A/N: LONGEST. CHAPTER. EVER. But I had elements set up for this story as far back as Chapter 1 of Vortigern's Tower, including Alvarr in Merlin's clan when he was a boy, making the two of them enemies, and I supposed you all would rather have this altogether, than separated into two chapters… I'll admit, I went back and forth on what to do with the question of Mordred. Can't leave that plot thread hanging, but I never intended to go as far as season 5 did with this fic, either… I hope this conclusion is well-reasoned, clear, and satisfactory…
2:11 Quickening
Arthur stood to one side of the training field, choosing another knife to join the half dozen he'd already thrown with vicious strength at the painted target set up for his personal use.
It wasn't that Arthur resented the order. If he was being honest and fair, he'd have to admit he was surprised that his father hadn't pushed the issue before, either for himself or for Morgana. For whatever reason.
The process started small and relatively painless, with the assistance of Geoffrey and the official court records, collecting the names of possible spouses, young ladies born to royalty or nobility, foreign and native to Camelot, confirmed or potential allies. Within ten years or so of his age – a few years older wouldn't make much difference, several years younger might be preferable, though none underage, of course, as the wedding would take place in less than a year. Double-checking through death and marriage notices to cross a few names from that list, another five days of turning it over to his father for another handful of rejections.
But now it was up to him to take the next step. Through the winter months he was expected to initiate and continue correspondence with the fathers and guardians of those names that remained, first to establish if the young lady in question was amenable to the idea of a union with him, then to setting a schedule of visitation for the spring. His father had recommended a fortnight with each, to allow himself and the lady in question to explore compatibility; those few he had met before, once or twice, he hadn't seen in years, and more than half he'd never set eyes on.
Before an agreement was reached, a proposal offered, a betrothal accepted, a marriage performed.
Arthur selected the next knife in the row, flipped it once, then hurled it at the target.
"She could be beautiful," Merlin offered, referring to the future Lady Pendragon, not yet chosen. The young sorcerer leaned on the table, taking time, Arthur gathered, between one errand and the next for Gaius, to check on Arthur.
He grunted. "She could be gorgeous, and a pig," he said shortly. "Two weeks to choose?"
"Two weeks can be quite a long time," the younger man observed. "Long enough. You know it was less than a week that you and I knew each other, at Dinas Emrys."
"Yes, and see how that turned out – can't get rid of you," Arthur said, unable to let the opportunity pass. Merlin's quick grin flashed, and Arthur realized his spirits had lightened somewhat. Arthur tossed the next knife experimentally and caught it again. "You don't recommend I take each of these young ladies on a quest of danger and magic, see how well they hold up?"
Merlin tipped his head in a thoughtful way. "At least she might know what she's getting into, then. Life in Camelot is anything but dull."
Arthur snorted. "Morgana's been on edge, too, have you noticed?" he commented. "She thinks, after I marry, she's next. She's probably not wrong, but…" Merlin met his eyes with serious understanding and a nod. But what about her magic, neither of them ventured to say.
"Speaking of Morgana," Merlin said, straightening and nodding toward the archway leading to the central courtyard. "She's back early from her ride."
Arthur turned and squinted. His half-sister's emerald cape was distinctive, but she wasn't alone. At her side was a second figure, not many inches shorter, the cloak a dark blue-green and of rougher material. "Who's that with her?" he asked.
Merlin came out from behind the table before answering, and there was an odd note in his voice Arthur couldn't identify as he said, "That's Mordred."
The name was familiar, but Arthur didn't place it until the two newcomers neared, and it was the similarity of the black hair and blue eyes to the young man at his side that reminded him. The boy's eyes were on Merlin, who inclined his head in a polite but rather adult greeting.
"Look who I found wandering in the woods," Morgana declared with a happy smile, absolutely free of the sarcasm that usually colored her conversations with Arthur. "You remember Mordred, don't you?"
"Yes, of course," Arthur said. "Welcome back to Camelot." The boy met his eyes with a tiny smile, more secretive than self-conscious.
Merlin said, "Wandering in the woods?" And Arthur remembered that they'd turned the boy and his mentor over to Merlin's clan elder, the last they saw him.
"Not alone, of course, he was with his guardian," Morgana reassured them, her color rising a bit, her eyes on the boy's face as she gave him a little hug. "He very kindly agreed to let Mordred spend the day in Camelot." They exchanged a warm, caring smile, and Arthur found himself thinking of Merlin and Hunith.
"Glad to hear it," Arthur said. "I hope you enjoy yourself today. Morgana, a word?" He inclined his head to invite her to walk with him. Morgana followed him, but the tilt of her head and the set of her shoulders was defiant.
Behind them, Arthur heard Merlin said, in a tone of casual curiosity, "Why didn't Cerdan come into the city with you?" If the boy answered him, it wasn't with audible words.
"What happened?" Arthur said to Morgana, not demanding or accusing, but simply a request for more information.
"Nothing happened," she said defensively. "I met them along the path near the Forest of Brechfa, and recognized Mordred. We talked for a bit, and he was interested in seeing Camelot again." They drew to a halt, halfway to the target Arthur had been using, to look back at the two.
Once again Arthur was struck by their similarities. Mordred had pushed his cloak back off his shoulders and rolled up his sleeves, exposing the dark curves of his druid's mark on his forearm. And if it wasn't for the roundness of lingering childhood in his face and a certain something lacking in his carriage, Arthur might have thought he was looking at Merlin as he'd first met him at Dinas Emrys. But he saw differences, also.
Merlin no longer wore the druid's cloak, and the sleeves of his shirt and jacket concealed his own tattoos, as he stood with his back to Arthur, arms crossed, but it was more than dress or attitude. The boy picked up a dagger with a blade both long and slim, handling and testing it with more casual familiarity than Merlin handled table cutlery, and the interest Mordred displayed in the weapons table made Arthur uneasy, somehow. Such a fascination with weapons and fighting was unusual for a peace-loving druid.
In his mind, Arthur heard the young man speaking to the druid boy, when they had thought themselves alone. Sometimes, he'd said, the only way you can protect someone is by the death of the one who is threatening… but that should always be the very last choice.
"It's just for the day – they agreed on where and when to meet, later on," Morgana assured him.
He faced her again. "What are the two of you going to do today, then?" Arthur asked.
"Show him around Camelot, of course," Morgana said. "The last time he was here, he only got to see Gaius' chambers."
