Within the cold stone walls of the castle voices and laughter echoed down the empty dark corridors. A winding stair full of wet smells ended where the dungeon began. A rattling of dice in the cup, then more laughter. A gangly awkward youth dressed in rags sat across from a young man in shining armor. In the flickering candlelight the youth ducked his head. Dice fell onto a wooden table and his shoulders sagged with disappointment as they stopped. His companion smirked and swiped up the playing dice.
"The watch is almost over. Want to continue your losing streak at the tavern, Merlin?" Arthur asked, grinning widely.
"So you can gloat in public? No, thank you, Sire," Merlin answered. It was good to see the prince smile. The disappearance of the King's ward had weighed heavily on him. King Uther had impressed upon Arthur the responsibilities and duties of knighthood and the crown, and the shame of the losses they had suffered each day since she had disappeared. Their constant raised voices had created gossip in the courts and tension in the halls as the search went on. And still they found nothing as they scoured the lands for her. Morgana.
Merlin's heart clenched at the thought of her creamy skin growing cold in his arms. The life leaving her body as the poison flowed through her blood. His friend. His companion in magic.
I should have told her.
I should have saved her.
I should have...
"...so I insist we go," the young prince was saying. One hand rested lightly on his sword, the other drummed on the table. "Otherwise, who knows what trouble I'll get into. My life could be in danger," he pressed with mock gravity.
"Well, that's all that matters then, right?" the servant quipped, rolling his eyes and standing. Arthur nodded and went to gather his things. As Merlin scooped up the dice his eyes flashed to gold. "Sic fors fortis," he whispered, and blew gently. The dice lit up and danced as if shaking with excitement. "Maybe I over did it a bit," Merlin muttered, pocketing them and chasing after his master who was already at the top of the stairs.
"You've been awfully quiet these last few weeks, Merlin," Arthur said as Merlin helped him change into more comfortable clothes. Arthur sniffed suspiciously at the tunic Merlin handed him before tossing it aside and pointing to a different one. "Anything you want to tell me about?"
Oh, maybe that I poisoned the King's ward. Let's start with that conversation, then end it with one about magic. Yes!
"Nope, nothing," Merlin replied. "Except that you're a prat."
"Don't be a sore loser, Merlin." And with that they left for the tavern.
A large crowd quickly gathered around them as the crown prince lost toss after toss to his manservant. The ale was flowing and so were the gold coins. Word was spreading quickly. Every number that Merlin called matched the roll of the dice. Arthur's cheeks burned red as the peasants cheered on his companion. The innkeeper slapped down two ales next to the pair. "On the house!" The crowd roared their approval as the dice showed a six.
"You've got some impressive luck, Merlin. Seven," Arthur called, rolling the dice slowly around in the wooden cup. His eyes met Merlin's as he said, "It's almost like... magic."
Time seemed to slow as the cup tipped. The lamplight flickered in Merlin's eyes, tingeing the blue with gold flecks of reflection. Arthur felt his hand jerk, startled, and dice tumbled and fell off the table. Merlin's eyes were wide pools of blue across the table.
"You bumped me!" Arthur muttered. There was laughter from the on-lookers as Arthur glared at his servant, who ducked down to grab the dice. Arthur swept the rest of his coins into the middle of table between them. He acted the part of the spoiled prince perfectly, but Merlin saw the tightness in his eyes. He hadn't used magic in that moment, but somehow Arthur suspected.
"It's like this, is it?" Merlin whispered to himself. Arthur's jaw clenched. Was it in anger, disappointment? Arthur nodded once, all seriousness, an admission of a secret that danced between them. Merlin felt his heart thud in his ears as he dropped his silver coins into the pile with Arthur's.
"Ten," Merlin called. And it was.
"Well played, Merlin." Arthur stood, magnanimously bowing and offering Merlin the pot. A shaking Merlin swept the coins into his pocket, studying the floor as the people around him cheered and pat his back. "Well played, indeed."
Merlin wondered if that was truly so.
"Come, Merlin, I'll walk you home." And Merlin had no choice but to follow. The silent streets echoed their foot fall as they walked together, side by side, in silence.
