313Hi
The Ides of March
Elyan cradled their queen back to life. He held the tender, tenuous quiet that followed the chaos of Ruadan's betrayal, and Percival was grateful to give it to him. Everything could have gone much worse.
Percival had been given clues, but his own bias had overridden them. For one, he would never have left his own family behind to face retribution, and so he'd never expected it from Ruadan. The druid girl was in the corner now, looking terrified. Acting or true, he didn't know.
Cowardice was another clue he'd failed to notice, because he despised all its forms and did not expect it in his allies. So the cloak, a weapon in the form of a gift, had shocked him. Though perhaps anything was possible. Emrys had said there was magic in clothes. Had that been meant as a clue? Had it been a slip of his tongue, referencing a plan he'd had in reserve?
Gwen, at least, had seemed aware that something was going to happen. After Ruadan had disappeared with Arthur, she'd run for Merlin before they'd even realized what was happening. She'd known, somehow, that the cloak would attack Merlin.
And then, well, it was still sort of a blur. A rising panic had gripped him— a panic he hadn't felt since watching Merlin and Arthur return from the Isle of the Blessed without Lancelot. He hated the feeling of his family slipping through his fingers— he'd felt it now too many times.
He did remember ripping the cloak in half, and rolling atop, his feet on the corners, the fabric slapping welts against his elbows, then it all ending in a blast of unearthly gold. It left the cloak where it was now, sitting lank under his boot. As much as he'd disliked the pyres, he now understood where the urge to destroy every remnant of a sorcerer came from.
But that brought him to Merlin, who quite obviously had magic. A lot of it, it seemed. Percival had never witnessed even the whites of someone's eyes go gold, and he'd been a sword's length away from Emrys before.
Whatever he'd done had knocked him out, and he lay crumpled where he'd fallen. Someone should check if he were breathing, at least. Magic may be against the law, but surely everyone would accept that he'd used it to save Gwen's life.
"Elyan?" Gwen rasped, stronger now, even if still draped over Elyan's arms. "What happened?"
"You're going to be fine," he answered instead, looking to Gaius. "She's going to be fine, right?"
Gaius put a hand on her face, perhaps feeling her temperature. "She'll recover. She just needs to be cleaned up and allowed to rest."
She reached for her skirts, but Elyan stopped her hand, holding her tightly so she couldn't feel or see them. It was good of him. There was a lot of blood, and she didn't need to know about that right now.
"Let's get her on the bed, Elyan. I'll need hot water and linens, and from my chambers the jar of clove oil. She needs a new dress. Can someone fetch her handmaiden?"
Everyone traded glances. Leon answered, "I do not believe she has one."
"I could get a midwife?" Percival asked.
Gaius held up a hand. "We must be wary what news leaves this room."
True, unfortunately. Their king had been captured, and their queen looked terribly injured; Camelot had lost their rulers so soon after a near panic— nothing good would become of honesty right now. "Is there anyone we can trust? Gwaine, what about your sister?"
"Ari is the biggest blabbermouth this side of the Tamesis, absolutely not."
"Uhm," Sefa raised a hand from the tiny ball she'd curled herself into. "I can help."
"You are not getting near her!" Elyan roared. "You're spending the rest of your life in the dungeons."
"Wait just a second, Elyan," Percival said, because he'd just watched the girl pale and shrink away. If she was acting, she was the best in Albion. "I don't think she knew what her father was planning."
Gwaine pointed at his own face, "Hey girl, remember me? We met on Samhain. Where's your father? Where did he take Arthur?"
"I don't—"
Gwaine snapped, "Smarten up, think. Where would he have gone? It was teleportation, right?"
"Right," she wavered, surprised. Percival understood the sentiment. When did Gwaine learn so much about spellcasting? Sefa stuttered later, "He's never gone further than a league with me."
"Then he's close," Gwaine looked around. "We can find him if we fan out, who's coming?"
Leon shook his head, "Someone needs to keep the court at bay. I can't—"
Gwaine didn't wait much longer. "I'm headed East," he said while striding quickly away.
"Wait," Gaius called, but it was too late. Gaius suddenly looked very old, but before Percival could think too much on it, Leon touched his shoulder.
"I will have to speak with the visiting kings, and make excuses to the Council," Leon said to him. "Elyan will stay to help Gaius, but I need you and Gwaine to find Arthur. Get Gwaine to slow down and focus, please."
Percival nodded, and Leon left the room.
By then, Gaius had knelt down and was failing to roll Merlin over, so Percival joined him.
Merlin moved like a rag doll, head lolling and eyes rolled into the back of his skull. But when on his back, it was obvious he was alive. Percival scooped him up into his arms.
"What are you doing?" Gaius asked warily.
"He's spent too long on the floor." There were some pillows in the Solar upstairs that would make a better place to sleep this off.
Some of the tension left Gaius, but he still spoke softly. "He has a way to track Arthur. When Merlin wakes up, he'll find him."
Merlin was heavier than he looked, but once back to standing Percival eyed Merlin's unconscious face. "Do you think he'll wake up soon?" Gaius was quiet, so Percival finished. "I'll still go after Gwaine, but it is good to know that Merlin will be behind us soon enough."
For Arthur, his first experience teleporting felt like a gust of wind had blown him over the ramparts. It was one big huge whoosh, and then plummeting towards an invisibly far ground.
And then bam! standing in the forest, shaking hands with Ruadan.
"You're coming with me," Ruadan ordered unnecessarily— Arthur had figured that much out, thank you very much— "and don't try anything."
Hah, right. He reached for Excalibur, but couldn't get his hand out of Ruadan's grip. The man pursed his lips as Arthur struggled— this was harder than it looked, don't judge. Up and down were still a bit screwy too.
Way too screwy, uh oh. "You should let me go now."
"Unbuckle your sword belt," Ruadan said instead.
Arthur countered in style. (He doubled over and puked on Ruadan's boots.)
An indeterminate amount of time later, Arthur returned to consciousness. His heart drummed a beat in his temples, and there was soil squishing into the corner of his mouth. If he remembered correctly, Ruadan had slammed him quite forcefully into the dirt.
He squinted, pushing through the stab of sunlight, and counted the hours based on the lost angle. Three, he guessed. Then he sat up, tried to clean his stained face and matted hair— and gross, that was dried vomit. After the hospitality he'd shown Ruadan, the least the man could have done was avoid the puke pile.
Actually— Fie, Excalibur was missing.
"Awake, are you?" Ruadan murmured.
"As it happens, yes." He tracked Ruadan's voice to a few feet behind him. The Druid was cross-legged, with his back resting against a thick tree. "So, what are we doing out here? Waiting on someone?"
"I am preparing for the next jump."
I should probably start running.
"Try it, and you'll get another lump on your forehead."
Gwaine was right, my poker face does need some work. Though, regardless, he wasn't going anywhere without his sword; and from the looks of things, it was currently buckled to Ruadan's waist. He'd need a chance to knock him out. Ruadan obviously wasn't out to kill him, so he had some time to figure out a method. And as for timing… "Where are we headed?"
"To see the High Priestess. She's the only one powerful enough to stand up to Emrys. And Emrys has forfeited himself for your good graces."
