A/N: Finally some Merlin/Mithian goodness for you all. There's probably about 2 chapters left after this one, unless the characters decide to do their own thing (which they are wont to do). Thanks dear readers and enjoy!


Chapter 4

Mithian didn't normally follow mysterious manservants in the dead of night through a dark forest bent on confronting the most formidable sorceress in the land, but by all the goddesses of old she sure wasn't going to let Merlin face her alone.

For that could be the only explanation for what Merlin was doing, moving stealthily through the northern entrance of Brechfa Woods. The moon shined full and heavy, offering Mithian a clear view of the tall, lithe man ahead, its silver beams filtering through the canopy of the trees, glinting sporadically off his shadow-black hair like a kaleidoscope.

She sped up her pace, eager to not lose sight of him. Hunting instincts kicked in, her muscles adjusting to spring lightly on the balls of her feet, her sharp ear noting every sound: the crickets chirping beneath the grass, the rodents shuffling in the undergrowth, the tremble of the chill wind weaving through the leaves above, the ghost of the footfalls from the man ahead, almost in sync with the surrounding nocturnal orchestra.

It's not like he was prey exactly, though that thought did have its appeal. Mithian smiled and moved steadily ahead. No, she wouldn't make herself known until they were past the point of no return: he would have no choice but to take her with him in his incredibly foolish and brave mission. An absolutely, infuriatingly stupid undertaking. Mithian was only mad she hadn't thought of it first.

Not that she would ever want to face Morgana alone. Never, never again. But with Merlin at her side, it somehow seemed…right. That thought gave her pause. Her instinct was once again ahead of her brain, a malady she suffered from often, according to her father. She felt, more than understood, that she was missing a key piece that would open her eyes to the man who hadn't left her mind since she returned to Camelot. The man was obviously competent; one would need to be as utterly oblivious as a tipped cow not to see it. Mithian chided herself: Arthur would not appreciate his kingly acumen being compared to the mental aptitude of a dazed bovine.

Mithian shortened the distance between her and Merlin, judging how far they were inside the forest. Staring so intently at the set of his surprisingly broad shoulders to ascertain whether he sensed anything was off (or so she told herself), she tripped ever so slightly on a loose rock. She cursed silently, and stopped breathing. Merlin paused ahead, bristling to full height, muscles tightening like a compacted spring. After a moment of listening, Merlin finally continued, muttering something that Mithian could not make out.

Mithian finally allowed herself to breathe, and slowly picked up after him again. She just needed to get another mile or so farther before she was deep enough into the woods that Merlin wouldn't dare send her back to Camelot unescorted, especially in the dark.

What was Merlin thinking, going to face off Morgana by himself? He of all people should know what she was capable of; after all, she had almost killed him just a few days ago. Mithian winced at the memory: it was perhaps the lowest of the low points in the whole seemingly unending nightmare. She would never forget Merlin laying there unconscious as she was forced to continue, knowing that she put him in that position. He had been hurt because she hadn't been careful enough, hadn't been clever enough to outwit Morgana or anticipate her next moves. When she had sent him to the brook to fill up her water skin, she unknowingly led him straight into the arms of the sorceress, with Merlin unsuspecting and certainly unprepared. It was all she could think to do at the time, but it still constricted her throat when she remembered it. Maybe one day Merlin could forgive her, for she knew she could never forgive herself.

Finally, Mithian recognized that soon they would be approaching a clearing, which was located at the central point of the forest. She picked up her pace then, running ahead to Merlin, her black velvet cape swishing against her purposefully heavy steps. Within closing distance, Merlin swung around, sword in his hand, defensive position ready.

Mithian stopped a half dozen feet from him, her hood covering her face in shadow.

Merlin gripped the sword tighter, raising it towards her. "Reveal yourself," Merlin said, his voice low and dripping with authority.

Her laugh rang through the woods as she slipped down her hood. "You really are full of surprises, Merlin."

"Mithian?" Merlin asked, shocked, his voice now back to a more familiar incredulous tenor. He lowered the sword. "What are you doing, following me? You shouldn't be here!"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm going with you."

"No, you're not."

"I don't seem to recall giving you a say in the matter," Mithian said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Mithian, you can't, it's much too dangerous. If your father found out, or even Arthur, they would have my head on a pike, quarter my limbs, and feed my kidneys to the hounds…and, and I would agree with them."

Mithian scoffed and shook her head. "My actions are my own, Merlin, and so are any consequences. I chose to come here, of my own volition. And I choose to go with you, despite knowing we may have to face her." Mithian couldn't help but shudder.

"I know," he said softly, "but I can't put you in this position again."

"You never put me there in the first place!" Mithian cried, exasperated. "It was I who, who…Merlin please, I need to come with you. If they throw you in a dungeon for a decision I made, they'll have to throw me in too."

