AQUITANE

7 DAYS AGO

Jack Trevellar looked out through the ornate window, down into the courtyard where the men from Camelot were building a funeral pyre. The vigil had lasted all night, during which they had discussed preparations to take Merlin's body back to Camelot with them, and in the end decided it would be too long a journey, too undignified an ending for their friend. Trevellar had stood in the shadows and observed, waiting for an opening that never came.

Merlin still hadn't returned, which was starting to bode ill for everyone involved. The healers had managed to fix most of the major damage, but if his spirit came back any time soon, there was a chance that the beating of his heart would open any mending too thin to support his life.

But too long out of his body—that held dangers of its own.

The whole palace was in an uproar, and for many Aquitani, the small delegation from Camelot was overlooked in the face of much more dangerous news. Murdoch was confined to his bedchamber, assassins had attacked the council chamber, and magic was returning ten-fold to the land.

The nobles were looking to him for information and guidance, and while he knew that Emrys had indeed returned, how was he to tell them that in fact Emrys was dying, and about to be incinerated by the neighboring kingdom?

It was a little ironic, he thought unkindly, that Merlin seemed unable to escape a fate of being burned alive by the king he was so foolishly loyal to. How had he managed to survive for so long? And keep his gifts hidden?

He was not going anywhere near Arthur or the knights. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know that the entire delegation of knights was imagining ways to kill him just as slowly and painfully as they imagined he killed Merlin.

An abhorrent thought.

He leaned his forehead against the glass. Everything had gone horribly wrong so very quickly, and it was his fault. Somehow the assassins had slipped through all his wards and precautions. But how? How had they known?

Arthur lit the torch, the moment Jack had been waiting for. He straightened in front of the window and concentrated on the scene below him. With a snap of his fingers he extinguished the flame, and in its place, he set an illusion of fire.

The knights stepped well back, and Trevellar wove the illusion with both of his hands, calling forth every ounce of imagination and power into the threads of his creation. The delegation from Camelot watched the deception with hardened eyes.

The wind blew strongly, and Trevellar muttered as fast as he could, flourishing his heatless fire up, consuming the pyre as naturally as he could manage. Fire and smoke were the hardest illusions to cast, they moved so organically.

He was sweating and breathless by the time the funeral had satisfied the knights. The illusion burnt low and black, an echo of how drained Trevellar had become. He waited as the king mounted up and rode out of the courtyard for the castle gates.

He waited until he was sure that they had ridden out and away. They would ride the way they had come most likely, and find no trouble in the countryside, not with everyone flocking into the towns for news on King Murdoch and the return of magic.

Finally, he dropped the illusion, showing the untouched pyre and Merlin's pale, still body, still whole and probably quite chilled by now. He gestured for the healers to fetch their patient and sagged against the wall breathing deep and hard. His work, at least for now, was done.

Leif found him in the same position a few hours later.

"We should ready ourselves for war," his apprentice said, helping him to stand.

Jack shook his head wearily. "Arthur would not be so hasty. Those sorcerers attacked everyone in the throne room, Murdoch and I included."

They walked side by side, heading towards their shared work room. Servants bowed as he passed, and Jack nodded at them and smiled. It was imperative that nobody see how desperate he was for answers of his own. Better to be seen in control, unworried by everything that had occurred in the past few days.

When they were alone again, he allowed his tiredness to show again. "But I still don't understand why. Who would gain from a war between Camelot and Aquitane? Everyone would suffer."

Leif was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. "Except Merlin."

"I think Merlin's suffered enough for us to rule him out. I mean, he's Emrys. His sole purpose is to unite Albion."

"He's the only sorcerer in Camelot," Leif insisted. "If he wanted power, no one could stop him. That's always been the weakness of Camelot. Imagine if there was only one sorcerer in Albion. No one could touch him. Absolute power. Emrys has as good as got his fingers wrapped around Arthur's throat."

He helped Jack into the room and left his side to close the door. Trevellar looked around the grand space with blank eyes. There was something very wrong, and his tired mind was struggling to grasp at the straws available to him.

"He doesn't think like that," he said. "And there are a dozen sorcerers in Aquitane who could win a battle against Merlin. He's inexperienced, he knows he's inexperienced. He really does want to restore magic, not just to Aquitane, but to Camelot as well. The last thing he wants is to be the only sorcerer in Albion."

