Chapter Text
Arthur simply couldn’t catch a break it seemed. All he’d wanted was a nice quiet evening stretching his legs in the darkling woods, after being attacked by the questing beast not even a week prior. His father had confined him to his chambers almost exclusively since he’d awoke. Stuck inside with nothing to occupy him besides reading, which bored him, and reports, which he loathed, he’d been going stir crazy, and after pestering Merlin all day he’d finally been able to convince his useless manservant to help him sneak out of the citadel.
Of course, nothing but disaster simply had to follow Arthur wherever he traveled nowadays. They were barely a half a candle mark ride from the walls of the citadel when they’d been ambushed. Five bandit’s had encircled them, normally Arthur would have been able to take them but with his injury and the need to keep Merlin from getting skewered he didn’t like his chances.
As it stood he’d been able to render one unconscious while one had tripped and fallen on his sword and one more had been crushed by a loose branch. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god seemed to be favoring him tonight as he parried blows from the final two bandits. He wasn’t fully sure where Merlin was but he knew it had to be somewhere behind him and with the final two bandit’s in his sights he wasn’t too worried.
The lack of his left arm though was a problem, and the absence of any armor concerned him even more. It was just meant to be a simple stroll, how had things gone so quickly arrie? He parried a blow hard and sent the bandit stumbling, out of his line of vision. He wasn’t sparred a moment to think of where he’d gone as the other bandit barred down on him with a doubled intensity.
It was then in those seven seconds that Arthur’s world twisted unevenly below him as everything changed.
In the first second his sword was finally knocked free of his hand, he watched the bandit’s sword barring down on him and the only thing he could think was, well I put up a good fight at least.
In the second second he heard Merlin scream his name behind him, it reminded him of the labyrinth when they both thought he was about to die, but somehow it was more guttural, more broken.
In the third second he watched the bandit who was about to kill him fly back into a tree and collapse to the ground, thrown by an invisible force, by sorcery. Arthur whipped around in time to see the gold fade from Merlin’s eyes.
Sorcerer! Arthur thought.
Liar! His gut screamed.
Traitor! His heart broke.
In the fourth second he watched the final bandit run a sword through Merlin’s stomach, pull it back out, and all Arthur could see was the pain and fear in Merlin’s face. So much fear, and it didn’t matter that Merlin was a sorcerer it didn’t matter that he’d lied or committed treason, because he was dying. Merlin was dying.
“Merlin!” Arthur screamed, the servant’s name tearing its way up his throat like it was made of hot coals.
In the fifth second he had his sword back in hand.
In the sixth second he had run through the bandit who’d stabbed Merlin.
In the seventh second he fell to his knees and cradled Merlin’s bleeding body.
Desperately he tried to stop the bleeding, knowing it was no use, he’d seen wounds like this before he knew Merlin wasn’t going to make it back. Regardless he tried to reassure him.
“It’s ok, it’s just a scratch you’ll be fine,” He tried to keep his voice from shaking. He didn’t succeed. “It’ll toughen you up, a cool scar, maybe help you get some ladies.” Why had he brought Merlin out here, Merlin wasn’t meant to be in the line of fire; he was a servant. He should be in the castle where it’s safe, Arthur had put him in danger. This was Arthur’s fault.
“Yo-you’re not- '' Merlin coughed on the blood that made its way up his throat from the wound in his stomach. “M-mad?”
“About the magic?” Arthur stared at him in disbelief, Merlin was dying, and he was trying to make sure he wasn’t in trouble. Merlin was dying, this was Arthur’s fault, and he was worried Arthur was mad. “No, you saved my life, again, how can I be mad at you for that?”
“I-I only ever wa-wanted to-to help,” He took in a shuddering breath around the blood that clogged his airway. “Help you b-be a gr-great k-king, e-end th-the slau-slaughter.”
Arthur’s eyes went wide, and he wondered how many times Merlin saved his life. How many times he’d put his life on the line for Arthur. Every day. Every single day Merlin woke up in Camelot he put his life on the line to be near Arthur, to protect him. “Idiot.” Arthur wasn’t sure if he meant Merlin or himself.