Arthur gave her a half-grin. "Arguably the most interesting room in the whole citadel."
She smiled back, relaxing at his implied acceptance of the arrangement. "It's one of them," she allowed. She turned to walk back toward the pair of black-haired druid boys, and Arthur found himself catching her elbow, taking her a few paces sideways, out of the knife-throwing lane.
"Be careful, please?" he said. "Keep him out of Father's way?" She scoffed at such an obvious caution, and he added, "And don't – do any magic with him, either."
At that a mutinous light came into her green eyes, but she nodded. "I promise to return him to his guardian safe and sound," she said sarcastically. There was something in the way she said guardian, again that slight increase of color, a momentary dropping of her eyes, that Arthur promptly forgot when she added, "And I promise not to run away from Camelot with them."
It bothered him that she'd thought enough on that option to reassure him of her decision against it.
"Do you want Merlin with you today?" he asked. "I'm not sure what tasks Gaius has in mind for him, but –"
At the mention of his name, Morgana shifted her weight and turned her head to look at their young friend. Arthur followed her gaze instinctively, and his suggestion choked into silence.
In that second, Mordred had turned from the weapons table, his whole body in motion to throw the knife at the target. Merlin spun on his heel, stretching tautly as if to pluck the knife from the air, absolutely pale with sudden desperation at the boy's unexpected cast of the blade. Missing it by inches, his reaching fingers clenched into a merciless fist and the knife stuck in thin air. Only then did he look around to see Arthur, a good six feet out of the throwing-lane. His relief was palpable, and huge, and startled Arthur.
"No, you can keep him," Morgana said, wryly amused, as she stepped away from him.
Whatever had just happened, she'd missed it completely. What had just – Mordred's face showed boyish disappointment, resentment of a thwarted display of talent. A druid, showing off weapons skills? And the extremity of Merlin's reaction in stopping the cast before it reached the target… he had clearly, completely believed that the boy's actions had endangered Arthur, deliberately or accidentally. Why should he assume the boy to be so careless as to throw a knife at a target when someone stood in the way? Careless, or…
Mordred turned from Merlin without another glance to join Morgana, who laid her arm across his shoulders again as they left the side-yard. The knife dropped harmlessly to the grass as Merlin watched them go, and Arthur retrieved it, continuing on to his friend's side. Merlin's customary friendly cheer was distinctly lacking, replaced by a mask of blank impassivity.
Arthur was struck by other memories. The young sorcerer's evasion when he'd asked for Merlin's thoughts on the High Priestess' visit; a similar expression, as Merlin looked down on the body of the cursed girl he'd killed to save Arthur's life.
"What the hell was that?" Arthur said, conversationally.
Merlin's shoulders twitched, and he allowed Arthur a small smile. "My fault," he said, and it was no explanation at all. Do you mind if I don't say? It's probably nothing…
"You two just catching up?" Arthur prodded further. "He's been with your clan well over a year now, hasn't he? He had news of –" he racked his memory for the name – "Iseldir, wasn't it?"
"He's not with Iseldir anymore," Merlin said. "Nor Cerdan. He's got a new mentor." His gaze dropped to the knife in Arthur's hand; he took it and replaced it on the table.
A new mentor with a less-than-passive approach to self-defense? Arthur wondered, remembering how the younger boy had touched his sword at their farewell, almost reverently. Why would that bother Merlin? Arthur himself trained every day, and more than once had dragged his friend into a reluctant participation, if he didn't have specific orders from Gaius taking up his time. Merlin had faced Kanen's horde with a sword in his hand, after all.
"Someone you knew?" he asked casually.
Merlin merely hummed thoughtfully, and turned away.
…..*…..
It was past midnight when Merlin fell asleep. And little less than an hour before he was awake again.
A rain-storm had settled over the land just after sunset, not a brilliant exhibition of thunder and lightning, just a hard and steady downpour that turned the streets to streams, the central courtyard to a shallow pond, and had people closing and barring doors and windows early. The damp was pervasive and chilling, this far into autumn; the relentless pounding of heavy and many raindrops discouraged conversation and the dark gloom and drop in temperature made bed and blankets an attractive notion.
Only, his magic remained alert.
Seeing Mordred was a surprise, but Merlin was ready to allow it a pleasant surprise. Except for the memory of the dragon's warning that he'd be criminally foolish to forget, the blatant proof that the boy's interest in fighting – with weapons of steel and words of sorcery both – had been encouraged. And the name of his new mentor, no longer part of Iseldir's clan at all, but gathering his own followers.
Alvarr. It had been about seven and a half years since Merlin had seen the blonde druid, his expression flat and unyielding as he watched Merlin walk away to his death. Had that been why Alvarr had not come into Camelot with Mordred and Morgana? Because of the awkwardness of meeting Merlin? Because he was too busy with other business? And what might that business be?
In all fairness, Merlin told himself, seven-going-on-eight years was a long time, and Ari, his father, was a good man, if a bit brusque. Alvarr could have matured, mellowed.
Merlin wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of Mordred spending the day in Camelot with Morgana, unsupervised. Knowing Arthur, he'd guessed at what warnings and reminders the prince had given his half-sister in private. But Arthur, he felt and his magic seemed to agree, was the one in danger, and Merlin had therefore spent the rest of the day shadowing his prince. Even though that meant composing half a dozen introductory letters to young ladies from Arthur's list, while the prince paced his bedchamber. Even though it meant facing his mentor's disapprobation when he returned to their shared quarters late for dinner and all the afternoon's responsibilities unfulfilled. The leech tank had been mentioned again.
Merlin tossed himself to his other side on his narrow bed, having to yank his cover out from under himself and give it a kick into place again. It was impossible to sleep in the drumming of rain against his shutters, impossible to relax with his magic so wary, impossible to think with all that whispering going on inside –
Wait, whispering?
He bolted upright, controlling and directing his magic, hearing telepathic voices. Inside Camelot, inside the citadel, though what they said was not clear, nor did he recognize them. Short, terse questions, followed by short direct answers. Purposeful and hurried.
Merlin leaped out of bed, shoving his feet into his boots. He didn't bother with candles or Gaius, but snatched his jacket for warmth in the cold dark corridors, and took off running.
He headed instinctively for the third floor on the east wing – Morgana's room in the tower on the end, Arthur's chambers at the corner, and Uther's to the north – if the threat was assassination, that was where an intruder might –
The alarm bells sounded, clanging the warning, and he skidded to a stop, desperately trying to grasp the inaudible whispers around the noise of the bells. He focused on the phrases, twisted his head to catch at directionality.
