Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Also there is an OC in this, but she's not really paired with Merlin or Arthur, so hopefully that won't dissuade you from reading. Enjoy!

##

Chapter 1: Siren

##

"There's a cabin, near the edge of the forest - Merlin, it's not far. Dear lord, now's not the time to pass out!" Arthur said, trying pour every bit of condescension into his tone as possible. It came out sounding anxious and melodramatic. Merlin was slipping away. With every step the horse took, Merlin's life was leaving him. Arthur implored the horse to go faster, refusing to let Merlin die. It would be his fault. His fault that his most trusted servant had been killed.

"It's just over the bend, you see that, dollophead?" Arthur said, squinting his eyes to see the smoke billowing from the small house's front. He wasn't exactly certain where they were, somewhere at the edge of Malorne Forest was the only thing he could guess, the very edge of Camelot. He had no idea people actually lived out here - Malorne was one of the most dangerous forests in Camelot, if not the most. "Hang in there, mate," he muttered, kicking a heel into the horse's side.

Twenty minutes later, Arthur got down from his horse. Merlin was still unconscious, so he did his best to carry him over his shoulder. He was a tad heavier than he looked, considering how malnourished Merlin tended to seem. "Is anyone here! Hello? I need help!" he shouted. The place was quiet, unattended. There was a fire going in front of the home, it smelled as though something were being cooked. He didn't care. He lumbered into the home with Merlin on his back. If whomever owned the place came back, he would explain then, there was no time for politeness, not that Arthur ever bothered with that as it was.

He had placed Merlin on a well worn bed in the corner of the sad little abode, found an assortment of bandages and set about mending the gaping hole in Merlin's stomach. Unfortunately, Arthur was not exactly a skilled physician and Merlin's wound was grave indeed. He'd already succumbed to fever and Arthur was worried it was too late. He took a cool rag he had found and mopped the sweat from Merlin's head before throwing it to the ground in frustration. Why had he insisted Merlin come with? The servant was not a knight, he could barely wield a sword. Things just went better when Merlin went along. Merlin always seemed to know how to fix things. Arthur didn't understand the hows or whys, but he'd never really questioned it. Hanging his head in his hands, he sighed heavily knowing there was nothing more he could do.

He leaned forward and stoked the small fire he had started in the oven. He didn't hear the footsteps behind him, but he certainly felt the cool blade that was suddenly at his throat.

"Who are you?" came the cold voice of a woman.

"I apologize, miss, I - my friend was badly injured and no one was around, I needed to tend to his wound," Arthur explained, irritated he had let a woman catch him off his guard, he tried to turn around slowly, but the knife's edge cut into his throat as he did so.

"I said, who are you?"

"Arthur - Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot," he answered.

"Royalty, bet your 'ead would fetch a pretty penny," she said, he could hear the curl of a smile in her voice. Arthur clenched his jaw, not liking where this was going. She sounded neither threatened nor impressed by his identity. He had to bide his time though, before he took the dagger. He wasn't sure exactly what she was going to do yet. "What happened to your friend?"

"We were attacked by bandits. He ended up with an arrow stuck in his gut," Arthur said, swallowing, he continued. "He was trying to save me."

"How precious," she replied absently. She seemed to be deep in thought and took the dagger away from his throat, backing away. "Do not move, your highness." Arthur turned around. The woman was dressed in a dark green cloak, he couldn't quite see her face, but saw a messy brown braid streaked with white hanging over her shoulder. "I said," she pointed a shoddy crossbow at him, "do not move." Arthur, paused, hands up. This woman meant business, it seemed. Whomever it was, she was used to being threatened. She lived on the edge of Malorne forest, nearest Saxon territory he assumed, of course she was jumpy.

"I promise to leave once my friend is able-" he began, watching as she leaned over Merlin. Arthur's fist clenched as he worried what she might do. She seemed a cold old hag and he wouldn't put it past her to finish Merlin off. She raised his shirt to inspect the wound. Wrenching off the crudely done bandages, she threw them to the floor.

"That is quite a hole," she said. "I don't think he'll make it the night."