"We're going to see… Morgana?" Alright, maybe Ruadan was out to kill him. "Why?"
Ruadan took a deep breath, did what Arthur assumed were magic channeling motions, then answered, "You weren't swayed by the truth of the Purge, maybe your half-sister can convince you. And if not, well… she won't be afraid to kill you and put someone better suited on the throne."
Kill me… ? Ruadan had seemed so reasonable. A little cold, perhaps, but level-headed, like a man who had thought through Albion's deficiencies. Perhaps he couldn't present them as controlled as Iseldir, but he was at least passionate….
Arthur had missed the extremism completely. Again he was learning the cost of his judgements in character— Morgana, Agravaine, Ruadan… and surely, another in the future. He had failed again to learn from his mistakes.
The acrid taste of a sleeping potion coated Gwen's teeth, and she blearily woke to her curtains drawn tight and a steady swish swish of water on stone.
She shifted for the cooler edge of her pillow, but regretted it when the muscles in her neck and shoulders spasmed. No moving, then. It didn't take much convincing— she had terrible cramps crawling along her abdomen and lower back. Though, that was all less distracting than the unbalancing churn of a cavernous emptiness in her soul. Some part of her had been stolen, irreversibly.
"Gwen, you should be sleeping."
Elyan walked closer and smoothed a large brown hand over her face.
"Could I have some water?"
He hesitated, and glanced at someone else in the room. "I don't want to leave you alone."
"Why?" She winced. "Elyan, help me sit up."
He tucked a hand under her shoulders and waist, maneuvering her against her pillows until she was propped against the headboard. He bunched the blankets at her sides; sweet but unnecessary, she could stay upright. As he doted, she found the source of the swish swish— the Druid girl, Ruadan's daughter, scrubbing the floor.
"She's just a young girl," she reasoned.
Elyan frowned, announced loudly, "I won't be gone long," then strode away.
"Come here," Gwen said, when Elyan had gone. "What's your name?"
"Sefa," the mousey girl answered timidly. Clutching the rag in her hand, she got to her feet and inched towards the corner of Gwen's bed. She hid behind her broken braid, hair falling across her face. "I swear I didn't know what the cloak could do," she shook, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I never expected—"
"Where did you get it?"
Gwen was watching Sefa close enough to notice her pupils dilate in fear. "My father, but he probably got it from," she gulped, "the High Priestess Morgana."
"Morgana's scorn knows no bounds, yet this cloak is a new low for her." It was a truly torturous way to kill someone. Besides the soul-sucking pain of it, and the sheer desperation for escape, she had gleaned a few other misplaced details. Details like manacles, cold stone at her back, and the stink of refuse. Perhaps the worst torture Morgana could conceive of was a torture she'd undergone herself. It had all certainly felt like an underground prison.
"Your father said Morgana was trapped in the Sarrum's well. It appears they know each other well."
Poor girl, she looked like a deer staring down a hunter's crossbow. Gwen could relate to that, quite literally.
"I'm not going to condemn you," Gwen tacked on. "Not yet, at least. Just tell me the truth."
Sefa nodded and bit at her lip. The skin of her lips were torn up; it must be a nervous tic of hers. "Yes," she said carefully. "We spent the winter months with her. We ran into her in the forest."
Merlin, as Emrys, had said that he'd put Morgana somewhere they'd all be safe from her. A forest anyone could stumble across didn't sound so safe. "Which tower did you stay at? Or do you know approximately where you were? We have a detailed map with many ruined structures marked, we could narrow it down."
"It wasn't a tower," Sefa answered. "She lived in the Forest of Ascetir. She couldn't escape past the edges of one small clearing." Sefa looked like she was going to say more, but she swallowed her words.
"And what did you think of Morgana? Years ago, she was one of my best friends."
That worked; Sefa spoke honestly, if haltingly. "She was very angry, and lonely. I felt bad for her. I tried to help her, give her food and soap and other things... but she liked to snap at me, whatever I did."
"You sound like a very sweet girl, Sefa."
"Thank you," she whispered.
"So where has your father taken my husband? The good thing to do is just tell me."
"The knights asked me that too," she started to tremble. "I really don't know, I didn't know he was planning anything, I can't believe he's done this—"
"Stay calm, Sefa. What about safe havens? Old friends? Who can he trust?"
"Don't bother," Elyan said, returning with a goblet. "She's clueless, or at least pretending to be."
Sefa recoiled from him, eyes downcast and white fingers clutching at the mop. Gwen took the goblet and a small sip. "You hate her."
"She hurt you."
"She's cleaning dried blood off of the floor."
Elyan's visceral reaction was proof that she'd guessed right.
She reached out and gripped his forearm, holding him close. "Please, Elyan, tell me what happened."
Elyan adjusted so he held her hand, then he shook his head. "You should talk to Gaius."
In his face she found apology, and the truth there put her heart into a terrible staccato. He pulled her forward. Enveloping her in his warmth, his rough hands squeezed against her shaking and her cheek pressed sharp into his chainmail. It may not have been comfortable, but it was comforting.
Perhaps the strong thing to do was to get Gaius, to move forward, but she knew what he'd say; her closely guarded secret, the baby for which she'd dared to think maybe, was gone.
There are better ways to tell me where to go rather than jabbing me, Ruadan. Given the chance he might break those fingers joint by joint.
Arthur bit his tongue and thought through his options again; he was nearly out of time to get Excalibur. He had heavy boots, sans the knife he usually hid there, his cloak, no chainmail, and no sword. But there were plenty of stones and plenty of branches, one could make a surprise weapon if needed. It was Elyan who'd told him a stick jabbed into someone's ear could be far more painful than a stab wound.
After another sickening jump they'd been walking eastward for hours, and Arthur was sure they were almost upon Morgana. Had that knowledge come from the pull of gut-instinct or the pang of a sibling bond? No. The forest was getting blacker, and that was telling enough.
And no, he didn't mean the light was dimming, it was as bright an evening as ever, no— literally the trees and the ground were getting blacker. "Is she intentionally this ominous, or does everything just die around her?"
Ruadan didn't answer, which told Arthur the question was either too stupid, or Ruadan didn't know the answer.
So, Arthur swiped his hand against the next grimey tree he passed. He rubbed the dark grit in his hand and determined, "Soot," just as their path took them into a graveyard. Through the last few living trees and mosses stretched a fresh swathe of tall, blackened, branchless trunks, and a ground littered with burned debris. Arthur snorted, "There's no way she stayed here through a forest fire."
"She can't leave, she's trapped by magic. She's here."
So this was the prison Emrys had put her in. Had she caused the inferno, or had she been trapped in it? "She must be dead then."
Arthur detected a hint of hesitance. "She's a high priestess, she can put out a fire."
She wasn't so good at putting out her curtains. He muttered, "Let's hope so."
They'd crunched through a few feet of soot-covered soil when Ruadan did a double-take, "You prefer her alive?"
Do I? No, not really… the last time he'd seen her she'd just gotten off on massacring his people, using Gwaine for her army's entertainment, starving Gaius, and torturing Elyan. She'd looked smug and sure when she'd betrayed their father. That Morgana he'd like to see… gone. Dead by inferno felt too extreme considering the woman he'd once trusted with his life, but gone… gone he could do.