No, this way. Down here.
Down. Merlin turned to sprint back the way he'd come.
…..*…..
Arthur strode down the hall energetically, in spite of the time of night and the rainstorm. An intruder in the citadel - even with the threat and mystery of such an event - was a welcome change from the process of choosing a mate that had filled his days lately. This was a problem definite and tangible, one he could deal with exactly and decisively.
"What do you mean, you lost him?" he tossed over his shoulder to the first guard of three that followed him on their prescribed route. "He could be dangerous!"
There was movement in the shadows just ahead of them, and Arthur reacted instantly, grasping the intruder by the neck and shoving him against the wall. Then he recognized him, tousled black hair, wide blue eyes, long fingers raking at Arthur's fist at his windpipe.
"Merlin?" he said, too surprised for a moment to release his friend, until the younger man choked out his name. "Oh, sorry."
"I heard them," Merlin gasped out. "Not up here – they're going down."
According to Arthur's experience and training, an intruder threatened one of two things – murder or theft. Up meant intentions against one of the citadel's inhabitants, as sleeping quarters were all located above the ground floors. Down meant the vaults.
They proceeded at a fast walk. Someone like Merlin could dash about through darkened hallways, trusting to a magical sixth sense to warn him of danger and prevent harm, but Arthur had been taught differently. As much as he might long to hunt his quarry down as swiftly as possible, it was both unwise and careless to hurry, when haste might mean passing a hidden intruder, or falling into an ambush waiting in a darkened doorway or around a blind corner.
Torch in hand, Arthur led Merlin and the three guards assigned to him during an alarm past a row of tombs, the stone effigies horizontal on the heavy lids. There was no sight of lurking or fleeing shadows, no shouts from distant parts of the citadel to hail the capture of a prowler. Each narrow storage room was secured with iron bars, locked as the prisoner cells would be, but home to vessels tall and fat, casks both tiny and delicate, and heavy and rough, shelves filled and walkway narrowed with treasures of various natures.
The door of the third one on the left swung open, rusty hinges and clingy cobwebs alike protesting at his passage. "The locks are not damaged," Arthur said, holding the torch lower to examine the iron lock. His hand went to the ring of keys at his belt.
"Magic," Merlin said, noncommittally.
Arthur pushed his way further into the vault, lighting another torch in a wall sconce. The dust that lay heavily on everything served to testify at a glance that all was in its place, nothing missing – except at the back of the vault. A fat red-purple pillow on a pedestal, fuzzy with dust, showed a clear dent of clean velvet in its center, where an object had been lifted. Arthur gave the cell another cursory glance – nothing else so much as touched. "Whoever it was knew exactly what they were looking for," Arthur commented.
"Apparently," Merlin murmured, still not meeting Arthur's eyes.
"Is that all you've got to say?" Arthur said, annoyed.
Merlin's gaze rose to the empty pillow. "What was it he took?"
Arthur took a moment to run through the inventory he'd memorized years earlier; it was part of his job to safeguard the treasures of Camelot. "The Crystal of Neahtid," he answered finally.
"Was it precious, this crystal?" The sorcerer sounded very detached, for the circumstances they found themselves in, and Arthur's irritation increased. Did he not realize who would be blamed for the theft? Arthur, in his dual responsibility of commanding the watch and guarding the vaults. Merlin, also, if sorcery had aided the theft.
"Of course it was!" Arthur's voice rose. "It wouldn't be down here otherwise, would it?" He pushed past Merlin as he exited the vault, grabbing the younger man by a handful of his jacket sleeve to bring him along.
"Where are we going?" Merlin said.
"To see if the thieves were apprehended, or if they've escaped the city," Arthur answered. "And then, to report to my father."
The warning bells, Arthur noticed immediately, had roused the old physician from his sleep, as well as the king. Or maybe Gaius had gone to check on his apprentice, and was worried by Merlin's absence in a time of alarm. Arthur released Merlin to the old man's side as he continued on to face his father alone and report on the night's events. Uther's scowl deepened, and even Arthur's conclusion with apology failed to placate him.
"You're sorry?" The king's hands were on his hips. "That's not good enough. This is a grievous loss, Arthur. The Crystal of Neahtid was locked away for good reason."
Everything in the vaults was. But such details might help Arthur find the thieves – who might want it, and why. "Why is it so important?" he asked.
The king looked at Gaius for a moment, then gave a nod of permission. "There are many legends about the crystal," the old man started.
From his place in the shadow of one of the columns, standing sideways to them with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes on the floor, Merlin asked softly, "Is it a weapon?" Now, Arthur thought, studying the young sorcerer, why would you say that?
"That I don't know," Gaius answered. "The sorcerers of the past believed it held the secret of time itself."
"What did they mean by that?" Arthur said.
"I'm not sure," the old man admitted. "The crystal is an artifact of the Old Religion." Merlin lifted his head at that, and met Arthur's eyes – he guessed that his friend was remembering, as he did, the enormous mass of crystals that Morgause had used to call for the spirit of his mother.
Morgause, who was the sister of his sister… who had just this day taken a guest around the citadel, a guest who had magic also… Arthur narrowed his eyes and cocked his head at his friend, and saw the same theory had already occurred to Merlin. The younger man's blue eyes begged him to say nothing, to keep from speaking to incriminate another druid boy.
"I'll – search the town, find out what I can," Arthur said, feeling stupid for the uselessly ordinary suggestion.
His father nodded agreement. "Arthur, this crystal cannot fall into enemy hands," he reminded him.
Arthur gave the king a respectful bow and turned to stalk out. This time of night, there was nothing to be done but return to his bedchamber. He felt rather than saw Merlin follow him to the corridor, but he didn't turn or slow his steps.
"Arthur, thank you," Merlin said from behind him.
He didn't have to ask, for what. "You have til sunrise to find out as much as you can about that crystal," he said. "I'll have to speak to Morgana, and then you and I are going to ride out with an entire troop of knights and guards. You better hope that you can track that thing, or the thief –" He paused, thinking of the new mentor Mordred would have returned to at the end of the day… someone you knew? "And Merlin," he added, then turned on the spot to glare at him, "you better hope we find that crystal."
…..*…..
