Part Two
"I need to ask you a favour," Merlin says at breakfast.
Outside, the fog is as impenetrable as ever, opaquely white. Arthur glances at Merlin and remembers his tortured face framed by fire.
"What kind of favour?"
"I was wondering if I could use your sword."
Arthur almost chokes on his mouthful of bread. "What for? Are you going to magically chop the fog to pieces?"
He loves it when Merlin's dimples show. The last shadows of the nightmare disperse and he can't stop his own smile.
"I'd like to use it as a mirror. Not to shave," Merlin says and laughs when Arthur draws a breath to point out but your face won't fit, "but for scrying. Do you know anything about scrying?"
"Merlin," Arthur says, out of his depth again and slightly annoyed, "you can safely assume I don't know anything about magic. It's prohibited in Camelot, in case that slipped your mind, and we don't discuss the subject any more than we have to."
"It's a way of seeing things using a medium," Merlin explains. "You can do it in different ways and for different purposes. Not everyone with magical abilities can do it, though. My own strength is using crystals to see the future, but I can see the present with the help of a reflective object if I put my mind to it. And I'd like to know what's going on in our kingdoms, at our courts, to get some idea of what Nimueh is after. I'm convinced this is all her doing. She knows me, she'd know I'd want to try this, and she's seen to it that there isn't a single reflective object in the house. Have you noticed?"
"Yes," Arthur says, scratching at the itchy stubble on his chin with his fingernails.
A smile flashes across Merlin's face to be replaced with a frown, like a cloud covering the sun. "Some people can use a bowl of water for scrying."
"Well, we do have water," Arthur says. "That barrel seems to refill itself."
"Yes, but Nimueh... Nimueh knows I'm useless at hydromancy."
A slow blush spreads over Merlin's face and neck at this admission, and Arthur watches him in amazement. Our worlds are so different, he thinks. Perhaps it's an embarrassment to sorcerers not to master certain kinds of magic; perhaps not being able to see visions in a bowl of water is a shortcoming. Arthur has no idea about rules and conventions in Merlin's world, or even about basic, underlying facts.
"Swords can be powerful media," Merlin says, "so I thought I'd ask to use yours."
Arthur nods slowly. "Can you share your visions?" he asks. "I mean, can I get to see what you see? Can you make it visible to me?"
Merlin looks surprised. "I've never done that, but I could try."
Arthur hesitates for the length of two heartbeats. Then he fetches his sword. He doesn't place it before Merlin immediately but remains standing, holding it in his hands, still in its sheath.
"Don't like handing over your sword?" Merlin's blush has receded and he sounds impertinent.
Arthur laughs although it isn't funny. "I don't think you're any more of a danger to me with a sword than without," he says. "And I don't believe it makes much difference for my safety if I'm armed or unarmed."
"Armed, you can cut my throat in my sleep." Merlin gives Arthur an unreadable look. "But you'd never do that."
"You don't know that."
Merlin only smiles in reply. When he holds out his hands, Arthur places the sword carefully across his palms.
With the sword laid out before them, Merlin focuses on the reflective surface and Arthur divides his attention between the sorcerer and the sword. The dull light plays over Merlin's hair and profile, catches on the tips of his eyelashes and gleams on the polished blade. Arthur forces himself to keep still although he's bursting with questions - he mustn't interrupt and break Merlin's concentration. Like a child, he wants to ask, What do you see? Tell me, tell me.
Perhaps Merlin can sense Arthur's impatience because he lifts his hand, palm out, like wiping mist from an invisible mirror. An image appears in the air, luminously colourful and semi-transparent like a stained-glass window: the King's hall at Camelot. Uther is seated at the table, deep in discussion with his men, agitated, eyes flashing, leaning forward to dismiss or contradict something Bedivere is saying. The image fades, replaced by another that echoes the scene at the court of Camelot: Lord Bayard at council with his men.
Merlin lowers his hand and the image disperses.