Was wanting that more peaceful solution cowardly? Maybe. Probably.
Ruadan muttered, "Of course you don't."
"Actually," Arthur corrected, "I think I do."
Ruadan poked at him again— telling him to veer left. The next time he'd grab that finger and twist, bend Ruadan's arm back. If he moved quickly he could get at his sword hiding beneath Ruadan's cloak.
"So the High Priestess gets a free pass while the rest of us burn?"
"In what world is that true?" Arthur snapped, twisting enough to glare. "Iseldir and the Druids live openly in Camelot."
"I'm not talking about the Druids, I'm talking about spellcasters. This is about magic. It's always been about magic!"
"Alright, alright, it's about magic," he bit.
"You know what else?" Ruadan railed, "Magic isn't going to stop existing because you don't like it. People have magic. Learn to live with it. You live with far worse evils."
He matched Ruadan's scowl with another of his own, and he chose to take the bait. "Like what?"
"For starters," Ruadan snarled, "the Sarrum of Amata."
"What's your problem with him? When he spoke during the Trial you could barely keep control of yourself."
Ruadan elbowed him, hard, in the side, and when Arthur had doubled over he snapped forward with a dagger. Arthur slowly put his hands into the air. The cold metal lay flat beneath his chin, and he decided it was best to swallow his words.
Ruadan leaned forward, close enough to smell his breath, and began to whisper. "Do you know how to slit a throat?"
Why, you want a lesson?
"Best to go ear to ear, so they die quickly."
Threaten me again, Ruadan, and see what happens.
"I learned through practice on my own allies." He backed off a step, knife still out threateningly. "Every magic user knows it's better to die than let the Sarrum's men capture you."
He'd never slit the throat of his knights, even as a mercy. They'd survive long enough for him to save them.
But if Ruadan could be believed, then many Druids felt this way about the Sarrum. It wouldn't be good for Camelot if he ignored Ruadan's warning now. "Look," he said, slowly lowering his hands so they hovered near his chest. "I'll dig into his history. If you're telling the truth, there will be proof somewhere. Only then will I do something about it."
Ruadan looked pensive, and Arthur hoped that was a good thing. But, the man had just held a knife to his throat, and he was fairly sure that pale creature huddled in the distance was his dear sister Morgana. It was now or never.
So he lunged, got the wrist with the knife in one hand and twisted behind Ruadan, locking his other arm around the Druid's neck. Ruadan tried a kick at his knee, but nope, no one but Percival could out-wrestle him. "I can give you justice," Arthur huffed through the struggle, "but you have to let me go."
Ruadan snarled, then launched a wave of magic that blasted them backwards— Arthur's ankles caught on a log and they toppled onto their backs. He kept his grip despite the air whooshing from his lungs.
"I don't have to hurt you," he gasped. "Just want my sword."
"Oh, shall I just give it back and walk away, pretend nothing happened, hope?" Ruadan tried twisting over, "I was once like Iseldir, too. Doing nothing. Wishing that goodness would prevail. Get off!"
"Never." And how dare he bad-mouth Iseldir? Arthur doubted he would have trusted the Druids if not for his many interactions with Iseldir. "That 'weakness' was what earned my respect. It takes a bravery that you don't have."
"Standing by, biting my tongue, is a peace I refuse. Peace was my excuse when I told my tribe the war wouldn't come to Essetir, peace the reason we had no weapons when they came for us, peace why I hid powerless while my wife died a slow death. I will not—"
The now familiar swoop leapt through Arthur's gut, and then he was thrown headlong into the empty nothing.
He landed on his side in another patch of burned forest, and the nausea hit him in a wave strong enough to blur his vision. But before him was Ruadan staggering. That meant he'd likely not had enough magic for a jump, which meant he definitely had none left now, so Arthur leapt.
It was more of a tackle-fall, but no one but Ruadan and possibly Morgana were there to witness it, and no one would believe them.
Anyway, the point was, he got his sword. He felt like his stomach was going to come out of his nose, but he had his sword.
"Now, Ruadan," he said, swallowing, "hand over my belt and scabbard."
Ruadan winced and shoved himself away, "No."
Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of Morgana's tinkling laughter made him choke.
He crouched, checked his periphery— couldn't see her.
Then she spoke, much closer than he expected. Way closer than he wanted. Behind him?
"It was always mine, mine, mine, with you, wasn't it, Arthur dear?"
The Solar's velvet curtains drew tight across the sweeping windows, leaving the room dark and warm from risen air.
Even that was an uncommon comfort for Merlin, and so he woke on the slippery smooth pillow disoriented and bleary. There was a large blob of drool clinging to the side of his mouth, and he wiped it away while shoving the stained pillow aside.
Ugh. He felt like the Beltane hangover that came to life.
"Where have you been!?"
He pressed his hands against his ears, not that they would help against Gilli screaming at him via magic. "Not so loud."
"I thought I was going to die down here!"
"Seriously? How long has it been since I saw you?"
"About a day," Gilli answered sullenly.
"You'll live. Look, a lot has happened today."
"Boo-hoo. Have you got a grey hair? I'm a river monster."
Merlin rolled his eyes. Okay, yes, that was still a problem, but it was a problem at the bottom of his list. Well, that was rude. It was above laundry.
"Well, go on," Gilli said, "Tell me what happened. It's not like I have any news."
"Watched the entirety of the Purge, told it during the Trial, forgave Arthur for it anyways, nearly watched Gwen die." Oh, fie. Arthur was missing.
Gilli said something about how comfortable the bathtub suddenly was, but Merlin was largely distracted digging the half-penny out of his boot. Someday he was going to design a much better way to hold onto this.
When in his hands, he closed his eyes and felt the little pocket of magic he'd stored within the sigil stretching out towards the East. Ruadan had taken him, and Ruadan was from Essetir, so that made sense. He'd probably have to teleport. He reached for his magic.
Like fingernails scraping along skin rubbed raw, pain darkened the edges of his vision and nearly knocked him flat out.
In fact, he was blinking the spots away with his face in the floor when he became aware of Gilli cursing, again. "— was that? Did you blackout? What in six sards is going on?"
"Emrys?" Another voice.
"You better not have disappeared again. Do you have any idea how boring it is down here?"
"Emrys, are you alright? I'm starting to worry." Iseldir probably?
They were talking over each other in a headache inducing cacophony. He rolled onto his back, squinted, and very, very carefully looked through the veil at the magic around him. In flickering threads he saw the separate lines connecting to Gilli and to Iseldir, and he reached up and poked at them until they wound together before bothering him.
"Merlin, I swear I will slither my way up there!"
"Oh, hello?"
"Hello? Fie, how did I mess this up? This one is supposed to be easy, sorry, hold on."
"Wait," Merlin interrupted them both, "I'm here. Gilli, meet Iseldir. Iseldir, Gilli."
"Hello Gilli, friend of Emrys. I'm Iseldir, of the Druids."
"Oh," came Gilli's response, then a long pause. "Well I'm Gilli. Of the grotto. Of the Gilded Grotto."
"So not what it's called," Merlin said.
Iseldir relaxed slightly, it gave Merlin a feeling of a wide open space, a bustle of people, and a sort of restlessness. Iseldir focused again when Merlin prompted him, and answered, "Our tribe is outside the walls, nearby the city. Everyone is discussing the Trial."
