Author's note
Thank you to all of you who have decided to follow this story - it's encouraging! - and to those of you who've reviewed. I'll generally reply to reviews by PM, except where a reviewer doesn't have a login, where I'll do this:

Guest: 'vivid' is what I was hoping for, but you never really know what'll work for other people - so thank you for letting me know!

Chapter Two: Meredor
'Just what is wrong with you, Merlin?'

'Oh, I'm sorry, have I dropped one of your bags? You have so many of them that it's difficult to keep track of them all.'

'Then don't carry them all at once. Make two trips.'

'Lovely. Instead of sympathy, I'm told to work harder.'

'You're my servant, Merlin. Working is what you do. You should have managed to grasp that by now.'

'I'm sure there's meant to be a difference between a servant and a slave.'

'Not when it comes to you. Now will you get on with it?'

Grumbling, Merlin knelt down to pick up the bag, and promptly lost his grip on another. He cast his eyes heavenwards and sighed. This was going to be a difficult day.

'Lend you a hand?' came Elyan's voice.

'Please.'

Elyan picked up the offending bags and took two more off Merlin, and the two of them walked from the horses over to the new camp. It had taken four days to reach the Seas of Meredor. Once there, Arthur had led them to a sheltered dell in the side of one of the hills that rose up to create the great cliffs. They had brought tents, being unsure of how long they would remain here, and four of the soldiers were currently setting them up, while Gwaine, Percival and the six other soldiers scouted out the area. There was no known threat here, but Arthur did not believe in taking chances. The last thing he wanted was bandits taking them by surprise.

'Arthur being a bit difficult, then?'

'He's always like this on the first few days of a mission. It's because he has to get up at the same time as everyone else, and he's really not a people person first thing in the morning, so he's absolutely at his best. I'm the natural target.'

Elyan grinned, saying, 'It's only because he knows you can deal with it.'

'I'm pretty sure it's because I'm in his face all day long, actually,' Merlin grinned back. 'But I don't mind. I'll make up for it by being extra cheerful at him later on. I know how much he loves that, especially when he's tired.'

Elyan laughed and clapped Merlin on the back. 'He's lucky to have you.'

'Try telling him that!'

The scouts returned a few hours later.

'Report,' said Arthur.

'We've scoured the countryside for miles around, sire,' answered Percival. 'There's no sign of anyone ever coming here. No old fireplaces, no damage to the vegetation, no horse droppings, nothing. I'd say that no one has been here for many months, perhaps much longer.'

'Hardly a surprise,' added Gwaine. 'The valleys ten miles away are fertile, and easy to till, but it's all chalk and limestone up here - not much fun if you're a farmer, and there's little point in bandits coming here, since it's not exactly on the way anywhere.'

'We have found a path leading down to the beach, sire,' said Geraint. 'It's a bit tricky in places, but it'll give us easier access than if we had to work our way back down the hill and then across and through the gap south-east of here.'

'Excellent,' said Arthur. 'I think we'll still keep watch, but it's unlikely we'll be disturbed while we're here.'

'I'll believe that when we're safely on our way home,' muttered Merlin, who had been on too many missions with Arthur to be lulled into a false sense of security.

'Well, it's only early afternoon, so we might as well make our way down to the beach,' said Arthur, ignoring his manservant's comment. 'We can try to spot the cave from there.'

Geraint led them to his discovery. At some point in the past, a great rock avalanche had taken place and a jagged section of the cliff-face had fallen away, leaving a steep descent. Arthur inspected it with interest.

'Well, it seems we aren't the first people here. Look - just there, you can see that steps have been cut into the path, although they've nearly worn away now and they're overgrown. I suppose that must have been when Fyrien was still alive and there was enough trade to need to be able to get around the area more quickly. This would have been a useful place to keep a lookout for ships, but it would have been very tedious to have to get to the castle by the long route. At least that means that we'll probably be able to get back up here, and not just down.'

They made their way down the sloping path carefully. The ground was uneven, covered in clumps of grass and small shrubs and loose stones, and a misplaced foot could lead to a rather swift journey down to the beach. They would have to come up again before night fell; in the dark, the path would be treacherous.

'What now?' asked Merlin when they finally stood on the beach.

'We'll split up. Gwaine, Percival, you take six of the others and head towards the promontory over there,' Arthur said, pointing. 'Divide up the stretch in equal parts as you go, so that two of you can check each section.'

'Any idea what we're looking for?' asked Gwaine.

'Not really. It'll be an opening of some kind in the cliff-face, but I can't say how high up it'll be, or how large, so we're going to have to look quite carefully. Make sure you get close enough to the water to be able to see the high sections of the cliff-face properly. We'll do the same in the other direction.'