"What?" Arthur said, jumping up. The woman pointed the crossbow at him once more, but he ignored it. "Can't you do anything to help?"

"Why should I?" she replied, shrugging.

"Because I command you to. I'm the Prince-"

"Of Camelot. You're in Saxon territory, dear Prince, you have no power over me," she said, shrugging.

"Are you saying you will not help him simply because of who I am?"

"He looks like a servant."

"He's my servant, yes," Arthur said, seething in anger at this woman's audacity. Her voice was so cold and aloof, how could she simply not care?

"You care about him very much?"

"He's a very good servant. Yes."

"To what extent to you care for him?"

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, feeling more infuriated by the second. He would have been better off tending to Merlin in the forest. Every second he spent prattling away with this hag, Merlin was fading.

"Would you lay down your life for him?" What in the hell did she mean by that?

"Yes."

"Idiot," she replied. "I can heal him. But I'll need a few herbs, have you heard of peacebloom?"

"It's… a weed, I think," Arthur said.

"Quite right, go find me some. There is quite a lot at the bit of forest backing up to my property. I'll need at least six leaves," she said. Arthur frowned, but nodded as she nonchalantly threw the crossbow in the chair beside Merlin. He didn't know what she was playing at, but he obediently left the shack. "You're a tough one, aren't you, love?" he heard her mutter as he left, with a tenderness that caught him off guard.

Arthur scrambled around to the back of the hut, edging towards the forest and keeping his eyes on the ground in search of peacebloom. He knew nothing of herbs and remedies, but he was beginning to think that was an oversight. Perhaps he ought to venture down into Gaius's chambers more often. If this woman could cure a wound as grave as the one Merlin was sustaining, he would be indebted to her. Perhaps he would invite her to Camelot, introduce her to Gaius. That was only if she succeeded. He hoped to God she did.

The plant had been further into the forest than the woman had said, but he found it. Cutting some lose, he grabbed the freed leaves and ran back to the hut. As soon as he came close, he heard an unsettling string of syllables. He ran into the house and saw that the woman had her hands over Merlin's stomach, she breathed something foreign over him.

"Magic," he breathed, grabbing for his sword. Still chanting, the woman shot the crossbow at Arthur and it lodged itself through his chain mail into the wall, pinning him there. He struggled, "Stop it! I will have your head for this!" She finished up her spell and the wind whistled through the small shack, causing her hood to drop, revealing her face.

"You weren't supposed to see that," she said, grinning at him. She was far younger than he would have guessed, her skin smooth and spectral white. Her eyes were a vivid green, large and expressive, her nose small and shapely. She seemed to be quite beautiful - until she turned to face him straight on. The right side of her face carved into a grisly macabre pattern.

"You - what did you do to him?"

"I saved his life, you fool," she replied. "Uther has long kept you in the dark about magic, treating it as though it were evil. Magic is no more evil or good than fire. Magic is ambiguous - it is how it is wielded that dictates whether it is good or bad. Your father is a coward."

Arthur wrenched the arrow out of the wall and rushed the witch, jamming her into the opposite wall. "I will have you burned for this!" She continued smiling at him, an eerie smile, half ruined, half ethereal.

"Funny, before you had wanted my head. Which is it?" She paused. "It is a shame you do not think for yourself, Prince," she crooned softly. He did not understand how she could be so calm, or why he had not simply slit her throat. He clenched his jaw, glaring at her and pushing his sword more firmly into her stomach. "Your servant is not one hundred percent, but with the right remedies, he'll be able to walk in two days time," she continued, unfazed by Arthur's malice, if anything she was amused. Arthur looked back at Merlin who had suddenly begun to moan uncomfortably.

"Merlin?" Arthur said, releasing the witch and going to his friend's side. He lifted Merlin's shirt which revealed soft pink scar tissue, still on the mend.

"I told you, it's not perfect, but I was able to clean up his insides, keeping everything from bleeding out," the woman said, coming up behind him and kneeling beside Arthur. "By tomorrow he should wake up, the next day you'll be able to go home."