"There," he says. "You've seen what I've seen. I'm sorry I can't figure out how to let you hear their voices. Both courts have sent out search parties, but they're unsure of the next step."
Arthur nods slowly, biting his lip. He knows he should try to anticipate the actions of his father and Bayard, but right now there's something else on his mind.
"Merlin," he says. "How does it work, the scrying? Can you see anything or anyone you want?"
"It's always connected to people, or one person. You can't see just anyone - it has to be someone you know or at least met. The better you know them, the stronger the image."
"I was wondering..." Arthur swallows. "I was wondering if you could... if you would show me... if I could see Gaius."
"Oh," Merlin says, surprised. "Yes, of course. I can do that."
His hand hovers over the sword, once again making it glow softly, and when the image appears in the air before them, Arthur needs to swallow a lump in his throat.
Gaius is slightly stooped but otherwise looks much the same, pottering about in a room that is very familiar to Arthur. It's smaller than his chambers at Camelot but filled with bottles and jars, books and bundles of dried herbs just the way Arthur remembers. He watches as Gaius pours a measure of oil into a mortar, adds a pinch of some powder and a few seed pods and grinds everything together with the pestle, frowning and muttering to himself. A raven descends from the ceiling in a flash of dark wings and settles on his shoulder; Gaius tuts and shakes his head.
When the image fades, Arthur is smiling although his chest aches.
"Thank you," he mumbles and quickly removes himself from the kitchen.
In the parlour he stands by the window, staring out at the dense wall of fog while he blinks the moisture from his eyes. He is moved as much by Merlin's kindness as by the sight of Gaius, thankfully, improbably alive and well after all these years.
xxx
The visions from the outside world, the real world, leave Arthur restless and impatient. He paces the cottage like a caged animal, unable to sit down or focus. Merlin is in the parlour with a thick book, completely absorbed and focused. Arthur's sheathed sword is on the table before him.
When Arthur feels like he's about to burst, he snatches up the sword, unsheathes it and whips around to take a swing at the window. The blade hits the glass with a noise that sets his teeth on edge and sends a painful jolt up his arm, but the window remains intact.
Over by the table, Merlin looks up from the book to raise an eyebrow at the furiously cursing Arthur. "Remember what I said about needing cool heads, not muscle or sword?"
Muttering, Arthur sheaths the sword and throws it back on the table. "I need exercise," he says and begins to shove furniture out of the way to clear floor space.
A good while later he's worked through all muscle groups and finished with a sword fight against an invisible partner. The irritation has been chased out of his body and he's dripping with sweat, tired and satisfied. When he picks up his discarded tunic from the floor and wipes his face and neck with it, he finds Merlin staring at him from across the room. At his querying look Merlin flushes and looks down, and Arthur's own face goes hot for no reason.
He clears his throat. "I'm afraid I'll need your help again, Merlin."
"You know," Merlin says, still a little flushed, "for someone who's opposed to magic, you're making frequent use of it."
Arthur can't help grinning. "Well, it's handy."
Merlin makes a face at him. "What is it you need?"
"Clean clothes. And hot water for a bath."
"You must keep your servants very busy back at Camelot. See how much easier things would run with magic?"
Arthur throws the sweaty shirt at him. "Bath," he says.
xxx
It bothers him, how much he enjoys watching Merlin perform magic. He should be appalled, revolted, and instead his breath catches in his throat. Merlin makes magic beautiful.
Something has shifted between them. The air is heavy, like something important is about to happen. Apart from Merlin's whispered spells they don't speak, both of them moving carefully as if it's a ritual demanding reverence. When Arthur's undressed he climbs into the bath, watching the water as it stills around him, his knees breaking the surface like pale twin isles. Behind him Merlin is moving about quietly, but Arthur doesn't turn to look at him. He sits with his head bent until Merlin kneels by his side and dips a cloth into the water, a repeat of yesterday and still entirely different. Out of the corner he sees Merlin's hand and bare forearm, the black sleeve rolled up above the elbow.
