Author's note: This chapter is a crossover with the Lord of the Rings, and there's also a reference to Inheritance Cycle hidden in there.
()()()
Things That Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)
39: Volunteer To Go On Stupid Suicidal Quests to Destroy Magical Rings of Power
It starts out a normal Wednesday…
Wait, hang on a minute.
Have there ever been any normal Wednesdays around here? Merlin doesn't think there's ever been, not since he moved to Camelot and met Arthur. Before maybe, when in Ealdor, then sometimes there were normal Wednesdays.
But not in Camelot. No, never in Camelot. Here, there are always magical mishaps of some kind; either an attacking sorcerer, or a king that's gone mad, or there's a battle to be fought (often involving stubborn princes and one or two dragons and immortal armies that are a true pain in the backside), or Arthur's favourite jacket (you know, the one with the studs) has gone missing so the prince goes on rampage and Merlin has to sneak into the kitchen to steal cookies for him to make him calm down some ...
The list could continue into the infinity and beyond.
And pretty much all the time, one way or another, a frustrated warlock ends up in the stocks/the dungeons/dangerously close to be caught on fire/something else equally bothersome. Then there's Gaius' Eyebrow Look™ which always happens, regardless of the main problem is, only reinforcing the realization of how screwed they are when it's a Wednesday. In fact Wednesdays are so awful in Camelot they should be prohibited; yes, Merlin's going to address that issue with Arthur as soon as possible. Perhaps the Prince could make a law about it once he's King and replace Wednesdays with magic and executioners with unicorns and let the guards play fetch with little dragons - and then everybody would be happy.
So, no, there haven't been. Any Wednesdays that could be considered normal, that is.
Anyway, it's a Wednesday when a brown white-spotted owl all of a sudden lands on the frame of the opened window to Arthur's chambers, claws making a tapping noise against the wooden board.
The prince's reaction is rather comely: he startles at the noise and jumps up from where he's laying on the bed reading a Very Important Document (i.e. taking a nap), draws his sword and stumbles on the curtain, pulling it all down onto himself making a total mess. He tries fighting it off with battle cries, swinging his sword at the fabric.
Merlin is less startled and puts the pile of tunics he's just folded, into the wardrobe, and calmly walks over to the bird, intrigued. He ignores the prince – he'll be fine anyhow, it's not some dangerous enemy, just a curtain and an owl. The bird's kind of cute and makes happy sounds when the servant scratches it head.
"Hello there, birdie. What are you doing here?"
The owl blinks tiredly at the warlock and offers its leg, to which piece of parchment has been tied.
"Oh! Look Arthur, it's got a note." Gently he unties and unrolls it. "It's some kind of message."
By this time Arthur has managed to untangle himself from the bed curtains and stalks forward with intent, taking the parchment from his servant before Merlin has a proper chance to read it. So instead he hovers on Arthur's shoulder. "What's it saying?" he asks curiously.
"Something about an important meeting between the 'last free peoples of Middle-earth' … Middle earth?" Arthur's eyebrows make another comical display in a series of quickly shifting facial expressions. "It's an invitation, a 'special invitation' it says, though what that means I'm not sure ... And the meeting is in twelve days, in the valley of … Hmm. I've never heard of that place …" At the bottom of the letter there are several PS:s like 'Do not forget to bring your best weaponry' and 'Oh and extra socks because it might get cold'and the letter is signed by an elaborate G.
"What place?" Merlin asks, nearly bouncing by now.
"It's called Rivendell (or Imladris, it says in parenthesis - why does it have two names? How silly), one which I've never heard, read or seen on any map. Ever heard of it? Maybe Gaius has mentioned it?"
The warlock shakes his head, wide-eyed. "No, I've no clue."
The owl, which hasn't left yet, takes a leap from the windowsill and lands on Merlin's shoulder which Arthur finds a bit annoying (why does the stupid bird prefer Merlin to him when it shouldn't? He's the prince so if there's anyone the bird should like more it's him!) But then the owl uses its beak to tug at the parchment, revealing a second beneath it: a map.