Would he regret asking? "And what do they think?"
Iseldir, ever positive, "Your retelling of the Purge was beautiful and haunting. I did not know you were a seer."
"I'm not. I asked a favor."
Gilli jumped in. "Merlin's got friends in low places."
He was going to put Gilli on a raw fish diet. "I've got a favor to ask you too, Iseldir." He waited for Iseldir's dip of acquiescence, "When I forgave Camelot, I released Arthur from any concession towards yourself, or our magic."
Gilli yelped. "You WHAT?!" Then continued on with a litany of how-could-you's. He and Iseldir tuned it out.
He felt Iseldir sigh and lean away, thinking. "I did say that forgiveness may be the only way to stop the cycles of revenge."
"Ugh, fine," Gilli muttered.
"I accept your decision, Emrys, and I believe it was the right one. And I still believe Arthur will release the ban soon."
"I'm glad you do, at least." Merlin said. "Because that's a hard future to see from my perspective."
"Why?" Iseldir asked quickly.
"Did you know what Ruadan was planning?" Of course he didn't. Iseldir didn't plot against Camelot. "Ruadan kidnapped Arthur and nearly killed Gwen. I used all of my magic to save Gwen, and now I'm helpless to save Arthur."
Iseldir, without a doubt, had been shocked into silence. Iseldir's hope snapped away into some hidden place, and out of politeness, Merlin remained silent until Iseldir was ready to respond. In the meantime he put the half-penny back in his boot and stood up. He wanted to move those velvet curtains aside and get some air in here.
"I suspected, but I never expected… you must find them, quickly."
"I don't think I can right now," Merlin said from the window. "I can tell where he is, but I can't get there without letting my magic heal."
"You will get there, Emrys." Iseldir's voice grew louder, and soon other voices came with the murmur of Iseldir's, leaden with power and ready. "Here with us are the largest gathering of magic users in a decade. We will worry about the teleportation spell, you worry about saving our king!"
Twilight lent a regal purple to the bleak firebrand of Morgana's clearing. Her dark hair swung in a coy braid over her shoulder, she wore a plain dress, and she'd signed lines of soot across her alabaster skin.
"What a surprise, Arthur," she cackled. "You never visit!"
Arthur whirled to meet his sibling's eye, but the recent teleportation kicked him in the gut.
She cooed as he gagged with nausea. "Honey helps."
Hand over his mouth, urgh. He mumbled, "And have you got bees hidden under your skirts?"
"Hmm," she thought, twirling. "Hornet's nests for most, but a select few get nectar."
Gag. All the gags.
She turned her focus on Ruadan, who had bided his time quietly nearby. "Emrys will be after his liege soon enough, Ruadan. Do you mind putting out a few flower arrangements? I'm just a bear when it comes to decorations."
Ruadan looked confused, so she made a shooing motion with her hand. He then slunk away, towards future revenge fantasies that Arthur hoped to live long enough to see. Either she was clearing the space for her attack, or she was plotting something that required absolute secrecy. "I don't want to fight you, Morgana."
"Of course you don't, you ninny. You'd die."
She'd always been this cocky on the pitch, too. She'd thought she could twirl circles around him during practice. "Excalibur would surprise you."
"Your little sword of the stone?" She eyed the blade, but did look wary. He made a show of tossing it between his hands. Swift enough, her wariness became anger. "He's done a lot for you."
He takes a few steps to the side, she tracks him. He needed to distract her. "What high horse are you on now?"
"Don't you feel bothered by it? Guilty? Even a teeny bit of hypocrisy?"
"About what exactly?"
Her tongue ran over her teeth slowly, eyes narrowed thoughtfully; he knew this expression, she was checking his face for lies. She found none, of course. "You don't know!"
She laughed in a sudden hysteria, then boggled and whirled away. Wherever her brain had gone, he had no intention of following it. Instead, he backed off a few steps. Ruadan had said she was trapped here by some spell. He wondered where the perimeter was.
When Morgana fell dramatically against a tree, he had to stop moving. "I suppose I should be grateful he told me first," she grimaced. "Maybe he thought he owed it to me?"
She muttered a few more things, but he couldn't make them out. He backed off further. He was nearly at the edge of the clearing now.
But then her head snapped up, features sharpening as she guessed his intentions.
He distracted her, saying the first thing that came to mind. "We could have worked together."
She snapped her fingers, and a warm heat grew at his back. He heard the crackle and smelt the smoke, he didn't need to turn to know it was fire. "I'm not done talking to you, Arthur. That's pretty rude, to try to abandon me here without saying goodbye."
He tried another tactic. "Why is your life so unlivable without magic? Everyone else I know has lived without it and are happy enough."
Her eyebrow twitched, and Morgana very deliberately leaned over, gathered a clump of soot, and threw it at him. "Arthur Pendragon, you ignorant little blonde fluff," she began promisingly, "I'd rather separate every grain of salt from the ocean than try to separate my magic from who I am!"
"But look at what it's done to you!" She had no friends, no allies! There was no one she could trust, and no one to support her— had she forgotten what that once meant to her? She had no love in her life, no beauty. No comfort, no family, no— what did she even value anymore?
"It's you and your world which has made me this!" She spat, "My magic would have made me a high priestess on an island of sisters; it would have made me a healer and a seer for kings. Uther did this to me."
The boiling firelight pulsed in time with her angry breaths, casting eerie shadows. With no choice but to advance, he did.
He rolled his shoulders, the beginning of his warm-up routine. He knew she'd recognize the motions. "Attacking Camelot and taking the throne isn't going to give you that life back, Morgana."
"It absolutely could. With that gold I could rebuild the castle, and with new laws I could rejuvenate the Isle itself."
Closer, he approached. Challenged her. Twirled the sword across his body. "Is this really what you want? My throne so you can have an island?"
"It's not just an island," she huffed. "I've seen what it once meant, what it looked like before the fall. That's what I want back, Arthur; there was love, energy, and life. I want that."
She'd pursed her pale lips and fixed him with the narrowed glare she'd perfected at eight. That had been the glare that had gotten her clothes, rare bits of makeup, performing troupes, and all sorts of demanded favors from their father. Arthur knew it well. The first time she fixed it on him, he'd helped her dress as a boy and come to training practice. This many years later, it once again worked past his defenses. "I am the king. We could come to an agreement."
She studied him carefully, imperiously. This was a side of her he knew less, the cunning he'd been on the receiving end of only recently. She slid forward, gliding through the soot until she met his approach. "And I am the last High Priestess of the Old Religion. Let's negotiate, King Arthur."
Merlin stood at the window in the Solar and watched a spiral of gold tunneling before him. Iseldir and the other advanced magic-users in his clan were patching together the amorphous pieces of the teleportation spell before his eyes. It was beautiful, golden, and glittering, and there was a patch on his left that looked a bit wobbly.
Further on a series of circles replaced the usual polygonal pattern, and was that just a straight-up hole over there? Was someone just hoping that wouldn't kill him? All of this was nerve-wracking to say the least, but far be a complaint from him. He was about to be launched across Camelot without any work on his part, and he was going to get to Arthur before it was too late.
