Three men would pass this way, they'd been told, and their only mission was to bring them before the lady, alive. She'd warned them that the smallest and skinniest knew unnatural tricks which made him probably the most dangerous of the three, and bestowed a trinket on Gurg, the leader, which, once fastened around the young man's throat, would neutralise him. The other two seemed not to worry the lady at all, but Gurg and his gang had heard of these men's reputation, and the instincts which had kept them alive thus far in the inhospitable wastes of Murcia told them that they should not be underestimated.
The lady had not shared the full scope of her plans with the gang, but they knew she'd paid a wretched washerwoman from one of the grubbier villages to travel to Camelot and tell tales of big bad monsters to the gullible philanthropists who were in charge there. She'd given very specific instructions about the location of the disturbance, and accordingly, the gang were lurking in the trees and undergrowth flanking the bridleway, waiting for their quarries and dreaming of what they'd do with the lady's gold.
Punctually at noon, they heard hooves and laughter approaching.
"I'm pretty sure she said eight feet tall with horns," the bulky dark one was saying.
"With tusks," corrected the blonde one. "Monsters with tusks are Merlin's favourite kind."
"You'll be safe if it's a monster with tusks, Arthur - it'll think you're one of its long-lost relatives," griped the skinny one.
The dark one laughed, and the one called Arthur half-turned in his saddle to offer a sarcastic reply. It was at that moment that Gurg gave the signal.
The arrows were aimed low to avoid killing the targets. Arthur's horse was wounded in the throat, and began to collapse beneath him as the alarmed young man tried to propel himself clear of its entangled legs. The dark warrior roared when another arrow embedded itself in his calf muscle. As confusion reigned, the gang surged out into the road, swords drawn.
XXXX
Merlin felt the wrongness in the air a split-second before the arrows exploded out of the undergrowth, and immediately remembered Gaius' suspicions of the strangely imprecise monster report. This was a trap.
Still, he thought brightly, Camelot's enemies didn't exactly learn new tricks. Though vastly outnumbered, Gwaine and Arthur were doing a fine job of dealing with the bandits between the two of them, and Merlin, sidling unnoticed over to the edge of the battle, had a decent vantage point from which to take out any real threats with a bit of subtle magic. His slight stature had led hundreds of fierce bandits to ignore him until it was too late.
Arthur kicked a bearded, scarred ruffian in the stomach, rounded it off with a solid clonk on the head with his sword hilt, and sent the unfortunate scruffbag tumbling into the ditch, already turning to engage the next. He looked furious: he'd loved that horse. Merlin wearily noted that the enthusiastic prince was neglecting his left flank as usual, and was just about to zap the grubby weasel sneaking up on his friend when somebody grabbed him around the neck from behind and he lost his balance. He was released almost immediately, and staggered to his feet with an outstretched hand and a few words of the Old Tongue to deflect Arthur's attacker. Nothing happened. The ruffian collided with the prince, taking him off-balance. As they rolled, Arthur got the upper hand and managed to punch the bandit in the head. He staggered to his feet, panting, and froze, as Gwaine dropped the burly idiot he was pummelling and also turned to stare in horror at Merlin.
"What?" he said, but he was drowned out by a louder, coarser voice from behind him, which said, "Drop your weapons or he dies." It was at that point that Merlin noticed the prick of a crossbow against his spine, and the weird sensation of wearing ornate jewellery.
Both knights dropped their swords reluctantly. "Nice necklace, Merlin," Gwaine said companionably. Merlin raised a tentative hand to it, dazed. His magic wasn't working; and this must be why. Oh, this was not good.
XXXX
"Bind them," growled Gurg, disconcerted to realise that he only had three men left. He gestured threateningly with the crossbow, and was pleasantly surprised at the two knights' weary submission. The first rule of banditry, after all, was not to bandit around with anyone you weren't willing to cheerfully garrotte in order to save your own skin. Gurg was good at being a bandit.
The remaining gang members cast nervous glances at their fallen comrades and set about binding the prisoners with real commitment. They bound the knights' wrists behind their backs, and shackled their feet together with a length of chain which would allow them to shuffle along but not to run or kick. The dark one growled in protest when they jostled his wounded and bleeding leg. Finally, they blindfolded them, and slung nooses over their necks, pulling them tight enough to exert a little pressure on their knightly throats, so that they could be pulled along and would have no choice but to comply if they wanted to retain the use of their windpipes.
