Magic Mirror
by Soledad
Fandom: Merlin BBC/Camelot x-over
Genre: Action-adventure, mystery, romance… take your pick.
Rating: teens, for now
Timeframe: after/during Ep 4.01-4.02 ("The Darkest Hour") for "Merlin BBC"; between episodes 9 & 10 for "Camelot".
Disclaimer: "Merlin" belongs to the BBC and "Camelot" belongs to Starz. I don't own anything but the weird plot idea and make no money out of this. Just playing with the best parts of both shows.
Summary: Something goes awry when trying to repair the veil between worlds, and Merlin, Arthur and Lancelot find themselves in "Camelot's" world. In exchange. "Camelot's" Merlin, Arthur and Leontes end up in Uther's kingdom. Will they survive long enough to find a way back?
Chapter 01 –The Isle of the Blessed
Author's note: This chapter follows the end of the 4th season opener for a while. Then it gets completely AU.
The spell Merlin uses to defeat the attackers is the one from the 4th Season episode "A Servant of Two Masters.
After the Great Dragon saves them from the Dorocha, Merlin and Lancelot catch up with Arthur and the rest of the knights. Naturally, there is much rejoicing; so much that no-one actually asks Merlin how exactly has he recovered so quickly and miraculously. Which, in Lancelot's opinion, is a good thing; admitting that magic was involved wouldn't go down well with Arthur.
They spend the night in the ruined building. The knights are exhausted, more mentally than physically in fact, and sleep like a log. Only Merlin and Arthur are awake, lounging by the fire.
"It's going to be fine," Merlin promises. "Everything is going to be all right."
It would be a ridiculous promise coming from anyone else, but has Merlin not miraculously recovered from the attack of he Dorocha? Arthur feels a secret behind that fact but chooses not to ask about the whys and wherefores.
"I'm just tired," he says instead.
Merlin doesn't look at him, staring at the flames thoughtfully. His angular face is strangely otherworldy, almost beautiful in the firelight.
"You don't have to sacrifice yourself," he says.
But the truth is that he does, and Arthur knows it.
"To save my people," he murmurs. He feels no bitterness about it.
Merlin is still staring away from him, into the fire, and his thin face seems to glow from within, casting shadows under his sharp cheekbones.
"I will take your place," he offers.
Arthur shakes his head. This is exactly what he's expected from the loyal idiot.
"Merlin..." he begins, exasperated, and at that Merlin finally does look at him after all.
"What is the life of a servant compared to that of a prince?" he asks matter-of-factly.
Arthur pretends to think about it. "Well, a good servant is hard to come by," he muses.
Merlin gives him a disbelieving look. "I'm not that good," he says flatly, and Arthur just cannot resist.
"True," he says with a small grin.
Merlin realizes that he's practically walked into that one and grins briefly, too. But only for a moment. The situation is too die for such levity.
"One thing," Arthur says after a lengthy pause. "Look after Guinevere. I want her to be happy in her life. She deserves that."
"Don't worry," Merlin is looking away from him again. "I'll make sure."
Because he won't allow Arthur to die, that much is certain. That would mean that Morgana would win, and Merlin is not about to allow that.
Neither of them notices Lancelot watching them from afar.
In the morning they finally come within eyesight with the Isle of the Blessed. It sits in the middle of Lake Meredor, barely visible on the horizon, shrouded in mist, a red dawn breaking behind it. They can see some tall towers or spires rising from it, black against the redness of the sky. It seems incredibly far away, well beyond their reach.
"The Isle of the Blessed," Arthur comments, rather unnecessarily.
"But how do we get there?" Elyan asks doubtfully.
Arthur shrugs. "Gaius said something about a ferryman..."
"The Ferryman," Merlin corrects and points at the small boat approaching them, with a lantern hanging from its high, arched prow and a hooded and cloaked old man sitting crouched right behind it. "You better have a gold coin ready."
"What for?" Arthur wonders, but Merlin doesn't need to answer, because at the same moment the boat reaches the shore and a gnarled old hand reaches out from under the battered dark cloak, waiting for the fare with an upturned palm.
"You know where we are going," Merlin says quietly to the Ferryman, while Arthur is fumbling with his purse to find a gold coin and place it in that waiting palm.