"Oh! That's convenient. Thank you, birdie," Merlin exclaims and pats the owls head, causing the bird to purr. The animal is very sweet and Merlin really likes it already. "Can we keep it?" he asks Arthur making his best doe eyes.
"No. You've already got one, remember! It needs to be sent home."
It'd been a birthday gift last year, actually from Arthur, albeit it was kind of embarrassing to give gift to one's servant so he'd left it anonymously. (Merlin had his suspicions though.)
"Yes, but Archimedes is so lonely sometimes, I'm sure he'd like a friend and this one's so cuuute-"
"No, Merlin!"
The warlock pouts, but Arthur's got a point…The owl might have other owners that misses it. It would be mean taking it from them, which is stealing and that's not very nice. But it's so cute. Especially when it blinks tiredly up at him and purrs, he's certain it likes him and now it's snuggling into his neckerchief. Maybe he could convince the prince to let the owl travel with them, at least? That way it'll get home to its rightful owners.
Arthur just gives him one last warning glare before heading toward the throne room.
()()()
"Yes, it might be important," King Uther hums, drumming his fingers against the throne. "Such a meeting could be dangerous to miss. We might gain new powerful allies."
"I should go," Arthur says. "I'll take Merlin with me."
"Very well," the king of Camelot consents, "but be on your guard! You don't know what dangers there might be ... there might be sorceryinvolved."
The prince holds back a snort and a sarcastic remark; after all he's got Merlin with him who's so clumsy he'll probably prove to be the biggest danger during the journey. The servant usually causes so much trouble, even without taking his magic into account. No, wait: especially when taking his magic into account.
Instead he nods his head in respect and says, "Yes, father. We'll ride in an hour."
"Don't forget to bring me back those allies!"
()()()
"Now, let's see … according to this map it's pretty straightforward. North. Then northeast through this mountain pass … There's a mountain there? I didn't know that - Well, all right, it seems legit. Have you finished packing yet?"
"No, because I don't know what to pack. Will it be cold, will it be hot…?"
The prince rolls his eyes as he folds the parchment and puts it in a satchel, before he pulls his chainmail over his head. "We're not going on aholiday, Merlin."
"Oh," Merlin murmurs kind of disappointed. He's finally had a chance to read that letter and it describes as a very nice place, with beautiful scenery and lots of rivers; he would have liked bringing some quill and parchment so he could make some quick drawings of it, to show Gaius later when he comes home.
Suddenly Arthur turns toward him. "That owl, Merlin. Has it been set free to fly back where it's come from?"
Merlin nods and smiles in a hopefully convincing way. "Yup."
The prince's eyes narrows. "Merlin…"
"It has, I swear!"
"Right. Good. Archimedes isn't going either, by the way."
"But Arthur…!"
()()()
It takes eleven days to reach the mountain pass and Arthur is steadily gaining a headache from Merlin's constant chattering. Usually he complains a lot but on this journey he's been so excited and full of energy, like a child visiting the marketplace. It was endearing the first few days but now, Arthur just wishes he could start complaining like usual or insult him just once or simply be quiet - any of these options would work. They would bring variation.
Also there's sometimes there suspicious chirping noises coming from one of Merlin's saddlebags, at which Merlin always mutter something on his breath and looks away and Arthur narrows his eyes at him. But when he searches the bags later on they're always empty … absolutely empty and Merlin looks completely innocent.
At least it's not snowing or storming or anything else bothersome.
The mountain pass is one of many on the map. Arthur's studied it and taken note to the strange names and places he's never heard of before. It's odd that these kingdoms haven't contacted them before but then the ruler of this Mordor place is described in the letter as a real pain in the backside; fighting him must've taken so much time and energy no one has bothered until now.
Late on the eleventh day, when the sun sets, they make camp. Merlin's magic comes in very handy, there's no need to fetch firewood and their meal starts cooking itself. Arthur's glad to be out of the saddle, stretching his legs.