Arthur leans forward and closes his eyes as the warm, wet cloth is pressed softly to the nape of his neck. Merlin washes his back gently, the cloth moving in slow, methodical circles from the shoulders down. Goosebumps spring up along Arthur's arms and chest, his nipples tighten and his teeth catch his bottom lip. He can feel Merlin's breath on his neck as if Merlin's mouth is a mere finger's breadth from his skin, and suddenly all Arthur can think about is how he wants Merlin to close the distance and lean in that last bit. He grips his knees and squeezes his eyes shut, his breath coming fast. He is so hard it almost hurts, curling in on himself to hide it. When the cloth in Merlin's hand reaches the small of Arthur's back and stops, Arthur makes a sound that is embarrassingly close to a moan.
Without moving or opening his eyes, he swallows and clears his throat. "Thank you, Merlin. You can leave now." As if Merlin were a servant.
Merlin drops the cloth into the water and quietly leaves the room, and Arthur grinds his teeth. He stands up abruptly and nearly trips over the edge of the tub in his haste to get out of the water, leans his forehead on his wet arm against the wall and closes his other hand around his cock. Images of Merlin flash before his eyes as he works himself furiously, the arc of Merlin's white neck and the full lips parted, his eyelashes smudged dark against his cheek as he bucks under Arthur's weight and comes... Arthur screws his eyes shut and bites down on his arm as he paints the wall with milky strings of come.
With closed eyes and shaking knees he leans on the wall until he's recovered. He wipes the wall clean with the cloth and tosses it back into the tub before pulling on the nightshirt that Merlin's found in a cupboard. Still a bit shaky, he takes a deep breath and opens the door to the kitchen. His face is hot but he can blame the bath.
Merlin's in the kitchen with his back turned, mixing something in a bowl. Arthur stares at the back of his neck, at the vulnerable white skin above the neckline of his tunic and the way his hair grows upward from the sides and meets in a downward point, and wants to put his tongue there.
Something inside him begins to fall from a height.
Shuddering with an emotion he can't even name, he pads on bare feet to his bedroom, shuts the door and lies staring at the ceiling until the fire goes out.
He's never seen darkness like this before. At Camelot, the castle corridors are lit by torches through the night, edging his chamber door with gold when his candle is blown out, and if he looks out the window he'll see the scattered lights of the town. Even out hunting, the nights are never dark like this - there are stars and moon and embers. Here, the darkness is absolute. It's like they're sailing on an ink-black, shoreless sea. Perhaps they've stepped outside of time. Perhaps they are dead but not yet crossed over into eternity, waiting for something to release them.
It's a long time before Arthur sleeps.
xxx
When he wakes up it's morning, and he finds his clothes clean and neatly folded over the back of a chair.
Merlin is at the kitchen table with a steaming beaker in front of him, dipping a spoon into the honey pot as Arthur enters. He nods a good morning and puts the spoon in his mouth, turning his eyes to the window and the unchanging whiteness.
In an instant Arthur is returned to the state of last night, staring at Merlin's lips around the spoon. He wants to yank it out of Merlin's hand and take its place, kiss him deeply and lick the honey from his tongue... Merlin turns his head and starts when he meets Arthur's eyes. I must look as if I'm about to pounce, Arthur thinks, and he is, very nearly.
He bows his head and focuses on bread and cheese and apples. It's a good while before he dares to look up again. Something has changed about Merlin's face since yesterday, he notices, and halfway through an apple, he realises what it is.
"Oh," he says, still chewing, "you've shaved. Did you use magic?"
Merlin gives Arthur a look like he seriously doubts his intelligence. "It's hard to shave without either razor or magic."
"Um, could you...?" Arthur says, swallowing the last of his apple and waving a hand over his own stubble. "It itches."
"I can," Merlin says a little hesitantly, "but I'll have to touch your face."
