12. Low Blow


Summary: "Fight for him until Camelot is overtaken. Then, your life is your own. I swear it, this won't be forever. You will return to your home, see your mother again."


He sucks in a breath, as if the sound of his name is startling. So I continue to say it, "Merlin? Merlin—" until he wrenches out of that curled position, staring at me with livid eyes. I withdraw my hand.

"She wasn't your mother, was she?" he accuses. I know immediately who he means.

The woman, the dying wretch he wasn't supposed to have been able to save.

My silence is enough to answer. Merlin shakes his head, laughs humorlessly. "To think I condoned your actions, told myself you were innocent. You're just like them. Greedy, ruthless, lying meat-heads."

I swallow, and try for a smirk. "Meat-heads?" I repeat in an unaffected voice, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He glares back. "You won't change my mind."

"You're going to get yourself killed, then? Is that it?" I argue, and he rolls his eyes.

"Don't pretend you care."

"I don't," I retort harshly, ignoring his grim smile in return. "But your little village just might."

Merlin's sardonic expression falters, his eyes lowering from mine. Giving me hope that I can talk him out of this. "Your friend Will would."

Merlin reacts no further, not till I say, "Oh, and don't forget," I grip his arm lightly and squeeze with the words, "your mum. Do you think you can imagine, the complete and utter despair on her face, when your body returns and not you? How her whole world, her very person would just shatter seeing you forever limp and pale, dead?"

I'm laying it on thick, but these words are simply echoes of what I hear the wives and mothers around Camp tell their husbands and sons before they leave for the front line. What Leon's mother has often murmured to him, before he heads off on another mission.

It seems to have the desired effect; Merlin's defiant features have finally crumbled, softened into the pain and misery that have been behind them all along. He shakes his head once, twice, three times before looking back up at me. "How dare you," he accuses—but there's a hitch in his voice I hear, and I know I've landed a blow—"How dare you—you—"

"Save your life?"

"How dare you even speak of her!" he seethes, wrenching his arm from my grip. "And you, save me? To be your slave, you mean?"

"To be a recruit of my father's army," I say, no longer as proudly as I once would have. It doesn't sound as glorifying as it used to. But then the classic draw, what my father has used to keep the recruits motivated for years, slips out of me unbidden. "Fight for him until Camelot is overtaken. Then, your life is your own. I swear it, this won't be forever. You will return to your home, see your mother again."

It's the fall back, whenever a recruit needs more encouragement than fear can supply. A taste of hope, however fleeting, that this isn't forever. Even if it really is.

The boy narrows his eyes. "I will be set free, to go back home?"

I nod mutely, encouraged by the flickering uncertainty on his face.

"Tell me one thing," Merlin says, his voice calm but insistent. "The woman—whoever she was. The one I healed. Is she alright?"

"She . . ."

Something chilly seems to walk straight through me as memories of Merlin's abduction reluctantly surface. I recall moving over to his unconscious body, ignoring whatever ruckus Foehart was making behind me. A muffled sound, maybe, some noise of a scuffle. Then Foehart dragging the woman into a corner, her bare heels scuffing against the dirt, matted hair shielding her face . . .

"I don't know." I blink away the images, refocusing on the boy's face again. "We left her there."

Merlin tenses for a moment, but quickly nods. "Where she's better off," he says, and I nod back. No doubt if she returned Nimueh would curse her twice over for surviving the Lady's original spell.

"Then I will take back my answer." He looks as if he's given his own death sentence, not saved his own life. I bite back the relieved sigh that wells up from my lungs, nodding. "I don't think I have it in me to 'submit,' though," Merlin admits, jaw set. "I won't be some dog to follow his every command. Even if I do heal that man . . . "

"The binding isn't one-sided," I say, hoping this will reassure and not deter him. "You're bound to another person, your guardian. My father won't really have all that much control over you. Well, unless . . ."

"Unless what?"

"I grow tired of waiting."

My father's voice cuts in as he enters, and I jump at the sound. Merlin immediately ducks his head down. "If he is to change his mind and submit, he will do so now."

The knights have followed, Nimueh slinking in last, and just to judge from her pleased smile I can guess she's been listening in. "Tell me, boy," my father demands, glaring down at him, "Life, or death?"

The question sounds so simple, phrased like that, but I can see Merlin physically struggling with the decision. His spine is taut, his neck craned, his face contorted.

Finally he manages to find the word: "Life. Life, I choose life."

The crowd is silent, though my father looks pleased and Nimueh looks smug.

"Good," my father nods. "A wise choice. You have only to thank Arthur for being merciful enough to convince you against your ill decision. Go ahead, tell him so." He jerks his head in my direction, and Merlin's eyes slowly follow.

"Thank you, Arthur," he obeys, and it even sounds the tiniest bit sincere.

But the warlord immediately steps forward, backhands the boy across his face. Merlin gasps, falling on his side, as my father snarls, "You will address him according to his rank, son of Lord Uther."

My mouth is dry as Merlin manages to prop himself up a little and utter, "Thank you, my lord."

"Good," my father repeats, though it's curt and stiff this time. "Now then, before we begin: is there a man missing? A knight worthy of the claim who is not present?"

A slight murmur rumbles through the knights, looking around and muttering. But no one is absent—save Foehart, unconscious on his deathbed. "There is no one to call, my lord," Sir Jethro speaks for them, and they all nod in agreement.

"Very well. Nimueh."

She and my father meet, clasping hands. He looks straight into her eyes, chanting, "Ic alīesan ēow anweald don mīn ferð." In return Nimueh's eyes glow a faint gold, and she smiles. Her smirk sours a little, however, when he leans in and I catch—". . . his power at my side. So when you perform it, remember . . . "

Nimueh nods sharply until he backs away; then her face lights up with a thought. "The Old Religion has spoken to me of this boy," The Lady says for all to hear, standing above Merlin. "I have said before, I have dreamt of his great presence, and now I am sure, Lord Uther, the name of Pendragon is entwined with his future—his very destiny."

She has Merlin stand, and the claim begins.


A/N: Hope you all enjoyed! Thanks to everyone who's been giving me feedback and commenting in general :) Also thanks to those who hit the follow button! You should totally all do that if you haven't yet.

catherine10: LOL you crack me up, I agree! Well, not entirely, I'm a bit selfish and prefer Merlin not to die, but that would be pretty hilarious. Thanks for reviewing!