Chapter 10: News of a Dragon
Arthur thought for only a moment. Perhaps it would have been better to speak to the man in private from the start, but the rumors of magic would have spread regardless, and he didn't like to give the impression of hiding, so quickly. However, dragons was a significant detail – and this was a discussion he did not want public.
"Clear the court," he ordered.
That would get rid of everyone but the council members present – only Agravaine, as he glanced around, and Gaius just entering the door – leaving Leon and Merlin, also.
"Sire?" Borden prompted, uncertain and obsequious.
"You'll be given a meal and a night's lodging," Arthur said, catching Leon's eye; the knight nodded, understanding. "Tomorrow we'll be better prepared to offer you a reward worthy of the value of this object."
Borden was disappointed, but only bowed, drawing his strangely-cut cloak about him, then turned to follow the crowd – and Leon – out the door. Arthur delayed the necessarily conversation, standing silently with Merlin – who was no longer joking about a magical item that was useful and benevolent – as Agravaine approached them, and Gaius waited at the door for the stream of courtiers and servants exiting to end. The old physician drew himself up, however, as the stranger passed him, as stern and forbidding as he ever was, and Borden paused, glancing back toward Arthur and Merlin with a look half beseeching, half defiant.
"Men can change, Gaius," he said, quite clearly. "Please remember, men can change."
Leon gestured, and Borden followed, and Gaius watched them out of sight, til the guards pulled the doors closed again, his two habitual bodyguards to the inside.
"What was that about?" Arthur said aloud, as Gaius turned to join them.
"Julius Borden," Gaius said, though he hadn't been present for the man's introduction. "He was a pupil of mine, years ago. Not a man to be trusted."
Agravaine snorted inelegantly, gaze disdainful on Merlin, who didn't look up at the obvious and unflattering comparison.
"Why not?" Arthur said, letting his fingers close the cloth around the incomplete triskelion and drop it slightly.
"Twenty-five years ago, I lost my assistant."
The old man paused, and Arthur heard the word he hadn't said. Purge. Merlin heard it, too, looking at Gaius; Arthur caught an echo of the silent communication that passed between them. A memory that perhaps prompted the old man's connection to and protection of this young assistant.
"I was advised to replace him, but my choices were… limited. I worked with Julius Borden for only a short time before it was discovered that he was trading in – occasionally by theft – objects of magical origin, which were by then of course illegal. He barely escaped capture, and execution would have been certain to follow, when he left Camelot."
"Does it really matter how the man obtained the artifact?" Agravaine said impatiently. "We should be discussing –"
"Did he work alone?" Arthur said to Gaius. Twenty years was a long time, and all the gods knew the stupidity that young men could get into; everyone deserved a second chance, but.
"He was an opportunist, but not overly intelligent," Gaius said. "As for others who might be involved with him now, I couldn't be sure. What artifact?"
Arthur held out the object, which Gaius immediately took up to scrutinize, holding it to the room's greatest light.
"Druidic runes," Merlin mentioned softly.
"Bind runes," Gaius specified. "And in threes – that's rare… but you're missing a part of the triskelion."
"I know where that bit is," Arthur remarked, and gave a little half-smile at the attention that drew from all three. He signaled to his guards – a necessary evil, but they knew enough by now to protect him by sight and remain out of hearing. "In the vaults beneath your feet… Follow me."
Leading the way from the room and downward, Arthur contemplated the piece Gaius carried to examine along the way. If they simply locked it away, they might as well have it in one piece. If they used it… What would his father have done, with this? Many objects claimed to be magical in nature lay in the vaults – a few of them claimed because Uther had sent men, even Arthur himself on occasion, to retrieve them for safety's sake. The question was whether he should lock up the key, unused, or… retrieve the dragon's egg.
The two guards stationed themselves at the foot of the stair, far distant but still in range of vision. Agravaine pushed into the barred chamber on the end behind Arthur, ostentatiously brandishing the torch that provided the light while Merlin lingered behind Gaius in the doorway.
Several small gold boxes rested crooked and dusty on various shelves; Arthur passed over two of them before finding the one he was looking for. No visible catch to the lid, but he felt delicately to the sides – a simultaneously-pressed catch released the box to open, revealing blue velvet lining and the third part of the triskelion, like a spiraled leaf or arm. Arthur lifted it out and turned back to the other three – wishing briefly that Agravaine had not been present. Oh, well – probably it was better that the council had one witness there.