There's that chirping noise again! Frowning he turns to glare at the saddlebag. It rustles and moves. Merlin leaps forward as if trying to stop something from happening, but is too late: a second later a puffy feathered head peeks up from the bag.
"Merlin!"
The warlock pats the owl's head as it stretches and flaps its wings. "Sorry, I just – I just couldn't leave him! Archimedes got real sad when I tried to and you know Gaius doesn't like him that much and he'd probably not get properly fed. He's been real good this far, he hunts on his own and cleans his feathers and everything. Haven't you, 'Medes?"
The bird chirrups happily and leans into the warlock's hand.
"And that?" the prince demands pointing at the second head appearing, a pair of yellowish eyes peering out as if checking the coast is clear and diving back into the bag when noticing the angry stare its receiving.
"Arthur! Don't scare her!"
An impatient growl erupts from his throat. "Merlin." He sends his servant the infamous Explain Within Five Seconds Or I'll Have You In The Stocks-glare.
"Merthur really refused to leave me, she kept cuddling me and I thought Archimedes would like some company while we're travelling. They're rather fond of each other." As if on cue the two owls start cuddling and purring like true lovebirds. "And she needs to go back the same direction as us, so I just thought …"
The prince just sighs. Nothing could stop his idiot manservant once he's set his mind to something. "Merthur?" he asks instead, dumbly.
"Yeah, she needed a name and it was kind of tricky coming up with anything appropriate, but I couldn't just keep calling her 'bird' or 'owl' could I? Besides, she likes it."
The owl hoots approvingly.
"Honestly, Merlin, only you would come up with something that ridiculous."
Merlin smiles wide and proudly, since coming from Arthur that might actually be a compliment.
()()()
Rivendell is a very grand place – in fact Merlin has never felt so awed. It's so beautiful! So pretty!The architecture with its rounded detailed shapes and melting-into-nature effect, the golden brown of the trees, the streams and waterfalls all around the place … Not to mention the tall beautiful people that definitely can't be human aren't bad either.
They're stopped on the border by a patrol of what Arthur assumes is guards. They're dressed oddly, not in armour but in brown and green tunics. They all have bows slung over their shoulders; no spears in sights, but some have swords or daggers attached to their belts.
"Who are you and why have you come?" one of them steps forward and demands. Merlin's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. The person is flawlessly beautiful, hair like sunlight and ears curiously pointed.
"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot and this is my manservant Merlin. We come on behalf of the Kingdom of Camelot, having received word of an important, secret meeting here." He hands over the letter, so the guards can confirm this themselves and the nearest one takes it and scans the words.
The people (What can they be? Some kind of magical beings? Merlin wonders; Their ears are so pointy!) exchange surprised glances with each other.
"Mithrandir sent for them," the reader of the letter proclaims. "We can't simply forbid them access then, can we."
Another of them shrugs and mutters, "You know how odd whims those wizards so often have."
Arthur's heart skips a beat. Wizard? So this is some kind of magical land then. His father can't hear about this, not yet … he'll be furious. It cannot be risked. He glances at Merlin, who nods quietly; he heard the wizard part too.
"We could gain an ally against Camelot's enemies," the young warlock points out in a hushed voice and Arthur nods, agreeing with him.
"We just have to be subtle about it 'round my father."
"Very well," the leader of the pointy-eared people says with great authority. "Come with us. Lord Elrond is waiting."
()()()
Not far off, in a shadowed glade, a meeting is being held. A number of chairs have been placed in a circle. Scruffy-bearded men, burly short dwarves, fair pointy-eared elves and one of those tiny, hairy-footed creatures called hobbits are attending, and they are silent and tense, for today decisions will be made that will affect their whole futures.
"Strangers of distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here-"
An elf guard rushes in that moment, interrupting Lord Elrond's speech. "Milord, milord! Two strangers belonging to Mankind have arrived and they claim they must attend this meeting."
"Oh! So they've come," an old man with a big beard and pointy hat exclaims, smiling to himself. "Excellent."
