead and swore.

“Someone bound the old magic to the left-hand path. That means everything I try will only hurt him more.”

     Arthur grew angry. “You’ve been hurting him!”

Forrdiel put one hand up towards Arthur. “Not really, just the last time. I didn’t do much. These spells aren’t working.”

     “Do you have a backup plan?” Percival asked.

“Uh, no.”

     “Oh my god, he’s gonna die.”

Percival walloped Gwaine on the head as he frowned. “When you say it’s not working with the old magic, is there, I don’t know, maybe a newer magic?”

     Everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged haplessly.

“Just a suggestion.”

     Forrdiel’s eyebrows rose to meet her hairline. There was a familiar glint in her eye that Percival had seen often whenever Gwaine was getting a bad idea.

“Maybe not a newer magic. But an older one. Older than the Old Religion. Yes!”

      She reached into her bag and ripped out the book she had brought with her, the one with the cracked spine and yellowing pages. She flipped through the pages swiftly before she found what she was looking for.

“Yes, I think this might work.”

     “What on earth is going on?”

Forrdiel looked up from her book, her brows furrowed and face pale, like she had just discovered a terrible, terrible secret.

     “The Old Religion gets its magic from the Triple Goddess,” she help up three fingers, “It’s also what many people think is the only way to get magic from, but the Triple Goddess is only one side of the coin,”

Gaius made a startled noise from his chair. “Forrdiel, surely you don’t intend to-,”

     “I do, Gaius . There is another way to get magic that won’t be affected by whatever curse or spell or enchantment that Merlin is under that is making him so ill. It’s the Horned God’s magic.”

Arthur frowned. “If it’s so powerful, why don’t more people use it?”

     “It’s very uncontrollable. With the Old Religion, magic can be spoken and directed with the user's intention. With this magic, using it, it’s like starting a fire. Small enough and you can control it, but even when you’re careful it can get out of control. It’s also more dependent on outside factors, phases of the moon, the weather, the time of year, so it’s difficult.”

     “It is also incredibly dangerous. It could kill you.” Gaius said sternly. Forrdiel shook her head and opened her mouth to reply, but Merlin made this horrible sound that stopped everyone in their tracks.

      It sounded like a deer making their final sounds, a desperate, whimpering cry that promised death. Percival had heard similar sounds, when he heard the final sounds of his family dying.

     Forrdiel knelt by Merlin’s side and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. She drew it back quickly, like his cheek was a metal pan that had burned her. She swallowed hard, obviously perturbed. 

“We need to work quickly. I need chicken’s blood, sage, and half a liter of wine.”

     “Wine? for the spell?” Gwaine asked.

     “No, for me. The magic we’re invoking? There’s a big difference between this and the old magic you’re used to seeing. We’re close enough to Imbolc, I think it will work. We’ll have the Horned God’s support,  but it will still be difficult. The wine will help.”

     Percival went off to grab what Forrdiel had asked for. Meanwhile, Gaius moved everything flammable out of the way.  Forrdiel rummaged in her bag and pulled out a piece of limestone. She bent low around the bed and drew a circle in the middle of the room, intersecting lines in seemingly random patterns. She then grabbed an old stick, heated it in the fire until it was blacked at the tip, and drew some symbols on the inside of the circles with the ashes. They almost looked like crosses, but they were different. They were almost square in shape and had three legs.  

“Move the bed into the circle. Be careful and don’t mess up the lines.”

     Gwaine and Arthur each picked up an end of the cot and moved it to the middle of the circle, being wary of the lines. Forrdiel rolled up her sleeves and took a thin length of leather and tied her hair up and away from her face. She withdrew the old book from her bag and opened it.

     Percival returned not too long after that with the chicken blood, some pieces of sage, and half a container of wine. He gave it all to Forrdiel. She sniffed the wine first and nodded approvingly. She then took the blow of chicken blood (acquired from the kitchen) and dipped her fingers in it. She placed one blood-soaked finger on the base of Merlin’s neck, leaving her fingerprint in blood behind. She took her other finger and placed it on her forehead, leaving a long line from just below her hairline to the ridge of her brows. She put the bowl down and took the sage leaves (also from the kitchen), and crumpled it in her hands She held her cusped hands to her mouth and muttered something into them before throwing the crumbled sage into the circle.