Merlin reached the quarters he shared with Gaius before the old man did, and retreated to his back bedroom, closing the door and leaving the room dark. The physician wasn't stupid, as Arthur wasn't stupid; they'd make the same connections that Merlin did. And the only question Merlin considered worth asking anymore was, what was Mordred's involvement? Had they waited for Morgana, planning to strike up a conversation and accomplish the invitation to tour the citadel? Had Mordred come to Camelot knowing that he was taking advantage of Morgana's affection, intending to steal a valuable object of magic?
He couldn't help seeing the boy's face, as he looked at Morgana – love and longing. As he looked at Arthur – awe and respect. As he looked at Merlin…
Crossing his legs as he sat on his bed, Merlin took a deep breath to calm himself, before reaching deep inside to the connection he'd inherited before he was even born. Kilgarrah, he called, before remembering that it was several hours past midnight now. Well, served the old dragon right – he'd interrupted Merlin's sleep like this before. I need your help.
It was a moment before he heard the weary reply. I'm sure you do, young warlock.
What is the Crystal of Neahtid? he asked.
To those who know how to use it, the crystal holds great knowledge, came the answer.
If Alvarr and Mordred had stolen it, they must know how – or they knew how to learn how, or something. What kind of knowledge? How dangerous was the artifact?
The knowledge of what is, what has been, and what is yet to come.
Merlin thought on that for a moment. Do you mean it can show the future?
Amongst other things, yes. Why do you ask?
Merlin had a limited experience with glimpsing the future, but Morgana's dreams and Kilgarrah's cryptic warnings had left him feeling that it was a subject best left alone as much as possible. The crystal has been stolen, he admitted.
By whom?
Merlin sighed to himself. If he stood physically before the great red-gold dragon, he'd have hung his head to avoid eye contact, maybe kicked at a rock on the cave floor in embarrassment. The druid boy, Mordred, was involved, he answered. He visited Morgana here in Camelot today, and I think they walked all over the citadel.
The witch showed the druid boy where the crystal was kept?
Merlin pressed his lips together. That's not what I said. But Morgana had either slept through the alarm bell, or ignored it… I wasn't with them, I don't know what he said to her. I don't even know if he knew what he was doing, or whether he was being manipulated by another.
Once before, I warned you of the druid boy. The great dragon's voice fairly rumbled inside his skull, setting his teeth to vibrating. It is his destiny to bring about Arthur's doom. It may be that time is upon you.
That doesn't make sense, Merlin argued. Arthur's not even king, yet. And the last time you only said, if Mordred lived, I could not fulfill my destiny to protect Arthur.
The ancient prophecies speak of an alliance of Mordred and Morgana united in evil. But this union must be stopped whatever the cost.
Merlin shivered. Kilgarrah had said much the same thing, when Merlin had asked how he could save Arthur from the bite of the Questing Beast. The young Pendragon must live, no matter what the cost. Merlin had been willing to bargain his life… but his own life was never meant to be the price. Was the ancient dragon trying to manipulate him once again into killing an enemy?
Whatever the cost, he repeated softly. He was still willing to give his life, if that was what it took, but how far was he willing to go, to take another's?
…..*…..
"I don't believe it," Morgana declared, her green eyes flashing, her long black curls still disheveled, so early had he knocked on the door of her bedchamber. "You're accusing a child of spying on us? You're accusing a druid clan of conspiring to rob the king?"
"The coincidence is too great to ignore," Arthur stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whose idea was it for Mordred to come here?"
She looked away from him, sinking down on the cushioned stool that sat in front of her dressing table. "I asked, were they heading to Camelot, Al – Mordred's guardian, said unfortunately not. I said, what a pity…" She stopped, shaking her head. "I don't really know whose idea it was."
"Did Mordred ask to be shown the vaults?" Arthur said.
"No!" she flashed. "I showed him – everything in the citadel. I mean, we didn't go in every room, but… I told him which room was which."
"Which stairway led to the lower levels?" Arthur suggested. "Which direction was the prisoner cells, and which the vaults?"
She bit her lip, then nodded. "But that doesn't mean they were involved!"
Arthur took a deep breath, conceding to himself that it didn't mean the boy knew what he was doing, either. But he was not so ready to give the benefit of the doubt to the unknown guardian. "Did they say where they were camping?" he asked neutrally. "If we can find them to talk to them, if they're innocent that should be easy enough to prove, and then we can turn our investigation elsewhere, to catch the real thieves. But for now, it's the only lead we have to go on."
"Their camp was… in the Valley of Chemery. Arthur, about the crystal that was stolen… What's it used for? Is it some kind of weapon?"
"Gaius didn't know," he answered. "Merlin may have more answers, this morning." He thought again of the crystals Morgause possessed. "I'd guess at the very least, it can provide information. And knowledge is power."
She brightened. "Like a book, almost?"
Arthur made a face. He didn't know, but, "Father thinks it's dangerous for use; it's been locked away for that reason."
"If they…" she hesitated again, looking away from him. "If someone did steal it, what if it was someone concerned about protecting their family, their loved ones? I mean, it's not doing us any good, locked away, shouldn't someone be allowed to use it…"
Arthur shook his head decisively. "No matter what the motivation, the fact remains that it was stolen, and from the king. Such a powerful object, no matter what it can do, should not be left vulnerable to whoever happens to pick it up. And what if it ends up in the hands of our enemies – Odin, or Cenred? – sold or stolen again? No, we have to recover it." He turned to leave, and Morgana was at his side before he reached the door.
"Arthur, will you please promise me something?"
He looked down into her green eyes ready to make a joke about her worry for his safety, but there was genuine fear there. "If I can," he said.
"Just… be careful? The druids are peaceful, after all… and Mordred is so young."
He smiled. "I promise not to start a fight," he said, making his tone light and teasing, but his intention was serious. He would go in peace, to talk and to question, to discover the truth, but if he and his men were attacked… well, then. He could promise no more.
The sky was streaked with the faint pink and orange of approaching sunset, as he made his way along a corridor open to the central courtyard, on his way to the physician's chamber, to collect his sorcerer for the morning's expedition.
As he pushed through the door into Gaius' chamber, he nodded to the old man. By the long table where the two of them habitually took their meals, Gaius was ready with a large wooden bowl of porridge, and a small fat jug with a narrow neck that he assumed held honey or a berry sauce.
Merlin emerged from his room with his head down, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. He made his way blindly toward the sounds of his breakfast being readied, stumbling on the stairs. He collapsed onto the bench, leaning against the wall, and blinked up at Arthur. Gaius pushed a full bowl in front of his apprentice.