Merlin and Arthur follow the elves' footsteps warily, glancing at the people sitting there staring at him. It's the oddest group they've seen yet; a couple of bearded men are there, and some short squat beings (dwarves?) and lots of those pointy-ears. And this short, thin person, with hairy feet – a bit like a child but with an adult's face – is sitting there as well next to the old man who just had spoken.
"Have a seat," the old man says. Conveniently there are two empty chairs next to each other there. "The meeting is just about to start."
One of the men, the blonde one, interrupts. "Who are you, strangers? Lord Elrond hasn't spoken of your coming."
"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot and this is my manservant Merlin. We heard of this meeting but a fortnight ago, and hurried here, coming as soon as we had the chance."
Murmurs rise in the crowd, in several different languages.
"So it's true then," says the blonde man, whose name is actually Boromir, son of Denethor (who governs a giant, white stone-city). "It mustbe for you to have come. The Ring has been found." Such a conclusion is the only logical, after all, why else would so many important people be called to this rushed secret meeting in an elven hideout?
"Err, what Ring?" Merlin asks and heads turn to look at him incredulously. Merlin's ears start burning. Why do people always assume he's the stupid one? "Uh, would you please not look at me like that..."
Arthur agrees wholeheartedly, nobody looks at his Merlin whether in a sinister, inappropriate or (as now) incredulous way as if the boy's an idiot, maybe he is but that's not the point. "Yes, keep your eyes away!" he growls and they all immediately do.
The old man, Gandalf or Mithrandir he's also called, speaks with dark somberness in his voice: "The One Ring, forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom."
That sounds rather ominous, Merlin thinks as the old man, while nursing a pipe, launches into story-telling. So the meeting commences.
In-between there's also a small argument between said blonde and a dark haired man named Aragorn about Kingship and royal bloodlines, and between the elves and dwarves about who's the best of – yes - elves and dwarves, a centuries old argument none of them will ever win it seems.
"So basically," Arthur sums up, "there's the Ring of Doom made by the Dark Lord of Doom that needs to be destroyed in the Fires of Doom, or we're all doomed."
"Pretty much yes," Lord Elrond says and the meeting continues and somehow, at that point, Merlin asks if elves and pixies are somehow related because he saw a bunch of elves sitting in a garden on his way here, drinking tea and having a lively discussion, and they just look at him weirdly. One of the elves, some dark-haired fellow named Elladan or whatever, is way too flirtatious when explaining to the servant that no, elves and pixies haven't familiarized for at least eighteen hundred years (the elves tired of all the lemon tea and the pixies were tired of the green herbal tea, not to mention they never fancied the same type of cookies).
There are gestures and leaning in and smug smiles and other sorts of things the Prince of Camelot does not like when it's directed at Merlin. Arthur positively wants to gauge the elf's eyes out but is hindered by a rather distressed hobbit named Frodo stands to announce that he is to take the Ring and destroy it in the Fires of Mount Doom deep in Mordor which frankly is not a very nice place. Especially by the sounds of the foul orcs or the nasty poisonous fumes and large burning eye that can see through all kinds of matter, that Boromir adamantly keeps talking about."
As per usual when there's something awfully dangerous to be done, Merlin doesn't hesitate.
()()()
"You idiot!" Arthur shouts. "You complete and utter buffoon! You shouldn't have done that!"
"But I want to help!"
"Getting yourself killed on a suicide mission isn't helping!"
"But my magic can get pretty useful. Admit it," Merlin defends himself, "Sauron doesn't sound very nice and we can't let him get his hands (not that has he has any actual, physical hands since he's just a big fiery eye … without any actual limbs ... But you get what I mean, right?) on the Ring."
Arthur growls and grumbles and paces back and forth, tearing at his hair in frustration. Why is his servant such a self-sacrificing, too kind idiot who volunteers for stupid things like this? He shouldn't have without Arthur's permission! What if something happens to him, if he gets hurt?