Merlin looked close to panic. "No, Mithian, you can't say that…"

"Merlin," she said, stepping closer to him carefully, like she would for a wild animal about to bolt, "I will come with you. I know you don't want me to. I know you think this puts me in danger. I also know you think I'll get in the way," she said, reading the rightness of her conjecture in the widening of his eyes. "You are determined to take down Morgana—heaven knows how—and you think I'm another obstacle—"

"I don't think of you like that, Mithian. I don't regard you as an obstacle, never ever that. But I do work best alone." Looking at her downtrodden face, he quickly added, "I'm going for you, you know."

"Oh really?" Mithian asked probingly.

"Well, not only for you," he confessed. "But in a way, it was you that gave me the final push to do this in the first place."

"Then let me be here for you, Merlin. Don't take this on just your shoulders, don't hoard this burden for yourself. From my short time here in Camelot, I've seen you do this without fail. Do they not see the weight you carry? You are there for them, for Arthur, over and over again, but who is there for you?" Mithian now found herself inches from Merlin, looking up to stare directly into those unfathomable eyes.

Merlin's voice was low and deep, almost a throaty whisper. "I do this because it is my burden to carry, and mine alone. And despite appearances, it actually is better for me to take on Morgana by myself. A whole troupe of knights would hinder…" Merlin paused, biting his lip. "Just, just trust me on that. All it would do is provide the opportunity for more senseless deaths. No, if I face her alone, then….I'm the only one to bear the price."

Mithian noted his straight-backed stance, his tightly coiled muscles, the clear note of authority in his voice: so very different than the happy go lucky manservant he normally portrayed, and even different than the man she first saw all those years ago. "I have no idea what you're planning to do, Merlin, and there's no denying that it's foolhardy. It seems to me, however, that people have underestimated you woefully. But you underestimate others in how they can help you. You underestimate me. Don't think I'm not willing to bear that price with you."

Merlin almost staggered then. "But, but why, princess? I am but a servant. Who am I for you to risk your life or to ask you to…take on yourself what is rightfully mine to carry?"

"You didn't ask, but that's hardly going to stop me. You were there for me in my time of need, you saw me, really saw me, when no one else did."

Mithian started walking in the direction of the clearing, and Merlin drew in an exasperated breath before walking alongside her.

Mithian paused before continuing, "I've asked myself this over and over again: why did I come to you? Why not Arthur? I mean, not that you're not a person someone would seek out…but Arthur is the usually the one that...you're just not the first person someone would go to…" She stopped, an apologetic look on her face. Merlin merely looked amused at her scrambling. "I'm digging myself into a hole, aren't I?"

"A bit, yes."

"I mean no offense, but surely you've wondered this too."

"Constantly."

"Honestly, though, I didn't really question it at the time. It just seemed natural. I've always thought there was something special about you, Merlin. And you proved me right: from the beginning you looked in my eyes and sensed something was wrong, when no one else did. When you delivered the draught to my room, while I was in the clutches of Hil—Morgana, I didn't even have to say a word. You knew."

Merlin had been her only semblance of hope. She remembered his hand lightly pressing her back and his other hand holding hers gently, but steadily as he guided her to the seat in the throne room. She felt that exact moment of disconnect when Merlin pulled his hand away, leaving her hollow as she looked ahead and lied straight to King Arthur's face.

They entered the clearing, the grassy expanse reverent in the flood of the moon's glow, the taller grasses rustling slightly against the slope of the meadow, the encircling trees a mass of shadows. Here, they received no protection from the worst of the wind's chill. Mithian drew closer to Merlin.

"What do we do now?" Mithian asked.

"You won't be doing anything. You're going back."

"You would make a lady walk all the way back through a forest filled with robbers and all manner of dangerous things in the middle of the night?" Mithian scoffed. "Surely there's something about that in the Knight's Code?"

"Well, see that's the thing—I'm not a knight," he grinned, before sobering and sighing in defeat. He plopped onto the ground near the middle of the clearing, where remnants of a camp fire were evident, and stabbed his sword into the ground. "You're as stubborn as Arthur, my lady," he said, long-sufferingly.

Mithian shot him a small grin, dry twinkle in her eyes. "Prettier, I hope though."

"Oh that is for sure," Merlin said without missing a beat.

Mithian's lips twisted into a smirk, and Merlin had the grace to look flustered, avoiding eye contact. He continued after a moment: "Now we wait. Every major path in the forest converges into this clearing, the heart of Brechfa. If Morgana is anywhere nearby, then here is our best bet to encounter her."

Mithian joined him on the ground, sitting down with her cape cascading around her. She sat close to Merlin, her shoulder touching his. For warmth, of course, she reasoned.