“Alright. I’ll start. Whatever you do, don’t interrupt, and don’t disturb the circle or me. It may kill him.”

      Forrdiel cracked her neck, and then knelt down on one knee by the circle. She placed both hands on the circle, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Tsal eht naht reithgim hcae , evaw retfa evaw,” she muttered. Nothing happened, and she went on.

     “Peed eht flah gnirehtag ,eno htnin a, tsal llit,”

The air in the room became very cold very quickly. The flames in the fire began to tremble, as if an invisible wind were pleading them to extinguish. 

     “Eerht uoy no llac I sseddog,”

Now, the circle of white lines had changed color, from pale white to a dark black, the same color as the symbols she had drawn into the circle. Merlin didn’t stir.

“Mih slia tahw fo nam siht laeh,”

     Forrdiel opened her eyes at this point, the once pale grey of her irises were now flashing a deep golden brown, just like what Morgana’s did whenever she cast a spell. However, instead of flashing briefly and turning back, they stayed golden. A dim light was cast from her fingertips, illuminating the circle in black light. 

“Ediug yam-,” 

     Forrdiel grimaced when she spoke straining like she was trying to push through thick mud. She was struggling to get the words out.

“Eh taht…” she took a deep, strangled breath “...os,”

     She seemed like she was struggling to breathe at this point, gasping almost like a fish out of water. Her entire being was trembling. Gwaine moved to put a hand on her shoulder, but Gaius stuck out his arm to stop him.

“Don’t interrupt her.”

     Blood began to trickle from her nose from both nostrils. Her flashing gold eyes were more intense and brighter than before, and they also appeared to be leaked blood, like she was crying tears of crimson.

“Gnik erutuf dna-,”

     She said this part very quickly, like she was trying to get it all out in one breath. She was clearly trembling now. Arthur grimaced. Is this what magic was like? Brutally going against those who practiced it?

“Ecno eht!”

     Forrdiel finished the spell with a loud cry, blood still trickling from her nose and eyes. The room suddenly felt like it was in the middle of a gale, wind streaming in and out. The fire in the fireplace went out in one gust of wind. The woman fell from her kneeling position sideways onto her right side, landing hard on the stone floor.

Gaius released her arm from in front of Gwaine, who rushed over to Forrdiel. She was conscious, but her eyes were fluttering and she was almost swaying, like she was drunk.

     “The wine-,” she muttered. Gwaine lent over and grabbed the wine in the bowl and lifted it up to her lips. She drank some of it but sputtered, breathing it in instead of swallowing, and began to cough.

     Arthur , Gaius, and Percvial moved over to Merlin. Gaius placed a hand on Merlin’s neck for a moment, before blinking pleasantly. “His pulse is better.” Gaius then unwrapped some of the bandages that cover Merlin’s wounds.

     Before, the wounds were scabbed and puss-filled, they had smelled of rot and were bright pink. Now, the half an inch wide lashes were thin lines of red. They almost looked like scratches from a cat than whip marks. Gaius placed a hand on Merlin’s forehead.

“His fever is gone.”

     The trio around Merlin looked at Forrdiel, who was shakily getting up on her feet, leaning heavily on Gwaine. Her eyes had stopped leaking blood, but there were horrific-looking red stains on her cheeks. Her nose still appeared to be bleeding, and she had to spit out blood before speaking again, her voice sounding like she had swallowed sand.

She looked like she didn’t know where she was, or if she didn’t, she was confused as to why she was there.

     “Mm’ need more wine.”

Chapter Text

Merlin woke up in a field. 

     Which was weird.

The last thing he remembered was collapsing into Gwaine’s arms, feeling dizzy and shaking with cold.

     But now, he was in a field.

There was knee- high grass that waved with the gentle breeze that seemed to be continuous. The sky was a lovely shade of royal blue, and the sun was shining bright, with only a few clouds dotting the sky. It was beautiful and it was warm.