Merlin stepped forward – silently, what was going on in his head – and took the piece Arthur offered, without meeting his eyes. Gaius handed the greater part to the young sorcerer in the same way – both of them ignoring Agravaine's sardonic huff - and Merlin brought the two sections together carefully, stem to stub.
The gold glowed in the vault gloom, though Merlin's eyes stayed blue, and a moment later the triskelion was a single unflawed piece. Arthur wondered unconnectedly how and why it had been split in the first place; Agravaine hissed and stepped back with a flare of the torch - and then Arthur wondered what the older man had expected to happen. Merlin returned the triskelion to his mentor, taking a step back and clasping his hands behind his back in his best servant's-pose.
Arthur found that, coupled with the bruises on his friend's face, it made him feel guilty, and that irritated him.
"The triskelion of Ashkenar," Gaius pronounced – and after a glance at them, guessed, "He told you that."
"You know of it?" Arthur said. "Borden claimed this could lead someone to the tomb."
"Not only that," Gaius answered, peering at the piece and twisting it slightly. "It is also a type of key – the only way to unlock the tomb, it may be."
"You know the legend?" Agravaine pressed, addressing Gaius but sparing a wary glance for the young sorcerer. "Is there a dragon egg hidden there?"
Again, Gaius and Merlin shared a swift, unreadable glance. "It is possible, sire," Gaius said. "The wealth and wisdom of Ashkenar are without equal. But to my knowledge, no one has disturbed the tomb for more than four hundred years." Spoken with some stern warning for the silent young sorcerer – and that, Arthur thought he understood.
"No one could, though," Arthur said, "not with the key in pieces til now, right?"
"Your Majesty," Agravaine interjected, "what do you intend to do about it?"
Arthur wanted to sigh crossly and say, I intend to think about it a good long while til I decide. With the issue raised in open court, rumors would spread. If they didn't seek the tomb and claim whatever contents they could find, it was likely that they'd deal with thieves seeking to obtain the key and plunder the tomb for years. And the possibility that – sooner or later – someone could succeed.
"Sire," Agravaine continued, with urgency. "I have heard that a dragon's egg can live for a thousand years. Even today, it could still hatch, and another dragon can be born into this world –"
Merlin's head came up properly at that, mouth open with a sort of wondering surprise. He glanced at Gaius, who was implacable - even more briefly at Arthur, then subsided.
And why did Arthur now imagine his former manservant sneaking into his bedchamber to take his keys to the vault, claim the triskelion himself, and head off on the quest alone? That was ridiculous, Merlin wouldn't need to steal keys, he could just use magic to open the vault…
"So all your father's work to rid the world of those monsters would be undone!"
Arthur rolled his eyes at his uncle's characteristic over-reaction. A single dragon, and young…
Merlin spoke clearly then, cutting off Arthur's thoughts. "They're not monsters."
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Agravaine snapped, "but it hasn't been two years since the last dragon tried to destroy Camelot's citadel!"
"I remember," Merlin returned; Arthur had the impression of cold fury slowly building. "I was here."
"If you destroy the key, the tomb could remain closed," Gaius offered to Arthur, in the tones of a moderator. "And the egg would be completely safe."
"Safe from us, or we from it?" Merlin said abruptly, turning his inexplicable emotion on the old man. "Unhatched. You want the egg to remain lost forever?"
"It has lain untouched for more than four hundred years," Gaius told him with asperity. "It is my belief that it should remain that way."
Merlin drew back silently as if the old man had pushed him.
"Can it be destroyed?" Agravaine interrupted, blind to the tension between the two – and on the whole, Arthur thought that best. "No, sire, you must retrieve the egg – it is what your father would have wanted – and make sure that is destroyed."
"Never!" Merlin declared to the lord's face, with a fierce and sudden resolve Arthur had rarely seen; it somehow emphasized his height and the breadth of his shoulders under his peasant's blue shirt.
"All right, that's enough," Arthur said.
He took the triskelion from Merlin's reluctant hands – it seemed to lose a shade of luster, though he was sure that was his imagination – but the velvet-lined gold box was too small now for the whole piece. He hesitated to lay it bare on the shelf, but didn't immediately see a good place for it. "Uncle, thank you for your input – you will hear my decision tomorrow morning in court."
