Chapter 7

He didn't know where he was. Somewhere on Avalon but after grief blurred his vision, his mind numb with impossible choices, he lost his way in the moon-lit night.

It didn't matter, though.

In many ways, a body can only take so much before it shuts down. Merlin had learned that early in life. Ealdor winters had been hard and sometimes the struggle so great that the weakest of the villagers wouldn't last until spring.

The lesson had been reinforced once he'd come to Camelot. There were times when things were so dire with Uther and his insane need to destroy magic or else plagues and relentless enemies hounding them that Merlin would struggle to put on a smiling face when all he wanted to do was lash out or hide, shivering under his bed covers.

Worst of all had been when he'd killed someone with magic or sword-fighting, it didn't matter, and he couldn't wash off the blood. His hands would be stained for days, little bits of gore under his fingernails, and no matter how much he scrubbed, it wouldn't come out.

Gaius knew enough to talk gently on those days, giving him small treats or trying — failing — to teach him something of herb lore or a new healing technique. Anything to turn Merlin's mind from the horrors of what he'd done.

Merlin got better over the years, better or else more used to dealing in death, but there were times when it all became too much and he'd drown himself in mead. Gaius's excuses to Arthur about the tavern weren't always untrue.

He needed mead now. He needed something so mind-numbing that he could bury himself in it and never come out again.

But he kept going anyway. There was no alcohol anywhere within miles of the place and besides, he had to start thinking about what to do next. Or not. The choices he'd made so far hadn't been the best after all. Perhaps not thinking was really the wisest course of action.

Merlin did wonder about where Kilgharrah had gone. He'd been calling to him for a while, then gave up after seeing Arthur. Not wanting to be lectured on what he should or should not do, Merlin wasn't sure he wanted to see the dragon; he'd have to face him sometime but the exhaustion of dealing with cryptic answers was beyond him at the moment.

Fate wasn't a kind mistress, though, because as he came around the hill, stumbling about, trying to decide if he should find a place to rest for the night, a cave or hollow tree, or just keep moving, he tripped over one of Kilgharrah's claws and fell. His scored hand stung as he hit the ground.

As the dragon breathed out a faint wheeze of annoyance, he opened one eye and stared a moment at Merlin.

Not sure if he was recognised or not, Merlin sat up, dusted himself off and struggled to his feet. He was about to explain when, in a soft, tired voice, Kilgharrah said, "Emrys."

Obviously dragons didn't see that well in the dark. Well, at least there was one damn thing he could do right. Merlin opened his hand and said, "Léohte."

As the soft light hovered there, cool and beautiful, Merlin could see that the dragon had tucked himself into the hillside as if trying to gather strength from the stones themselves. Most of his bulk hidden, perhaps by a large overhang or even a cavern dug into the rock, he lay there, hunched, death-pale.

It was clear even in the semi-darkness, Kilgharrah had sickened further. No wonder he hadn't answered Merlin's call.

"What can I do? Healing is not my strength but anything you need." He stepped closer, the light following him.

Kilgharrah took an unsteadied breath. "Too late, Emrys."

Even now, the name grated. He tried to soften his frustration. "I'm Merlin. I know I look like someone else… or rather I can feel the differences but I'm Merlin." He was close enough and he reached out, stroking the cool skin. The dragon leaned in, seeming to gather comfort from Merlin's gentle touch. "I'm Merlin. I'm not dead. The Sidhe tricked us all."

Surprisingly, Kilgharrah didn't seem the least bit upset about all the lies the Sidhe had told. Instead, he lay his head back down, giving a slight smile as he blinked at Merlin. "A second chance. A gift… beyond price."

That didn't make sense. It was a trick, punishment, not a gift.

"They deceived us, and now Arthur is alone and I don't know what to do." Tears pricking at his eyes again, his hands shaking from fear or exhaustion or a kind of defeat, he said, "They said that if I tell Arthur who I am, he'll die. They said I have to make sure he brings back magic by Samhain." He leaned into the dragon's scaly neck, the skin roughened with age, drawing as much comfort from Kilgharrah as he had tried to give earlier. "Old friend, I don't know what to do."

"Emrys." But instead of answers, all the dragon did was close his eyes again, and go back to sleep.

Letting the soft light die, sitting down next to Kilgharrah, sheltered against the dragon's neck, Merlin stared off into the distance.

There was no solace there. Nothing but moonlight and an ancient dragon breathing uneasily into the night.

And Merlin still didn't know what to do.