"Sire," Merlin began. The dice felt warm against his pocket, the coins weighing him down.
"Bright and early, Merlin. No excuses tomorrow. I have to train up my newest knights," Arthur interrupted.
"Arthur," Merlin tried again. He felt the prince slow his walk, then Arthur grabbed his shoulder lightly, turning him around. He looked into his friend's eyes, which were surprisingly warm, almost teasing. Merlin swallowed. "You... know."
Merlin's thoughts flashed back to his confession of sorcery as Gwen lay in the dungeons, sentenced to death for a crime she couldn't commit. How quick Arthur had been to defend him.
"Know what?" Arthur returned, his voice gentle. "I don't know anything Merlin, because you haven't told me anything, have you?" There was an accusation in the question maybe, but not anger.
"I've told you all that I can, Arthur," Merlin returned. "We can't be friends, remember? You are my prince and the future king of Camelot. And your father-"
Merlin paused, his throat closing. Here was his deepest fear, moving between them. Still so secretive and silent. Merlin glanced around nervously, but the streets were empty. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, shrouding the courtyard in darkness. Out in the forest an owl screeched. And Arthur waited.
"Lying, and also cheating - two things you aren't very good at, Merlin. Well, many things you aren't good at come to mind." Arthur finally offered. Tears were streaming down Merlin's cheeks silently as he nodded. Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, then steered him into Gaius' hut. "G'nite, Merlin."
"Arthur, I'm sorry!" Merlin called into the night.
Gaius was bent over a tattered book and he didn't bother to look up as Merlin came in. A potion was bubbling over a low flame and Gaius absently stirred it as he muttered to himself. Merlin sat down heavily besides his mentor, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with a dirty sleeve.
"Merlin, what ever is the matter, dear boy?" Gaius offered. Then a little harder, "What have you done?"
Merlin studied his feet, the cooking potion, the ceiling. The room had become so familiar to him. The scents of herbs, the tiny table where they shared their meals. He took comfort in his surroundings and the friendship it represented. Then he buried his head in his hands.
"Arthur suspects I can do magic. I didn't cast any spells. Well, I did - but that was earlier and he didn't see." Merlin looked up at Gaius' pursed lips and raised eyebrows. "He just... knew. I swear. He didn't say anything, but I can tell."
"He might suspect you are capable of magic. But does he truly understand the power you hold? Who you really are?" Gaius asked.
"I don't know. Maybe he thinks that I use it for healing. We didn't really ... talk about it." The potion went ignored and started to bubble over, cascading purple liquid onto the workbench and papers. Merlin shoved supplies and herbs aside as the purple ooze hissed along the table, mopping up the mess as best he could with a discarded shirt.
"Well, make sure you keep it that way!" Gaius replied, shooing him away from the table. Gaius sighed over his lost work then turned to Merlin. "This is a dangerous development. It's too soon for him to share your secret. As long as Uther is alive you are in great peril. What will you do?"
"I don't know."
The next morning he woke with the sun. It had been a restless sleep full of twisted dreams and he was glad for the daylight. In one dream he had been burning. Merlin rubbed his arms absently and tried to gather his thoughts. Stale bread and well water made a quick breakfast as he worked his way down to the lake. He plodded through a forest full of birdsong and chill morning air until he reached the lakeside. Across the waters the tall purple mountains reached to the skies. The recent rains had left a blanket of wetness over the land, and everything seemed clean and new. The magic within him rejoiced at the natural pulses he could feel here. The ground beneath his feet reached up to support him as he walked to the water's edge.
He crouched besides the lake and his fingers brushed the surface of the water to send out ripples across it's clear and still surface. From a distance the waters of Lake Avalon looked like ice, the landscape a frozen picture in time. Merlin washed his face in the cold water and stood up. His head felt clearer and his heart a little lighter.
From over the lake the sound of faint chimes came to him. He moved closer, straining to hear. A soft bubble of light came from the mists. In it's center was a face that was familiar and beloved.
"Freya," he breathed.