     He took a few moments to blink a few times, adjusting to the bright light of the sun,  before standing up. He looked down. He was wearing a simple white tunic seemingly made of light cotton or some other plant-based fiber. It was longer than most of his shirts, falling a little longer then his thighs, almost to his knees but not quite that long. It reminded him of his nightclothes.

     He was also wearing cuffed brown trousers that were tied off at the end of each leg with thin straps of leather. He had no shoes.

He reached a hand up to his throat, finding it bare. No scarf, then.

    It was then he noticed that nothing hurt. He looked down at his hands, inspecting the callouses that had been developing over the years of hard work. Nothing, no wounds or even dirt under his nails.

He looked down at his feet also. No burns, no scratches. Nothing. 

     Merlin looked around. It was quiet. It was calm. The only real sound was the gentle breeze that rattled the grass.

Merlin frowned and looked around, looking for something, anything, that would give him a clue as to where he was. He felt an odd but not unpleasant, tingling in his body almost like he was numb but not quite.

     He was dreaming. 

Merlin took a deep breath. He was dreaming. That would explain it. But his dreams weren’t often this clear, and he never had an awareness when he was dreaming about dreaming.  So, again, weird.

     Merlin cleared his throat awkwardly. Now what?

He looked across the field. There didn’t seem to be anything in any direction for ages, so Merlin just picked a direction and started walking.

     He walked and walked for what felt like ages and minutes at the same time. His feet didn’t hurt, which was nice. His feet were hurting when he wasn’t dreaming, he knew that. But when he tried to think about why his feet were hurting outside of here, this place, it was like he was trying to look through a deep fog, or staring into the bright sun. he didn’t know, but he knew .

     Merlin blinked, and he was on a beach.

      He looked around. He had just been in a field, and now he was at the beach. He looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes, feeling the soft sand. A wave crashed onto the shore and reached up to his toes, the white foam just barely gracing his toes before being drawn back into the ocean. The water was delightfully cold.

      Merlin took a sharp breath and looked up.

 This isn't right . 

     This wasn’t… this wasn’t his. He had never been to the ocean before. This was not his dream. Or, really, this was not his memory on which his dreams were based.

There’s someone else here.

      Merlin clenched his fists together and frowned. 

“These aren’t my memories.” Merlin said softly, most to himself.

     They are mine. 

That was another voice, a voice that Merlin had never heard before.  Merlin felt a chill go down his spine at this realization.

      “Reveal yourself.”

I am here

     Merlin looked around, taking a quick spin to look all around. No one was there. Just this voice that spoke to him.

“Who are you?”

      There came a noise from behind Merlin and he turned to see someone standing there, barefoot in the sand, wearing a cloak of raven feathers. They had a narrow, taught face, a thin mustache, and mousey brown hair that hung to their shoulders, and dark green eyes.

“You!” Merlin exclaimed in disbelief. This was impossible, unheard of. Merlin had defeated him many years ago, trapping his soul in an ancient jewel.

     “Me.” Agreed the alive and well form of Cornelius Sigan.

     Gaius had taken Forrdiel to rest (after drinking more wine, of course), and was gently wiping the blood from her face with a damp rag when Merlin shot up like a bullet. Gaius had been so startled he almost dropped the poor girl he had been supporting, but luckily he had a steady arm braced on her spine.

“Merlin!”

     The poor boy looked confused, and worse for wear. His hair was a mess for starters, his normally maintained mane was wild and sticking up, caked in sweat, dirt, and blood, which gave it a stringy appearance. 

There were deep, dark circles under his eyes and, despite the massive amount of healing magic that had been cast on him, his eyes still looked sickly and hollow. 

      His skin was pale and face taunt, like he had been starving for weeks rather than not being fed much due to being unconscious for only two days, and his skin was ghastly pale, comparable to the clouds in the sky. 

“Gaius?” he asked, his shoulders relaxing as he realized where he was; in Gaius’s chambers and not in some horrific cave or the woods. 

     “My boy!”