Agravaine knew a dismissal when he heard it. He managed to glare at Merlin and bow to Arthur at once, then turned to sweep from the chamber, leaving the torch in a sconce on the wall before disappearing down the row of vaults, back toward the upward stair.
After a moment of awkward silence – Gaius and Merlin having a whole unspoken conversation, and Arthur uninformed – he remarked, "If this is what it takes to get a minute to talk to you, perhaps I should offer a bounty on magical items."
"Arthur…" Reproachful, but also a touch guilty. Gaius huffed in almost-agreement, keeping his gaze sternly on the young sorcerer, who gave the old man a self-conscious glance before continuing. "About the triskelion. I think Borden stole the larger piece – or one of the pieces, if it was in thirds – from the druids. It was Iseldir I spoke to earlier today, he said a key had been stolen from them… but it was also a trap."
He hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps Borden could tell us more – or if he is a thief as you say, perhaps his only thought is for the reward I might give."
"His motivation in this matter is unclear," Gaius said. "Though usually selfish, as I have known him. As a young man he was prone to dishonesty – who knows what path he is on now?"
"Do you think it would do any good if you spoke to him?" Arthur asked. "Maybe he would reveal more to an old acquaintance."
Gaius drew himself up with an air of preparing to leave, and the intention of obedience. "It may be that he would reveal the least to me, of anyone, but I will speak to him."
The old physician looked at Merlin without gaining a response, then glanced at Arthur from beneath thick white brows. Neither of them moved, and his shoulders moved in a shrug or a sigh before he wordlessly followed Agravaine, leaving the two of them alone in the vault.
"If it's there, we must retrieve the egg." Merlin spoke to the floor, hands still clasped behind him, but the words jumped out like he'd just been waiting for that moment when no one else could hear.
Arthur had expected more objectivity, honestly – more caution or even wariness from his friend and sorcerer, that seemed habitual for him.
He turned to pace the length of the vault slowly, along one shelf and leaving a table bearing two large ornate vases between them. Bad enough for a well-meaning peasant to show up with an object of magic to drop in his lap at this point – barely a fortnight into his reign, balancing the person of Merlin against the fact of the ban. But to add thievery and the complication of druids – victims or lawbreakers? – and dragons…
Of course it was a trap.
Leave it alone, or spring it?... and how to do that safely?
Figure out what the person orchestrating it wanted, then do… something else, just on principle? or do the right thing, even if it was a trap? and what, for the love of Camelot, was that?
"Must?" he said softly, inviting Merlin's opinion – even though he knew now, how it was biased.
"This is a chance in a thousand, Arthur," Merlin said, softly but earnestly, taking a half-step toward him, leaning against the table and gripping its edge with his fingers.
Arthur reached the end of the vault and turned. "A chance for what?"
Faint line of puzzlement between Merlin's black brows. "For the dragons. To… continue. To survive."
"Why do you think they should?" Arthur asked. "You remember the destruction wrought by the last one before we –" a mutinous expression tightened Merlin's eyes and lips and Arthur amended – "fine, before you killed it."
"This one is still in the egg, it hasn't done anything wrong –"
"Yet," Arthur pointed out.
"It deserves the chance at life, doesn't it?"
"The chance to wreak destruction of its own," Arthur said, and continued over Merlin's protest. "You can't bring it here and raise it like a pet, everyone remembers and considers dragons just another evil of magic –"
"Perhaps we could change their minds and –"
"Nobody trusts you yet!" Arthur raised his voice, recognizing that he was taking his irritation out on the person who least deserved it, but who nonetheless remained the object of his frustration. "You think they're going to take your word for it that a cute little baby dragon won't grow up to set their homes and fields on fire and steal their livestock and children?"
"They don't do that –"
"And what about our neighbors, did you never stop to think of them?" Arthur said. "What any of them will do to find out we've got an egg – never mind the live creature? Odin, or Bayard, Caerleon or Olaf or Alined?"
Merlin drew back, just slightly, as if he hadn't considered the wider question yet – but if anything, grew more determined.
"I understand the dangers in leaving the tomb alone and trying to protect the key here," Arthur said, stepping back along the space between shelf and table. "I also understand that claiming it to bring back here and… smash it publicly, would significantly confuse the issue of where I stand on the subject of magic, but –"
"Not everything is about you, Arthur," Merlin said in a low voice. "It is my sacred duty to protect the last of the dragons, and I will do everything in my power to rescue it."