Finally, Gurg nodded approvingly, and signalled one of the men to tie Merlin's wrists as well. He climbed onto one of the surviving horses and took the two leashes from one of his minions. The men squabbled over the other horse, but Gurg instructed them to load the trussed magician onto the animal – he had been the lady's priority, and Gurg was single-mindedly interested in getting paid for this, particularly as he now essentially needed a new gang.
"Follow," he growled to prisoners and minions alike, and set off towards the place where his employer was waiting.
XXXX
Merlin felt stunned. Again and again, he tried to reach out to his magic and found himself smashing against an invisible wall. He was magic, without it, he felt that he could hardly think, hardly walk. Was this what it was like to be Arthur, all the time? And speaking of Arthur...
He lifted his head a fraction as the horses began to move, in time to see his friends startled by the sudden tightening around their necks. Gwaine, with his wounded leg, couldn't shuffle over the uneven ground at the pace the bandits set, and fell abruptly to his knees. Arthur heard him fall and stopped, protesting loudly, only to be cut off as the rope around his own neck was yanked mercilessly. Merlin felt utterly contrite for their discomfort, but couldn't help thinking that they both looked thoroughly ridiculous.
"Please! Stop," he yelled at the bandit leader, as his friends' respiratory troubles became more acute. Somewhat reluctantly, the bandit stopped, grunting a directive to his followers, who pulled the prisoners roughly to their feet. The leader set a slower pace, and Arthur and Gwaine shuffled as best they could after him. Merlin hoped fervently that bandit headquarters was no more than a mile or two.
XXXX
The ruined hall where Morgana and Morgause waited was about two and a half miles from the ambush site, and Gurg's arrival was only a little later than planned. "Congratulations, gentlemen," Morgause said silkily as she paid them the agreed fee.
As the bandits took their leave she considered. She'd found it useful on several occasions in the past to have a few semi-competent ruffians in thrall to her, but since she would soon have the armies of Camelot at her beck and call, it seemed silly to leave loose ends lying around. Certainly, she thought smugly, casting an appraising eye over the collared sorcerer, the furious prince and his battered cohort, she should have no further need to associate with low-lifes. With a muttered word, she set fire to the departing bandits, dispelling the flames as soon as they stopped screaming and picking her coins out of their smoking remains. Morgana laughed.
"You are nothing if not thorough, sister."
At the sisters' direction, two Murcian guards began dragging the prisoners across the room. They were brothers, pathetically in love with Morgana, and useful for hunting, cooking, washing, seeking firewood and other menial tasks which Morguase couldn't be bothered with and Morgana had never learned to do for herself. Merlin was deposited at the centre of a symbol etched into the dusty floor. He staggered to his feet. "What're you doing, Morgana?" he demanded, stepping towards her and finding himself again restrained by invisible walls, unable to leave the circle. The other brother was forcing a struggling Gwaine into shackles hanging from the wall while the latter kept up a fierce tirade of expletives, comparing the two witches and their cronies to various animals, diseases and waste products.
Arthur was watching his sister with inexpressible sadness, and barely struggled when he too was hauled to his feet and dragged over to the shackles on the wall. "Let Gwaine go, Morgana," he suggested in reasonable tones. "Merlin too. What have they done to you?" She just smirked as his right wrist was secured in the rusty manacle.
Merlin was on a similar tack. "Let them go, please," he hissed as Morgause's skirts swept past him. "They don't know what I am. They can't know. They're no threat to you."
"Poor, stupid Merlin," she responded with an imperious smile.
"Ma'am?" interrupted one of the Murcian brothers. "This one's broken – it's rusted away." He was brandishing the metal cuff intended for Arthur's left wrist, and it was indeed crumbling off its chain. Arthur was taking advantage of his free hand to pull the noose off and inspect the other manacle for weaknesses.
"Indeed?" Morgause replied, sweeping across the room. "Hold him." Arthur had little chance as both brothers seized his left arm and pinned it against the wall. Morgause drew a dagger from the fold of her gown, and before anyone could anticipate it she had plunged it straight between the bones in Arthur's wrist and embedded it in the wall beyond.
Arthur gasped hollowly, his body attempting to fold at the knees, the fingers of his skewered hand spasming helplessly. He stared at the dagger, gaping in wide-eyed horror and disbelief. Gwaine bellowed "sadistic cow!" and Merlin hollered "Arthur!" at the same time. The two goons laughed sycophantically, and Morgana, with impeccable composure, just said "thank you, sister," allowing only the most cursory glance to her impaled brother. There was a pregnant pause, in which Arthur returned to reality, realised that Merlin and Gwaine were both staring at him and muttered "I'm fine."