He can't let that happen. Thus, he must come with him, it's the only logical thing. He needs to watch Merlin's back. Yes, his father can wait for news a bit longer. Maybe he can send an owl or something. He must make up a legit explanation first, though; the King will never accept his son going on this Quest, not to help some probably magical folks destroy this very magical Ring (well maybe Uther would like the destroying part), especially not to guard a servant.
"I'm going, you can't stop me!" Merlin continues to rant.
"All right, all right," Arthur sighs at last. "I'm going with you. And you're going to stay in my sight at all times - no exceptions. And the owls are staying here! Period."
"But Arthur…!"
()()()
They have to wait for a few days before leaving on the Quest. Originally, the preparations were planned to take a few months but Arthur's impatient and Merlin's impatient and the latter also can make awfully effective doe eyes that not even the elves are immune to.
Arthur isn't that certain he likes the elves. Sure, on the comfort side he has no complaints, the elves knows well how to treat their guests: the food is outstanding and the beds are brilliant and springy and there's hot tea to be served whenever he likes it.
But the looks they give Merlin … The elves seem so drawn to him. They pull him in and talk to him for hours with their hands on the servant's elbow, and who knows what they would try to do if Arthur let them out of his sight …!
No, he definitely does not like it.
It's no better that the hobbits – the short, hair-footed, smoke-loving beings – also seem to have attached themselves to Merlin like leeches and ask him to join them for pick-nicks and dinners and brunch, constantly ignoring Arthur's warning glares and even out loud orders for them not to approach his servant. Merlin just smiles and agrees to come. The dwarf Gimli and the wizard are there sometimes as well, but Arthur is almost never invited – only when Merlin suggests it, otherwise they ignore Arthur despite him being King-to-be. It's not fair and they aren't allowed to look at Merlin like that!
Enough is enough. A man has his limits. Arthur finds his when, three days after the not-so-secret meeting, Merlin is sitting in one of the many elaborate, maze-like garden near a riverbank with a group of elves, including that blonde one who first found them (Glorfindel or Goldilocks or whatever his name is) and that other blonde who's going with them (apparently also a prince, from a Mirkwood place, but Arthur couldn't care less), laughing and sharing stories and the elves are far too hands-on.
It causes the prince to storm across the yard and grab Merlin, seeing red. As he haul him away from the pointy-eared people, yelling at him for being a stupid idiot ("We were just sharing childhood stories!" the warlock protests), they both completely miss the knowing glances and nods the elves share with each other.
Not that Arthur's jealous or anything. He's just protecting Merlin's virtue, that's all, it's just a friendly gesture; after all it's a master's responsibility to look after their servants especially if said servants are idiots who doesn't know how to look after themselves.
()()()
The company of nine plus two (Lord Elrond is in a bit of a twist that his splendid plan of nine Black Riders versus nine Fellowship members has been crushed by the not-so-unexpected arrivals) sets out from Rivendell.
To Arthur, it's a relief really when they leave that Rivendell place, considering Merlin, even if he'll miss sleeping in a proper bed and being served excellent food every day. Maybe he should've let the elven cooks make a book of recopies for him to bring home, to show the Head Cook of Camelot castle.
Now, why they have to walk instead of ride, Arthur doesn't know but he'd like to have a serious word with whoever came up with that idea. Merlin will start complaining in just a few hours, he's sure of that, that he's hungry and tired and have aching feet. And then Merlin's feet will get cold as well because he has these really awfully thin boots that aren't made for walking. And then they'll have to stop every two hours in addition to stop for sleep and food and then it'll take at least five years to reach Mordor, and by then Arthur will have grown a stupid beard and will be ridiculous tired of this whole thing and, finally, he'll demand to turn back, dragging the warlock with him ignoring all protests.
They really should have horses. The pony doesn't count; it's too small and carrying so many packs that even Merlin who's skinnier than a stickcould ride it. (He should get fed better food. What does Gaius give him? The old man is supposed to be a physician, surely he must realize there's hardly any nutrition in that gruel! Yes, as soon as possible Arthur's going to make sure Merlin is better fed, maybe give him his own portion of sausage and tomatoes next time they stop for a breather.)