"Can you eat and talk at once?" Arthur said to Merlin, who bent over his bowl and began scooping his breakfast into his mouth too fast to be chewing it properly. "Tell me what you know about the new clan Mordred was with."
"Not a clan," Merlin managed. "Just a faction that left the clan. His new mentor's name is Alvarr." The younger man ducked his head over his breakfast so Arthur, who had remained standing, could only see the mess of his black hair, and nothing of his face.
Alvarr – why did that name sound familiar? He was sure he'd heard Merlin say it before…
"Are you sure?" Gaius said, turning to them with an expression of mild surprise.
Merlin only grunted, but Arthur said, "You know of him?"
"He's developed something of a fearsome reputation as a sorcerer," Gaius said. "I know he and his band of renegades have threatened to overthrow the king. He is a fanatic, and his supporters follow him unthinkingly, blinded by his charisma."
Merlin snorted, and the sound was uncharacteristically bitter for him. "It worked on Mordred, anyway."
"Do you think Alvarr's using him?" Arthur asked, hopeful for his sister's sake that the boy might prove innocent.
"He may believe that one of them, Mordred, possibly, can harness the power of the crystal," Gaius answered, then turned his thoughtful look on his apprentice. "We can't let this happen, Merlin."
"You know, I am capable of reaching that conclusion myself," Merlin snapped. His spoon rattled in his empty wooden bowl as he shoved himself back from the table, stalked to retrieve his jacket and supply bag from its hook on the wall behind the door. "If you're ready, Arthur?" he said, and swung himself through the door without waiting.
Arthur met Gaius' raised eyebrow with his own expression of surprise, and shrugged in answer to the old man's unspoken question. Any number of things could be bothering Merlin about this incident – perhaps on the ride he could discover what, exactly.
"Thank you, Gaius," he said, on his way out.
…..*…..
Merlin wanted nothing more than to be left to ride in the peace and confusion of his own thoughts. Unfortunately, Arthur seemed determined not to allow that. Quietly worded inquiries Merlin could, and did, rebuff. But then the prince chose another tactic – flinging sarcastic abuse haphazardly in Merlin's direction, loudly enough for the first four mounted knights behind them to hear.
"I don't know why I bring you on these expeditions," Arthur commented, with a half-grin over his shoulder that told Merlin exactly what he was doing – making him sorry for not answering the prince's questions truthfully when he had the chance. "You spend the whole time terrified."
"I am not terrified," Merlin said shortly.
"Yes, you are, I can tell you are."
In spite of himself, something that had been clenched tight in the region of his heart and lungs loosened somewhat, and he retorted, "No, you can't."
"If you weren't scared," Arthur glanced back at him, one blonde eyebrow raised slightly with his intent to goad Merlin, "you'd be talking rubbish as usual."
"Well, I am talking rubbish as usual!" Merlin shot back, before realizing what he'd just said, and trying to backtrack as Arthur laughed at him, "I mean, I am talking as usual. So clearly I'm not scared."
Arthur faced forward again in time to rein his mount to a halt, lifting one fist in the air as a signal for the knights and guards that followed. Merlin urged his own horse forward forward until he was even with the prince, and he could see the reason they'd stopped. A crossroads. Through the Forest of Brechfa… the north fork, Mordred had said. The Valley of Chemery, Morgana had told Arthur. That was two different directions, from here.
"Where now?" Arthur asked him, the teasing dropped.
"I've no idea." Merlin slipped from his saddle, slogging through the mud to reach the center of the fork. "Give me a minute." As he crouched to study first one muddy trail, then the other, Merlin considered. He'd once told Kilgarrah, he wouldn't punish someone for something they hadn't done. What about for something done unwittingly?
It is his destiny… if this boy lives… Mordred and Morgana. They weren't evil, he knew. He'd dealt with Nimueh, with Sigan, with the sidhe. He knew evil. She and the boy had a kind of bond… but what Kilgarrah spoke of was different. Morgana was impetuous and emotional, open to the influence of her half-sister, the High Priestess. Mordred was young and impressionable, listening now to the likes of Alvarr.
Merlin's hands trembled. He and destiny, it seemed, were at a crossroads, in more ways than one.
Mordred, he said silently. And nothing more. And waited. He'd just revealed to the druid boy the fact that he, at least, followed.
Emrys. It was Mordred's voice, but no longer the cool, enigmatic tones of almost-adulthood; it had the frantic sound of a frightened child.
You keep company with thieves. Merlin gave the observation a hint of a question.
I didn't know… they didn't tell me…
You have the crystal? Merlin asked, aware of the sounds of impatient men and horses behind him. We have been sent to recover it, we wish to do so peacefully.
After a moment, the boy responded, You are with the prince? His voice in Merlin's head was nearly unrecognizable with panic. Mordred didn't give him a chance to answer, but rushed on, Don't lead him here! You can't bring him here! Keep him away!
It was his instinct as well, to keep the two of them apart. He didn't believe the druid boy meant Arthur any harm, but 'bring about Arthur's doom' could be accomplished any number of ways.
Then he heard other whispers, They're coming! Warn the others! He didn't ask the boy if he'd betrayed them intentionally or not, it didn't matter. Alvarr's band had the crystal, and he couldn't recover it alone. He didn't see that there was any other way, except to proceed as they'd planned. Carefully.
He concentrated on the ground in front of him. Alvarr had served the druid clan more than once, covering a back-trail so the knights could not find them to break up their camp, force them to move on. Merlin himself was not unfamiliar with the magic used to hide tracks; it seemed a relatively easy thing to locate the lingering traces of the spells cast, to unravel the one he sought, to reverse it.
Merlin opened his eyes to see footprints appearing in the mud as if formed under invisible men, leading to their right. "The renegade camp is this way," he told Arthur, returning to mount his horse. Arthur signaled to the troop of men following, and they made their way down the right fork of the trail.
"This Alvarr," Arthur said, relaxed in the saddle though his eyes searched the forest all around them and his voice was low enough that only Merlin would hear him. "You do know him, don't you."
In memory, Merlin heard the blonde druid hiss in his ear, Lazy good-for-nothing son of a whore… Bastard… Monster. He felt the heavy boots catch his ribs. Only a few times, before he'd learned not to get caught away from the camp on his own, but enough that he would never forget.
"I remember," Arthur continued, "before the battle of Dinas Emrys, you said to me, your greatest worry used to be about outrunning Alvarr."