     Usually astute and sometimes callous, Gaius could not contain his delight in seeing Merlin awake and mentally present. They had been through this before when Merlin had first arrived at Camelot; a native boy who was overconfident in his powers and unaware of politics or destiny. He had put himself between Arthur and a poisoned chalice, at the same time falling into Nimueh’s trap. Arthur had to take a treacherous journey to get the flower to cure Merlin, and they had both almost died in the process. Gaius hadn’t expressed it then, but he had been nearly scared to death. The idea of losing Merlin, only a few months having known him well, were just as unimaginable then as it was now.

Merlin took a few deep, shuddering breaths and placed a hand on his head, like he was listening for something, and then threw the blanket off of himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

     “Don’t you dare !”

Merlin ignored him, as usual, and tried to stand up. At once, he cried out in pain as he put weight on his feet. He thudded back onto the bed heavily. The bandages that were wrapped around the delicate wounds started to get stained red.

      Merlin looked down at his feet, still sitting and then looked up at Gaius. “What happened?”

Gaius nodded to the corner of the room, where Forrdiel was sleeping on a spare cot. “Forrdiel used magic to heal you.”

      “She-, she did?”

Gaius nodded gravely. “She did. And she is in no danger. Arthur gave her his word that she would be returned safely home with no harm done to her or her loved ones as a result.”

      Merlin frowned. “How did they find her?”

It was Gaius’s turn to not know something. He shrugged happlessly. “I’m not sure. Arthur just said he had been told by someone where to find her and that she would be willing to help you recover.”

      Merlin’s eyes widened as he remembered exactly what happened. “Leon?”

Gaius nodded. “He’s fine. He’s doing better than you, I might add.”

     Merlin looked down at his hands. He opened his hands and flipped his palms up, staring at the fine lines in his hands.

“Merlin, what happened?”

      Merlin sighed and shut his eyes. He told Gaius the story of investigating the pregnant woman's sickness, getting confronted by Morgana’s men, getting interrogated about Dolma and magic, and the escape.

By the time he was done, Merlin looked absolutely exhausted. “I’ll tell Arthur what happened. Well, a version of it. As close to the truth as I can.”

      Gaius handed Merlin a cup of water, which the younger man took gratefully. Gaius took this time to tell Merlin the story of Forrdiel and the knights, about the odd ceremony she had performed and about Leon’s condition. Gauis hadn’t been lying when he said that Leon had been doing better than Merlin. In fact, Leon had been up and walking around before Merlin had even woken up fully.

Gaius finished talking as Merlin drained the last of the water from the cup. The boy still looked troubled, and had not stopped frowning the entire time he had been awake. Gaius felt a pang in his heart.

     “Is there something you’re not telling me, Merlin?”

Merlin opened his mouth to speak and then shut it quickly. He shut his eyes and gently shook his head before opening them.

     “Gaius, do you remember Cedric?”

Gaius frowned, trying to recall the name. It sounded familiar enough.

     “The thief?”

Merlin nodded, not looking up from his hands. 

     “He was possessed.” 

     Gaius tilted his head, remembering what had happened. It had only been maybe the second year Merlin had been living in Camelot. Cedric was a thief who broke into the catacombs of Camelot, deep under the citadel and accidently freed the soul of one of Camelot’s most powerful magicians who took control over the thief and almost destroyed Camelot.

“Yes, by Cornelius Sigan.”

     Merlin bit the inside of his cheek, looking worried. 

“When I sealed his soul back into the jewel, did you- do you,” Merlin shook his head, struggling to find the words.

     “What is it Merlin?” Gaius asked, feeling that familiar feeling of despair bubbling up in his stomach.

“Is it possible that, maybe, he found another place for his soul?”

     Gaius shook his head. “His soul trapped in the jewel. You saw it yourself.”

Merlin was still looking at his hands intently, like he was trying to read something on his palms that wasn’t there.

       “Yes, I know. But what if he was able to… split his soul? Dividing it into two. One part getting sealed inside the crystal, and the other… not in it?”