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"If you move him, the spell may fail and you'll be back where you started," she said, an irritating grin still on her face, as if the prospect tickled her. "I would have healed him properly, but my magic isn't particularly strong." Rinsing a wash cloth in a basin, she grabbed two bottles from a cupboard opposite and returned to Merlin's side.

"What is that?" Arthur said, giving the bottles an uneasy look.

"Something to help break his fever," she said, "nothing to do with magic. Promise." She tilted Merlin's head up slightly so that he could drink without choking. He sipped at the potion, but coughed, unable to get most of it down. "That's a good boy, a little more. Hand me that glass of water over there, sire," she continued, the title dripping with sarcasm. Arthur swallowed irritably, but did as she asked. "Don't want him getting dehydrated, do we?"

"What's that one for?" Arthur asked, pointing to the remaining unused bottle.

She picked it up, uncorking it ceremoniously, "This is for me." She took a long swig of what must have been mead. Once she was done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and offered him the bottle, which he refused, though he regretted it after he'd done so. She left Merlin's side in favor of tidying up a bit and Arthur watched her, unsure of what to say to her. It was rare that he should be at a loss for words, but this woman had left him baffled.

Merlin was of no use, of course, out cold as he was. Arthur had placed his trust in this woman, a stranger who used magic, a stranger who did not seem to be in the slightest bit afraid of him. But then why should she? After all, Arthur was at her mercy while Merlin was in this condition. If he had happened upon her under different circumstances he would have had her arrested without hesitation.

"Who are you?" he asked, realizing he did not even know her name.

"I don't see what use my name will be to you. The people of Loxley have affectionately nicknamed me the Magpie of Malorn," Arthur's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "No? What about the Sorceress Lucinda? The Witch Carrow?"He continued to shake his head. "I so hoped the tales might have reached Camelot's gets. Shame."

"Carrow? I've heard of a Warlock Carrow, but it was said my father drove him into the arms of the Saxons," Arthur said. "It was said he laid a curse on Camelot and took to the Saxon way of life, breeding his own clan of barbaric warriors and biding his time. All stories and hearsay, of course."

The witch snickered. "Is that what it's been turned into? A tale of high treason and petty vengeance? How dull. I was hoping it would have twisted into something a little more inbred."

"Well you're certainly not the Warlock Carrow, all of that happened twenty years ago - you're not old enough," Arthur said.

"Oh what does age have to do with anything. I'm a witch, perhaps I shaved off the years with magic. Perhaps I stole a young girl's body and claimed it as my own. And then had a nasty run in with a blunt sword and a cattle prod," she said, picking up a kitchen knife and inspecting it carefully. She enjoyed her own musings. He supposed it was all she had to entertain herself, wasn't it? She was doing a brilliant job of making his skin crawl. He looked at Merlin as if expecting Merlin to jump up and ask to leave.

"For christ's sake, talking with you is about as useful as arguing with a brick wall," Arthur said, throwing up his hands and leaving the hovel.

####

Making his way back outside the hut, he went to his horse. He wondered if he ought to leave Merlin here. That damn sorcerer might be on his way to Camelot, or in the very least terrorizing other villages. Arthur had been leading a patrol into the territory of Mercia on a diplomatic mission. Uther had sent him in hopes to forge some sort of union. After Cenred's near win last month, bloody skeletons popping up all over the place, Uther saw fit to mend fences.

But then his father never really did anything, did he? He just sent Arthur off to do the leg work with little concern as to what happened to him. Arthur sighed irritably, and grabbed the reins of his horse.

"Come on, mate, let's get you some water," Arthur said.

He led the horse into the back of the woods where he had thought he'd heard water earlier. A brook or a creek he had hoped. The sun was beginning to dip below the trees and he recalled some of the grimmer stories of the forest.

"Oi! Don't go too far, love, trees like to move," the witch shouted at him, leaning out of the door of her hut. She gave him another of her amused little grins and disappeared back inside. He sneered at her angrily.

Ignoring her warning, he edged into the forest in search of water for his horse, which didn't seem too keen on following him inside. "Come on, you great brute, aren't you thirsty?" It whinnied at him, stomping its feet crossly. Arthur's jaw clenched and he finally decided to stop forcing him. "Alright, fine. You stay here, what do I care if you die of thirst?"