The gnarled old hand closes around the coin and the boat turns on its own, lining up with the shore, so that the knights can get in. There is clearly magic in work, the old man is perchance a sorcerer if he can make his boat move without the use of a paddle, but Arthur cannot be picky about that right now. This is the only way to reach the Isle of the Blessed, so he is going to use it and that's it.
"What are you waiting for?" he barks. "Get in!"
The boat, guided by the sheer willpower of the silent Ferryman, glides noiselessly upon the still dark waters. Their journey is not half as long as they thought. They reach the Isle of the Blessed before it would become full morning, although the darkness still surrounding the Isle itself clearly comes from somewhere else.
Perhaps it comes from the tear, Arthur thinks.
High above them there is screeching and cawing – ravens or probably crows, but they can't actually see any of the birds. They are travelling on the canals of the Isle already; left and right the ruins of some ancient buildings, probably temples, cast shadows upon the water. The canals are filled with mist.
The boat now passes through a dark tunnel under one of the buildings and it finally moors in a small bay adjoining a pentagonal, stone-pawed courtyard with a well in the centre, surrounded by crumbling stone walls. Some of said walls have fallen so much that they can easily climb over them, relieved to have solid earth – well, stone, actually – under their feet again.
The screeching gets louder above their heads, and Sir Leon spots a dark, winged creature high in the blood-red skies. It most definitely doesn't look like a raven or a crow.
"What is that?" he asks.
Gwaine draws his sword, his face grim. "I really hope I'm wrong," he mutters, as the others follow suit. But he isn't, and he knows it.
"Wyvern!" Arthur cries out warningly as the winged beast flies down at them, rapidly like a falling rock. More of its kind follow, attacking the knights viciously. Percival gets slashed and falls to the ground.
"You are right," he yells in Gwaine's direction.
Merlin crouches down to hide his face as he whispers in the ancient tongue of dragons, a tongue older than the spells of the Old Religion – the only tongue dragons and their kin obey.
"S'enthend' apokhorein nun epello-o-o!" he murmurs under his breath. He rises, his eyes glow briefly with the inner fire of his magic, and the wyverns turn away.
Gwaine looks after them with a confident grin. "See? That's how you deal with them," he declares proudly.
He has no idea about Merlin's interference, which is fine as far as Merlin is concerned. He doesn't want them to know – not yet.
"We need to keep going," Arthur warns them.
They continue their way to the centre of the Isle through other ruined buildings. Unfortunately, more wyverns fly overhead, and Merlin is unable to act. He is too visible right now.
"Sire, you must go on!" Sir Leon cries out. "We'll fend them off."
He gestures to Percival and Elyan to remain outside with them, to handle the wyverns.
"Good luck!" Gwaine calls back and hurries after Arthur, Merlin and Lancelot.
The four of them reach, at least the central square of the Isle. It is full day by now, but the square is shrouded in twilight, the tear clearly visible behind the altar stone. It is pulsing like a living thing, throwing up new waves of darkness by each pulse.
The cloaked figure of a woman shows up in front of the tear, as if taking shape from the darkness itself, holding a black staff with three claw-like appliances on top of it. Her deeply lined face is deathly pale in the shadow of her wide hood, framed by long grey hair.
Merlin recognizes her at once: it is the Cailleach, the gatekeeper of the spirit world.
"It is not often we have visitors," she says in a calm, somewhat hollow voice.
It sounds almost shockingly normal, as if they were sitting in the kitchens of Camelot, having tea. But Arthur is not in the mood for idle conversation.
"Put an end to this," he orders curtly. "I demand you heal the tear between the two worlds."
The Cailleach is clearly not impressed.
"It was not I who created this horror," she returns. "Why should it be I that stops it?"
"Because innocent people are dying!" Merlin blurts out. The callousness with which some magic users – or magical creatures – dismiss the suffering of the innocent still grates him every time.
Cailleach laughs maniacally. "Indeed?"
This is too much for Gwaine – the only one who does not know what the others are planning to do. With a mighty yell, he draws his sword and launches an attack at the Cailleach.
She hurls him back with a negligent gesture of her staff, knocking him out cold.
"Is this the best you can do?" she taunts them.
Lancelot makes a furtive attempt to move but Arthur stops him with a raised hand.
"I know what you want," he then says to the Cailleach.