The warm honey of Iseldir's voice as he inspired the magics of those around him was a balm. For all the power Merlin had, in those smaller corners of his heart he didn't believe he had that leadership, nor ever would.
"Ready, Emrys?"
"As I'll ever be."
"Take a deep breath and hold it. It helps."
Uhhh, I've done this before, Merlin thought just as Iseldir plucked him like a bowstring and sent him zooming forward in a blur. Swoops, spirals, urgh, coming out of nowhere… yeah, now he saw where all the puking was coming from. He owed Gwaine a medal.
Light, and then an abrupt end as Iseldir spat him out on a fallen tree. The log hit him right in the gut, and he lay on the ground and enjoyed the feeling of getting the wind knocked out of him. It was lovely, truly.
Through his self-pitying groans he heard a scuffle, and when he looked up, low and behold, he beheld Ruadan himself. Looked like the man was trying to hide or get away or something.
"I see you!" This was the man who tried to kill me, and on top of that kidnapped Arthur and nearly killed Gwen. He wasn't getting a free pass. "If you run it will only be worse for you."
Of course his bluff didn't hit, and Ruadan started whisper-chanting as he ran. With not enough magic to follow if that was another teleportation spell, Merlin got to his feet and bolted forward. Air slapped at his face and there was something dusty that clogged his lungs. But his strides were longer, and he was younger. He caught up in time to tackle Ruadan about the waist.
In quick succession he pushed Ruadan onto his back and threw a fist at his nose. "I told you not to run!" He grabbed the man by his lapels and slammed him into the dirt. It was enough to open Ruadan's black cloak and reveal Arthur's scabbard belted to the man's waist. Merlin nearly growled. "What did you do with Arthur?"
Ruadan's grizzled face contorted with fury, and Merlin felt the sting of an elbow as it smacked against his ribs. Two hands on his sternum shoved him away, and he hurriedly rolled to his feet while blinking away the ache. Ruadan had scrambled into a crouch and hovered his hands in the air between them, already prepared to defend against the magical blast Merlin would have shoved at him in any other circumstance.
But there was no blast forthcoming; and it only took that deficit for Ruadan to realize that Merlin was running on fumes. Ruadan muttered a word and pushed, and around his hands crackled little bars of magic that snapped together, and in a blink expanded and expanded until it was a wall of magical force heading outwards. No time to dodge or defend, he'd be thrown into a tree or have to match the wall with another of his own, one that he could not create.
So he fell to his stomach and covered his head with his hands. In a blink the force hit like a gale, the pressure flattening the skin of his face and driving him backwards so twigs scraped along his belly.
But nearly a year ago he'd torn a permanent hole in the veil between his magic and Albion's, and through that gap he saw the sparking bars of Ruadan's magic surrounding him like faerie motes. A few drifted through the tear, sharp, electric, and blinding.
As Ruadan pushed they bounced through his soul, energetic, like they wanted out.
In time the roar settled, and he glanced up at Ruadan. "Don't—"
But another low wall formed before them, dense this time, and digging partway into the ground so that a small tidal wave of dirt moved with it.
The magic swarmed golden before him, filling his vision, and this time he had no choice. Rather than cower beneath his arms, he stretched them out, through the veil, into the void. This time it felt like a gale of flame, burning through his fingers and seizing him from the inside out. He felt the roiling, boiling mess of it and could not hide.
Then it was done, absorbed, and he was in the same place he'd started with his arms stretched out before him. A crackle of Ruadan's magic sparked along Merlin's thumb, but that was all that remained of the spell.
Merlin didn't know what all of that had looked like, but he'd use the wariness that froze Ruadan to his advantage. "You really think you can attack me and win? Knowing who I am? Knowing what I can do?"
Merlin unbent slowly, standing to his full height. Now he was a bigger target, but it was all part of the bluff. "I'm only going to ask nicely once more. What did you do with Arthur?"
Ruadan shook Arthur's belt and scabbard in the air. "Does this look like it's got a sword in it? Your king is fine."
He should have trusted Arthur more, of course he'd escaped on his own. It was just too bad he hadn't taken the scabbard with its trackable half-penny with him. "And which direction did he go?"
"I tell you, and you let me walk away."
"I have no respect for your word, so why would I give you mine?" After all the pain Ruadan caused he deserved a prison sentence, but Merlin didn't have the magic to drag him back to Camelot. And even more fortunately for Ruadan, Merlin had already decided not to kill him. "You're not going to die today, Ruadan, because you have a daughter you owe an apology to. And because it's Guinevere who should punish you. Now tell me where he is."
Ruadan relaxed slightly. He licked his lips, dry from nerves. "How did you find me?" Merlin tried to remain neutral, but Ruadan guessed anyway. "Something in this belt, isn't it? That explains why Arthur wanted it back." He threw it in the dirt between them. "Arthur is with the High Priestess in her clearing."
The druid bent his head and hurriedly finished the end of the teleportation chant. The air began to gust around them as the tunnel opened. "Go fetch, dog," he growled, then disappeared into it.
Merlin grit his teeth. If he ran across that gutless coward again, Sefa and Gwen wouldn't be getting their just desserts.
He picked the scabbard from the ground, dusting off the mixture of soil and soot. Then he looked to the Northwest, where the center of the forest and Morgana's prison lay. He'd wanted to believe she'd changed, just a little. Just enough to not want to kill them all anymore. But if Ruadan's attack had been her plot all along, then she'd run out of chances. This last plot would be the death of her.
Arthur began with a large circle between he and Morgana. They sat cross-legged on either side, and with a long stick, he drew a crude map of the countries of Albion with an X above Camelot's castle, and a "B" for the Isle of the Blessed— the High Priestess' old haunt.
Arthur began. "What do you offer in exchange for the Isle?"
"Your life and your throne isn't enough?" She arched a brow and smirked— never a good thing.
"Let's say I agree to that. You could never try for the throne ever again. You could never hurt my people ever again." He swiped an arm through the air, miming a cut. "No deals with foreign leaders to overthrow Camelot. None of it."
She spent long moments swaying back and forth as if she were thinking over the what-ifs. "The peasants one is going to be hard. What if they trespass on my land? And what if the kings come to me first. Where's my tribunal if I overhear about a plot and just don't feel like telling you about it?"
"You really wouldn't tell me?"
"Are we allies now?" She said the word as if it were dirty.
Hardly. "Are you going to torture peasants that cross your border?"
"I might, isn't it within my rights as ruler?"
Crazy witch, why was he even bothering negotiating with her? He was only delaying the inevitable battle between them, and if she had walls to defend, that was all the worse for him. She was close, within reach of Excalibur. If he could push away his memory of her, he could end this right now.
The assent came out of her mouth in a heated rush, "No torture." Her eyes never left his face. "I don't care about your peasants. I'd turn them away if I didn't want them."
He'd need a way to make sure she didn't go back on her word. A spy, perhaps? Emrys might be willing to pass along information. "I'm going to hold you to that. And as long as you don't actively work against me or Camelot…" What had he missed? Was there a loophole for her to exploit? "... then I think we have an agreement."
"Deal?" She asked, expression dancing. "Deal! I want a formal deed in Geoffrey's hand, and a signature from yours."