Arthur stood still, cold at the sudden thought that it wasn't his decision to make. Not if Merlin had already decided upon a course of action, because the young sorcerer could and would accomplish his own will, no matter what order came out of Arthur's mouth. And when Merlin had been only an impertinent manservant to a prince, Arthur would have rolled his eyes and ignored it. But now, he was king. And Merlin a confirmed sorcerer, when magic was still illegal.
He saw that Merlin's fingertips just brushed the outer curves of the golden triskelion lying on the table, and experienced an impression he hadn't had for months.
That he didn't know the other young man as well as he thought he did.
Three prowling steps brought him face to face with Merlin, where he could read each minor shift of look, each change in expressive blue eyes that met his squarely, if apprehensively.
"No matter what?" he said softly.
"Arthur, Camelot is yours," Merlin said swiftly, emphatically. "I don't want to make your decisions for you, regarding the kingdom, I don't want to tell you what to do-"
"Sure you do," Arthur said, cutting him off. "You want to make sure magic returns, don't you? No matter how long it takes or how difficult it is?"
"Because that's the right thing, not because it benefits me personally," Merlin argued, frowning. "I'd say the same even if I didn't have magic. But the dragons – that's sort of my kingdom, Arthur, I wish you could understand."
He tried, he really did. "Merlin, if this is because you feel guilty about what happened with the last dragon, letting it loose and then having to kill it to prevent more damage and death –"
"The dragon's not dead," Merlin blurted, his eyes a bit panicky but the rest of him determined. Quite like how he'd faced Agravaine, disputing the term monster.
It occurred to Arthur, Merlin had never done the same to him, since Arthur had known of his magic. He remembered how Merlin had taken a swing at him, in the corridor the audience chamber, after the witchfinder had coerced Gaius' false confession. And that reminded him of rescuing his servant from the bounty hunter – and realizing, Merlin had been stealing his breakfast. It reminded him of how often, in the past, Merlin had the loosest of acquaintances with the truth.
"What," he said flatly. "You told me I dealt it a mortal blow."
"Not quite mortal." Merlin avoided his eyes again.
"You lied." Nothing new, and nothing Arthur had felt, particularly, because mostly he understood the reasons for Merlin's deception – protecting secrecy and life, as long as he was determined to remain in Camelot and protect Arthur. But this… felt different.
All sorcerers are liars, Urbert had said in council. And Rowland had countered, Would you lie to save your life, would you lie to save your family… But neither of those conditions applied to the situation, anymore.
He realized, "How did you know it wasn't a mortal blow. You've seen it since then?" Yes, was written all over the younger man. "Talked to it?" Arthur pushed incredulously.
"Him," Merlin corrected, quietly but defiantly.
"Dammit, Merlin!" Arthur swung away from him to stomp around the vault, wishing now they were in his room – more space and things he could actually throw without ruining something costly. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You'd have wanted to go after him," Merlin defended. "Or your father would have ordered –"
"With good reason! Merlin… you can't keep things like this to yourself anymore! As king, I have the responsibility to defend my people against any threat that might come, I need to know things like, the dragon is still alive!"
Triple damn. If the council knew this – wouldn't they have to, eventually? – trust would go from shaky to downright unstable, and not only for Merlin. What would happen if there was a public outcry and the council united to demand a hunt to kill the dragon – and then Merlin stood against them? Infighting – even the bloodless, council-room kind – would weaken Camelot before enemies like Odin, and then…
"He's not a threat," Merlin said quietly. "He's my friend. My… kin."
"Is that what it told you," Arthur spat. "Hells, Merlin, you're so – simple-minded, sometimes!"
He spun away and paced furiously, having to turn and face the sorcerer again, sooner than he was ready for. Buried under the new and unfamiliar and uncertain weight of responsibility for a kingdom facing conflict both within and without, and frustratingly helpless to do anything about it. Placating the council hindered him on one hand, and Merlin's ability and inclination to disobey on the other, and he was sick to death of all of it.
"You're going to go anyway," Arthur said aloud. "If I locked up this key, you'd steal it. If I ordered you to stay, if I locked you up in a cell to keep you here, you'd escape."
