Warnings and disclaimers: First chapter.

Ch.04 _ Moving gears

The maid was furiously sweeping the floor, isolating herself in the one part of the castle no one would come looking – Uther's chambers. Both the late King's and Morgana's were off-limits now, most servants avoided them with an almost superstitious passion, so the cleaning duty fell on her; it was one of the very few chores she had left now, since she was a maid mostly in name.

She didn't regret confronting Arthur, not really, but she did wonder if she could have done things differently. She wasn't even sure of what had happened. The idea was to talk to him, make him see the truth he refused to see, maybe yell a bit, but it definitely didn't involve the sudden urge to apologize once Arthur was gone or the hollow feeling in her chest now.

Everything had being working so well before. They had been lulled in a false sense of security, where all was good or evil, and that was that. She wasn't an idiot, and looking back it was easy to see that Merlin had been very nervous before they left; for once he had everything packed within the hour after Arthur gave the order to leave, pacing like a madman while she and the Knights said their goodbyes. Gwen couldn't even remember her last words to him now, and wasn't that pitiful?

The fact that Merlin could be evil was ridiculous. He would never betray them, and he had proven so time and time again. There wasn't one single rational reason to leave him behind, and there was, in fact, one very logical reason to let him in the citadel. He was, after all, the only defense they had against dragons. Gwen would never forget that moment when the still Prince had pushed her out of the way, the sight of gigantic wings flying over them and knowing that only luck was keeping them alive, and it wouldn't last for long.

How had Merlin overpowered it? How did it work? Had he tried to talk to it, maybe? The image of Merlin ordering the dragon to sit and play dead like a dog made her chuckle, because no matter how ridiculous it sounded, it seemed to fit with the image she had of the former servant.

That brought her mind back to Gaius' words the night before. Ever since the country boy came for the first time, it had been obvious that he was a mystery. Openly bad-mouthing the prince and saving his life were only the tip of the iceberg, there were many other little details, if one knew where to look. The way he talked sometimes, as if he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders. The way he just seemed to know when something was wrong before anyone else. The way he would look sometimes when she came without knocking inside the physician's quarters… startled and afraid, as if he had been caught in the middle of a mischief.

He was clumsy, and sometimes a bit naïve (even if that trait had almost disappeared as of late) but sometimes it seemed like he was working a bit too hard to look like the idiot he wasn't.

The way he carried himself, not caring about what the rest thought, with more pride than many nobles.

God, how much had she missed?

It wasn't the first time he had felt that way; back when Morgana tried to have her executed, that question had haunted her for months. How much had she missed? Why hadn't she known? Why hadn't she seen the signs?

There was one difference now, though. Merlin hadn't betrayed them, and he would come back. It didn't matter if Gaius had given up hope, or if Arthur threatened to kill him. She was sure that Merlin's destiny was with them. How could it not be, after everything they had been through together? He was a member of the Round Table and, sooner or later, he was going to come back.

So there was only one thing left to do.

She had to learn more.

She quickly finished her chores and dashed down the stairs and to the court physician's chambers.

"Gaius? Are you here?"

No one answered. She sighed, pushing the door open the rest of the way and coming inside. Well, he probably was already doing his rounds, or maybe he had gone to the kitchens. She could wait. The maid glanced at the door at the other side of the room, but she didn't move.

But the door kept mocking her, unlocked, and after a while, she moved to stand in front of it, which had probably not been touched again since that day, and hesitantly opened it. She barely suppressed another chuckle at the state of the room. The bed wasn't made, there were clothes on the floor and a couple of books opened at random pages; all in all, it looked as if the raven head was going to burst in any moment, complaining about the 'insufferable royal prat'.

"Gwen?"

She spun around, standing up and coming face to face with the physician. She suddenly felt like a child being scolded for behaving naughtily, and shuffled, nervous.

"Gaius! I was… I wanted to talk to you."

He seemed suspicious, but let it go with a sigh. She followed him to the main room, and fidgeted when he didn't encourage her to speak. It was the strangest feeling, actually; she knew what she wanted, but was afraid that the old man would misinterpret her motivations. Gwen didn't want him to think that she was only asking because of the conversation they had had. It wasn't because of guilt; granted, she did feel guilty about the whole thing, but she wasn't trying to find some kind of reassurance for her, not really. It was something more.

She opened her mouth twice, but couldn't bring herself to speak.

"Is something wrong Gwen?" The physician said, raising an eyebrow.