Scouring the cliff-face was more difficult than Merlin had expected. The cliffs sometimes jutted out, sometimes receded, so that he had to keep walking backwards and forwards, and from one side to the other, in order to check one small area before he could move on. Although the sky was a dull grey once more, the white chalk of the cliffs took what little sunlight there was and threw it back at him, blinding him. A relentless wind tore at his eyes, making them water. Great gusts that seemed to cut straight through his jacket would suddenly cause him to stumble, and threw up the spray of the sea to drench him. That the beach was all shingle only made the process harder; his boots were not very sturdy, his feet kept slipping and his legs were getting tired. Merlin was wet, exceedingly cold, and very fed up.

'This is ridiculous,' he said to himself. 'Why am I doing this?'

The answer was walking backwards towards the water a few hundred feet away from him, hand shielding his eyes against the glare. Merlin, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around himself, watched. When he had come to Camelot, scarcely eighteen summers old, he had had great difficulty believing that Arthur was the Once and Future King of prophecy. The man had been intolerably self-centred, amusing himself in the discomfort of others and clearly driven by a profound insecurity that manifested itself in a remarkable lack of self-reflection and a need to belittle others. A better man might have laughed and let Merlin's insult pass when they met - but then, a better man would not have warranted the insult.

Of course, as Merlin had soon realized, Arthur owed much of his character to his father. He had lived in continuous fear of the man's opinion - a constant underlying sense that he did not measure up and that he was a disappointment. Not that Arthur had always done as Uther wished. He had always had more concern for the people of Camelot, had always felt duty-bound to take risks for their sake, and had been willing to defy his father both secretly and to his face. Still that fear had always been there and had informed much of who Arthur was. Although Merlin would have spared Arthur the pain of Uther's death, he was far from sure that it was a bad thing that Arthur would no longer try to prove anything to him. Perhaps the king could now become his own man.

Merlin smiled to himself despite the cold. When he had found himself somewhat unwillingly thrust upon the equally unwilling then-prince by Uther, he had not understood quite how much truth lay in Kilgharrah's claims. That they were united in a common destiny despite their differences had become clear soon enough, but neither of them could have understood then just what they would end up being to each other. He wasn't sure that they really understood now, beyond this simple truth: that Arthur without Merlin was as unthinkable as Merlin without Arthur, even as it is unthinkable that a coin should lack one of its sides and still be a coin. If Arthur had threatened Merlin with exile when reminded that he still loved Guinevere, and when Agravaine's betrayal was so nearly discovered, yet it was to Merlin to whom he had looked when he had found her ring, and to Merlin to whom he had turned when his heart was torn, and so proved the lie for what it was. It was Merlin who had known his king's heart, and Merlin who had guarded it, and it was Merlin who now, against all his expectations, could conceive of no world in which he would not do so.

So he had decided long ago that if Arthur insisted on running off on missions the wisdom of which, unlike the discomfort they would bring, was really not apparent, he would be by his friend's side. That apart, Arthur was king, and that this meant that in the end it was for him to decide what they did. Merlin would not undermine him. He believed in the Once and Future King, in Arthur. And more: their destiny seemed to work despite - or perhaps through - Arthur's willingness to take these risks. It seemed that this was how Arthur was to be shaped into a wise and compassionate king, and how Merlin was to learn to use his magic.

His magic. The smile slowly faded and the cold bit more sharply. It had been almost ten years now. He was still pleased to be Arthur's servant. Nothing had changed since that night when he thought he was going to his death on the Isle of the Blessed. Arthur was a great warrior, and now he was a great king who had indeed learnt to listen as well as he fought. Well, almost. But this too had not changed: Arthur still didn't know him.

His thoughts ran down a well-worn path. He couldn't tell Arthur, because Arthur was the king. Arthur couldn't ignore the law when he was its embodiment. He couldn't tell Arthur because the fewer people who knew who Emrys was, the safer Arthur would be. He couldn't tell Arthur because it'd be another betrayal, and Arthur had had more of those than was fair. He couldn't tell Arthur because he'd be forcing him to decide whether or not to execute his friend. He couldn't tell Arthur because he might lose him.

But against all this stood the great mountain Destiny. There could be no doubt that during Arthur's kingship Camelot had become a better and more justly ruled kingdom, but that was not the full extent of the prophecy. Merlin was to be instrumental in the return of magic to the land, and he had now become so used to hiding himself from Arthur that he could scarcely imagine how he would stop doing so. He had comforted himself with the thought that he was helping Arthur become a great king, but the truth that gnawed at him, that he had never been able to fully ignore, was that he was scared, and while his mind desperately told him that there were other reasons for not telling Arthur, it was his fear that drove him. He was scared that he might die, scared that he might lose his friend, scared that he might fail those who placed their hope in him, and the fear was paralyzing. He didn't know what to do, and the tears that ran down his cheeks were no longer just brought about by the wind.