Merlin didn't say anything, he didn't have to. His expession – and his reaction to the extremity of Arthur's suggestions – spoke volumes.
"Fine," Arthur said bitterly. He curled his fingers angrily and tightly through the triskelion's spirals, to shove it hard enough into Merlin's chest to make him take a step back. "Just – have a word with Gaius before you go. If we can duplicate whatever's been keeping the egg from hatching all these years, we need to start with that. Because if it hatches – do not bring it back to my kingdom or I will have to kill it."
Merlin didn't argue or protest or mock or wheedle. Only looked at Arthur and cradled the druid's artifact against his chest.
And when he turned to go, it occurred to Arthur that he'd finally found the edge of Merlin's loyalty.
He wondered if Merlin would return at all this time, egg or no egg.
Traitor memory whispered Bernard's words, Perhaps if he was not involved – maybe not in the kingdom at all – people would find it easier to begin anew on this alternate course you've set.
Alone, under the citadel and people of Camelot, Arthur felt duty as an oppressive physical thing. An unbearable thing, and none to help – that distance between king and everyone, was an unfathomable gulf…
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Merlin buckled the last strap of his mare's saddle, then paused to lean shoulder and forehead against the warm solid horse-scented muscle.
He didn't run me through, he reminded himself, as he had done last year – but it failed to bolster his spirits, as it had done, then. He doesn't understand, was little better. Arthur angry wasn't going to listen to Merlin's explanations and excuses, and Merlin wasn't going to reveal the soul-wound of his own father's death and everything it meant, to an angry Arthur. He'd say things he didn't mean, and be sorry for them later, when neither could forget.
But last year, he'd clung stubbornly to the idea that he couldn't leave Arthur, or Camelot, while the prince still didn't understand, magic or him. And now here he was, saddled and provisioned to do just that, not knowing –
"What are you doing out here?"
Merlin straightened away from his mare, looking over the front of the gate, ajar to let the lamplight into the stall – and he and his mount out, in a moment. Gwaine, still in chainmail but without the red cape, hung one arm over the stall-door, and studied him.
He thought his friend could guess on his own – probably had already – but said anyway, "I'm leaving."
"Already?" Gwaine said, sounding surprised and disappointed at once. "Hold on…"
He pushed away from Merlin's stall door, causing it to swing shut and latch, then crossed the walkway between the rows of stalls in the stable. Arthur had appointed this unclaimed corner for their use, for the horses Gwaine had won last year; Gwaine didn't hesitate to haul his own saddle off its peg, and bumped open the gate of the opposite stall with his shoulder.
Trailing reins so the mare would follow, Merlin moved to unlatch their stall again and let them both out, watching Gwaine saddle his gelding. Knowing what his friend was doing, resisting the implications of that because Gwaine also knew what he was doing, he kept silent on protests because it comforted him – now as then – not to be alone as he left Arthur's side for a tumultuous present and an uncertain future.
"Is this an official departure?" Gwaine asked; his gelding grunted placidly as he yanked the girth tight and flipped the stirrup back down. Merlin, frustrated over the ambiguity which was partly – though not entirely – his fault, kicked at the loose hay in the center aisle. Gwaine added, "Is it permanent?"
"Yes – no – I don't know!"
Gwaine led his horse from the stall, checked that both gates were properly latched, then walked with Merlin, leading their mounts – from the stables, across the torchlit courtyard, through the passage to the lower town. And out.
As they walked, Merlin told him – not everything, but enough. The druid visitation, Borden's past and questionable present, the triskelion that now resided in Merlin's saddlebags, the egg that couldn't be left in its premature tomb but seemed to have no place in the world to welcome it – just like Merlin, maybe. He told Gwaine of the great dragon, and why Arthur felt such antipathy toward it – and Merlin caught in the middle.
Gwaine listened quietly, with an occasional sound of agreement or understanding, an abortive phrase that coaxed another long sentence or several, out of Merlin. And when he finally finished, needing to use the waterskin tied to his saddle, and feeling exhausted, Gwaine spoke slowly.
"I'm guessing… there's more to the story of Merlin and the dragon, than just trading information, or the responsibility of an ally, or even… magic calls to magic. Am I right? Something more than Arthur knows, but you haven't told him?"
Merlin scuffed at the packed earth of the track, nearly invisible in the darkness though the moon was high, because of the close old oaks that rose tall and thick above them. "Yeah…"
I am a dragonlord.