      Gaius thought for a moment. “Well, Sigan was incredibly powerful. I’m sure it wouldn’t be beyond his abilities to pull off something like that. But whatever he’d put his soul into would have to be an incredibly powerful magical object or contain massive amounts of power. Why do you ask?”

Merlin finally looked up from his hands and stared directly into Gaius’s eyes. He looked tired. Merlin bit his lower lip, and Gaius finally got it.

     “You’re not saying-,” Gaius trailed off. “In you?”

Merlin nodded.

      The door to the room burst open.

Chapter Text

Merlin and Gaius both jumped in unison as the door flung open.

“Merlin, you right git!”

It was Gwaine, standing in the doorway with a blackened nose, grinning.  Percival, always his shadow, was standing behind him, also grinning.

“Hello.’ Merlin offered weakly. Gwaine walked up to Merlin and wrapped him in a tight hug, making Merlin groan in pain. Gwaine quickly pulled away and patted his friend on the shoulder.

“We thought you were a goner! Don’t scare me like that again.”

Merlin nodded awkwardly, still reeling a bit from the hug. Gaius slapped gwaine upside the head.

“Gwaine, knock next time!”

“That’s Sir Gwaine to you.”:

Gaius rolled his eyes.

Percival put a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Despite the man’s massive size, he was oddly gentle.

“Forridel is resting in the next room with Leon. They are both going to be okay. Merlin, what happened?”

Merlin had never heard Percival speak so many words in one go before. Gwaine probably hadn’t either, given by the look on his face as he looked up at Percival.

Everyone had to look up to Percival.

“Ah, well-,” before Merlin even began re-telling the horrific past few days he’d had, the door came swinging open yet again.

“Does no one knock?” Gaius muttered, turning to his herbs.

“Merlin! Are you alright?” The new person in the room said. Merlin had to blink a few times just to see who it was, maybe he was hallucinating.

“ Gilli? ”

The boy Merlin had known a few years ago was standing in the door frame. Gone were his round cheeks and boyish demeanor, the person who stood before him to today was a big, lumbering fellow. A man. His hair was longer than before, long enough to be held back by a leather tie. Gilli, of course, was still wearing his father’s ring, the one he had tried to use to win a tournament against Uther Pendragon so many years ago. Merlin had stopped him from getting himself killed. Last they had seen another had been in person, when Gilli left Camelot after the tournament. They had exchanged letters every now and again, but it had been a few months since the last one.

Gilli walked into the room, which was now getting a little too crowded for comfort. Gilli enveloped Merlin in a tight hug before withdrawing back. 

“Yeah. I heard you were having troubles, so El and I came as fast as we could. She, uh, sort of knows about your…,” Gilli looked at the two knights in the room for a moment, “... thing.”

“El?” Gwaine asked.

The door once again opened, revealing a mousey looking young woman with yellow hair like straw that was tied up and away from her face. She had on a sunshine yellow dress that stopped at her calves. 

“Now I am very confused.” Merlin muttered.

Gilli cleared his throat. “Oh! Uh, this is Princess Elena of Gawant.”

Lady Elena smiled gracefully at the group of men gathered in the room. Merlin recalled her being rather nervous and clumsy, but that may have been her possession. Merlin had once helped Elena, who was possessed by a faerie. At the time, she had been betrothed to Arthur, but they had called off the wedding after she had broken free of her curse.

“You too know each other?” Gaius asked, rather surprised.

Gilli nodded. “After the tournament here I spent some time wandering about, and ended up in Gawant. Saved El’s life from some nasty robbers. We sort of, uh, have been seeing another.”

Gilli’s stuck out ears were now pink. Lady Elena nudged Gilli, who coughed. She rolled her eyes and spoke instead.

“When I had heard the news of Arthur’s servant being captured by Morgana, I called for Gilli straight away. I convinced my father to lend us some horses and we just arrived. We were worried sick. Gosh, you look awful.”

“Thanks.”

It was Lady Elena’s turn to blush pink, and she put a hand over her mouth. 

“Oh! I didn’t mean-,”

Once again, for the third time in as many minutes, the door swung open. Gaius waved his hands, exasperated. 

“Merlin! I-,oh.”