Mercy broke through his thoughts in the form of a distant shout. Merlin's eyes snapped open and he saw Arthur gesturing at him, telling him in unmistakeable terms that they were not on holiday and that he was to get on with it if he didn't want to be left on the beach for the night.

If the group that returned to the camp that evening was disheartened by the fact that they had not found anything, they did their best not to show it. But after three more days, the despondence that had settled upon all members of the expedition could no longer be hidden. They had scoured the cliff-face from end to end with nothing to show for their efforts. The elements had contrived to fight them at every turn as grey clouds became heavy rain, whipped into their faces by the wind, soaking them to the bone. Two of the soldiers were plainly unwell. Even Gwaine had succumbed to the general sombre mood and said little.

On the morning of the fifth day, Arthur looked out over the cliffs to where the sea merged into the leaden skies and knew that the mission had failed. He sullenly gave the order to break up camp. The sooner they got back to Camelot and forgot about this whole mess, the better.

'Arthur-'

'Not now, Merlin.'

'I know you're-'

'Please, Merlin. Not now.'

Merlin returned to where Elyan was dismantling a tent and began to help him. As much as he shared the disappointment of the others, he was glad that no danger greater than the common cold had befallen them and that they might for once return to Camelot safely and unharmed. He had not thought Arthur right to so casually dismiss Eorlric's warning - for that was plainly what it was: a warning - and had had enough advice in the form of dragon-wrought riddles to treat veiled hints of danger and reward as not being a good reason for action.

Kilgharrah, to his credit, would have told Merlin that, given his experience, his relief was foolish. It was certainly short-lived.

'Sire!'

The cry came from just beyond the cliff-edge. As Arthur walked towards it, he saw Percival standing near the top of the path down to the beach, one hand shielding his eyes, the other pointing out across the cliff-face.

'What is it, Percival?'

'I was just walking along the path; thought I'd get in one last look for the cave before we leave. I've always looked down because the path isn't really very safe, but as I started out I looked up briefly, and I saw - well, look for yourself.'

Arthur looked at where Percival was pointing and saw nothing. As he stepped forward, he suddenly saw that part of the cliff a few hundred yards away seemed to move. Squinting, he moved slowly from side to side, backwards and forwards. Percival was right.

'Great,' said a voice behind him.

'What are you complaining about now, Merlin?' he replied without turning around.

'You're going to want us to do something stupid and dangerous.'

Arthur grinned. 'Glad you like my plan.'

What Percival had seen was a small shelf of rock that jutted out from the cliffs. The shelf wasn't completely flat; it had what could only be described as a small wall on the seaward side - not tall, but high enough to ensure that anyone looking up from the beach would not be able to see a section of the cliff-face about six to eight feet high immediately behind the shelf. The shelf itself would probably blend into the cliffs from below. Percival had happened to be looking in the right direction from the right angle, else he would never have noticed.

'Do we have to do this?'

'Shut up, Merlin. Gwaine, tie the rope to that tree over there and I'll lower myself down.'

They had spent some time wandering along the edge of the cliffs, lying on the ground every so often to look down as they tried to find the shelf. There had one been one hair-raising moment when Gwaine had insisted that he needed to pull himself out so far that he would topple into the sea if he was to see what was below properly, and Percival had had to cling on to his legs, but they had eventually found the rocky protrusion. It was about ten feet from the top of the cliff where they now stood.

'Arthur, don't you think perhaps one of us should go first?' asked Elyan.

'Why?'

'Because you're the king, and I don't want to have to tell my sister and the council that I allowed you to be thrown off a cliff by the wind.'

'He does have a point, Arthur.'

Arthur sighed and nodded. Loathe as he was to admit it, they were right. Being king did not mean simply doing whatever he pleased, so he watched as Elyan tied the rope around himself, took a firm grip on it, and leant out backwards over the sea. His face a mask of concentration, he slowly lowered himself, occasionally glancing down to make sure that the shelf was directly beneath him.

Above, the men waited anxiously, Geraint now lying on the ground to watch Elyan's progress.

'Easy!' he shouted. 'The shelf isn't very big. You don't want to push yourself out too far, or you'll miss it. Small steps - that's right. You're nearly there now.'

'Done it!' came the shout from below. They breathed a collective sigh of relief. Then another shout.

'Arthur - we've found the cave!'

Merlin's heart sank.