"Only because he lacks vision."

Jack heard the bolt drawn across the door, and he turned to face his apprentice, his heart suddenly dropping like a lead weight. "Leif."

The younger man was inches away, closer than Jack had expected. He stumbled back, only for each of his steps to be followed by his apprentice, faster and faster. A blinding pain exploded in his ribs. He looked down to see the small dagger being pulled from his ribs.

Then slammed back into him. Again and again.

He tripped down the small set of stairs to sprawl onto the threadbare carpet of his workroom. He threw up a flickering shield, but it was too weak. Leif dismissed it with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

"I thought that a little power would be enough. At least it was power. I was going to go back to Camelot. Take power there. I would have been content, before Emrys arrived. Oh, you were going to train him, teach him everything you had taught me. I knew he was going to be a problem."

"Leif—" it seemed to be the only thing he was capable of saying.

"But look at him now," Leif said. "It's worked out better than I could ever have dreamed, because Emrys is empty. All that power, all that influence, laid out for me like the crown and scepter I deserve."

"You can't—" he choked out.

"But I can," Leif said simply. "I'm the best traveler in a dozen generations. I may not have much else, but I have that. And with Emrys's magic, I can go back to Camelot and bend Arthur's ear to kill all the sorcerers in Aquitaine, just like his father. Then I'll do what you and Murdoch so desperately wanted. I won't just unite Albion, I'll take it."

He advanced slowly. "So thank you, Master Trevellar. For everything."

###

CAMELOT

Arthur And Leon carried Merlin slung between them. The shackles and Merlin's toes scraped along the floor behind them and Gaius led the way to the infirmary, muttering instructions to Gwen.

Percival was somewhere behind them, getting the key to Merlin's restraints from the guards. The sorcerer was mumbling incoherently, his head dangling low on his shoulders. Arthur couldn't make out any distinct words.

Gaius unlocked the door to the chambers and hurried inside to ready another bed for his new patient.

"Is that Merlin?" Gwaine said, springing to out of his cot immediately to help Arthur and Leon deposit their friend on the mattress.

"Superficial wounds," Gaius muttered, bustling around the bed, fussing over his ward's body. "But he's got a strange fever. Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?"

Merlin's eyelids fluttered, showing only the whites of his eyes.

"But we watched him burn," Leon said helplessly. "We all saw him dead! He was cold."

Gwaine was grinning, the only one in the chamber with a smile. "Merlin's a tough bastard."

"Merlin?" Gaius asked again. "Merlin, you must try to stay awake."

He tore open Merlin's chest, and took in a deep breath. Not at the bruises and obviously broken ribs, but at the jagged, angry scar.

All of a sudden, screeching through the window, Avis flew straight at the figure on the bed. Gwaine caught the sparowhawk against his chest and fought to keep a hold of it as Merlin surged up from the bed, his eyes snapping open.

"Keep him away from me," Merlin hissed as Avis screeched its own curses. Gwaine was hard pressed not to hurt the bird as it wrenched its wings and talons against his grip.

"Avis!" Gwaine barked, but the bird didn't appear to hear him and continued screeching, even ripping some of Gwaine's flesh under its claws.

It was Percival who took Avis from his hands and fled the scene. Though he closed the door to the infirmary on his way out, they all heard his shout of alarm as he apparently lost control of the small, spry bird.

"Close the window!" Arthur command, his order quickly obeyed by Gwaine.

Merlin turned his wild eyes on Arthur, and the king found himself unable to recognize the man there. It was Merlin's face, but it wasn't Merlin.

"What did they do to you?" he asked his manservant, forcing the bubble of despair and hot anger down. That wasn't useful to anyone right now.

"That bird," Merlin said, grasping at Arthur's tunic, which he had never done before. "It's a spy. From Aquitane. It's a sorcerer, Arthur. It'll tell Trevellar that I'm here, that I'm alive. He'll try to kill me. He can do it-"

"Alright," Arthur said soothingly. "You need to rest, Merlin. I'll take care of the bird."

He spoke a little too soon as the sound of the hawk slapping into the window and the raucous shrieks it raised tore at their ears. Everyone flinched at the sound Gwaine looking a little worried as the tiny feathered body beat against the glass again and again.