So, they walk. And if anyone notices Arthur glancing back at his servant every six minutes (just in case), they don't comment on it.
()()()
Hobbits are really nice creatures to talk to. They talk about gardening and families and food, yes, food is probably their favourite topic and they're so good at making long and deep elaborate descriptions of their favourite meals, meals they want to have and some meals they've never even had but wants to, that it makes Merlin's mouth water and his stomach grumble. It's such a pity they can't even light a fire, having to hide from spies on both two and four and no legs, that could be hiding anywhere. He'll probably never have a chance to have a taste of Sam's famous rabbit stew (with potatoes) that said hobbit's friends speak so warmly off.
They crack awesome jokes too, but once they run out of that, Merlin takes amusement in watching the stout dwarf Gimli argue with the fair elf Legolas, despite Gandalf's chiding them.
Arthur watches that too but if that fails to brighten him, then he'll turn to Merlin, call him an idiot and be given a response of "Well you are a dollophead!" always makes him smile.
In their company, aside from the dwarf, elf, wizard and four hobbits, there are two men, Aragorn and Boromir. They argue quite a lot as well, but quietly, so Arthur cannot make out the details. He could bet it's about something ridiculous, like the sizes of swords or inheritances. He's heard conversations about that among his knights countless of times. Not that he partakes, of course not, he's a prince and princes have some dignity.
()()()
"We have to go there?" Merlin asks, choking, pointing up the mountain. It's very large and snow-covered and now his boots truly will be a pathetic cover on his poor feet.
As soon as they get back to Camelot Arthur will order the cobbler to make Merlin some new pair of real boots and also buy he'll him two new pairs of thick socks for him to wear underneath. That should keep him warm.
"We must avoid Saruman's spies, and we have to cross the mountains," Gandalf says soberly, and the entire group stares aghast at the tall wide snow-covered mass of stone. "Either over or under it."
"All of that?" Merlin cries, aghast, gesturing wildly at the mountains which are very large and very tall and intimidating and very, very snowy and probably freezing and, and, and Gandalf wants them tocross that on foot?"That's craziness - total craziness!"
"Shut up and stop being such a girl's petticoat, Merlin," Arthur says.
"I'll turn you a girl's petticoat," the warlock grumbles on his breath but the Prince has already walked past and isn't able to hear him.
()()()
Harsh winds whip around them and it doesn't matter how hard and long he presses his hands over his ears, they still get red and icy cold.
"I wish we'd gone under the mountain," Merlin groans and Arthur quietly agrees, but has not the energy to answer, worn out by all this walking. Chainmail, he's discovered, is not at keeping the heat. Instead of answering he just presses Merlin close like the hobbits does with each other, and nobody is warm enough to comment.
Except the elf, who walks atop the snow as if he's walking across a summer meadow filled with flowers, and Arthur wishes he could hit him for being so arrogant and cheerful. Nobody should be so cheerful when Merlin's feet are so bloody cold.
()()()
On the way up they're stopped and have to turn on their heels, go back down and start over. The octopus monster complicates matters a little, as does the firstly hidden doors that glows only in starlight and moonlight ("What kinds of idiots build doors that can't be found?" Arthur mutters at that. "No wonder this place is abandoned.") but under the mountain they get.
The mines of Moria are dark and dank and grand, but mostly dark, and so deadly quiet, Arthur keeps his hand on his sword at all times and the other tightly wrapped around Merlin's elbow, refusing to let go. It takes several days and they have to pause a lot either due to Gandalf being unsure of the way or the hobbits are hungry. Mostly it's the latter.
Then, like the icing on the cake, there's the bloody monster that's made out of fire and is fifteen feet tall and cracking a fiery whip in a menacing way. With a growl, it reaches out and drags Gandalf with it down into the abyss, too fast for Merlin to react with his magic and save the day.