She raises an eyebrow. "Do you? And are you willing to let me have it?"
"I'm prepared to pay whatever price is necessary," Arthur replies, ignoring Merlin's death glare.
A pleased smile on her face, the Cailleach beckons him with the index finger of her left hand. Without a moment of hesitation, Arthur starts walking toward her determinedly. Merlin follows, muttering under his breath, "Forb fleoghe".
His eyes glow briefly and the spell stops Arthur and throws him backwards, knocking him unconscious.
The Cailleach looks at Merlin and they both approach the altar stone, circling it slowly, keeping equal distance.
"So, Emrys, you choose to challenge me after all," she says. "Will you give yourself to the spirits to save your Prince?"
"It is my destiny," Merlin answers, his voice steady.
"Perhaps," the Cailleach answers in an almost grandmotherly manner. "But your time among men is not yet over, Emrys, even if you want it to be."
Merlin stares at her, confused. The Cailleach looks at her left, where Lancelot has crept up to the tear in the veil, and Merlin follows her gaze. Lancelot is standing at the brink. There is some horrible screaming on the other side of the tear, but the young knight doesn't seem afraid. He looks back at Merlin with a barely visible smile.
"I made a vow, Merlin, remember?" he says.
Then he nods as if saying farewell and walks right into the tear with outstretched arms.
"No!" Merlin cries out in despair. "No! No! No! You mustn't!"
Without thinking, he runs after Lancelot to stop him, but it is too late. They both disappear in the tear, in the very moment when Arthur regains consciousness… just in time to see what they are doing.
"Merlin, you idiot!" He clambers to his feet with an angry shout, launching after his manservant before his mind would have caught up what is really happening.
The tear flickers and shrinks, then it is gone.
When Sir Leon, Elyan and Percival come in running, the courtyard with the altar stone is empty. Only Gwaine is still lying near one of the surrounding walls, unconscious. Of Arthur, Merlin or Lancelot there is no trace.
A moment later the tear reappears, flickering briefly, and spits out two people. Then it closes again, this time for good.
Sir Leon looks down at the two confused men and his mien darkens considerably because they are people he has never seen before.
Something must have gone horribly wrong, and he is determined to find out what it was.
They stumble through darkness as thick and sticky as endless layers of cobwebs and are understandably shocked when – instead of the dark, mournful fields of the Otherworld – they come out into bright daylight... in the middle of a battle.
Typically, on the losing side.
Calling it an actual battle might be an exaggeration, though. It's more like a tough dogfight between two fairly small groups of men – one besieging a fortified manor, protected by a simple wooden palisade, the other one defending it – but no less desperate for the limited size of their numbers. There are archers on both sides, fairly good ones, and the ones engaged in hand-to-hand combat use everything as a weapon they can lay their hands on: from swords and axes through their shields down to wooden ewers.
The people on either side are wearing clothes that seem a little odd, compared with the usual Camelot fashion, and some of the defenders are clearly not regular troops but simple farmers, protecting their home. Those who seem to be warriors have mail shirts or leather armour, and they are obviously not willing to take any prisoners.
On Merlin's left, a fair-haired young man with an honest, bearded face has already gone down, wounded by an arrow dangerously close to the heart. But it is not his own life he's concerned about.
"Arthur!" he cries out in a strangled voice. "Look out!"
And indeed, he's staring in the direction where the confused young Crown Prince of Camelot is attacked by several men, with only Lancelot to protect him.
In that moment something snaps in Merlin. He doesn't think, doesn't consider what he could – or should – do... just reacts. Extending his hand, he feels the magic bubble in him like a hot spring, and his voice is hoarse as he casts his spell.
Ic her aciege anne windræs! Færblæd wawe! Windræs ungetermed – ge hiere! Ic ðe bebiede mid ealle strangnesse ðæt ðu geblæwest ond sierest strange! *
Immediately, a great force like a whirlwind sweeps over them, hurling the attackers against the rockside with broken bones and, in some cases, broken heads. Merlin shakes himself like a wet dog and, in for a brass, in for a sovereign, kneels down next to the wounded young man.
"Say still!" he says. "Removing an arrow is much more delicate work than smashing a few heads."