And there would be plenty of detail explaining what, on her part, would break the deed. "Let's shake."
He held out a hand, a gesture he's only offered to a select few. Her handshake was a quick grip and a giggle before she flopped onto her back, beaming.
It was too easy to please her. He didn't like it.
Morgana's voice lofted above them in wispy tuffets. "My land, my rules, right?"
He glared. Where was she going with this?
She sat up sharply, pointing a pale finger at him. "If it's my land, I'm going to free magic, completely. There will be so many spells zinging around that Uther will roll in his grave."
He half rolled his eyes. He wasn't that oblivious. Was he happy about it? No. Was it a means to an end? Yes. He couldn't ignore the riot that had nearly overtaken his throne room, proving his kingdom was boiling beneath the surface— unless he did something, that would all come to a froth soon enough.
"Obviously, Morgana," he rested his arms on his knees and leaned forward. "I'm not an idiot."
"Could be argued," she chirped.
He narrowed his eyes, commanding. "You can't do the sort of spells that hurt people. No more undead armies."
"It's called dark magic, Arthur dearest."
He barreled on. "And it doesn't leave your Isle. Magic is still illegal in Camelot."
"So, for example, I can't charm a sword to be everlastingly sharp?"
He glared. She rolled her eyes.
"Fine. I'll be good, and in exchange magic…" she stuttered on the words. Then she laughed openly, the glee lightening everything about her. "I can't believe it! Magic free on the Isle and Arthur Pendragon letting me do it. Have fun explaining that one to your allies."
Yeah, sounded like a blast. And before his allies he'd have to explain it to the Council.
She must have seen the look on his face, "Don't ask me to cross-stitch them anything."
All he could imagine were napkins depicting her many treacheries. He shook his head, no, he certainly wouldn't be asking her to cross-stitch them anything. In fact, any communication with her would be sour. "Our agreement doesn't nullify what you've done, Morgana. Albion won't welcome you, because you don't deserve to be welcomed."
"I'm not looking for Albion's help."
"Your pride isn't as important as your people!" he shouted, slamming a hand into the middle of their map. If she was going to essentially rule that Isle, she'd need to change. "You need to face your mistakes. You owe a penance to the people in this land."
"A penance, hm?" Her lip curled. "And I suppose this," she gestured at the sooty map, "is your penance?"
The Trial had been meant to determine what he owed. Maybe this meeting with Morgana was fate working in mysterious ways. He shrugged, exasperated.
"And what would you have me do," she always enunciated her sarcasm when she was irritated, "to earn everyone's forgiveness?"
"I don't know," he grit, and he really didn't. "You'll have to be humble enough to ask them."
She looked off into the forest, glaring at the twilight. "There are some people who should earn my forgiveness. Gaius, the liar, for one. And Merlin..."
It was up to her if she wanted to be bitter all her life; he couldn't fix that. And he wasn't going to make a single excuse for her—
—Then Morgana's eyes focused and her expression hardened. There was a faint crashing in the trees.
"Well, would you look at that," she said roughly. "Speak his name and he shall appear."
Evening's cool breath whispered warnings along the sweat of Merlin's spine.
You're running out of time, it said. Arthur may already be dying.
He had to move faster, had to take running leaps over burned out husks and trace the now destroyed path from memory. Soot poofed with every footfall and clung to the leather of his boots. It smeared along his clothes and into his rat's nest of hair from his fight with Ruadan. By the time he skidded into Morgana's clearing, he was a flushed, panting, gangly riot of chaos.
Arthur was cross-legged on the ground, holding a long stick. Excalibur lay across his knees, and his confused gaze snapped from Merlin's face to the scabbard Merlin held clutched in his hands. Thank the Fates, Arthur was well.
But then Morgana burst into Merlin's line of sight, stomping towards him like a woman scorned. She pulled back, he dropped the scabbard, and she swung an arm forward, nails bared. "You monstrous, egotistical, untrustworthy, verminous little peasant." She swiped again. "Manipulative, hypocritical liar!"
It was always about her, wasn't it? She was always the victim. "It's like looking into a mirror."
She shrieked and leapt. Surprising she wasn't blasting fireballs, but he counted himself lucky. The little bit of magic he'd stolen couldn't block that.
He caught one of her wrists just as her fingers hooked into the hollow of his ear. She yanked painfully as she thrashed, but he held tight, twisting her arm to the side. "Did you plan all of this with Ruadan?"
"Oh, is it truth time?" She mocked, twisting her head one way as her claws went another. Just barely he caught her elbow before she gouged out his eyes. How was she this slippery? Could barely keep her… bloody twisting all over the place—
She tried spitting. "How dare you accuse me? Condemn me? My own poisoner!"
His biceps burned as she surged forward, and he barely avoided being kneed in the balls. "Get over yourself," he growled. She struck with her left leg, he knocked it aside, and then she nailed him in the thigh— hurt like— there! Got her foot underneath his. Hah. "You know the mistakes you made. Now answer me."
She leaned forward as far as he'd let her, her lips curling to show her canines. He wouldn't put it past her to go for his jugular. "Betrayer," she hissed. "Betrayed me then, betrayed me now."
"At the time I did blame myself," he said, "but that ends here. This time, if you did this, you will not get another chance."
"This time? What makes burning down a forest my worst sin of all? What makes you my judge? All I did this time— " Her body went rigid and she slammed fists downward. Her elbow he pushed higher into the air, but the other fist came down on his shoulder hard enough to bruise. She breathed harshly through her gritted teeth, vibrating with anger, but this close, and this spent, her wild eyes could not hide her honest pain.
"What did you do this time?"
Her iris glimmered with gold, and the string of her thoughts pushed into his. On that whisper of magic she said, "I did what I told myself I'd never do again… I trusted you."
Her eyes closed, and she muttered, "Now let me go."
Arthur was on his feet after Morgana's first strike. His hand spanned Excalibur's hilt, and the familiar balance leant him confidence.
He needed it, especially in the face of… these two. Whatever these two were doing. Whatever their absolutely inconsistent, inexplicable, absolutely insane argument was….
Actually it did make sense. It made sense if he threw away the rest of the trust he had in Merlin. Merlin, who he'd already suspected of helping Emrys, had apparently gone so far building a rapport with Camelot's greatest enemy. They had communicated, and Merlin hadn't told him.
Worst of all— worse in a way that made his stomach flip in discomfort— Morgana wasn't trying to kill him. She'd proved a sickening affinity for violence, and she brought none of it to bear. In fact, if he'd been further away, he may have mistaken their singular rage for something far less hostile.
Merlin released his grip, and Morgana swirled around, stomping away from them both. Was she—? It couldn't be, he'd barely seen it. But he'd grown up with her; he knew the way she'd scrunch her nose and hide her tears. Unless this was all a grand act, a plot she'd made while training some Merlin lookalike….
But no, of course not. No one could imitate the grim line of Merlin's mouth, nor that inexplicable wisdom in his eyes. This was the man he'd grown to call a friend, and he needed to stop making far-reaching excuses for him.
Arthur nudged Excalibur towards Merlin. "How long have you been talking to Morgana?"
Merlin's expression shuttered, and in his usual fashion, Merlin kept the answer to himself.