It was Arthur, standing in casual clothes. He surveyed the odd group of people in the room, two of his knights, Gaius off to one side, Merlin sitting up in bed, his legs hanging over the edge with bandaged feet, a strange man he was sure he had never seen before, and…

“Lady Elena!”

The princess smiled kindly at Arthur. “Your highness.” she said, curtsying in a way which Merlin found rather graceful. “Forgive me for not announcing my arrival or attending to you first. I was eager to check on Merlin.”

Arthur looked like a wish out of water.

“Yes, well, that’s alright. I was not aware you knew Merlin.”

Lady Elena nodded. “He served as a mentor for my fiancé, Gilli.” she motioned to the odd looking man, who bowed his head in greeting to Arthur, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“During our brief betrothal, Merlin helped me greatly. I had to see if he was alright. My father was worried, also, about the security of your kingdom. I have some notes from him regarding matters of the state.”

Merlin cut Elena sly glance. She blinked her eyes and tilted her head, smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world and that she had just not lied to the King of Camelot.

Typical .

“Of course, Lady Elena I would be amiss-,”

Merlin stopped listening. Everyone in the room was busy looking at Arthur and Elena as they chittered away. Now would be his chance, perhaps his only chance, to try to get some information on the gem that had trapped Sigan, the sorcerer who was now, perhaps, inhabiting his mind.

Quietly, Merlin shrugged out from the blankets and placed foot gently on the ground, testing his weight carefully. Tears prickled in his eyes, but he placed his other foot next to the first one and tried to stand up.

The sound that came out of his mouth was horrible.

Merlin could barely recognize that it was himself who made the sound. It was like a wounded dog trying to stand on a hurt paw. It was awful.

The group in the room turned to look at Merlin.

Gaius was by his side at an instant. “Don’t you dare!” Gaius bent down and slung Merlin’s legs back over the bed. Merlin could feel something a little damp on the soles of his feet.

Gaius cleared his throat and faced the group, who were all now staring, concerned at the man laying in the bed. Merlin was sweating with the effort of what he had tried.

“Perhaps we should all let Merlin rest, for now. We can hear all about his exploits later.”

Arthur was frowning, but he nodded. “Right. Lady Elena, let me show you and Gilli to your lodgings. My knights will gather my advisors to meet in the Great Hall.” 

Percival and Gwaine bowed and made their way out of the room first, followed by the other three, leaving Merlin with Gaius.

Gaius whirled around on his heels, and Merlin flinched, expecting a light hit from his mentor, but Gaius just pointed a finger in his face again.

“I told you not to try to get out of bed! Merlin, by the gods…” Gaius suddenly looked very tired as he dragged a chair to the edge of the bed. He sat down and began to flatten the pillows under Merlin, gently pushing the other man back and down to a supine position.

“I know you have a lot of worries. I do. I will do all the research I can while you recover, I'm sure Gilli and Lady Elena will help as well. But you need to rest. The kind of magic that was done on you went against the laws of nature. Even the most powerful man in the world would need to rest after an ordeal like that.”

Merlin felt more tears prickle in the corners of his eyes, a heavy lump in his throat. He felt warm in his ears.

Gaius placed a cool, reassuring hand on Merlin’s brow and gently brushed some hair from his face.

“I need to help.” Merlin uttered, rather upset.

“You’ll be of no use to anyone like this. Your body needs rest. Focus on that for now, my boy. We can handle everything later.”

Merlin closed his eyes, leaning into Gaius’ palm, trying to find the repose everyone insisted he needed.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke up in a field.

Why is it always a field?

There was knee- high grass that waved with the gentle breeze that seemed to be continuous. The sky was a lovely shade of royal blue, and the sun was shining bright, with only a few clouds dotting the sky. It was beautiful and it was warm.

Dreaming again?

Merlin looked down at his hands. It wasn’t like before, where he had changed clothes and didn’t ache. Now there was a burning in his lungs and on his feet. His hands looked rough and cracked, with dirt under the fingernails.