"Murdoch hasn't been seen since the attack." Merlin said quickly. "Trevellar sits on the Aquitani throne, and he laughs at Camelot and its king."

Frowning, Arthur pushed Merlin back down onto the cot. Merlin's voice was strange, and hs words even stranger. Whatever he had been through, it had changed him drastically. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "You need to start from the beginning—where have you been?"

"In Murdoch's cells," he said. "They tortured me, they wanted information about Camelot, about our patrols, and the castle. The villages near the border, how many weapons and soldiers we have-"

"You don't know any of that, do you?" he asked blankly. It was the only thing he could think of to say, because Merlin had been tortured. It made his blood boil hot and quick in his veins.

Merlin stopped and took a deep breathe. There was something distant and dark behind his eyes, a barrier that Arthur had never seen before. "They didn't seem to care," Merlin said hoarsely.

###

Much later, Arthur climbed the tight, winding stairs to the tallest turret. Somehow he knew that Avis would be there. The bird was looking a little dazed, and he wondered how much damage the bird had done to itself trying to get through the glass.

The sparrow-hawk watched him lean against the crenellation and let out a small, wounded, questioning sound.

"Are you a sorcerer?" Arthur asked.

The head lowered in a jerk, the golden eyes fixed on him. "Then could you please conjure up some legs and a mouth, so I don't have to play these stupid games?"

Avis ruffled his feathers, his whole body shivering indignantly. Arthur leaned against the bannister, huffing his frustration. "You can't."

Avis crooned an affirmative.

"Are you here to harm Merlin?' he asked. "Or anyone in Camelot?"

The bird hesitated and Arthur stiffened. It was an easy question. But as he frowned at Avis, his feathered companion met his gaze with large liquid eyes and shook its head emphatically.

"I don't know why I should trust you," he said. "You've been spying on us all, getting into council meetings and god knows where else."

The bird muttered indistinctly, but Arthur spoke over it. "But you helped Gwaine. And Percival. And… me."

In the distance, the sounds of Camelot hummed drowsily. It would be dark soon, and after a long day of one crisis after the next Arthur's exhaustion had soaked deep into his bones.

"So," Arthur said. "I'm going to let you go without questions, without repercussions. Go back to Trevellar, or Murdoch, or whoever is responsible for what happened in Aquitane. Tell them that once my sorcerer is finished telling me exactly what he experienced in their lands, they should expect an answer for it."

It gurgled a sad slow sound and hunched its shoulders. It shifted its weight from talon to talon in anxiety, but Arthur refused to soften his eyes. "Go."

Avis uttered a single mournful cry, but when the hawk saw that Arthur was going to offer no further conversation, he launched himself into the air, displaying his wingspan and slate-grey chest. He shrieked a single, harsh sound into the evening air before turning in the air and plummeting down the castle wall.

Arthur watched impassively as the hawk snapped its wings out again and glided over the rooves of the city, heading for the forest and plains of Camelot, towards the boundary with Aquitane and whatever lay in those distant and dark mountains.

###

Gwaine sat up on his cot, balancing his plate on his lap and watching the other occupied bed. He could see that Merlin was awake, but the sorcerer refused to turn over. He had tried engaging him in conversation half a dozen times already, but his cajoling had only excited an ever-deepening silence from his companion.

"We missed you," Gwaine said to the air. "This place just isn't the same when you're not here."

The blankets tightened around Merlin's absurdly thin frame, but he gave no other indication that he had heard the knight.

"Percival was getting all weepy-eyed."

He ate a grape and looked up to the ceiling.

"And the princess was storming all over the castle, face like someone kicked her favorite puppy."

He tried not to imagine what had been done to cause the happy-go-lucky, earnest Merlin to turn into this silent, shivering prisoner. "Gwen and Gaius—"

He wasn't expecting Merlin to turn so suddenly, his young face blazing with an expression Gwaine had never seen before. It was such a shock that he accidentally inhaled the grape he had been chewing on.

"Shut up," Merlin hissed," Don't you ever shut up?"

He coughed frantically, until the grape shot out of his throat to skitter across the floor. "Merlin—" he wheezed.

"Leave me alone. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

And with a quick, practiced gesture, an oily black screen rose between their beds. Gwaine, still trying to catch his breath, stared, astonished as Merlin's silhouette turned away and pulled the blankets around his shoulders again.

###