When Merlin woke, it was quiet in the glade. There was a glint of water beyond the trees and the mist had lifted a bit in the sunlight. It looked more like soft wool than the menacing heaviness of yesterday and he would have almost thought it beautiful in happier times.

Leaning back against the comfort of Kilgharrah's neck, for a moment, he didn't speak. There would be time enough for trying to figure out what he would do next and he wanted to breathe just for a moment.

But as he turned to pat the dragon's soft skin, trying to reassure him that he was there and willing to listen to whatever Kilgharrah had to say, his hand only met cold flesh. Under his palm, there was no movement, no thump of a heartbeat, no rattling breath, nothing.

Kilgharrah was dead.

Twisting around, his hands busy trying to find any sign of life, his heart denying that it was already too late, it took minutes before he could finally accept it. And when he did, all he could do was press his forehead to Kilgharrah's still cheek and whisper, "I'm sorry, old friend."

He couldn't even cry. He was numb with it all; he was so overwhelmed with everything that had happened that he couldn't feel anything anymore.

But he couldn't leave Kilgharrah to the crows.

With one final soft caress, he got to his feet. Gathering up the last of his strength, somehow, somehow, finding enough of a wellspring of magic to call in his hour of despair, he reached out and said, "Beorg, áhelle draca."

Above him, the hillside answered. Rocks began to tumble down, boulders of granite glistening with mica, fist-sized shards of quartz banded in gold, the silver flash of a thousand stones, whites and greys and the greens of copper, the rust-reds of iron, almost jewels in the heavy air.

When it was done, once the dust settled and Merlin could see again, there in the mists, the dragon's tomb stood, a hillock of its own, a fitting memorial to the great Kilgharrah.

And then, exhausted, as hollow as the hills, Merlin walked away.

Later, sometime, Merlin didn't know how long, he was back at the edge of the lake, staring out at the water. Not thinking, not feeling, just standing there. It was too much, too much and he didn't want to… remember anymore. Not destiny, not Arthur's grief-stricken face, not the silence of a dragon gone, nothing.

Behind him, in some sense, he could feel Gwynn's presence but he didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge him in any way. It was too much effort to decide what to do and so he didn't.

What he did see was a small empty boat coming his way across the water. When it stopped at his feet, he didn't even think, just stepped in and sat down.

As it glided away from the lake's edge, with one small part of him, Merlin wanted to ask Gwynn about Arthur but it was too much effort even then.

But Gwynn must have sensed something or maybe he just wanted to push Merlin into doing his part for magic's return. "Your king is already on his way back to Camelot." As Merlin blinked at him, still silent, the Sidhe Elder seemed to take it as an affront. In a voice sharp and remorseless, Gwynn said, "Remember, Emrys, by Samhain or he dies."

Merlin just nodded and turned his face away, looking instead toward the distant shore.

As the Sidhe continued to buzz warnings behind him, growing inaudible as Merlin floated away, he finally knew what he was going to do.

He was going home.

Chapter 8

A ghost followed him.

Or rather it seemed a ghost. It was as if Arthur were right there by his side, silent, watching Merlin take one step after another away from Camelot, and staring daggers at Merlin for abandoning him.

All in his head, Merlin knew, and at times he just wanted to turn to the delusion-Arthur and tell the prat to leave him alone. But there was no one there.

The feeling didn't get any better when he finally reached Ealdor.

The village hadn't changed much, still a cluster of stone huts and thatched roofs along a single dirt track. As he walked through, he'd got some strange looks, not quite suspicious but wary and he'd nodded in reply, hoping to set the villagers' minds at ease. No one approached him, no one called out his name. It was as if they didn't know him, and while Merlin had expected it, it was still a blow.

Trying not to think about it all, he hurried to his mother's house.

His walk home had taken too long, he knew. Arthur would have sent word by now or perhaps Gwen did. She always did have a deft touch when it came to emotional things, unlike a certain king.

But it didn't matter. His mother would be mourning him and that thought only hurried his footsteps. The sooner she knew the truth, the better.

Knocking on the door — a stranger couldn't just barge in after all, there were muffled unhappy sounds inside and then a moment of silence before Hunith opened the door, saying as she did so, "I know you mean well… but," She stopped abruptly and said, "Do I know you?"

Holding onto the wall, looking as if she would collapse if she let go, his mother stood there, patiently waiting for a reply. Her face was spotchy with fresh tears and grief, and it hurt Merlin to see her in so much pain.