Merlin gave him a goofy blood covered smile before his eyes drifted to something behind Arthur’s shoulder and his smile dropped. “No,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Please, no, I-I can’t I-I’m not-not done.”
Arthur pulled him closer, holding him near and soothing the dying man as best he could. This was all he could do, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Merlin continued to plead and babble into Arthur’s ear, begging for his life and Arthur’s shoulders shook slightly with the effort to be strong, Merlin was scared the last thing he needed was Arthur breaking down too. Then suddenly the pleading stopped, and Merlin sniffled.
“Arthur, close your eyes.” His voice was steady and full of sadness. Arthur pulled back to stare at him in surprise. He was still bleeding, still clearly dying but he didn’t appear to be struggling anymore, and his eyes were glowing gold once again. Magic, of course Merlin was a sorcerer he could heal himself.
“I’m not afraid of your magic Merlin,” Arthur glared at him lightly, angrily ignoring the relief that washed over him. He watched the magic begin to spread into the white’s of Merlin’s eyes. “I already know-”
“Close them!” Merlin demanded with more than one voice and Arthur’s eyes snapped shut as the command pounded against the inside of his mind. “Now I'm going to scream,” Merlin’s voices continued to echo loudly in Arthur’s head as well as the forest around them, but he was no longer demanding. “And my body will get hot, do Not open your eyes.” It was a command again and Arthur couldn’t disobey, so he held Merlin close with his eyes shut tight as the sorcerer began to burn and scream in his arms. It was unbearably hot, and the screaming didn’t help. Neither did the smell of burning flesh, and with his eyes shut tightly all Arthur could see was a clear image of Merlin burning on the pyre for the crime of sorcery.
Despite the pain he held fast to his dying manservant, to his dying friend. After what felt like eternity Merlin’s body began to cool and the screaming died off into choked sobs. When the body in his arms was once again a normal temperature he pulled back to check on the no longer dying man in his arms. He opened his eyes and his breath caught in his throat.
Merlin laid in his arms with a face frozen in horror and indescribable pain. Arthur was almost glad his eyes were fully swallowed in gold so he didn’t have to see all the anguish in them. He looked down to check the wound, unable to look at Merlin’s face anymore and to his surprise found not a drop of blood, and a completely new outfit. Arthur would say it was fit for a king, but it appeared almost more extravagant than that, laced together with golden thread. Could gold even be made into thread?
He looked back up to the very much alive man in his arms. “Merlin,” His voice was dripping with concern. Merlin looked to him, or at least Arthur assumed he looked to him as he wasn’t able to tell with the lack of pupils, and a searing pain erupted throughout all of Arthur’s body. More intense and un-namable than anything he’d ever felt, and as he doubled over he found he couldn’t even scream.
The pain lasted for what felt like forever, and Arthur had no way to know how long it truly was. Only that it came to an end with a gentle hand on his shoulder, and was replaced by a calm he’d never felt before, and one he knew was how he would have felt in his mother’s arms.
“Enough my son, you’re only hurting him.” Arthur looked up to see the voice and was met with a face he’d memorized from the one portrait Uther had kept in a dusty forgotten hallway of the castle. His mother, but with the same certainty that told him what this calm was, he knew this wasn’t truly his mother. She was powerful, too powerful, at first Arthur thought her a sorceress. Goddess. His mind supplied helpfully, and he realized in that moment he could stare at her until he withered and died on that dirt road and he would be happy. Then he realized she wasn’t looking at him, she wasn’t speaking to him, he was not her son.
Merlin whimpered in his arms and turned into Arthur’s chest desperately clutching at his collar. The calm the Goddess had given him washed away and he felt his senses once again, though it was different than before. No great pain or intense calm but he felt as if he was standing in the tight eye of a deadly storm and a small breeze could blow him back into that mind numbing calm or that impossibly crushing pain.
