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Chapter 2: Taking Action

It's been over a week since Merlin held the crystal of Neahtid. In it he saw visions of Arthur attacking him with a sword and himself convulsing on the ground, covered in blood. The images won't leave his head; if anything it feels as if the crystal is calling to him, whispering with such constant intensity he is compelled to get closer to hear what it says. He has tried to resist but there have been several occasions when his feet have taken him toward the vaults unbidden and he's only just managed to shake himself out of the daze and stop descending the steps. If caught, how would he explain it? It's not safe for him to be around all those items of powerful magic alone. He fears what will happen if he goes again.

Things can't go on this way; lack of sleep is making him irritable and he's making mistakes in his work. Gwaine is evidently concerned because Merlin keeps finding apples and other goodies strewn amongst his belongings. It's as if the knight is surreptitiously trying to fatten him up and show that he cares. Unfortunately, Merlin finds himself snapping at his friend's constant attempts to distract him, frustrated that he can't allay his fears or tell Gwaine what's really bothering him.

Confiding in Gaius has not helped; the old physician argues that visions are merely half-truths and possible futures. He has questioned Merlin repeatedly, asking if he could be mistaken. There was no mistaking the look on Arthur's face, his words or actions, and the scream was his own - as was the blood that coated his hands. Yet Gaius insists the vision may not be what it seems. Why? Because it goes against a destiny that has been foretold for thousands of years? His surrogate father's reasoning does nothing to calm him; how could it? Gaius always advocates caution and warns him not to reveal his secret and yet if he were that confident of the future Merlin would be free and not pretending to be the idiot everyone thinks he is.

Absorbed in his own worries, he finds himself at his master's door, failing to register how he got there. He rallies himself and enters the king's chambers with a loud greeting and a broad grin.

The smile drops from his face when he observes Arthur staring blankly out the window. The royal is brooding; Merlin has known him long enough to recognise the signs. He's so finely tuned to his friend's moods that he can almost sense the cause of his rumination.

"Do you think she's really gone?"

Arthur's shoulders tense, knowing exactly to whom Merlin refers. "No."

"There has been no word for three years."

Even as the words slip from Merlin's lips he does not believe them – he knows Morgana is not dead. The witch's presence lingers malevolently in the back of his consciousness, even if he does not know where she is or her intentions.

Arthur turns. "I grew up with Morgana; she is intelligent and cunning but above all patient. If she feels wronged she will not forget or forgive; she will wait however long it takes to exact her revenge."

Merlin shifts uncomfortably; what Arthur has said is true but the king has not finished.

"When I was nine I dropped a dead frog down the back of her dress." Arthur lifts his finger, preventing Merlin from interrupting. "I was severely reprimanded for my little 'joke' and thought that was the end of it - it was not. She waited three weeks before putting live worms on my plate during an important dinner with father and a guest. Morgana knew I would not be able to say anything or the cook would suffer and that father would not tolerate us misbehaving or leaving food."

Arthur turned back towards the window, a resigned expression etched upon his face. "I can ensure you, Merlin, we have not seen the last of my sister!"

"You won't look for her?"

Arthur's hands rest on his hips. "It would be a fruitless exercise and a waste of resources."

Yes, but I should have looked for her, Merlin tells himself. There are many things he should have done. The warlock has an unexpected rush of recklessness and, gathering his courage, tries to gauge Arthur's opinions on magic.

He gives a small cough. "What would you have done if you had discovered she had magic when you were younger?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wants to claw them back. Why ask Arthur that? It's almost like he wants to punish himself. Morgana betrayed Arthur in the worst way and yet Merlin's insatiable need to constantly monitor his king's attitude overrules logic. As he waits for Arthur's response a coil of discomfort takes hold of his stomach and tightens around his throat making breathing difficult.

Just as Merlin begins to hope Arthur did not hear him, the king snorts.

"I don't know... We played together, grew up together, I would never have wanted to harm her... but I could never have predicted how she would turn against us."

"You couldn't have known."

I knew.

"She went on to slaughter hundreds – her own people - ruined my father and betrayed Camelot. Think how many could have been saved if she had been stopped before that happened."