“What-,”

Merlin. A voice echoes behind him. He turns, trying to find the source of the voice, but there’s nothing, no-one there. There’s something familiar about it.

Ready or not , here he comes.

Merlin draws in a short, sharp breath. The scene, at first glance, was peaceful. But in the far distance, there’s smoke from a fire, billowing great clouds of ash into the sky. If he stills, he can make out screaming.

“What’s happening?” he demands.

Your powers are building, but full of mistakes. You need to be ready.

“For- I don’t understand! Be ready for what?”

The fight that will decide the fate of the last King.

Arthur walks the outside wall with Lady Elena and tries not to feel like things are as awkward as they are.

“So, you’ve…” Arthur trails off. “Met someone, then?”

Elena smiles beautifully, pink flushing in her cheeks. “Ah, yes. Gili. He’s very good to me. Kind. My father wasn’t very happy at first with him not being of noble birth, but I think he’s warming up.”

She blinks once.

“Not that you’re not kind, sire I-,”

Arthur finds himself waving her apology off. “It’s alright, Elena. I understand.”

Elena smiles back, and they find a good stopping point on the outer wall, looking out into the city and the grassy lands beyond.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised you came all this way.” Arthur says, placing his hands on the brick wall to lean on his arms a bit. 

“I do have matters of state to attend to.” Elena says.

“Your father could have sent any of his men. I seem to recall you saying you arrived as quickly as you could when you heard Merlin was in trouble. How did you hear about that? He wasn’t missing but for a few days.”

Elena didn’t meet his eyes, instead picking at the sleeve of her sunshine-yellow dress.

“Gili told me. I don’t know how he knew. Word travels fast I suppose.”

She was lying to him, Arthur knew. But he decided to not push. One thing he had learned rather quickly being King was choosing the right battles; the ones where he knew he could win. 

“Still, Merlin mentoring Gilli and him helping you while you were here the first time-, you’re dedicated.”

Elena looks up from her sleeve and gazes into the vast view of the city. A small smile blooms on her face.

“Merlin is, well he’s special. I’m sure you know.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Arthur admits. Special as in different, yes. But he’s an average servant at best. As a friend… he tries to push the thought out of his head.

“He’s-,” she fumbles, trying to find the words. “He’s the most selfless person I know of. One of the most brilliant.” she adds.

“Merlin? ” Arthur asks, his disbelief leaking in his tone.

Elena laughs. “Yes, Merlin. He’s come to visit me many times since our canceled betrothal, Arthur. We’ve become friends, I think. He’s the most brilliant man I’ve ever known. He could rule, if he wanted to.”

“Sorry, we are talking about Merlin, right? The servant, Merlin?” Arthur scoffs.

Elena grins and looks at Arthur. She looks angelic in this lighting, calm and elegant. SO much different than before. She looks like a princess.

“I’m serious! He’s your servant because he chooses to be. My father offered him land and the chance to become a lord. He refused, he said he knew where he needed to be.”

Arthur’s ears are ringing. “When was this?” he manages to ask without stuttering.

“A few years ago now. He didn’t tell you?” she inquires. 

“No,” Arthur said quietly “No, we don’t really- that often I mean.”

She nods and looks out into the city again.

“He believes in you, Arthur. He thinks you’ll be- what did he say…” she trails off, biting her lip. She snaps her fingers. “He believes you will be the once and future king. That you’ll rule all of Albion.”

Arthur swallows hard. He had no idea that Merlin had been offered land by Elena’s father. That meant a lot. Yes, he’d be in another kingdom, but with the land would bring wealth and opportunity. Merlin would never have to shine shoes or sharp swords to fetch trays ever again; he could become a noble, someone respectable in society.

He wasn’t sure, but if Elena’s father had offered, that means Merlin had shown extraordinary character; it wasn’t something offered lightly. It was also not something refused lightly. Merlin had taken a huge risk in refusing; not only for his future wealth and status, but for his own life. Others have been executed for less things than denying such an offer. Merlin had done that because he believed in Arthur, and the world that he was trying to build.

“I think I’m starting to see,” Arthur says, moving away from the wall to continue walking “What you mean about him being special.”