The apple is gone but Arthur needs to swallow again. Merlin gets up and gestures for Arthur to do the same; they stand face to face looking into each other's eyes. Merlin's are very blue in the grey light and his pupils are dilated.
Inside Arthur, the thing is still falling.
Merlin's eyes glow and a string of whispered, unintelligible words spill over his lips as his fingertips meet Arthur's cheekbone and slide down, following the jawline to the chin. Arthur stares into Merlin's gold-ringed eyes, mesmerised, and tries not to shiver. When Merlin's warm fingertips move over Arthur's chin and nudge the edge of his bottom lip, Arthur draws a breath and closes his eyes. He wants to catch Merlin's fingers in his mouth and run his tongue around them, suck on them until Merlin moans.
When Merlin's fingertip runs along Arthur's upper lip, Arthur is achingly hard. He opens his eyes. The glow of magic is gone and Merlin removes his hand. His gaze drops, and there's nothing Arthur can do to hide what's happening to him.
"Oh," Merlin says.
Arthur's cheeks flood with heat and he turns away, mortified. "Sorry," he mutters, "it's only... I'll just..."
Merlin's fingers slip around his wrist. "Please don't go. Look at me."
Arthur's face is burning, but he lifts his eyes and finds his own desire mirrored. It should be so wrong, but nothing in his life has ever felt this right. Merlin's hand is warm as it slides down to cover the hard ridge of Arthur's cock, and Arthur pushes into the touch, angling his chin for a kiss.
xxx
They're lying in Arthur's rumpled bed with Merlin's head sleepily cushioned on Arthur's shoulder and Arthur's cheek against Merlin's hair.
"I had to be on that delegation to Camelot," Merlin murmurs. "I had to see you in the flesh."
"In the flesh?"
Merlin raises himself on an elbow and looks down at Arthur, drawing figures on his chest with a fingertip. Arthur's hand looks large and rough and weather-beaten against the pallor of Merlin's arm.
"My crystals had shown me your face," Merlin says. "They showed me who you were, what you would be."
His eyes are shining, as if he's waited a long time to say this. "When I saw you at Camelot, I already knew I would love you."
Love? Arthur looks at him in wonder.
The thing that fell inside him lands, feather-soft.
xxx
It's new to Arthur, this sense of belonging. Something has unlocked in him to reveal a space previously unknown, and perhaps a corresponding space has been unlocked in Merlin. Gates open to let emotion flow freely, back and forth between them until giving and receiving can't be told apart.
xxx
"Why is Nimueh displeased with you?" Arthur asks at the kitchen table, watching Merlin crack eggs into a pan. "And can't you use your magic for cooking?"
Merlin throws him a grin over his shoulder. "Yes, but I like doing it without magic. I like feeling it under my hands."
"Nimueh is disappointed in me," he says later in reply to Arthur's first question. "She wants magic back in the five kingdoms; she wants to see the old religion return."
"Isn't that what you want?"
Merlin looks at him. "Not like that. To have a future, magic and non-magic people will have to exist side by side. We must learn to live alongside one another and benefit from each other's strengths."
His words make Arthur stumble onto the answer to one of his own, old questions. "It's you, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"You are holding Bayard back. For two years now, I've wondered why we haven't found ourselves under siege. There's no doubt Mercia could take us with very little fight, and we've lived in fear ever since we heard that Bayard appointed a court sorcerer. But you, the sorcerer, are the reason we haven't been attacked."
Merlin's eyes are soft. "I have advised Bayard against it, yes. I've told him he must have patience. We will never achieve unity by force. It needs to be done with peaceful means, and he has learned to trust me. The crystals have told me what I needed to see."
Arthur finds his mouth is half open. "And what did you see?"
"That Lord Bayard will not be the one who brings about peace," Merlin says. "But I haven't told him that. Not yet."
"So - who will?"
Merlin doesn't reply. He dips his chin and glances sideways at Arthur with a near-smile, as if he knows a great secret.