Arthur isn't that fond of Middle-Earth anymore.
"Oh crap," Merlin groans, when they barely can make it across half-broken bridges that all start trembling and breaking apart under their feet. "I wish we'd gone over the mountain."
()()()
The forest of Lothlórien is full of elves, and Arthur is even more wary than in Rivendell. The looks those elves had given Merlin had been unnerving; now, they're outright creepy. The lady in white doesn't help matters.
"Welcome, Prince Pendragon."
"Oh my god you're in my head!" Arthur gasps and clenches his head. She has to be a sorceress or a druid! Or both! And all sorceresses he's met so far have tried to kill him one manner or another. Fuu-
"Your destiny awaits you," Lady Galadriel says next in the same mysterious tone. "You just have to take the first step towards it and keep a close eye on your Warlock, to make sure there's no misstep. For you are two sides of the same coin. Without one another neither will succeed."
Another voice invades his mind but it's less unpleasant when he realizes that it's Merlin, all chipper and curious and not at all suspicious or angry or even annoyed: "Oh! Have you met the Great Dragon? He also talks about coins a lot."
"Why must you all be inside my head? Can't you have your discussion privately?"Arthur cries, and then backtracks when realizing that would mean his Merlin talking with the elf all on his own and Arthur certainly doesn't like that. "I mean – nevermind, keep talking here, I don't mind."
"Oh, I know him; he makes some very good tea," the elf queen answers the servant and smiles and Arthur shivers, fearing how deep the dragon's infiltration of this place might have gone.
()()()
"What's this, a bird bath?" the Prince of Camelot exclaims as he finds the meadow in the labyrinth of trees and glades and gardens, full of elves hiding in the shadows. It's the middle of the night, and he's slept for barely three hours and not had this usual morning cup of milk with honey so he's not in the mood for this. Besides, now when the Lady elf has dragged him here, away from camp, it means Merlin is left all alone … "I find this abysmally rude! Waking me in the middle of night just to go and see a bird bath!"
"This is no manner of bath," the Lady elf says and she might be somewhat affronted now. "This is the Mirror of Galadriel."
"Mirror?"
Arthur stares into the watery surface but there's no handsome blonde fellow staring back at him, so he sighs and starts backing away. But then the surface ripples and the lights within it change, making shapes and colours:
"What the—is that … Gwaine? Talking with the dragon! And what's that thing doing on the throne?"
"Keep watching," the elven queen intones softly and Arthur is very close to grabbing his sword and smashing the surface of the stupid mirror, which is somehow magical and not his friend.
Then, the next thing he sees is Merlin. Merlin with large, sad, scared eyes, lying crumbled on the floor without moving and himself, tall and dark-eyed with a huge crown on his head looming above him with a burning whip in his hand, something golden gleaming on his finger. It's terrifying to look at and he gasps, absolutely horrified and tries diving into the water and come out on the other side, and pull Merlin away from that cruel fate. But he only manages to smack his forehead against the edge of the stone basin and nearly knock himself out.
"I know what you saw," Galadriel says once the man has regained his bearings.
"What was that?" he shouts angrily and tries reaching for his sword, only to realize he's forgotten it back at camp. Damn it!
"A possible future - one of many. For if you fail this quest and your destiny, that is what will happen."
A sudden sharply makes his way through his body. The bloody dragon ruling Camelot and drinking ale with Gwaine and, and Merlin –there, all alone and cold while some shadow-version of Arthur sat on a distant throne, dressed in black and with a golden ring on his finger and an evil smirk on his face – he doesn't want to think of it. When I get home I'll have a talk with Gwaine. And the dragon. And put guards around them, the King-to-be firmly decides. And have a squadron of guards around Merlin too, but for a different reason.
"Try taking the Ring, and you'll fail your destiny once and for all and doom all of Albion, young Pendragon, and you'll lose Merlin forever."
