A Master of Two Servants: Morgana uses the fomorroh to manipulate Arthur into hunting down and killing Emrys. Little do they know the man they are both searching for is much closer than they think … AU of 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.
Warnings: gore and violence. Spoilers up to and for 4x06, 'A Servant of Two Masters'.
Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine. It belongs to the BBC and Shine.
A Master of Two Servants
Chapter Twenty-Five
It snowed heavily through the night, and lightly by the time the sun began to rise. The snow was glittering now, hanging loosely in the manes of their horses, and crunching under heavy hooves.
They had thought it would be less conspicuous to travel on horseback, rather than ask for Kilgharrah's assistance. Merlin doubted the dragon would be happy with such a request anyway, and traveling had become surprisingly safer since Morgana's crowning. There were few men posted on the borders now, most of them having been called to Camelot. Many of the mercenaries that usually patrolled the woods had been spying for Morgana since she allied herself with Agravaine, meaning they too had also been called to the citadel, most likely promised money and weapons in exchange for their fighting force. It meant Camelot was heavily protected against their rebellion–but at least they could move freely enough to set it in motion.
At least, that's what Gwaine kept telling them. He was trying to be optimistic over the latest estimate of the size of Morgana's army. Ten thousand men against their five hundred? Of course they could win.
That is, when Merlin completed the spell. That was a feat he had yet to accomplish. His continuing inability to master Argante's incarnation had sent them to Oldridge. The matter of weaponry–magical and non-magical–would be addressed there, for the last time before they marched. They had no more than a month until the last snowfall, and they needed to be prepared within the fortnight.
Oldridge Manor was coming into view. It had been built at the very furthest point of the village, overlooking the market place and houses below. The sun was rising, but the light was still scarce, and in one of the highest windows, a candle had been lit, and a figure sat in the soft golden glow it cast across the glass. Gale, riding to Merlin's left, smiled at the sight of it.
Gareth's smile mirrored his brother's. "It's good to be home."
"It's good to be somewhere with a tavern!" Gwaine said.
"You are supposed to be dead," Gareth reminded him.
"And?"
"And dead people don't tend to frequent the tavern."
"Well then, it's a good job I'm not really dead," Gwaine huffed. "Besides, I think you are forgetting the whole point of a taverns' existence."
Gale laughed. "And what would that be?"
Gwaine grinned roguishly. "Getting too drunk to notice that you're drinking with a dead man. And look how long our beards are. I bet you a barrel of mead that no one will recognize us."
"I'm not making that bet," Gareth replied. "Because unlike you, I don't want to ruin the only battle tactic currently working in our favor."
"One of the only battle tactics working in our favor." Gwaine moved his horse closer to Merlin's so that he could give the man a nudge. They were all tired, having ridden through the night to avoid the many others that had decided to put the sudden safety of the forest routes to good use, but Merlin seemed to have zoned out entirely. "Have you forgotten about Merlin here?"
Merlin smiled weakly, still staring ahead.
Gale, who had subconsciously sped his horse up, turned slightly in his saddle to ask, "Are you all right, Merlin?"
Something squeaked in the trees. Merlin jumped. "Fine."
"No, you're not," Gwaine decided. "That's the 'funny feeling' look."
"The what?" Gareth frowned.
Gwaine rolled his eyes. "You need to spend more time in Camelot, Gareth."
"Is something wrong?"
"I don't know," Merlin murmured and, after a moment of silence, swung out of the saddle and landed quietly on the snow. Excalibur, hidden inside one of the saddlebags, was drawn in an instant.
Gwaine jumped off his own horse and said, to Gareth and Gale, while he drew his sword, "We don't ignore the 'funny feelings.' Are you coming or what?"
The brothers dismounted and drew their weapons.
Merlin's eyes were glowing gold. "There's someone out there."
"Can you tell who?" Gale whispered.
Merlin shook his head.
They stood in silence, their swords pointed at the ghost of a noise. Nothing came. It seemed nothing moved. The snow had stopped. The breaths they didn't hold, released in short, anticipating gasps, were white like the ground and trees.
It was quiet, at first, far away, but the sound of boots on snow was distinguishable enough to their attentive ears. Someone was coming. They listened, and gripped their swords tighter. Onto the snowy path in front of them, disturbed only by their hooves and boots, walked Percival, red cloak as vivid as the cruel smile on his face.
"Percival," Gwaine growled. With a cry, he started forward, sword raised to strike, but Merlin grabbed his arm to hold him back.
"Do you ever think before you act, Gwaine?" Percival sighed, still smiling.
Merlin let go of Gwaine's arm and took a step forward, as if to attack. But he couldn't quite bring himself to make the first move.
"Well, well, well," Percival went on. "What a merry bunch of traitors you are."
There were more footsteps. In moments, they were surrounded by men with Camelot cloaks. Some were unrecognizable–newly knighted, perhaps, because of the influx of sorcerers in Camelot. Others, Merlin and Gwaine knew. But Percival was the only one connected fully with the Mirror; the twenty other men that accompanied him had not been captured with him at Ysbaddaden's Mount, but ensnarled far more recently by a different enchantment.
"Sneaky," Gwaine snapped. "Didn't know you had it in you, Perce."
Percival nodded, and the forest came to life. Feet pounded and swords clashed. Merlin didn't know whether Percival went for him first, or Gwaine, but in moments, he no longer had a hold on Excalibur–and ouch.
Gwaine had landed a few paces away from him and seemed to come out of their collision slightly less dazed. He fumbled for a weapon and scrambled to his feet, knocking out two nearby knights before going straight for Percival.
Merlin rolled over dizzily and tried to get to his feet, sending out a spell that made Percival topple backwards into the deepest of the snow along the side of the path. He wasn't paying attention to the fight around him. If it wasn't for a well-aimed punch, one of the newer knights would have ran him though.