Moments passed with the two of them sinking into the night's sounds, the air cool and quick to find any gaps within their clothing. The rapidly moving clouds above cast shadows on the ground, like black ships sailing across the swelling hills of the meadow, mesmerizing and chilling. Mithian turned to the man next to her. His eyes looked down in contemplation, heavy eyelashes fanning out. The shadows underneath his cheekbones brought them to sharp relief, and the moonlight caressed the tip of his straight nose and his upper lip. His pale neck was also a plane of light and dark, the shadow underneath his sharp Adam's apple dancing as he swallowed slightly. Every angle, edge, and plane was defined, nothing left to waste. He was shadow and light, like the interplay between the moon and the clearing and every bit as ethereal and otherworldly. He belongs here, Mithian thought, startled.

Mithian cut into the nocturnal meditation: "I'm sorry, Merlin."

Merlin looked up at her, confused.

"I'm the reason you were hurt by Morgana. When I saw you down, I wasn't even sure you would make it through, and of all the awful things I did in those few days, that felt the worst. I can't ever forgive that."

"Mithian," he said, enveloping her cool hand into his larger ones. "You were incredibly brave to do what you did, to try to find any way to defy Morgana. You did all you could to warn me, and that's the reason that you, your father, and Arthur are still here today. Never, ever apologize for that."

Mithian smiled, more freely than she had for a long while. "I don't think I've told you this yet, but thank you, Merlin. You saved me and my father. You didn't let Arthur succumb to Morgana's trap. I owe you everything."

Merlin looked down, shyly. "I didn't really do much."

She lightly hit his arm. "Oh stop it! You did more than anyone!" Mithian looked at his hands still holding her own. "You know why I want to face Morgana again?"

"Why?"

"Morgana took something from me: it's not only that she threatened my father and my friends. She took away who I was, my essence, and left me a shell of a person. One who was powerless to help her family and friends, and who would be responsible for their demise because of her weakness. I was so scared," she said with a slight tremble. "But now, I want to look her in the eye and tell her I'm still here. She failed to take that away."

Merlin smiled, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "Morgana has a way of leaving you feeling hollow."

"Speaking from experience, hmm?"

"Something like that." Merlin turned Mithian's hand around, exposing her burn scar. He gently traced the mark, his fingers barely a whisper across the thin, delicate skin of her wrist. Mithian shivered.

"I didn't want to go at first you know, when you came to Camelot," he said, swallowing. "Well, I did, I just wanted to make sure…I have learned to—"

"You have learned to not go blindly running to help everyone that comes your way, because every time you do you get burned." She paused. "And that means you can't protect Arthur."

"Am I that easy to read?"

"No, not all, that's the whole point: you are so good at being invisible that people don't even realize what you've done for them or what you're capable of doing. But I have a feeling that's exactly how you want it to be. You don't want—or perhaps can't have—people paying attention to you, so you hide behind your best disarming, innocent-Merlin smile any time someone gets a little too close or questions a little too much. What I'm trying to figure out is why? Sure, it lends itself well to keeping tabs on people and castle activity. But there's more here. Why don't you let people get too close?" Like now, Mithian thought. She could see him scrambling to find an exit from her queries, his tendons pulsating in his neck.

"H-how have you seen all this?"

"I pay attention, Merlin. When I first met you I knew right away I would have to get your approval if I was to entertain any hopes for being with Arthur. He valued, and he still values, your word above all others. If he doesn't show that, it's not because he doesn't trust you. It's because even when you warn him of danger he still feels it's his duty to go anyway, despite the risk to his person. And that's somewhat your fault you know," Mithian added, cheekily.

"How so? I do nothing but warn him when he's being a bullheaded prat!"

Mithian smiled. "Because—and he doesn't realize this I don't think—no matter the impossible odds, he has this unusual faith that he will always return. I have a feeling that a lot of that is due to you."

"I suppose," Merlin said hesitantly.

"Trust me, Merlin. You make him a bit careless. He takes his safety for granted. I wonder what role you've played in that as well…" Mithian prompted.

But Merlin's head had snapped up, looking toward the edge of the trees directly in his line of vision.

Mithian stilled, but heard nothing. She whispered, "What is it?"

Merlin shook his head and kept staring intently forward. He stood up and Mithian followed suit. At first, all she heard was just a faint cracking, like arrows thumping against tree trunks. Soon, the earth thrummed with heavy tread, surging into a clatter of flattening brush, rustling leaves, and splintering branches. Whatever was approaching them wasn't human. Mithian sucked in a breath, heart racing frantically.

Out of the trees crashed a white beast twice the size of any oxen Mithian had seen, each of its scales luminescent in the moonlight, at once terrible and magnificent. Its eyes glowed fixedly in their direction.

Mithian's heart thumped painfully against her chest, her eyes edging in and out of focus. "Is that a, a…?" Words failed her.

Merlin pulled her behind him protectively.

The dragon roared and charged toward the pair, rushing at a speed Mithian could hardly comprehend. Her mind was a complete and utter blur in that moment, where time seemed to bend outside of reality, at once feverishly rapid and achingly slow. All she could remember in that whirring nothingness was one lucid thought: why wasn't Merlin reaching for his sword?