From the side came Morgana's snark, "Will you tell him, or shall I?"
"I'll tell him," Merlin snapped at her, then looked him squarely in the eye. "This is only a small piece of the entire story. I want to tell you the whole thing, but not here, not now."
Of course. Just like last night, when he'd caught him working with Emrys to save that creature from the dungeon and got a I'll tell you later, Arthur. And hadn't it been Merlin who'd recommended 'Dragoon' to heal his father? They'd had an alliance behind his back for years and years, "You keep saying you're going to tell me, you're going to tell me, but you never do!"
"A few months," Morgana drawled. "Mid-winter. Happy?"
How? Merlin had been in Camelot every day, with him. Even if he'd been stealing horses at night, that timeline was impossible. "Did Emrys bring you here? What were you thinking? Why didn't you just tell me, you know how dangerous she is!"
Morgana tipped her head back and howled with laughter. Merlin grimaced. "I had things under control."
"You call this under control?"
"Oh just tell him, Merlin. I want to see the look on his face."
Merlin's face was turning red, and he drug his shaking hands through his hair. "Not right now. We should be in Camelot. You can call the Round Table and we can talk everything out."
Arthur balked, and he could feel his own face growing hot with anger. "What is it, your bloody life story?"
Merlin began kneading at his scalp, the irritation growing.
"It doesn't require many words," Morgana smirked. "None, technically."
"Oh really?" He roared, then sliced his sword through the air. "Then someone say it!"
"Fine!" Merlin spread his arms wide. "I'm Emrys!"
No.
An old woman flashes away from the catwalk and appears on the ground of the throne room. He watches her skin slough away, tighten and lengthen until she is a man, Emrys.
Old bodies, blue eyes. Changing faces.
Merlin bursts through the doors, Uther halfway through a sentence. He screams that he's the sorcerer, he's the one that planted the poultice, not Gwen.
But Merlin often said crazy things to protect them.
A bolt of lightning cracks across the cloudless sky, and Arthur watches the glow light an old man before the crowd. In the midst of a riot, the man is a force of nature.
Merlin tells him there's a hermit in the forest, someone who could save his father. When the hermit fails, he looks up with despair. In that moment Emrys is not sorry to have killed Uther, he's sorry to have disappointed Arthur.
His chest constricted, and his breath came in short, hollow bursts.
No.
"You are not a sorcerer. I would know. Merlin, I would know."
Merlin just shook his head, and in his palm sparked licks of flame. They danced and flickered, became a bat's wing, no— a dragon's. A small dragon flying slowly, smoothly, and the last five years of my life have been a lie.
The dappled shade of the old forest ripples over Aithusa's white skin, easily burned, and the breeze that comes with the orange light curls warm under the membrane of her wings. It buoys her as she glides.
She is part of the push and pull of the land, but a predator all the same. Birds quiet and rodents shoot for cover, though they need not fear. She is on a different hunt.
There is a skein of magic passing through her, one of a hundred fateful branches that she could follow. But this is the one she wants, even if it's spindly and fragile. The other, where her father banishes her to the East, and her mother dies at Kilgharrah's sword, is still wrapped around her once broken legs, dragging her down.
Once broken, though. Her dragonlord bound her to Kilgharrah until she was healed, and today she is healed. She is free, finally. Free to chase the fate she's been yearning for since her birth.
Maybe evil still wins if she lands now, if she succumbs to the status quo. Last year it would have been easy to put her head down, and allow Morgana to die. It would have saved them both a lot of pain. But Emrys didn't hatch her to wait and watch, or to hope and guide. He gave her life to bring the dawn, and she raced for it now.
And so it is, that moments after Merlin lights an ephemeral dragon in his palm, a brilliant white dragon coasts above their heads.
As it circles, Arthur's head spins. Dragon's weren't extinct, this was a baby, were there whole nests he didn't know of? Had Merlin called it here with that spell? What else is he hiding from me?
The dragon lands in their midst, and Morgana takes a lurching step towards it, then stills, careful. Her usual snark falls flat. "When I have my Isle, can Merlin come over to play?"
Merlin frowns at the dragon, puzzled. He says nothing. Arthur starts to think the dragon is a coincidence. Morgana obviously wants her hands on it, what for?
In the meantime Morgana creeps closer. "Don't hurt yourself thinking, Arthur. Even I didn't figure Merlin out until last night."
Arthur nearly answers, but Merlin snaps first, "And sometime between then and this afternoon you told Ruadan. I doubt he suddenly decided to kill the king's manservant on a whim."
"I'm not privy to Ruadan's whims, Merlin."
"And?"
"And I certainly didn't tell him to kill you. I should have." She smirked, "He did scry me, and I may have mentioned you moonlight as Emrys, but how was I supposed to know what he was going to do with that information?"
Arthur's eyes bounced between the two of them. Small mercies, at least they weren't allies in any way. He didn't think he could have stomached it if they were.
"You cursed the cloak he attacked us with. I think you knew exactly what he was going to do."
"Maybe I did curse a cloak, but it was months ago." She shrugged. "I told him to use it on my enemies. I suppose he intuited that was you." A grin, "He always was a sharp one, that Ruadan."
Morgana was behind the kidnapping? She'd been working with Ruadan? Arthur glowered, Of course. How could I have expected any less of her. She'd tricked him so succinctly, acted like she'd changed her ways and played him for a fool. They both had. "Quiet!" Excalibur vibrated in his hands, suddenly its point at her throat. "You just swore you were going to stop these attacks. I can't believe I trusted you."
"That was after—" She strangled, "I didn't plan this. I didn't ask for you to come here." She was panicking. "I didn't ask Ruadan to do anything. I only answered his question about him!"
Her words came out quickly, nearly desperate. "Do you remember when the sleeping spell hit Camelot? Remember? I barely knew who I was and Merlin was already ready to poison me. He laced water with hemlock and tricked me into drinking it!"
"Oh come off of it, Morgana!" Merlin yelled. "You were the host of the spell, and you lied about it! You were already against us!"
"I was not! I was not." She snarled.
"Sure," Merlin sarcastically drawled. "And when you returned with Morgause a year later, you weren't out to kill everyone in Camelot."
They'd lost track of him again, arguing over the dragon's head, and ignorant as he dropped his stance. The dragon also stayed silent, and inexplicably, Arthur felt its kinship. It also could not fathom them. There was a world of history between the two he'd never suspected. How long had they shared this secret struggle? Since the sleeping spell, that first year Merlin had arrived? Long before that they'd worked together to free the Druid boy, Mordred. Since then, even?
"I returned for Uther's throne." Morgana said, "I was there to free magic."
"You were out on some personal revenge mission." Merlin refuted with obvious distaste. "You were putting soul-sapping bracelets on Arthur and trying to stab Uther in the middle of the night."
"Tried and failed because..." she paused. "You... were there. You're why I fell down the stairs and nearly died."
"Poor victimized Morgana, unable to go on a murdering spree because I flared a sconce."
"Bastard."
"Selfish brat."
She stalked forward, claws at the ready, and Merlin mirrored her. They circled the dragon as they barked at each other, and Arthur felt the hole where Merlin's friendship had once gone grow wider and deeper. He'd never known him at all.