For a moment everything stops, and Arthur draws a breath as he sees the implications of Merlin's silence. Perhaps the process has already begun; perhaps it did long before he met Merlin. And now - unthinkable only two days ago - a life without magic, a life without Merlin, seems unbearably colourless and bleak. A future without a future.
"Does what you see always come true?" he asks shakily.
"Always," Merlin replies and adds: "But not always in the way I expect."
Suddenly Arthur is laughing. "Merlin, if you can see the future - why didn't you see this?" He waves a hand at the kitchen. "Couldn't your crystals tell you how to get out?"
"I can't decide what to see, you clotpole," Merlin says and throws his apple peel at Arthur. "I only see what the crystals choose to show me. Speaking of which, I need your sword again."
"Is that a euphemism?"
"You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?"
"Oh, you have no idea."
Merlin thwaps him over the head. "I want to see what's happening back home."
The sword is brought and Arthur watches Merlin lean over the blade. The image in the air between them shows Uther on horseback with a good number of the Knights of Camelot, and then Bayard riding out of his courtyard flanked by blue-clad men.
"The kings are riding," Merlin says. "That's an unusual sight - search parties headed by kings. There's something very, very strange going on here."
xxx
In bed that night, wedged in with Merlin's left shoulder pressed against Arthur's right, Merlin lifts his hand and blows a breath along his fingers as if he's blowing a kiss into the room. In the near-dark, a shower of sparks come dancing from the fireplace and shape themselves into a dragon in front of them.
Arthur watches in amazement and Merlin beams, looking very pleased with himself. When Arthur leans over to kiss him, a small part of him wishes they could stay here and never leave.
xxx
In the morning, the light looks different. Something has changed.
The same moment Arthur hears the faint sound, he feels Merlin tense beside him: it's the whisper of wind, the first sound they've heard from outside since they came here. They both sit up in bed. The fog is swirling and Arthur strains his eyes to get a glimpse of something, anything, through the wisps and swathes of it. Merlin seems to be listening as much to something inside himself as to the noise of the wind.
"She's excited," he says slowly. "Nimueh is excited. Something is about to happen."
Arthur runs his fingertips from the base of Merlin's neck to his shoulder. "Can you tell what it is?"
Merlin shakes his head. "No, and I can't think what it might be... unless - " And then something seems to dawn on him. "Oh, god. Arthur, I think I know. I think I do know what it is. Your father and Lord Bayard are on their way here. She's going to lead them here - probably more subtly than she did us, but she will lead them."
There's a cold knot of fear at the pit of Arthur's stomach. "Why? What's going to happen?"
"Arthur, don't you see? Nimueh meant for this to happen, I mean this, with us." Merlin gestures between them, their nakedness, the bruises he's sucked to life on Arthur's chest. "She wants for them to see us here, like this. Your father will find you in bed with another man, a sorcerer, and Bayard arriving will only make things worse. Uther will think Bayard is behind it. Don't you see? We'll have war upon us in an instant. Bayard will believe this is Uther scheming, that you are a spy. There will be instant chaos, Arthur; exactly what Nimueh wants. She means for us all to die, and then she can take over without anyone ever knowing it was her doing. It all fits, don't you see?" Merlin scrambles out of bed and begins to pull on his clothes. His hair is on end, his eyes are wild. "We have to stop her, Arthur. We can't let this happen. Come on, they're still about half a day's ride from here - we need to find out how to break her spells."
Merlin's urgency makes Arthur scramble out of bed. "Will you be able to break them? You said you'd tried everything."
"It will be easier now," Merlin says grimly as he pulls on his boots. "I have a new angle; I know what her intentions are. I can unravel her spells if I can find a weakness in them, and now that I know the core, I'll know where to start."
There's nothing for Arthur to do but to watch Merlin's frantic work. He stands by the wall watching Merlin's eyes blaze as colours flash and wood splinters; he feels the floor shake and the walls tremble, awed and a little frightened at the power contained in Merlin's thin frame.