Arthur continued into the forest. He didn't see what was so big a deal about this forest. It looked like any other. Trees and rocks and dead leaves, a few larger stones for character. He only had to walk for about five minutes until he found a small stream, gurgling happily. Cupping his hands, he gathered a bit of water to refresh him. Splashing a bit onto his face, he frowned. The stream was suddenly darker and almost soupy. He dipped a finger into it and saw that the water had gone thick and red.

"Blood?" Arthur fell back, aghast. He clutched at the sword at his side, straining his ears for sounds of danger. He heard nothing and saw even less. Crawling back to the stream, he saw that it had cleared again. He looked at his hands - clean. Getting to his feet, Arthur headed back in the direction he'd come, towards the witch's hut.

He had found his way easily enough - the trees hadn't moved. The stream must have simply been his eyes playing tricks. It had grown dark as he got back to the hut, his horse was lapping up water out of a bucket the witch must have set out for him.

"If you were so powerful, why the hell are you here?" Arthur said from her doorway. He had been watching the witch for only a moment as she wiped the sweat from Merlin's brow.

"I already told you I'm not powerful," she replied stoically, returning to her feet.

"Powerful enough to cheat death," he retorted. "Why am I not killing you?"

"I'm sure it's because you're terrified of me," she said, shrugging. "The real question is why aren't you returning to Camelot now? Send someone to retrieve your servant ought to be reporting home to daddy, informing him of these dreadful criminals who attacked you." Arthur crossed his arms, wondering if she didn't have the ability to read minds as well. "Did this jolly band of thieves have a name?"

"I don't know, we didn't stop to chat when they ambushed my patrol," he snapped.

Walking over to him, she closed the space between them. Hands on her hips, she stood up on her tiptoes so as to get right in his face. Arthur resisted the urge to take a few steps back. "Your highness, I would appreciate a civil tongue under my roof. The state of your servant is a clear indication that I mean you no harm, however if you continue to snap at me then I will turn both of you out without hesitation. Is that clear?" Arthur's jaw clenched and he avoided her eyes.

"Yes."

"Good. I'm making soup for dinner. Would you like some?" she said, voice brightening suddenly. Perhaps she was mad.

"You're right. You are terrifying," Arthur replied, taking this moment to fall into a seat. Arthur was uncomfortable, but for the moment this witch had him by the stones. She smiled at this, but made no more fuss at the state of his manners. Instead, she gathered a basket from the corner, Arthur leaned forward to peer into the basket. Inside were an assortment of carrots and mushrooms, which she laid on the table.

"Chop these finely," she said, placing them on the battered wooden table in front of Arthur as she got up to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be back in a moment," she assured him. Arthur looked at the vegetables curiously. The mushrooms he thought looked questionable. Merlin had said the ones with white spots were poisonous, he picked one of them up and inspected it. It had white bits, but would you call those spots? He glanced at Merlin, who was still thoroughly unconscious. Arthur reached for one of the woman's knives and began to chop them to the best of his ability. But Arthur was used to hacking and slashing. Food took more patience.

"I thought knights were supposed to be skilled with a blade," she said, carrying with her a skinned rabbit. She grabbed a butcher's knife from the rack behind Arthur and sat down on the opposite end of the table, and began to chop the hare into appropriate sizes. Arthur swallowed hesitantly, still trying to decide whether he would even eat what she gave him. Certainly she hadn't killed Merlin yet, but Merlin was so harmless looking and she had already shown such distaste in Camelot. Murdering the Prince regent would surely amuse her to no end.

"I thought witches could simply conjure food out of thin air," he retorted. She smiled at him and they sat in silence for a few minutes, each tending to their part of the meal. She avoided his eyes, but Arthur couldn't help but find himself studying the damaged portion of her face. Why didn't she heal herself? Why the hell did she live out here on the edge of that godforsaken forest? Why the hell did he care?

"Ask me, then," the witch said finally, sighing as she stood up to get stoke the fire under a cauldron of boiling water. She dropped the hare into the pot and on top of that added seasonings before she went to collect Arthur's haphazardly sliced vegetables.