"Oh I should be thankful for all you've done for me then?" She threw her hands up with a snarl. "Well thank you for knocking me down the stairs and then nursing me back to health. It was my sickbed where I heard Uther had sired me."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "And thank you for subsequently trying to burn me alive."
"No, actually," she jabbed again, "thank you so very much for sending me to the Druids through a pit of serkets."
Merlin tilted his head, as if to say Really? "Should I thank you for leaving me to die the exact same way?"
"You took my magic and left me to die! You're the reason why the Sarrum could capture me in the first place!"
"You tortured Gaius and all of my friends."
"And you condemned my sister to a slow painful death!"
"You're welcome."
Arthur feels the breath leave his body, he can't shout a warning fast enough.
Morgana darkens in the purple twilight, and her thin control snaps, expression shattering, the monster in her bursting out. Merlin ducks, rolls, twists. Sprints forward with eyes lighting an unnatural gold.
Arthur dives, Excalibur thrust forward, no plan but he's moving, and the dragon's eyes alight on him. They are large and knowing, placid in the chaos. It's like it's trying to tell him something.
Then the dragon opens wide its wings and looses a white light, blinding, encompassing, and pure.
It seeps through his skin to warm his bones. It goes through him, underneath him, buoys him. The concept of time flies away, and he's floating in a river of white light smooth enough to sleep in.
He doesn't, though. "Arthur! Are you alright?" Merlin shakes him awake, and with wakefulness returns the whole sordid story.
No, no he wasn't alright.
He twisted away from Merlin. "Leave me alone."
Unsurprised, but wounded. "Arthur?"
He looked around. Morgana and the dragon were gone. No bodies, no blood. Had the dragon known her? Maybe. Probably. But it hardly mattered since he knew where to find them. Morgana would go to the Isle.
He dug Excalibur out of the dirt next to him, and stalked over to where Merlin had dropped his belt and scabbard. Explicitly he did not look to Merlin, who stood stock still in his periphery. Maybe he'd take the hint for once and leave. Merlin could go traipse the Isle with Morgana for all he cared.
Arthur turned West and did not look back. For hours he pounded towards Camelot, face hot, his hands shaking. Gwen once said his greatest strength was his heart, and that it was also his greatest weakness. She was right; he could not bear betrayal.
He walked through evening, and then into the dark. He did not know if Merlin followed, but he would not check. He wouldn't be the first to break.
So it was sudden, Merlin's long fingers tugging sharply at his arm, and there was no moment to be furious or refuse. Only a lurch and he was falling forward into the empty void, unable to breathe, powerless.
Then they were in the Solar, stumbling. Merlin's hands were on his shoulders, trying to steady him.
No! He tore away, stumbling back.
Through willpower he locked his knees and found the ability to stand square. Before him, Merlin waited, framed in soot. He wore plain clothes and a plain expression, yet the wealth of the room behind him paled in comparison. He was straight-backed, confident, and powerful.
Finally, Arthur had the truth.
"I don't even know you. Liar I could forgive, but sorcerer? Emrys?" His voice broke. Tightening his grip on Excalibur he steeled himself. He'd start swinging before Merlin ever saw his tears. "Just… for once do what I tell you to do."
"Arthur," Merlin said quietly.
He jabbed at the door.
"Get out of my sight."
High sung by Young Rising Sons
Footnotes:
(1) In the legends, Morgana sends Arthur & Gwen a "rich mantle cloak" as an offering of peace. When Morgana's messenger is forced to put the cloak on, it burns her to cinders.
(2) Sefa is Ruadan's daughter and Ruadan was a leader of a Druid tribe from out East (P2.7: The Audacity of Hope). They spent some time with Morgana before leaving to join Iseldir (P2.8-2.11). The death of Ruadan's wife / Sefa's mother (P2.17 House of Cards).
(3) Gilli from canon (S3.11 "The Sorcerer's Shadow"). Merlin helps him save a girlfriend from the Sarrum's castle (P1.24 Two Can Keep a Secret), then saves him from the Sarrum's cage once he finds out Gilli has somehow transformed and stuck himself in a merman / merrow / ceasg body.
(4) Sard = an old version of "fuck". "Six sards" is my version of "seven hells".
(5) In the chapter Mort Artu (Death of Arthur), Morgan vanishes for a long time and stops troubling Arthur, who assumes her to be dead. One day, he wanders into Morgan's remote castle while on a hunting trip, and they instantly reconcile with each other. Morgan welcomes him warmly and the king is overjoyed of their reunion and allows her to return to Camelot, but she refuses and declares her plan to move to the Isle of Avalon to live there with other sorceresses.
(6) Merlin bounds Aithusa to Kilgharrah, "Until you are healed?" (P2.2). She is fully healed now, and was able to use her freedom to "escape" with Morgana.
(7) Some of Arthur's dialog is taken from S5.13: "The Diamond of the Day (Part 2)."
Author's Requiem:
One day soon Merlin will be throwing open curtains and Arthur will be throwing goblets, just the way we all like it. But first I want to dive into each of the many emotions and realizations we see between Arthur and Merlin on the canon trip to the lake of Avalon. I'm so excited!
I intentionally left out Merlin's Diamond of the Day dialog, "It was all for you." It isn't all just for Arthur anymore. And this should really be about, will Arthur accept him for who he is or not.
End of Part 2, wow! Finally! Thank you everyone for sticking with me, and for still watching Merlin and loving it, and for being such a supportive, wonderful community! Screw those fogies who told us not to trust people on the internet, I love you all very much, and I feel the love from here! Thank you so much for reading!
Big thanks to Jewelsmg and dmarie1184 for being great friends and beta-reading this chapter, and to Linorien for going above and beyond as an alpha & beta reader. Linorien has been there when I needed a brainstorm, to do character studies with me, to read and offer tips when this chapter was half done… and of course, being a constant inspiration in helping me get this one done! Thank you all so much!
Req's Recs:
Writing Excuses podcast. Dmarie1184 recommended this podcast awhile back, and I'm still listening weekly. Brandon Sanderson and other great writers give out amazing tips, the most recent that has stuck with me being: build characters by asking, what sort of questions would they ask their fellow cast members?
Dmarie1184 recommends The Chronicles of Amber. A wealth of books to dive into, crazy world building, and even a whole cycle following a character named Merlin— a half demon computer scientist. "The Chronicles of Amber is Zelazny's finest fantasy, a grand imaginative vision of alternate worlds, magic, swordplay, and murderous rivalries."
Linorien's "TV Magic", because it's wonderfully droll, and Linorien continues to surprise me with original ideas. If you want a fresh look at Merlin in modern day, take a look at this fic. Yes, there is amazing magic, yes there are pranks, and yes there is a very cool reveal. "Because how could Merlin resist working on a show called 'Merlin'? In which Merlin decided to become the head of practical effects and may or may not be totally cheating by using his magic."
Jewelsmg recommends the YouTube hit Olan Rogers. I recommend starting with the Ghost in the Stalls story. 5:43 of laughing till you cry. It's the shortest amount of time I've ever needed to fall in love. He's a wonderfully positive, funny, friendly, inspiring man with absolutely hysterical story-telling abilities! And he's got a new show out on TBS called Final Space!