"I… I wanted to know… umm… oh! Do you need me to pick some herbs for you? I mean, I know that… well, if you are running low on anything, I could do it. I know a few edible ones, and I can recognize many of the poisonous ones so, well, I'm here if you need me."

Gaius still looked at her funnily for a while, clearly not believing her, but in the end he let it go, shaking his head. "No thank you dear. I asked one of the new servants to do it this morning, he seemed quite pleased with himself… even if he did mistake _ for belladonna." He frowned, less than impressed with the servant's performance.

Gwen shifted uncomfortably, even more unwilling to reveal the real reason of her visit. She looked around, thinking about her options, when her gaze fell upon the dozens of books that littered the place. That gave her an idea; that was it! With a smile, she quickly excused herself, and dashed towards the one place where she could find her answers and no one would have to find out.

~)*(~

The woman scowled as she moved through the corridors of the castle. She had been beautiful once, but now the darkness inside her had destroyed her once noble features, her eyes darted restlessly at every little sound, alight with madness. Such filth and dullness, she thought, it was no wonder that Caerleon had been such a barbarian, and his wife wasn't any better. She barely managed to suppress a smirk; soon enough that fool Annis would kill Arthur and his trusted knights. And then, oh then… it would only be too easy to dispose of her, and with the Queen gone, Morgana would reclaim what was rightfully hers. Let the army come; her magic alone would be enough, and she had some acquaintances that would follow her every command.

Her trail had been hidden so carefully, so painstakingly and yet her plan was so simple that not even Emrys would be able to figure it out until it was too late. Yes, let him come, she thought. Let he see for himself how his precious prince falls. Her hand curled on the hilt of the dagger she carried with her, beautiful but chipped, like a mirror of her tainted soul. Emrys is not invincible, she repeated in her mind like a chant. Emrys could not prevent Uther's death. Emrys won't be my doom.

A guard came to where she was, and she could feel the fear she inspired in him, maybe even a bit of revulsion as well. It was delightful.

"The Queen has asked for your presence, My Lady. The army is ready. Caerleon will now march upon Camelot." When she was alone again, she looked outside, and at the many men assembled there. One of them would deal the lethal blow, if she didn't reach her dear brother earlier. "Wait for me, Arthur."

~)*(~

A warlock waited by the river, sitting cross-legged on a rock with his eyes closed, meditating. Breathe in. He concentrated on the sounds of the stream by his side, letting it take all of his worries. Breathe out. The sun was high in the sky now, and it was starting to feel uncomfortable, but he didn't move or search the comfort of the shadows.

He hadn't been told much about what was going to happen that night; all he had been able to make out was that it was some kind of ceremony, which involved almost all of the present and most likely some kind of hallucinogen, though he couldn't be entirely sure about that. He had barely caught a glimpse of the plants, so he could be wrong about their uses.

Still, he had a number of tasks to address before night came; especially since, being the most powerful warlock, he would be required to conduct part of the ceremony himself. He wasn't quite sure if it was because of the quality his magic or simply another tradition the druids had. Either way, he was determined not to mess this one up, and had done everything he could think of to prepare himself.

Meditating wasn't so bad. He grimaced when his stomach grumbled, but otherwise kept still; about half an hour later, he finally opened his eyes and rose slowly to his feet, snapping out of his self-imposed trance and heading back to the camp. He silently greeted the people outside, still a little peeved at their quiet nature, at least when they were on the outside. If it was due to the Purge or simply was a cultural belief, that he couldn't tell.

The next hours came and passed quickly, as everyone grew more and more excited. Like him, there were many people, especially among the young, that had never participated in an event such as this; apparently it was reserved for especial occasions, and, much to his embarrassment, it was both trial and celebration for those who had proved to be exceptionally adept with magic. The ultimate recognition among the druids.

The thought filled him with worry; a small part of him felt like this was some sort of betrayal to Arthur. Even being the Once and Future King, he had yet to accept magic and here Merlin was, casting aside forever his neutral position inside the magical community. No matter what happened that night, he would no longer be able to flee from being Emrys. He would no longer be 'just a servant'. After so many years, that thought scared him, like he was discarding what little protection he had had against his predestined fate.

It had to be done.

He tried to remain calm as the first stars appeared on the horizon, and everyone found a place around the great pyre in the middle of the forest. Several enchantments and magical wards, built carefully for most of the past day, ensured that no one would interrupt the gathering or even come close to it. Iseldir motioned for his right, and Merlin sat by his side, absorbing the thrill that had spread among the crowd. The leader spoke, his voice reverberating clearly in the clearing.