Merlin sighed. "Do you remember that I also told you, I was four years old when I proved my magic? I… interrupted a coming-of-age demonstration. I didn't know any better – it looked like fun and I wanted to play, too." He huffed in amusement as his childish self.
"It was Alvarr?" Arthur said.
Merlin gave him an ironic grin. "When you were eighteen, sire, would you have taken kindly to a four-year-old matching you for skill and strength in a tournament?"
Arthur's lips quirked, but he shook his head. "Honestly, I can't even picture that happening," he said. After a moment, he leaned to reach across the distance between their two horses to give Merlin's shoulder a compassionate grip and a playful shove at the same time. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but… I'm glad you came to Dinas Emrys."
He grinned back at his blonde-haired, blue-eyed prince. "I'm glad you came, too," he said. "If I hadn't met you, I might not have listened to Kilgarrah."
It had been the words of the ancient dragon that had saved his life, had stopped him sacrificing himself. And last year, it had been Kilgarrah's words that had prompted him to offer his life again, to save Arthur… that had led to him killing Nimueh. He did not like where that line of reasoning took him. Why was it he always seemed to end up either risking his life or taking another's?
They left the horses behind at the first indications Merlin gathered that they were nearing the renegades' camp. Arthur signaled his orders to the troops he led silently, sending most of the men to either side, to flank the camp, surround the camp if possible, then crept forward himself, sword drawn. Merlin was uneasy. It was too quiet, too still. Arthur squatted for a moment, studying the area, the glimpses of tents and seating arrangements and supply stacks, then suddenly darted forward.
"What are you doing?" Merlin hissed after him, but followed the prince at a crouching run to the camp, ready at any moment for an ambush to be sprung.
It seemed to him a fairly established camp, clothing hung to dry after washing, sacks of vegetables slouching near cook-pots and fire-pits. If Mordred was the only child, and this a camp of men rather than the families that usually composed a clan, he estimated that their thirty soldiers outnumbered the renegades by as many as three to one. But there were no signs of a hasty retreat, necessities grabbed, nonessentials dropped mid-rush.
Arthur knelt at the largest campfire and reached beneath the black iron pot suspended from its tripod to finger a handful of the ashes. "Well, whoever was here, they're not here anymore." He straightened, dropping his guard as he reached to sheath the sword in his hand.
"Yes, they are!" Merlin disagreed, instinctively throwing his arm out to shove Arthur back.
A crossbow bolt zipped past Arthur's throat, felling one of the guards that had followed them. It was the first warning of the renegades' ambush sprung – followed closely by the yelling rush of the men attacking.
Merlin met Arthur's eyes – "Find Mordred!" the prince shouted. Merlin nodded and turned, taking two steps before it occurred to him to wonder if Arthur wanted the boy protected or apprehended, or both.
Mordred! he called silently, dodging sideways through the camp so he could keep one eye on Arthur. He wasn't worried, really, they had the advantage of numbers, and the renegades' surprise ambush hadn't been enough to take that from them. The prince was a warrior unequaled, and every single red-cloaked man here would die protecting him. His eye was caught by a ripple of dark blue-green. He ducked behind a tree, recognizing Alvarr not three feet from the other boy – older, thicker, unshaven, but unmistakable – fitting another bolt into a crossbow. Mordred, run! Merlin leaned out from behind the tree, signaling to the boy who was clearly lost and confused in the violent melee. As he darted obediently away, Alvarr spun, aiming the crossbow not for Arthur, but for Merlin.
Instead of ducking back, he pushed away from the tree, sprinting toward the edge of the camp where Mordred was headed. Through the trees, past the small fleeing figure of the druid boy, Merlin saw flashes of red – Arthur's knights, closing the noose around the renegades' camp, hurrying to aid the prince and end the battle. He was ten paces behind Mordred when the boy dove sideways behind another tree, his movements the blind panic of a wild animal cornered.
He didn't look for Merlin at all, just crouched and glanced golden magic at a pair of lances lying on the ground beside the last tent in the camp, giving a flinging gesture to send them arcing toward the two closest knights.
"No!" Merlin shouted, reaching to freeze them as he had done with Mordred's knife – thrown to kill, this time, not just to demonstrate skill with a target.
"Sorcery!" the foremost knight snarled, snatching the lance and spinning it about to bring it to bear on his attacker, only half-seen behind the tree.
Merlin was still seven paces away. He used the hold of his magic on the second spear to drop it, rotate it, lock it into place ten inches from the ground. The knight tripped, his cast of the first spear jarring harmlessly against the tree. The second knight, further to the side and in full view of the terrified boy, reacted with a swing of his sword straight at Mordred's throat.
"No!" Merlin shouted again, skidding between the knight and the boy, catching the blade flat between his palms, more by luck and instinct than skill and intent. For a moment his chest heaved for air as he stared into the knight's face, before the man pulled back with a nod of recognition.
"Merlin Emrys." The fallen knight scrambled to his feet.
"I can handle this," Merlin said shortly, breaking eye contact to glance briefly over the other knights and guards who reached them, and let his hands fall away from the sword. "Arthur needs you."
The noise of the fight ongoing rose behind him. There was only a brief hesitation before agreement and urgency had them hurrying to Arthur's side.
Merlin dropped to one knee next to Mordred, the boy's body slumped and shaking beneath the cloak. "It's okay, you're safe," he soothed, wondering if his promise would hold if the boy was brought back to Camelot as a conspirator. Wondering what the hell he would do or say if Mordred stood before Uther accused of theft.
"You – you –" Mordred stuttered, before reverting to the form of communication he found easier. You risked your life to protect me. Merlin wanted to point out that an unarmed child would hardly be in danger from one of the knights, had he not attacked them with magic and spears, but said nothing. I am in your debt, Emrys. Mordred calmed slightly, blue eyes wide with astonishment. This is the second time you've saved me.
I told you before, magic is given to us that we should protect, not attack, he replied.
But – Dinas Emrys. The mount, the battle. The enemies you killed.
"No," Merlin said aloud. "I went to that hill to sacrifice my life and magic in place of twelve others, the ritual completed promising peace and protection and stability for the clans. I went to give, not to take. To die, not to kill."
"But what –" Mordred shifted into a sitting position against the base of the tree. Merlin glanced to be sure none approached them, renegade or knight. His eyes found Arthur, wielding his sword with casual confidence, uninjured and unworried.
"Arthur," Merlin said, understanding the question. "My destiny was not to die, but to live and protect him."