"Ask you what?"

"But what happened to your face!" she said gesturing melodramatically. It was as every movement was carefully thought out to entertain and amuse. But who was her audience?

"I didn't think to bother. You wouldn't give me a name, that seemed too personal to dare," he said haughtily.

"Carrow. Just call me Carrow," she replied.

"Carrow is a surname," he said. "I think you're the one who instigates all the rumors about yourself."

"No I don't. I stir them along, but I don't instigate them," she said. She gave the soup a stir, taking care to add a few extra herbs and spices.

Arthur rolled his eyes as he grew visibly more annoyed with her. "It's like talking in circles, I swear. Fine, Carrow, do tell what happened to your face? Why do you live out here by yourself? Why did you help Merlin?"

Carrow chortled at his frustration. "You're a pompous little twat," she said. "But one of my more entertaining guests." Biting the inside of his cheek, Arthur did not return the sentiment. She was the most infuriating person. Magpie, indeed.

"It was true that my father was driven into Saxon territory, but he was murdered before he was able to find a home. They hadn't realized that my father had a wife and two children - my brother and myself. He'd used what was left of him to transport us to safety," she began, stirring the soup and then finding her seat.

"By magic?" Arthur asked.

She laughed. "Oh yes, a magical flying carpet." Arthur frowned at her, he didn't know why he should expect her to be serious for a moment. "No, the usual way - horse. Sent us ahead to the next village. But we were overtaken by criminals. Thieves. My brother was older, told me to run while he tried to fight them off. They killed him. Mum was lovely, I think they dragged her off. I just… ran," she said. She sounded completely detached from what she was saying, which made Arthur suspicious of its truth.

"I was found by a farmer on his way home from the market. Walter. He brought me home with him, he and his wife had always wanted a child - never could, I believe Moira was barren. Lovely people. Stayed with them until I was sixteen. Got in a spot of bother there with a couple of the village boys," her eyes sparkled at this, as though the memory amused her."

"I used to be lovely. And Walter and Moira spoiled me terribly. My personality suffered for it. I got it in my head it would be fun to string along the boys, Gerald and honestly you know I don't remember the other one's name. I had barely discovered my magic then, didn't understand there was power in words… I think I may have enchanted the two boys. Drove them mad." Arthur suddenly recalled his first inclination to kill her. From the sound of this story he didn't know what was keeping him.

"The other one, lovely dark curls, got violent. His parents decided it wasn't him, but me that caused this irrational behavior. They called me a witch. You know what happens when you say witch in a small village, of course," she said, a nostalgic smile coming upon her face. "Hysteria, panic. But it was different there, they don't like to kill their witches. What if they needed them for later? So they marked me," she said, pointing to the crude engravings on her face, "and sent me away. Come around every time they need their crops blessed, threatening to empty my gullet if I don't oblige."

Arthur's crisp blue eyes hardened as she told the story, unsure if he felt pity or revulsion. "Barbaric," he said. She got a good laugh out of this.

"No more barbaric than a quick burning at the stake. Though I suppose it is a little hypocritical. But do you really like that story or should I have gone with my foundling tale? I couldn't tell which would get a better rise out of you." Arthur's eyes widened at this and anger started to boil in his veins, but his retort was interrupted.

"Gai-Gaius?" came the strained voice of her second guest, drawing both she and Arthur's attention away from each other. Carrow got up and went to his side, a look of surprise on her face.

"What's-Where are we? Arthur?"

"Merlin, you're just in time for soup," Carrow said, a warm smile on her face. Merlin frowned up at her, confusion in his eyes.

"So kind of you to join us, Merlin," Arthur said, patting Merlin's knee patronizingly. Merlin tried to sit up, and Carrow helped him slightly. "Do me a favor - never save my life again. You're bloody awful at it."

"Oh don't you worry, I'll never make that mistake again," a grin spreading on his face which soon turned into a wince as he grasped his stomach. "Who's this?"

"This is… Carrow, she's saved your life," Arthur said.

##

So that would be the end of chapter one. I'd love to hear your thoughts!