I am the last dragonlord because my father died. My father died because he was defending me, because I hid my magic from a prince I believed in, but didn't understand. Because I kept a promise, but couldn't gain one in return.
And nothing much had changed, had it? Here he was, still doing the same.
"Is nothing going to change?" he said, quietly desperate, feeling emotion clog and scratch at his throat. "Everything, and nothing."
"Hm," Gwaine said, invisible in the darkness, but sounding wryly sympathetic. "You do realize, you and I just walked right out of the citadel and through the lower town, free as birds and unbothered – no warning bells rung, no attempted arrests? You've been patient for years, Merlin…"
He heard what Gwaine didn't say. Don't give up now.
Oh, don't walk away.
"It feels," he began, slowly and awkwardly, "like what I've been patient for, I've already got. It's already done – Arthur has lived to be king, and he's set to judge magic fairly."
The land stirs in anticipation of change, something more than spring. We walk hidden in this kingdom, yet – but not for long, I think, til it is Arthur's and we may truly fear nothing… It was more complicated, having his friend as king, now. Deciding what to tell him – what not to, and why, and for how long, and how he'd take it when he finally found out. Having to explain his magic and choices to the highest authority, not just a comrade also serving a sovereign, from whom they both kept a shared secret, for matching reasons.
And yet, it should also feel safer, at times, to be able to say, what do you think, to Arthur. His friend, another young man who understood responsibility and authority and destiny.
If only he understood dragons, too…
"All the rest… I'm tired, Gwaine, and I have a royal headache, and I can't see that I'm doing anyone any good. All my friends have a harder time, trying to defend magic –" me – "to everyone who still hates it, because it all comes out when I'm there, in hate and violence. And for me… I'm not Arthur's servant, I'm not Gaius' assistant, I'm just – a clumsy fool."
He ignored his friend's sound of protest. "And now with this egg. It makes me wonder, if I've got another task in front of me, than Arthur and Camelot. If I shouldn't take it somewhere and raise and protect it." Destiny, born the son of his father, just the same as he was born to be the druids' Emrys. Maybe that part of his life was over, and another beginning.
"You'd choose the dragon over Arthur?" Gwaine said, surprised.
"It's… not like that."
Hells, if it ever came down to a stark choice, one life or the other, but not both… Yes, he'd already lost those he loved in service to his prince, but the thought of the death of a dragon, the unknown baby or crusty old Kilgarrah, left him cold and sick inside. But Arthur… it was unthinkable.
"Arthur doesn't need me anymore, and this new dragon does," he tried to explain.
"I think I would argue, Arthur's always going to need you, whether he expresses that adequately, or not. But another question is, what do you need? You'd be happy holed up in some tiny cave, hiding your ever-growing pet from the locals and fighting off everyone who came against you by yourself?"
Merlin stopped still on the dark track, his mare bumping and nudging til she calmly accepted the halt; it took Gwaine a couple more steps to realize.
The memory of his father's cave was clear and bleak – the suspicion and disinclination to help others that had become Balinor's character, whatever he'd been when young and in love with Merlin's mother.
I don't want to be alone.
"Let's stop here for the night," Gwaine proposed, sympathetic in a practical way, to Merlin's dilemma.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Gwaine sat a stone's throw from the track through the forest, watching the air and sky lighten toward dawn. Watching his young friend sleep, curled under and against a nearby tree. Pale and still, as he hadn't been since the earliest days of their comradeship, loyal hidden outlaws.
He remembered thinking how Merlin's whole life had changed, to leave Camelot then – friends and work left behind. It troubled him more than he could have explained, to think of Merlin choosing to do the same, again. Though he did understand – partly, at least – his young friend's choice. Wasn't it his, also? To decide, Arthur didn't need him as much as this lone creature of magic. Something about Gwaine's joke of living alone in a cave had bothered Merlin, too; Gwaine decided also that Merlin wouldn't have to – at least not alone.
They'd only traveled a few hours the previous night, as twilight deepened and thickened to true dark, and they passed beyond familiarity on the track. So as dawn glimmered, glinted, and shone through the eastern trees, and Merlin didn't wake, Gwaine waited.