Morgana smirked, again. "So stoic, brother. Uther's sacrificial lamb."
Arthur didn't look at her, still distracted by the dagger and the steady flow of blood which was now soaking his forearm. Gwaine looked between the two of them – family had never provided much safety or security in his life, but he could imagine, if he'd had a sister, dedicating his life to keeping her safe. "Let him be, witch. He's your brother."
Arthur looked round in surprise, sad-eyed. "I didn't know I was your brother," he told Morgana. "I'm sorry. Perhaps I could have helped you."
"It's far too late for that," Morgana spat. Arthur inclined his head in agreement. Trifling with his father's, his knights' and Gwen's lives had been a step too far.
"Anyway," she continued, looking over at Morgause, who had moved around the edge of the symbol to stand behind Merlin. "This isn't Arthur's surprise party."
Merlin trembled. Of course Morgause had told Morgana about him. Arthur and Gwaine looked baffled. "All you have to do is let the magic go, Merlin, and you can all walk out of here."
"I don't understand," he insisted, stalling. Morgause laughed, and pointed a spark of magic at him, causing the despised collar to fall away. Merlin sighed in relief and had to remind himself not to splash magic around the room in celebration. Morgana had turned back to her increasingly pale brother.
"You see Arthur – I could never tell you about my magic because of your prejudice, and all the time you were harbouring the most powerful sorcerer of all. Merlin's been using magic behind your back ever since he came here."
Arthur had been struggling and it had caused him a lot of pain and a lot more bleeding – it made the eyes he fixed on Merlin look unnaturally bright. "I know," he said.
You know? Merlin mouthed back at him with furious incredulity.
"I've had suspicions for a while. I've been sure for a couple of weeks. He's never attacked me. I suspect he has saved my life." Arthur would have shrugged if he hadn't been restrained so grotesquely. He looked back at his sister. "You should have talked to me Morgana. I would have listened. I hope I would have listened."
Morgana looked ready to spit blood. She marched over and slapped her brother across the face. His hand spasmed at the movement. "No matter," she said finally, turning away. "Believe me, Merlin, that I will kill Arthur and his comedy sidekick if you do not give me your power." Gwaine spluttered indignantly.
"What do I have to do?" Merlin asked obediently. He would lay down his life for his friends, why not his magic?
"Merlin, don't," Arthur counselled abruptly, as Gwaine echoed "Ignore the bitch, Merlin."
"Focus your power on the symbol, and I will siphon it off. At last, you will be the unremarkable buffoon servant you've always wanted to be."
Morgause had lit candles around the draughty hall, and as Merlin drew on the reserves of magic deep inside his being, he felt the air thicken. Morgana was chanting. He focused. Unlike usually, when the magic surged up and was used and fell back into the dormant pit in his stomach, he felt the life force begin to dwindle and seep away. The ancient stones were rattling with potency as it flowed across the symbol from him to Morgana. It began to feel like he himself was drifting away. His legs buckled beneath him; his eyelids were heavy, his limbs, floppy. He was sitting on the floor. There was no wall blocking him from the magic, now, as there had been with the collar on – merely, he was empty. The power drifting away from him had been relinquished. It was no longer his to command.
Coming back to himself, he met the eyes of his friends across the smoke and lights of the hall. "Merlin," said Arthur feelingly, "you idiot."
Morgause had circled round. She looked Gwaine up and down, poked experimentally at the wound in his leg, eliciting a growl of pain, and pulled a narrow blade from inside the knight's boot.
Morgana was still preoccupied with soaking up the magic from the eldritch symbol on the floor.
"My sister is still soft-hearted," Morgause told Gwaine, who snorted loudly. "She would probably keep her word. But I have gone to too much trouble to procure Uther's heir to release him now and let him continue to stand between Morgana and the throne of Camelot."
Arthur had spent the time discovering that the manacle on his right arm was itself crumbling with rust. At this point he managed to pull that arm free, and began struggling with the hilt sticking out of his wrist. Gritting his teeth against pain that made him want to throw up, he waggled the knife around inside his wrist until it came free of the wall and his own pinioned flesh. In the interests of creating a diversion, Gwaine kicked Morgause in the belly, swinging from his chains like a monkey, and she staggered briefly. Merlin, forgetting that he was trapped in the circle leaped forwards, and found that the circle no longer barred him now that he was bereft of power.