"We have reunited here tonight to celebrate the tácn sylfum wyrtgernang with our brother Emrys of Camelot. May Avalon accompany us at this time. May Emrys See that which cannot be seen. May we bond as one with her creation. Let the ceremony begin."

The druid reached for a small bowl, which had been kept near the fire while everyone took their places. It was half-filled with a strange milky liquid, it looked harmless and not too unpleasant. Merlin took it with shaky hands, knowing this was the most delicate part of the ceremony. Holding his breath, he saw Iseldir encouraging him in the limit of his vision. He concentrated on the substance, absorbing the sounds of the forest, closing his eyes and letting his other senses take over. The magic built up inside him, and his fingers tickled.

When he opened his eyes again, the liquid was gleaming subtly, almost imperceptibly under the moonlight. He allowed his body to relax; that part was over. Now truly was his last chance to turn back; he didn't. He searched for the chieftain one last time before carefully lifting the bowl to his mouth.

The substance had barely touched his lips when he felt the magic, as Old as the universe, rising and twirling in his veins. He was dimly aware of someone taking the bowl from his hands, light-headed as he was, and soon he wouldn't have been able to tell if he was lying or standing, awake or unconscious.

The world became an undefined mass of sounds and colors. There was no way to recognize up from down, left from right; everything was laid down for him and nothing was there. Just outside of his reach, he could feel the identities of the druids that had been joining him, one by one. With him they formed one large entity, and yet he felt strangely detached from them. He felt this wasn't where he belonged.

Slowly, he separated from the crowd, ascending until only two or three of the flickering lights remained. The atmosphere was purer here, the colors paler but strangely shooting. He could see further, countries where the magic flared and pulsed and countries where it laid low and hidden, but no less alive. It twirled and expanded and receded, changing, always changing.

Still, he could go higher.

He continued up and up and up, until he started to feel uneasy. The few presences that he could still feel until now disappeared one by one as it became impossible for them to follow; and with them went the lights and sounds of the world.

When the warlock finally woke again, the sun had begun to move west; he had slept for a night and most of a day. He felt dizzy, and a bit nauseated but he managed to sit straight with just a groan. Most of the druids were awake already, relaxed and moving lazily; the wards must still be working then.

A middle aged man with disheveled hair and drowsy eyes realized that he was awake, and approached him with a steaming cup in his hands, handing it to him with an encouraging smile.

"It is just chamomile. It'll help settle your stomach down." The warlock accepted it, grateful, and the druid chuckled. "I still remember my first wyrtgernang. It was for the chieftain. He had a rough time the next few days too, even if it embarrasses him now."

"And Loren never fails to remind us about it." A secure voice interrupted them, slightly annoyed. Iseldir came into view, but before the warlock could try to stand, he sat down by their side. It was then when Merlin realized something; both druids were behaving so differently from how he had first seen them, so… relaxed. Was it the aftermath of the ceremony, or did they truly see him as kin now? "You did well, Emrys. Do you understand now?"

He was about to answer, to tell what he had seen and learned in his trance, when he found that he couldn't. The events of the last hours were there, in the limit of his conscious mind, but there was no image associated to them. He could remember seeing and learning something of vital importance, but now it was lost… no, not lost. Only hidden.

He felt a new found resolve, a sense of purpose that for the first time in ages didn't feel oppressive. In this moment, he didn't feel trapped by forces he couldn't even comprehend, even if he had no rational answers, even if to anyone else it may seem as if nothing had changed. Now he understood what Iseldir had meant before the ceremony.

"I do. It is a strange feeling."

"It is… though I suspect you reached further than any of us has ever done." They remained a few minutes in silence, before Merlin started to poke absentmindedly at the embers with a twig.

He muttered an easy incantation under his breath, the one he had done for his mother often; he waited but nothing happened. Not even a flicker of light. His eyes went wide with surprise, fear started to rise inside him, but Iseldir quickly put a reassuring hand in his shoulder. "Don't worry, this is to be expected. With the toll last night took on you, your magic must be exhausted. It will be subdued for a few days, but will recover soon. In the meantime, you are safe here. No one will attack us."

Merlin nodded, marginally calmer. But he still couldn't ignore a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if something bad had happened, and he couldn't do a thing to prevent the retributions…

Next chapter: On the verge of legality. Merlin has work to do, Arthur is not a coward and Annis is confused.

[The ceremony is in the process of being rewritten]

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