It seems to go on forever. Arthur's shirt is damp with nervous sweat. When he goes to splash cold water on his face, his hands are unsteady. A shout from Merlin sends him running back.
"What happened?"
"I found it," Merlin says, panting and shaking, his hair plastered to his forehead. "I broke it. I think I was so angry it gave me the strength I needed."
"Are you okay?"
Merlin waves the question aside. "We need to leave at once."
He helps Arthur with the armour and kisses his chin as he fastens the clasp of the red cloak.
"Merlin," Arthur says, "will you have to face Nimueh?"
"She'll be very angry," Merlin says, "but don't worry, I won't let her harm you."
"I'm not concerned about me, you idiot!"
There's a small, grim smile on Merlin's face. "I'll give her a match." He looks at Arthur. "Well, then. This is it. Are you ready to face the world?"
Arthur takes a deep breath. "Yes."
Merlin opens the door and they tumble out on the doorstep, stopping to fill their lungs with sweet, fresh air.
The fog is gone. They can see softly rolling hills and dark clumps of trees, and the mountains in the distance, cold and blue.
"We must go," Merlin says.
"Merlin, wait." Arthur's hand scrabbles for purchase in the folds of the blue velvet cloak; he twists his fingers into the material and pulls. He knows they have to leave but he can't bear for them to part. "It could be years before I see you again," he says. "I can't... I don't want to wait years."
He hopes his eyes convey the plea he can't quite get over his lips.
Merlin smiles and leans in until they're chest to chest and his mouth is at Arthur's ear. "On a brightly moonlit night, watch for a bird of prey."
"A bird of prey?" Arthur's hands rub over Merlin's arms as if to fight the cold; his lips find Merlin's jaw. "What kind?"
Merlin pulls back. His laugh makes his eyes crinkle and tugs at Arthur's heart. "I'd have thought you could figure that out." He leans in to press a quick, close-lipped kiss to Arthur's mouth. "Now, hurry, before they find us together! North is that way; you want to go up the slope. Quickly, before the search parties reach the border - go and greet your King!"
Then he's gone with a whirl of his cloak, gone in the other direction. Arthur fights down the hollow feeling in his chest, sets his jaw and starts out along the path. When he turns around to take one last look at the house, it's vanished. There's only a glimpse of blue disappearing among the trees across the meadow.
Arthur follows the grass path that climbs uphill, east and north, and on the fringes of the forest he meets the search party. His father is riding up front, flanked by Leon and Bedivere, and Arthur will never forget the look on their faces when they catch sight of him. All the men cheer, Leon beams like only Leon can, but Uther's face crumples. He throws the reins to Leon, dismounts and pulls Arthur to him so hard their pauldrons clash, and Arthur feels his father's whole body tremble. He closes his eyes and tries to pretend he isn't clinging to Uther and the feeling of being loved, the love Uther so rarely shows. Even Hengroen seems happy to see Arthur, nudging him with a velvet nose and blowing warm air down his neck.
It's a joyous journey back, with Leon leaning over now and then to pat Arthur's back and Uther turning his head to look at Arthur as if he can't quite believe his son is there, alive and unharmed.
When they set up camp for the night, Arthur volunteers to take the first watch with Leon. They sit side by side as the murmurs and laughs of the men fade out, replaced by snores. The fire burns low and steady, the stars are jewel bright, and somewhere among the trees an owl hoots. Arthur takes a deep breath. He's glad to be out under open skies, glad to be where clouds drift and dry leaves rustle in the breeze. Here, he is free. Here, he belongs.
Leon leans back on his elbows.
"The moon is very bright tonight," he says and yawns.
"Yes," Arthur replies slowly, looking up at the white, radiant sphere. The memory of Merlin's face dances before his eyes, Merlin's words are like a whisper in his ears. "Yes, isn't it quite unusually bright?"
He picks up a stick and pokes aimlessly the ground by his feet, bowing his head to hide his smile from Leon.