He held Merlin close and twisted to guard him from the Goddess. He didn’t know why Merlin didn’t want to go with her, and he didn’t care. Merlin didn’t want to go with her, Merlin risked his life every day to protect Arthur, Arthur would risk his life to protect Merlin, it was only fair. He heard the Goddess take a breath, before walking around him and kneeled down to meet his eyes. The dust of the road seemed to fly away from her, not daring to soil her simple white dress.
“Your loyalty is commendable young prince, but you misunderstand, he isn’t afraid of me,” She spoke gently as if trying to coax a frightened child from their hiding spot, he supposed that’s how she might see him. “He’s afraid of leaving you, of facing what he is, but if he doesn’t he will be in nothing but pain, and he won’t be able to stop sharing that pain with everyone around him.”
Sharing that pain. Had that been what Arthur had felt? That impossibly crushing pain, was that what Merlin was feeling right now? He looked down at the manservant in his arms, he was shaking slightly and his knuckles were white where he gripped Arthur’s tunic. He looked at the Goddess in front of him, she gave him a patient smile but there was concern in her eyes as the flitted between Arthur and Merlin. My son, she had been speaking to Merlin, but that couldn’t be right Arthur had met Hunith she wasn’t a sorceress much less a Goddess.
There was too much to think on, too much to try and understand as Merlin fought back sobs of pain in his arms. Arthur couldn’t do anything for Merlin, he knew nothing of magic or the intense pain he was feeling, and even if he did it’s not like he could take him back to Camelot he’d be going against his father. He’d be committing treason.
But if he gave him to the Goddess he could avoid all that. The Goddess could help him, Merlin would leave Camelot, his pain would stop, and he’d be safe. Arthur made his choice.
He slowly unwrapped the sorcerer from his arms gently prying his hands from his tunic. Merlin made a strangled noise of pain as Arthur passed him over and Arthur couldn’t meet his golden burning eyes.
“It’s alright, he’ll be safe while you’re gone I promise.” The Goddess whispered to her son as she collected him gingerly in her arms as if he weighed nothing. Arthur supposed he might if she wanted him too. Merlin stared at him and Arthur still couldn’t meet his eyes; he watched the Goddess instead. “Send the horse away, tell your people that his mother sent for him and he will be back by the full moon in three weeks, tell no one of his sorcery Arthur, and everything will be explained to you in due time.”
Arthur took a breath as he nodded and when he blinked the Goddess and Merlin vanished. Along with them went the feeling of standing within a raging storm and he was left with the bodies of the bandits, bloodstained hands, a head filled with nothing but questions, and not a soul to answer them. He was alone, more alone than he’d been in a while, and he didn’t like it one bit.
—-------
“Emrys,” A soothing voice cut clean through the screaming. Through the paralyzing pain, the begging, and the pleading. “Darling we’re in one of my temples now it’s safe, I’m going to push the voices and the pain to the back.”
Slowly it all subsided, and Merlin began to feel his body again and the two gentle hands resting on his temples. “There, that’s better right?” The voice asked again and Merlin remembered that voice, he’d met its owner three times before.
The first had been when he’d drunk poison to save Arthur’s life. He had found himself in a small garden that didn’t seem to have an entrance or an exit, and she’d been sitting in the gazebo wearing his mother’s face. He’d asked why she looked like his mum and she’d simply smiled and told him it was because she was his mother. He said he knew she wasn’t, that she was clearly a goddess and asked why he was seeing her. She’d explained that he had died, but she would be sending him back once his body recovered. Though she’d made a point to warn him that he wouldn’t be able to die and come back forever, his body was limited and this trick wouldn’t work more than thrice. He bowed his head and thanked her and she laughed and told him not to be so formal before the garden faded away and he awoke in Gaius’ tower.
The second time he’d been knocked back by a blast from the Sidhe who were trying to sacrifice Arthur. He was back in the garden again and before the goddess could speak he asked how long it would take to send him back, Arthur needed him, he couldn’t waste time. She’d shushed him and beckoned him to sit, still wearing his mother’s face. She warned him again to be more careful, told him that his body could only take one more death and after that it would burn to nothing. He asked which goddess she was, wondering if he should leave an offering to thank her for bringing him back. She’d said she was the Triple Goddess of the old religion and that he didn’t need to give his mother any gifts, that it was her duty to help him. He’d thanked her again though he didn’t bow as she told him not to, and he’d come back again like nothing had happened.