"I… Merlin is not dead. No matter what Arthur told you." He wanted to tell her everything, as quickly as he could but not outside, not where the others could hear. "He's alive."

For a moment, there was wild hope in Hunith's eyes but then she shook her head. "The king would not lie about such a thing. Leave me in peace to mourn my son."

But as she began to close the door in his face, Merlin couldn't stand it anymore. "Mother, please."

Shocked, she stood there, staring at him, then before he could say anything else, she gave a great sob, strode forward, and struck him hard across the mouth. "How dare you. Leave before I have the headman unleash the dogs on you."

She was afraid, she was in pain and Merlin knew it would take more than words to convince her.

Growing up, when they were alone in the house and no one else could see, to get her to smile after a long hard day, he'd conjure up butterflies in fantastical colours and let them fly around the room. Later, she'd shake her head and tell him to be careful but her smile was always the softer for it.

Bowing his head, breathing into his palm, he said, "Fífalde."

Bright with greens and yellows and a soft purple, the butterfly lifted its wings and fluttered around Hunith's face. She stared at it a moment, speechless, and then turned back to Merlin. "Who are you?"

He tried to soften the blow, giving her a tentative smile. Even though he'd always known how strong she was, at the moment, she looked as fragile as glass. "Mother, I'm Merlin, your son. I know I look different but I am Merlin. I'm sorry that I didn't get here sooner but I was on foot and Avalon was a long way from here." The way she was swaying, he was afraid she'd collapse at any moment and it wouldn't do to have too many questions. "Can we talk about this inside? There are too many prying eyes out here."

Hunith shook her head. At times, she could out-stubborn even Merlin. "Tell me something else that only Merlin would know."

There was a story she loved to tell him when he was younger. He'd never forgotten it.

"Once I made you a necklace of dandelions, not realising that they stain everything and you wore it anyway. And when I asked later why your neck was all yellow, you said that my necklace was made of love and that the sun was just jealous."

And then she did collapse, into his arms. Hugging him as if she'd never let him go, she said, "Merlin, oh, gods, Merlin, I thought, I thought…Merlin, Merlin."

He hugged her back. It felt so good to be enveloped in love, after enduring the cold emptiness where his heart used to be. He wanted to cry at that moment, just let go of everything and let his mum heal him as no one else ever could. But it was too open out there. Even now, there would be questions.

She must have sensed it, too. As she pulled back, she searched his face one final time and then taking his hand, she led him inside.

She didn't chide him for worrying her or ask him a million questions as to where he'd been and why he looked so different.

Instead, his mother ladled soup into a rough bowl and handed it to him without a word. She couldn't stop touching him though, a warm hand on his shoulder or ruffling his longer hair or tracing the fine lines of Sidhe magic at his wrists.

It was though she were giving him space to deal with everything he'd been through - as long as he wasn't beyond her reach. Over the years, he'd forgotten how wonderful it was, the fussing, the total acceptance of his actions, the steadfast love that shone in her eyes. She was helping to unravel the knots in his chest, and he slowly, slowly learned to breathe again.

When the silence had lasted long enough, she started to tell him about Mr Simmon's cow and how it had got tangled in some branches. It wasn't funny, just an ordinary thing for a small village but she made it sound like a bard's tale. It was unlike her; Hunith was more the straight-forward, get-it-done sort of mum, and while she could tell a story well enough, she usually left it to others.

Now it would seem she was trying to fill the spaces with sound, waiting until Merlin was ready before pressing him for answers.

It made him smile. "Mother, I promise to tell you everything, but right now, can I just not think? It's… it's hard."

Pressing one small palm to his cheek, she said, "All of it can wait until you are ready. Would you like more soup?"

Shaking his head, he laid his hand over hers a moment and then let go. "Sleep would be very welcome. I've not… I have nightmares. I just hope I don't wake you with them."

"Oh, Merlin, what have they done to you?" For a moment, her eyes swam with tears but then she pulled him to her, hugging him as tightly as if he were a small child. "No, don't answer. It's just a mother's worry. I thought I'd lost you." She didn't let go, just buried her face in his neck, and gave a little sob that quickly turned to more.

He let her cry there in his arms. In a way, it was comforting, tears of joy and relief instead of sorrow, and he knew she needed to let it out. And if he cried, too, then who would be the wiser.

It couldn't last. She was just finished cleaning up the meal and Merlin getting ready for bed when there was a knock on the door. "Hunith?"