Fortunately, the arrow has gone clean through, so Merlin can break off the arrowhead and pull out the shaft. Then he begins to weave a series of healing spells that will stop the bleeding and prevent infection. The wound will need a proper dressing later, but he's doing what he can for now.
All the time, he can feel Arthur stare at him in open-mouthed shock. But he has no time to deal with Arthur right now. Explanations can wait. The wounded young man cannot.
When he is finally done he's so tired as if he'd fought through the skirmish these people – whoever they are – were fighting here… wherever here is. The attackers have retreated in the meantime, leaving their dead and injured behind, and the defenders have begun to deal with the aftermath of the battle.
A lean, sandy-haired man of about forty, clad in the rough garb of a minor noble who lives in an outlying village to tend to his own lands, comes over and proffers Merlin his hand.
"Whoever you may be, sir, you saved us all, and for that you have our gratitude. "My name is Lucan; this is my manor, and I watch Bardon Pass for the King."
"Yeah, but where is the King?" a big, burly warrior clad in leather armour from head to toe, asks in suspicion. "Where is Arthur?"
"And where is Leontes?" this from a blonde beauty, glaringly out of place in these rural surroundings. "What have you done with him?"
Merlin blinks in confusion. Several times. None of what they are saying makes any sense.
"What do you mean?" he asks back. "Arthur is right here – but he is not King yet. Not by title anyway, as long as his father still lives. And I don't know anyone named Leontes. Or do you mean Lancelot here?" he gestures at the knight who is watching his surroundings with equal confusion.
The big warrior shakes his head. "I don't know who this man is, but he's sure as hell not Arthur. I wish he were; we'd be better off with him than with our so-called King."
Arthur finally recovers enough from his shock to get angry. "You dare to question my identity? All right, then; I challenge you to trial by combat. We'll see which one of us is lying."
The warrior remains unimpressed. "I accept. Make your peace with God – you'll meet Him shortly."
"Aren't the two of you forgetting something?" Merlin interrupts. "We are sitting in a besieged house. It would be reasonable to deal with the attackers first and return to your personal squabble when we're all safe again."
Lucan, the lord of the manor, sighs. "We cannot leave here. Bardon Pass is the main trade route into Camelot. If we lose control over it, word will spread of our weakness and our entire land could come under threat."
"So Arthur said," the warrior allows. "But we don't even know who is threatening us."
"In that case, perhaps you should try to capture one of the enemy leaders and question them," Lancelot suggests.
The warrior and Lord Lucan exchange thoughtful looks.
"He's right," the warrior says. "The big, fat man leading the attack is still alive. We should capture him and drag him in. With a little torture we might learn who is behind this."
Lancelot grins. "Torture won't be necessary. I'm sure Merlin can… er… persuade him to tell you everything you want to know."
"Merlin?" echoes the warrior with a frown. "Merlin's not even here."
Now it's Merlin's turn to get angry. "What do you mean I'm not here? Are you blind or what?"
The warrior gives him a measuring look. "You may be a powerful sorcerer, I'll give you that, boy, but you are certainly not Merlin. I have known the man for the better part of a year, and I can tell beyond doubt that you're not him."
"And I've known Merlin for more than three years, and I can tell you that he is indeed who he says he is," Arthur replies; then, with an icy glare at his manservant, he adds. "Though how he has managed to hide the fact that he is a sorcerer in all those years is beyond me."
"You're not very observant, you know," Merlin comments breezily. "And in case you've forgotten, I had to hide what I am, or your father would have had me decapacitated. Or burnt on the stake. Or whatever else hit his fancy at any given week. Forgive me for not wanting to die!"
"We'll discuss this later," Arthur promises stiffly, and it's not a promise Merlin is really looking forward to it. "Right now, it's more important to find out where we are, how we got here and who's trying to kill us."
Lord Lucan nods in agreement. "I'm all for the last part. Sir Gawain, my son will lead you along hidden paths to the enemy's camp tonight. Two of my men will go with you to help carrying back the prisoner."
The warrior nods, Arthur, Merlin and Lancelot look at each other in surprise.
"Gawain?" they ask in unison.
That sounds suspiciously like Gwaine, and that makes everything only more confusing.
~TBC~
* Here I summon every storm of wind! Sudden blast of wind, blow! You, strong and unstoppable storm of wind, obey! I command you with all my power to blow and devastate violently!