Ector was grinning down at him, one hand held out to Merlin. He splayed the fingers on his other hand, as if repositioning them after the punch he'd just delivered. Merlin took the one offered to him, managing to regain his footing without too much swaying.
"Good to see you again, Merlin," Ector said.
"You too," Merlin replied, smiling, before they were both propelled back into the fight.
With a couple of well-aimed spells–it felt good to let his magic lose with spells he knew, and had learned and used for years–half of the remaining knights were flicked off their feet. Gale, enjoying his new freedom now that his ankle had mostly healed, was using his crossbow to knock out the knights. Gareth was using a similar tactic, but with his sword. None of them wanted to kill the knights; only disable them momentarily.
Gwaine was fighting Percival. Gwaine parried with the irrationality of betrayal, his fury making each blow powerful, but rushed. Percival was using this to his advantage, and any hit that Gwaine managed to get was healed over in an instant. The match was uneven now, when before, they could fight for hours without either of them winning.
Percival kicked Gwaine to the ground and towered over him. The spell was quick and simple, and needed no words; Merlin only had to look at Percival's sword with golden eyes, and it flew from his hands. With another silent spell, Percival froze where he was standing, as if the harsh air had turned his body to ice.
"Gwaine! Excalibur!" Merlin shouted, as Gwaine scrambled towards where his sword had fallen. Excalibur was close by, from where Merlin had dropped it.
"Are you sure this works?" Gwaine cried uncertainly, taking the magical blade up in his shanking hands.
"We have no other choice!" Merlin replied. "I can only hold the spell for so long!"
The spell dropped as Gwaine grabbed Excalibur. Percival swooped forward, as if to strangle his once-friend, and the sound of metal meeting mail silence the fight around them. Standing, Gwaine pushed the sword further. Merlin noted, disgustingly fascinated, that the tip of the sword sticking out of Percival's back was not stained with blood, as it should have been.
It had begun to snow again. Gwaine was gasping for breath as he heaved himself and Percival up. Their wide-eyes met. Gwaine withdrew the sword, pulling it free with an aching cry, and Percival fell as slowly to his knees, and then forward.
Gwaine threw Excalibur to the side and let his own knees collapse. The forest around them was silent, save for Gwaine's harsh, heaving breaths. When Merlin stepped forward, the sound of his boots against the snow felt like a disturbance; but the hand he rested on Gwaine's shoulder was, for them both, quite the opposite.
Silence reigned once more, for quite a while, after that.
Sir Gwaine–the knight she had watched Celyn kill in the glass of the Mirror–was kneeling in the snow. His head was bowed sorrowfully, and his slumped shoulders spoke of remorse. A hand sat gently on his shoulder, and through the strange haze of the vision and soft, peaceful snowfall, she saw the face of the man it belonged to.
Emrys.
There was a body in the snow before them. A Camelot-red cloak spread across the white, like a bloodstain, and atop of it rested Percival, pale, cold and dead.
She felt it suddenly, and screamed, screamed like she was the one who had been run through, who had felt the cold metal slide through her body. The blade was tangible and real, and she screamed in pain and her fury until her throat was dry.
When she awoke, she knew. She knew.
Emrys was alive.
Arthur watched Morgana stare out of the window. It was snowing outside; an uneven trickle of snowflakes now and then, contradictory to the almost-uninterrupted blizzard that had raged for the last week. She looked tired and tense as she watched it snow.
Contrary to his sister's apparent mood, the snow relaxed Arthur, and he had the strange urge to go out in it. If he knights had been around, or Merlin, they would have snuck out to 'train', and spent the day throwing snow with the children from the Lower Town. The thought made him smile. He had gotten past the point where he berated his yearnings for freedom. They kept him sane.
"Something amusing, Arthur?" Morgana asked, though she hadn't turned away from the window.
"Not particularly," Arthur replied. "Of all your visits, Morgana, I have to say this is one of the dullest."
"I'm thinking."
"About what? The weather?"
"Emrys."
He tensed. "And why is Emrys troubling you?"
Morgana glanced over her shoulder at him, and smiled so coldly she could have been the one to freeze the palace windows. When Arthur blinked, the smile was gone, and so was she. He let out a breath of short-lived relief; the moment he did, he felt the icy touch of a blade against his throat, and a curl of Morgana's hair tickling his neck.
"Deception," Morgana hissed, her breath dangerous against the curve of his ear. "Must be a Pendragon trait."
"Are we still talking about Emrys?" Arthur managed, mockingly confused.
The knife came painfully close. "You had me fooled. It was quite an impressive trick, I admit. But you should know by now that deception is my specialty."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" The knife moved away from his throat. Foolishly, he hoped he had convinced her. But then she snapped, "Walk to the window. The courtyard has changed since last you saw it."
He did as she said, curious and admittedly threatened by the knife at his back. The snow was abating outside, though plenty had settled on the courtyard; and amid it all, stark against the white, were the beginnings of the gallows, hauntingly half-prepared for a hanging.
"Your servant sent me a rather clear message," Morgana hissed. "And so I'm going to return the favor. Guinevere is to be hung two days hence, unless Emrys comes forward to face me like he should have done to begin with."
Arthur stilled for a moment, listening to the pounding of his heart. It spurred him on like a drum. He reached for Morgana's knife, scrambling desperately for it even when the blade cut through his palm. It was of no use. He felt the weapon move and the familiar hit of metal against his skull.
Morgana smiled down at him. "Don't worry. I'll wake you when the fun begins."
She left him like that, curled beneath the frozen window, as the gallows were built in the courtyard below.
A/N: feedback much appreciated :)