"It's Tomos, the new headman. He'll be wanting to know who you are. What do I say?" She looked worried, as if afraid he'd disappear. Or maybe it was her old fears coming back. They had both hidden so much for so long that it was easy to fall back into old habits.

"That I'm a cousin of Merlin's come to pay my respects." Pulling the sleeves of his nightshirt down over his wrists to hide the symbols of power, he gave her a sad smile. He didn't want to say it, unwilling to use the name the Sidhe had insisted upon, but he was trapped into it anyway. "I go by Emrys, now."

"You do look a bit like Balinor and at first I thought…," There was another knock at the door and Hunith said, "I better answer it before Tomos gets alarmed."

As she opened the door, a man poked his head in. "Is everything alright?" But before she could answer, Tomos spotted Merlin, and frowning a bit, turned back to Hunith. "I heard that you have company."

She opened the door wider, to let the headman in. Anything else might have seemed suspicious; Merlin knew that, along the border between Camelot and once Cenred's and now Lot's kingdom, any stranger could be a potential enemy. Tomos was just being properly wary.

"Tomos, this is Merlin's cousin, Emrys. He will be staying for a few days to help out."

Nodding, Tomos said, "We can always use another pair of hands." Then he seemed to settle in, eager for news. "And where are you from, Emrys?"

Ealdor had always been a backwater. When Merlin had been younger, it had seemed incredibly boring at times so it was no surprise that Tomos was asking questions and it would be no surprise if everyone else in the village knew all about Merlin within the hour.

"I doubt you've heard of it. Little place, Willowdale, near Camelot. I haven't seen… Hunith in a long time but we've kept in touch over the years. When I heard Merlin had died, I thought I'd come to see what I could do for her."

"A cousin?" Tomos was nothing if not persistent. "Hunith, you should have let us know you had family in Camelot. We would have sent word."

His mother looked startled, as if she didn't know what to say, but Merlin, long used to lying, stepped in. "No, not from Hunith's side of the family. Merlin has several cousins in Camelot from Balinor's side. I'm a second cousin but Merlin and I were very close, especially once he moved there."

"I'm surprised you didn't come with that knight from Pendragon's court. Sir Percival, I think he said his name was. Big man. A bit quiet, though, as if he'd seen too much." Tomos was watching Merlin closely. "He would have scared off any bandits, a knight like that."

Merlin shrugged. "Sir Percival is well known at court. However, Willowdale is some distance further east. I'm sure he was tasked to bring his grim news as quickly as he could and the knights are known for their devotion to duty."

Tomos nodded, then said, "I've heard that they are no longer just of the nobility but that anyone with fighting skills and a willingness to pledge their honour to Camelot are welcome to try for knighthood. Seems a bit odd but the king must know what he's doing, don't you think?"

But before Tomos could pry any further, Hunith interrupted, "Emrys has had a long journey from Camelot. I'm sure he'll be happy to answer any of your questions once he's rested. And I'm…." She rubbed at her eyes, leaning against the table, looking suddenly tired.

"Of course." Tomos seemed sympathetic, as if he'd just realised that she was still in mourning. He took her hands in his and squeezed them, then let her go. "Hunith, if you need anything, you have only to ask. Everyone here loved Merlin, sometime trouble-maker though he was, and he will be sorely missed." As she nodded, Tomos said to Merlin, "Welcome to Ealdor."

He gave Merlin one long searching look, the turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Sitting down, Hunith stared at the door a moment, then back at Merlin. "They will all be swarming over here tomorrow. They'll want to know everything and they'll be building you a house and planning your wedding by the end of the week."

"I know. But I've become very good with keeping secrets." Merlin sat down next to her, putting his arm around her and giving her a little hug before letting her go. "Don't worry, Mother. It will be all right."

They were both exhausted and Merlin wanted nothing more than to sleep a week. He was almost drifting off, even sitting at the table. With great effort, he got up and crawled onto the covered straw bedding and pulled the blanket over him. His mother bustled about for a while, then fell into bed as well.

In the dying light of the banked fire, he could see Hunith staring up at the ceiling. He knew she had questions, lots of them, and was trying desperately not to ask, but patient though she was, it would seem that she had to know the answer to at least one of them.

"Emrys? Not Merlin?"

He didn't want to break her heart but he couldn't lie either.

"No, in one thing, Arthur was right." He turned away, closed his eyes. "Merlin is gone and I'm what's left."

"You will always be my Merlin," she whispered.

If only he could believe that.