The third time he’d been fighting Nimuhe and a stray fireball caught him in the chest. The moment he realized where he was he asked the Triple Goddess to send him back right away but she refused and told him to sit. There were things she needed to explain. She told him that his mortal body couldn’t take any more deaths and the next time he was dealt a fatal wound he would no longer be human. He demanded she elaborate and she told him what he was, told him why the druid’s called him Emrys, told him why he had his destiny, and he didn’t believe her. He covered his ears like a petulant child and he stormed across the garden to get away from her. She let him throw his tantrum patiently waiting for him to return as she sipped on a cup of golden liquid. Eventually he came back, demanding she let him return to his body, she met his eyes calmly and told him once more that if he was dealt another fatal wound he would lose his mortal body and she would come to collect him. He shouted at the goddess, said he didn’t care and that he needed to worry about Gaius right now. So she sent him back and he continued to fight Nimuhe without missing a beat.
He dragged his unwilling eyes open and took in his surroundings. It was dark out, and he sat propped against the base of the altar in what was clearly a temple to the Triple Goddess if the triple moon windows and all the decor coming in threes was anything to go by. His head tipped slowly to the side, the pain now a dull ache but his body still sore, as his eyes met the softly smiling face of his mum. He groaned and tried to push himself up.
“Careful Emrys,” The Goddess’s hands steadied his shoulders. “You pulled yourself together in such a hurry you need to rest.”
Merlin glared at her. “Please, can you wear a different face?” He didn’t feel any of the reverence for the Goddess he probably should. No fear of her power or pressure of her presence.
The Goddess sighed. “Alright,” Her face shifted to one Merlin had never seen before, with eyes that glowed entirely a rich blue that Merlin knew in the back of his mind was the color of a human soul. The Triple moon symbol emblazoned on her forehead in that same eerie blue, half covered by a hooded cloak that shifted from a pale pink to white in the low torchlight of the temple. Her features were soft split between a mother’s and a maidens but when the shadows fell on her just so wrinkles overtook her face and she became a crone. Ever shifting, never more one than the other. “How are you feeling my son?”
“I feel like shit, and don’t call me your son.” Merlin bit out, pressing a ginger hand to his temple as the inside of his skull throbbed.
“Emrys, I know you are upset-”
“Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it, and my name is Merlin!” He shouted at the goddess. He was tired, his body still hurt, and he wasn’t even sure he had a body. The last thing he needed was the nosy goddess who thought she had a right to call herself his mother poking into his business. She didn’t raise him, she didn’t sooth his fevers, or kiss his scraped knees, or tuck him in at night. She walked into his life more blundering than the dragon and tore the world out from beneath his feet. She had no right to him.
The goddess reached out and placed a gentle hand on his cheek, guiding his eyes to look at her again. “I know you are hurting, and you are grieving for the mortal life you have lost,” Merlin opened his mouth to argue but the goddess continued on. “But everything is not gone, only your mortal body and the ignorance that came with it. I will teach you how to subdue the pain, how to use your abilities to walk among the humans, and you can go right back to your prince’s side.” She brushed his cheek bone gently with her thumb. “I know I could not raise you in your mortal life, but allow me to atone for that absence by helping you find your footing in your immortal one. Allow me to be your mother now.”
Merlin took a breath and stared into the Goddess’ eyes. Unmoving, unblinking, then he let out a shuddering breath and a tear escaped him. The Goddess- his mother, pulled him into a tight hug and let him cry, let him morn the loss he suffered tonight, feel the fear he held for his future, and most of all morn the pain and the suffering that had brought him into existence, the anger, fear, and sadness of the thousands who had brought forth the need for him to be real. The need for a god of magic, one born of pain, and fear, and revenge.