"Merlin," she answered. "I am your Freya no more, but Vilia, a water spirit. I have come at your hearts call. What do you wish of me?"
"Arthur needs me, needs my magic. But I don't know how best to serve him. I need to see what the future holds for him, for us. Can you help me?"
His heartbeat slowed until it was like a slow drum in his ear. Time slowed and the sound of the chimes became clearer. The sphere before him grew in size and Freya's image was replaced with a vision the young warlock was destined to see.
Merlin witnessed a thousand battles, each bloodier than the next. Men screamed Arthur's name as they were run through with swords. The clash of steel and shield, the sound of horses whinnying and snorting with the heat of war, the stench of burning fields and dead bodies and fear. Merlin watched himself grow old in war, his magic used to push back evil but never to conquer it. Arthur died in his arms, and the fight continued with his heirs. Generations lost and made and reborn all under the banners of the Pendragon.
And there, on a hill in a lonely country, men lying dead or dying at his feet, they made their final stand against Morgana. His heart wept and then rejoiced as he struck the winning blow, his magic channeling through the sky and the earth to crash into her heart and stop it beating. She lay at his feet, a shadow of her former self, and stared into his blue eyes. "Is this what you wanted, Morgana?" he asked the dying witch. Her hand reached towards him, then life left her eyes.
The kingdom united, magic restored.
And now, with her death, a prophecy could be fulfilled.
Bells rang to announce the coming of a new age, a time of healing. The lands were scarred, but that would fade. Fields would again be harvested, and goodly kings and queens would rule the land in justice and peace. The bells rang and his heart beat, the sounds mingling in his ears until they were the same. And then there were just the chimes, their sound already fading as the sphere of light grew smaller, traveling back across the lake, and then disappeared.
Is this a future worth fighting for? Worth Arthur dying for? Are these the visions Kilgarrah sees when he looks at me?
"Is there no hope?" he whispered.
"You will find the answers you seek," Freya called. "Kilgarrah waits for you. Go to him."
Merlin raced across the forest floor, away from the visions of blood and death. He came to the doors that led him into tunnels of twisting rock, his torch held in front of him like a banner. He traveled deeper into the depths of Camelot. His breath came in gasps as his hands rested on the rocks. What if he'd gone? He'd seen the dark shape passing over the woods a few nights ago, hunting or perhaps just enjoying the refound freedom of flight. If the dragon was staying close to Camelot was it for him or Arthur? If only the beast would give him more answers and less riddles.
" Kilgharrah? Kilgharrah!" Out in the darkness he heard the rumbling laughter of the dragon.
"I'm still here, young warlock. I couldn't leave Camelot anymore than you could. My destiny lies here." The dragon stretched out his long neck into the light until his eyes were level with Merlin's. "Hmm, I sense a change in you."
"Arthur, he knows I have magic."
The body before him stank of smoke and ash, and the dragon's breath was hot as he snarled, "Too many times have my warnings gone unheeded! You are toying with things you do not understand." Kilgharrah shifted his great weight and rocks fell down into the darkness, bumping noisily along the walls. "The witch is gone so at least she will not be a confident to Arthur's burden."
"What will he do?" Merlin asked.
"It is his destiny to rule with you by his side. But he doesn't know who he can trust - and who he can't," Kilgharrah chided.
Merlin sat down on the cold ground. The torch flickered, then went out.
"Leohtbora," Merlin chanted, and the flame was renewed. He absently played with the fire, making the flames dance higher in elaborate patterns as he thought. His golden eyes met the dragons' ancient ones. "I could make him forget."
"There is a way, but every action you choose has it's own consequences. If you do this Arthur will become blinded to your magic. His eyes will be closed to your powers until you decide to reveal them." The dragon shifted again and Merlin felt him pause.
"What aren't you telling me, Kilgharrah?" he asked the ancient beast. "I can never trust you! You're always holding something back." When the dragon didn't answer, Merlin continued, almost in a whisper. "I saw Camelot and it was burning. I saw the future." The dragon backed slowly away into the darkness.
"Knowing the future is a great responsibility. And one more thing we share."