And if that requires your life? Mordred said. Merlin only smiled at him. The boy's eyes dropped to his hands. Emrys, I – I have seen the crystal. I don't want anything to happen to you. I don't want him to die. But if it happens, what I saw… it's all my fault.
If what happens? Merlin pushed to his feet, concentrating on the prince, sparing a glance for the boy at his feet. What did you see?
I didn't know – I didn't mean to – Alvarr…
Merlin bent, hauling the druid boy to his feet, hurrying them both back to the center of the action, which seemed limited now to the renegade druid and the prince. Half the knights ringed the two, ready to move in; half had already begun to perform other duties – tending wounded, searching the camp.
Arthur took a step back from his disarmed opponent, letting his blade drop but not his guard. The renegade glanced around the circle of red cloaks, knew himself defeated, and attacked anyway, slipping a knife from his belt. The prince deflected the blow easily, twisting Alvarr's blade away from their bodies, coming to grips with his enemy at last. The point of his sword placed firmly at the base of the druid's throat, and a fistful of Alvarr's black shirt keeping the other from escaping, wordlessly ordering him to loose the knife.
"Give me the crystal," Arthur said, once the dagger had been dropped.
Merlin slowed, seeing that Arthur had the situation under control. He glanced down at Mordred, who returned the look anxious and frightened – whatever the boy had seen, the danger had not passed.
Alvarr tried to twist away from Arthur's grasp. "Why should you care?" he snarled. "What use is it to you?" Two knights came forward to fumble through the renegade's clothing, and one handed Arthur a small pouch of washed leather. The prince jammed his blade into the earth and accepted the recovered treasure. "You cannot wield the crystal!" Alvarr tried again, desperately. "You do not have the power! None of you do!" He glared around at them again, and his gaze latched clearly onto Merlin for the first time.
Recognition was followed by malevolent loathing for a single instant.
Then Arthur slipped the crystal from the pouch as he turned in the direction of the horses they'd left behind, and Merlin found that all else – even whatever answer Arthur tossed indifferently at the captive - dimmed in the brilliance of the stone. The clear promise of power, of enlightening lucidity, answers, understanding, oh now I see… Merlin's heartbeat matched each of Arthur's steps. The prince gave the crystal a little heft in his palm as he passed Merlin, and his eyes followed it of necessity.
As he drew in breath, he felt the same terrible temptation he'd experienced in the dark clearing, Morgause whispering his grandfather's name.
He wanted something dangerous, and it was completely within his grasp.
…..*…..
"Yes, we do," Arthur told Alvarr, turning away. He hefted the crystal, aware of and amused by the way Merlin's eyes followed the thing, like a small child enthralled with an object pretty, shiny, and forbidden.
Behind him he heard Alvarr snarl in a completely different tone of voice, "You bastard son of a –"
As Arthur twisted back in rising alarm, a succession of startling actions were accomplished in the space of an indrawn breath.
Alvarr's eyes glared golden at Merlin, and his dropped knife sprang up from the ground.
Merlin shivered free of his strange trance and reached for Arthur with the same pale desperation he'd shown the previous day, stopping Mordred's innocuously-aimed knife.
And Mordred himself leaped as if to embrace or attack Merlin, the movement so sudden and unexpected that both druid boys were borne to the ground.
He saw two of his knights react instantly, sheathing bared blades in opposite sides of the enemy sorcerer's body. He saw the life leave Alvarr's eyes before his corpse hit the ground.
He saw blood on Merlin's hands as his friend disentangled himself from the young boy, pushing himself up on his knees.
"Merlin!" Arthur said urgently, absorbing in an instant the fact that Mordred's body was limp and still, that Merlin betrayed no physical pain, only shock and attention to the other. He took a moment to replace the crystal in its pouch, wind the strings around his belt, then knelt at Merlin's side. His friend's hands were swift and gentle, easing the boy's position for comfort, locating and evaluating the wound. "Can you heal him?" Arthur said in a low voice, his eyes on the hilt of the blade, high on the boy's left side. Taking into account the length of the blade and the angle of the wound…
"I don't know," Merlin whispered, laying his fingers around the point of the weapon's entry, but not touching the knife. "Mordred?"
The boy blinked at them, confusion and pain clouding the blue of his eyes, so like Merlin's that a pang of grief shot through Arthur's heart. "Em-rys," he gasped.
"Lie still, Mordred," Merlin ordered, kind but firm. "I have to draw the blade before I can heal you." There was a pause in which Merlin stared into the boy's eyes but neither said anything. "I can't promise anything but my best," Merlin said softly, his voice betraying both sincerity and regret.
"No," Mordred sighed, and his eyes found Arthur's. "No. My lord – I'm sorry. I never meant… hurt anyone." His eyes returned to Merlin's, and there was another brief silence.
"Yes," Merlin said, his voice breaking. "Yes, you did… I understand… Of course… Someday, I will, I promise."
Mordred's eyes dropped shut. "Morgana…" he breathed, a yearning audible through the pain.
Arthur bent forward to take the boy's hand, limp and cold, and wondered if Mordred could feel it. "She loved you, I think," he told the boy in a low voice.
A smile ghosted across pale lips, and the stillness that followed told Arthur all they needed to know.
…..*…..
Merlin hunched low on a narrow log, feeling the heat of the fire on his shins, pressing the heel of his right hand against his skull just upwards and out from his eye. Temple, forehead, and hair, just where the headache was the worst.
Never had destiny weighed so heavily. Never had his choices felt so significant, consequences borne by others rather than himself. Arthur must be protected at all costs, that was paramount and unquestionable. But more than once now the life taken in pursuit of that goal had been innocent.
He heard Arthur's voice, sensed the prince step past him. The meaning of the words eluded him completely, but Arthur repeated his name in a question.
Merlin had no idea what response would be appropriate, but tried one. "Sorry?"
"Not the right answer," Arthur said, his voice amused.
"What?" Merlin lifted his head then, to look down at the prince reclining on his bedroll by the fire.
"Something on your mind, is there?" Firelight glinted in Arthur's eyes, and he couldn't tell if Arthur wanted to be sympathetic or sarcastic, so he didn't answer. "Here. I need you to guard this with your life," he went on lightly, tossing an object into Merlin's lap.
The crystal. Merlin mumbled, "Why me?" He wasn't sure if he was addressing the prince, or some nameless faceless force of fate.