"You tried to see the good in her."

As did I, but poisoned her anyway – I am responsible for Morgana and how she turned out.

"You're right, Merlin; I won't make the same mistake again... Magic did this, it corrupted her – it's taken everything from me."

There is a small clatter as some of the items on the tray Merlin holds fall to the floor. He hastily puts it down and picks up the fallen cutlery.

"That will be all, Merlin."

Under normal circumstances Merlin would ignore the dismissal and give the king the support he so often craves but cannot ask for. Not this time - Merlin all but bolts from the room. It's all he can do to walk normally past the guards until he can round a corner and duck into an alcove.

Out of sight, he hugs his knees to his chest and tries to get his breathing under control. Well, what did I expect? His destiny seems insurmountable. Will there ever be a time when Arthur accepts magic? When it's no longer seen as a curse and a threat? Merlin leans his face against the cold stone, hoping to cool his red cheeks before once again putting on a cheerful demeanour and forcing himself to go about his chores.


The rest of the day vanishes in a whir of activity. Merlin performs automatically, not stopping to chat or resting between tasks. When he gets back to his chambers there is a note from Gaius; the physician has been called to a neighbouring village to help with an outbreak of sweating sickness. He will be gone for several days.

Merlin holds the parchment, struck by indecision. He's used to reacting when Arthur or the people he cares about are in danger but now that the threat is aimed at him he does not know what to do. The attack could be a year from now or tomorrow. Not for the first time the warlock understands the torment Morgana's dreams gave her. He needs to do something, anything, but is loath to perform magic in case he unwittingly brings about that what he fears.

Kilgharrah is the obvious choice for answers; cryptic as his advice can be the dragon may offer an explanation. Maybe the druids could help, but he does not know how to find them.

Merlin resolves to slip out of the castle after he has finished serving Arthur. He will have to go further this time, deeper into the forest, and find a clearing far away. If Arthur were to follow him and see... the dragonlord shudders. It is a ridiculous notion; Arthur has never followed before, he has never been caught using magic before – but perhaps that's what starts it?


Striding across the courtyard, Merlin jumps at the sound of his name. He turns to see a guard waving. Returning the gesture weakly, he ducks his head and gathers speed. The sun is low in the sky and casts long shadows. He'd just finished his shift and needs to get out of the castle whilst there is still some daylight; he has several hours' worth on foot if he is to make it back by dawn.

It's now dark and he's been walking a long time. There is barely any moonlight to guide his way as he stumbles through the woods. He has to be stealthy and so casts a spell to cover his tracks and make his steps silent. He's gone deep into the forest but pushes on.

The night is cool and the temperature is dropping; there are no clouds to keep in the heat. Merlin picks up his pace. His speed means he does not notice the chill in the air and for once he's grateful for the thin jacket that's stopping him from getting too hot despite the exertion. He's deep in the middle of the forest; it will take a while to reach somewhere suitable to call the dragon and for Kilgharrah to land.

Soon Merlin is running, not attending to his feet, just moving as quickly as he can through the dense trees. He does not see the trap buried in the undergrowth - it's deliberately hidden to catch victims unawares. He wouldn't expect it; animal traps are banned in Camelot and have been since Arthur became king. Those that remain are old, rusty, and covered in muck.

Merlin's strides are long, pushing off through the spongy earth and propelling him forward in a steady rhythm. The small click catches his attention but it's too late; his heel slams into the trap, triggering the metal teeth that rip into his flesh. He screams.

He's still screaming as he hits the ground. The trap is clamped around his left leg and the air is filled with the stench of blood gushing from the wound. His magic instinctively flares but hits the iron ring and reverberates - useless. White hot pain shoots up his leg as he rolls on his back grasping his shin, trying to release the metal band. Merlin's vision speckles, he stills and the throbbing ebbs a little so he attempts to crawl, dragging himself through the dirt and creating a furrow in the mud. He manages less than a meter before he vomits and blacks out.

The warlock is oblivious as his body cools and starts to shake, he's totally helpless and alone - bound to the ground as crimson seeps into the earth. The crystal of Neahtid did not foretell this.


TBC