And wasn't really surprised to detect the approach of several horses down the track, coming at a quick walk. He pushed to his feet, squinting through the trees – recognized Lancelot and guessed what three riders off the patrol schedule meant. His shrilled whistle alerted them – and woke Merlin, who reacted with the abrupt wariness more characteristic of him during their time as fugitives.
"How much do you want to bet me," Gwaine said, as Merlin scrambled his way to clear remembrance of the situation, and his feet, "that Arthur sent you a guard for your quest?"
Merlin didn't say anything, or smile, but he caught the trailing reins of his mount to follow Gwaine to the road.
Lancelot was the second rider; Gwaine was almost as surprised to recognize Bors as the lead, as he was to see Percival on the third horse. And chainmail belted over his tunic – both with sleeves removed to accommodate his large muscular frame and its required range of movement.
"They found armor that fit," Gwaine greeted him, coming up to the track while the other three waited. "Morning, Lancelot. Sir Bors… Am I in trouble?"
An even toss, he thought; Merlin left with Arthur's knowledge, but he'd essentially deserted, if the king cared to make it an issue. He found he did hope, Arthur understood and wasn't offended. It might be – and he very lucky if so – that Arthur would think less of him for conforming to rank and rules, instead of the bonds of loyalty in friendship.
"My presence here," Bors rasped unemotionally, "means your presence here is authorized."
"Oh, good," Gwaine said, grinning because the older knight probably knew, he didn't really care about his legal status, as much as the king's reaction.
"Glad we caught up with you," Lancelot said, his eyes on Merlin. "The guards pointed out the direction you'd taken last night, but not even Arthur knew your route. We were hoping not to have to track you."
Merlin didn't answer him. Eyes on the senior knight, he spoke clearly, but respectfully, "What orders did His Majesty give you concerning the dragon's egg, Sir Bors?"
Almost the hint of a smile on that stubbly taciturn face. "Hands off the egg," he said, seemingly unperturbed at the question from the young sorcerer. "If it hatches, I'm to leave it alone unless it threatens someone's life."
"Then kill it?" Merlin said. Not quite a challenge, but close.
"I'm to prevent it hurting anyone," Bors answered, still calmly. Gwaine was pretty sure he knew the older man well enough by then, to trust that Bors would try to stop or incapacitate a juvenile attacking dragon – but probably could and would kill the creature if it became absolutely necessary. "So? I understand you've got the map…"
Merlin stood a moment longer, studying the senior knight, for all the world as if he were the one deciding whether to allow the addition to their quest, or not. Then he turned to his saddle, unbuckled one of his bags, and slipped a hand in, removing the strangest map Gwaine had ever seen.
Not parchment at all, but gold, twisted into a trio of spirals that made Gwaine think of the druids.
"How do you read that?" he said.
"You don't read it," Merlin answered, but his attention was still on Bors. "You let it guide you."
For another moment it was the older knight's turn to consider the young sorcerer – and the implication that magic was necessary, though it was still illegal. Maybe not if Merlin performed it? Gwaine wasn't really sure. Then Bors made an abortive gesture, leaning over his saddlehorn.
Merlin positioned the strange piece on the tip of his forefinger, then blinked a flash of magic at it. The spirals lightened and glowed like the dawn sky, and it began to rotate on its balance. Slowed… paused.
"That way," Merlin said, pointing northeast.
Gwaine mounted his horse, as Merlin returned the strange map to his saddlebags. Then the sorcerer swung himself up atop his mount also, gathering his reins while Bors waited, seemingly content for the map-reader to serve as a guide for all of them.
"How do you know which spiral points the way?" Gwaine asked conversationally, as they left the track.
"It'll be the same one, every time," Merlin said, with a look over his shoulder to include Lancelot, Percival, and Bors. "One to lead, two to follow."
"Is it written on there, then, which is which?" Gwaine pursued. "Anyone could read it if they knew how? Would it work if one of us balanced it on a finger?"
Merlin tossed him a glance that was exasperation tempered by amusement – and understanding of Gwaine's tactics, by now. Gwaine grinned, unrepentant.
In his opinion, Bors's acceptance of magic and Merlin and commitment to help – so long as the dragonling remained unhatched, or at least peaceful – was reason to hope, and try, again.
A/N: I don't usually take much liberties with canon material, but we never see Borden using the triskelion in its map phase… even though he hasn't got magic, apparently, I decided to make it more magical…