"I can't very well guard it while I'm asleep, can I?" Arthur gave him a full grin as he settled himself into the bedroll.
He returned the smile tiredly. "You think I can guard it in my sleep?" he baited the prince half-heartedly. Probably that was possible, after all.
"Who said anything about you sleeping?" Arthur looked satisfied, as if getting Merlin to participate in their customary banter meant that he didn't have to worry about him. "Merlin – you're the best one to guard something like that. You know that." The prince shuffled over to his other side.
Merlin held the pouch in his hands for a moment, feeling the hard lines through the washed leather, then pushed it to the ground beneath his feet. He shivered, clutching one hand to his head again.
The weight of cumulative possibilities his power could exercise slammed down onto his soul. I could… I could… anything. Everything. His will completely free, with none able to gainsay him, none able to stop him… There was no escape this time, only the strength of his self-control against his doubts, his curiosity, questioning the wisdom of his choices with none to advise.
When he dropped his hand, trembling with exhaustion and the chill of autumn night, soaked with the sweat of resistance, he was surprised to find all still and dark and quiet, the fire burned to the dull red of coals. Arthur and the knights – except for some guard or other posted on watch somewhere out of his sight, he was sure – were asleep.
It lacked seconds, only, until midnight. He felt the rise of magic anticipating the change of one day for another, the pull of the crystal's promises constricting in his chest. It was a distress with remedy, he knew, but was not sure the solution would not prove more damaging than the problem.
No one would see. No one would know. He felt not guilt at the opportunity for secrecy, but relief. Whatever happened would affect only him.
Merlin gathered up the pouch, slowly but no longer hesitating, tipped the stone free from its covering. At first all he saw was the glow and flicker of the fire's heart, distorted by the planes of the crystal's edges. Then he saw three distinct visions, flash… flash… flash, steady as three breaths drawn in a row.
He saw a girl in a thin white undergarment, knees drawn up and hidden like encircling arms and lowered face, by a tumble of dark hair, seated on the floor of a barred cage, one pace square. She lifted her head and her eyes sparked but before he could make out her features –
He saw himself, chained to a tilted slab, half-naked and writhing in agonized response to some unseen stimulus. His head turned as a figure stepped next to the slab –
He saw Morgana. Beautiful and pale and haughtily resolute, her hair and dress formally arranged, the red satin and polished wood of her father's throne outlining head and shoulders. A pair of hands holding the Pendragon crown just over her black waves of hair. Geoffrey's ring. The vision tilted, and another figure came into view just behind and beside the throne. A figure in a gown of blood-red silk, one sleeve black lace and the other a design of ribbon, blonde hair falling curled onto her shoulders, kohl-rimmed eyes triumphant.
Merlin gasped and pushed the crystal away once again, pressing shaking hands to his eyes as if he could push the images from his mind and memory.
He should have run away, again.
…..*…..
When they returned to Camelot late the next morning, Uther, Morgana, and Gaius were all waiting for them on the grand stair.
Arthur dismounted and climbed to face his father. "Well?" Uther said expectantly.
He held out the crystal in its bag. "The crystal was recovered. The thief and his renegade followers resisted and we had no choice but to subdue them by force."
The king grunted, accepting his stolen artifact back from Arthur's hand. "There were no survivors?"
"No, my lord." Arthur winced at Morgana's gasp, but their father appeared to notice neither.
"Any casualties?" Arthur repeated himself in the negative, and Uther added absently, "Well done," dismissing the troop with a wave of his hand as he turned to enter his citadel again.
Arthur met Morgana's eyes, brimming with tears and outrage. "Mordred?" He shook his head. "You promised me!" she hissed, and raised her hand as if she'd slap his face.
He caught her hand, twisting slightly so she would follow his gaze. "Mordred died protecting Merlin," he told his sister shortly, too wearied from the whole trip to soften his words. "If not for him, it would have been Merlin with a knife in his heart." Stunned into silence, she watched as he did, as their dark-haired friend ascended the stairs far to the side with lowered head and dragging steps, passing Gaius as if he neither saw nor heard his mentor.
"We buried the boy and raised a cairn," Arthur said. "Each one of us laid a stone of remembrance and gratitude. Merlin feels bad enough as it is, Morgana, try not to make it worse."
She looked up at him a moment, still saddened but no longer angry, then nodded as her tears spilled down her cheeks.
…..*…..
Merlin stared down into his bowl of stew, absently pushing the chunks back and forth without making any effort to identify them. He heard Gaius' voice but couldn't pull his attention together fast enough to retain the words. "Sorry?" he tried again, tiredly.
"What's the matter?"
He sighed, allowing himself to slouch a little more, deciding to seek comfort in confession, this time. "It's the crystal. It harbors a terrible power, Gaius." Except for the first image, the unknown captive, he knew he'd seen neither past nor present.
"But it's locked away now," Gaius said logically. "It can do no harm." He felt the old man's eyes sharpen on him in sudden understanding. "Unless the damage has already been done."
He fastened his gaze to his mentor's right shoulder. "I held it," he said, around an aching tightness in his throat. "I knew I shouldn't, but…" He stopped to swallow, knowing that he could never make the old man understand those few hours of dwindling resistance. "I saw things." His voice came out a hoarse whisper. "Terrible things."
For once, Gaius didn't raise his voice to chastise Merlin. "Then you've already paid the price," the old man said gently.
"What I saw has not yet come to pass," Merlin continued. "And I am scared, Gaius, I am…" He swallowed again, seeing his face contorted in the agony of restraints, seeing the crown beginning to descend upon the head of the princess. Which would only happen if Arthur was already dead… "Really scared, of what the future may hold."
Gaius pushed the plate of bread to one side as he reached to grasp Merlin's wrist. "There is nothing on this earth that can know all possible futures. Even the crystal."
"But what I saw…" Merlin wondered if this was how Morgana felt, waking from one of her prophetic nightmares. He wondered how Kilgarrah came by his information. "It was so real."
"And it was real," Gaius said reasonably. "But it was just one reality. The future is as yet unshaped. It is we that shape it."
Merlin wondered what Mordred had seen. And whether his choice to allow death to take him, rather than to live to see those visions come to pass, had actually changed the future.
"It is you, Merlin," the old physician continued softly. "The decisions you make, the actions you take. Remember that." Gaius pushed himself up from his bench, his empty bowl in hand, and his voice took on a more characteristic tone of affectionate exasperation. "Eat your soup before it gets cold."