Arthur and Merlin reached the place where Morgana was standing at the same time. With the blade soaked in his own blood, Arthur stabbed his sister between the shoulder blades. She fell forward, colliding with Merlin and landing on top of him in a heap. Morgause's arm swung forwards with lethal aim and Gwaine's dagger soared out of her hand, lodging hideously in Arthur's lower back. Gwaine roared in fury, and kicked out again, this time catching the crouching witch's throat with the chain between his ankles. He crossed his feet behind her head and squeezed and squeezed.
Merlin felt something familiar flowing across his skin along with the tang of Pendragon blood. He was lying spread-eagled on the symbol on the floor, and the magic which flowed out of Morgana with her blood was soaking into him, recognising its natural home. It was more, he realised, than he'd started with – the transference symbol was leeching everything out of Morgana, and he could feel the darkness and confusion which had fuelled her power seeping into him alongside his own essence.
Arthur was cradling his left arm, hunched up on his knees. Morgause turned purplish and slumped to the floor. Merlin wriggled out from beneath Morgana's body and lurched to his feet. Power pulsed through him like blood, boiling. With barely a thought, he'd released Gwaine from his shackles. He bent and yanked the knife from between his prince's ribs. Arthur's yelp alerted him that he hadn't exactly been gentle.
"I can heal you," he heard himself say.
"Don't," Arthur said warily. "I'll go to Gaius. I'll be fine."
"I can," Merlin insisted. The power was swelling and roiling in his belly. That familiar brightness seemed less significant now he was full of something brilliant and terrible, deep as the ocean and midnight black. He looked at the blood flowing down Arthur's back and his rage was black as seastorms. Arthur scuttled backwards on his elbows but Merlin made him immobile with a thought. Somebody was shouting. Somebody was holding him by the shoulders, and without the slightest effort he propelled them away from him with enough force to make them hit the wall. Arthur was saying something, but it didn't matter – Merlin could remove the pain. He reached a hand out to pour that furious energy into Arthur's battered body. He saw the prince flinch in horror at his touch. Never mind – Arthur feared magic, had always feared it. He focused on a drip of Arthur's blood as it fell from the prince's defensive outstretched hand. It landed on the etched floor.
Suddenly, the roiling, unbearable power that was Morgana was flowing out of him. Somebody had re-initiated the ritual, and his momentary focus on the Pendragon blood on the etched symbol had completed the connection. The mist cleared around Merlin. He could see Arthur cowering and immobile, and Gwaine across the room in a heap at the foot of a wall. One of the Murcian brothers was standing over Morgana's body, reading from her grimoire. Merlin blinked, and scampered away from the symbol, pulling Arthur with him. He saw the power that Morgana had struggled so much to control fill a body it wasn't meant for and immediately understood – the power would not bend to another; it could be wielded, but would only destroy. At once, the young soldier turned to his awestruck brother, and with a friendly hand on the arm killed him stone dead.
Merlin and Arthur watched the realisation dawn on the young man's face, and before either of them could act, he had fled the room with the attitude of one who will not stop running until he reaches the edge of the world.
XXXX
Merlin apologised forty times to Gwaine for throwing him against a wall, and about three hundred times to Arthur for nearly accidentally killing him. The prince was unusually forgiving when he was dizzy with blood loss and high on the poppy-based painkiller drugs that Gaius made Merlin carry in his pack. Though messy, the wound Morgause had inflicted in his back was fairly shallow, but the hole in his wrist was very ugly indeed and bled everywhere, especially since the prince had exacerbated it while trying to free himself.
When the three friends limped back to Camelot with only two horses, no money, no weapons, and looking exceptionally bedraggled, the king and Gaius were both furious with their respective protégées. In Merlin's opinion, the fact that Arthur managed to weasel out of a dressing down by reporting the deaths of the two witches and then promptly passing out was deeply unfair. The prince did, however, get a series of lectures on recklessness from a frantic Guinevere, who could nearly match Gaius for fussing once she got some momentum up.
Gwaine, meanwhile, was greeted with a free tankard in the town's largest tavern and the sympathy of several young maidens who listened to his story over and over again without noticing the embellishments which were added with each telling. All in all, the knight thought, his first official quest could have gone a lot worse.