"Uh," a voice suddenly groans, tiredly, breaking the tension and a figure dressed in a nightshirt appears, rubbing at his eyes. "Did somebody just say my name? Arthur? What're you doing here? … Is that a bird bath?"
"Why is it that every Man or Hobbit I meet can never recognize a simple mirror?" the elf says sounding annoyed. Why though Arthur can't comprehend. Of course he recognizes mirrors! He looks into them nearly every day, after all.
()()()
"I thought the Lothlórien elves were very nice," Merlin says when they leave the forest in pale light boats, down the river toward wherever is next. Arthur has been too busy looking after and protecting – no, simply keeping an eye on, he's the prince, not a babysitter – his idiot manservant to ask where they're headed next.
Arthur rolls his eyes. "Of course you do, you like everything, even the dragon!"
"He is nice. Well, most of time, when he isn't angry or in that creepy stalking mood," the warlock pouts at him and the dwarf whips head around to stare at them.
"You know a dragon?" Gimli gasps, horrified.
Apparently dragons here in Middle-earth haven't been that friendly, at least to dwarves or men or elves, and now they have all been eradicated. Saddened at such a thought, Merlin wonders what's happened to the Dragonlords and why they weren't around to keep the dragons in check, but the others in the Fellowship just stares at him blankly when he asks.
"Unfortunately we do," Arthur answers the dwarf's question, "and it's a giant pain in the a—"
"Don't listen to him, he's a dollophead," Merlin hurries to say. "Kilgarrah's nice though he likes riddles and never gives you straight answers. There are baby dragons too, you should see them sometime, they're so cute!"
"I know of a dragon too!" Pippin exclaims excitedly. "The Green Dragon!"
"That's a pub, not a real dragon," his friend Merry reminds him.
"Oh," the other hobbit murmurs sadly. "Well, there was this dragon at Bilbo's birthday party – you remember that, don't you, Merry?"
"Yeah," sighs Merry. "There must've been thousands of dirty plates that Gandalf made us wash after we borrowed that piece of firework."
()()()
Apparently not are there orcs here, but worse races and they hoard the place like a wild raging pack (well they are one so it's not a surprise). Arthur swings his sword left and right, cursing and wondering why he didn't just drag Merlin by the scruff of his neck away from Rivendell and back to Camelot to start with.
"Where's Frodo?" is the general question after the fight's ended and there's a lot of worry and discussion evolving around that.
Well, it's not that important to Arthur.
"Merlin,where the hell have you been?"he demands and hovers over the warlock as he appears from a bush, dirty and hair ruffled. He quickly checks the servant for injuries and luckily there are none save for a scratch across his cheek and Arthur really wants to strangle him for running off like that. "You idiot!"
"I, uh, tried calling for Kilgarrah so he could help us…?" It sounds more like an unsure question than a statement and Merlin's staring at him with large doe eyes again, and even if he's furious something in Arthur's chest starts melting at the sight.
"Why didn't you do that earlier?" he grunts out, struggling to remain angry. "Like before the battle?"
"He didn't answer," Merlin says with a pout. "He never appeared and then when I got back the fight was over."
"Guys," Gimli appears on the left cutting the argument off, "we've got a problem."
()()()
"So the Ring's gone with Frodo and Sam, Boromir's dead and Merry and Pippin have been captured by crazy mutant orcs with white paint on their faces," Arthur summarizes while counting on his fingers. "That's ... not good."
"What do we do now?" Merlin asks while thinking, Please don't say 'run far away for a really long while without pauses or horses to catch those mutant orcs', because my feet are already hurting, please don't say …
"Let's hunt some orc!" Aragorn suggests and - agreeing wholeheartedly - the elf and dwarf runs off with the ranger into the woods, all eager to find their captured friends and kill the ones the responsible. Arthur groans but reluctantly follows, since he's an honourable man and Knight and won't abandon even the most annoying creatures to their death and the hands of the orcs.
"Come on, Merlin!" he says impatiently and tugs on the warlock's arm.
"… I guess it's too late to suggest using magic," Merlin mutters and sets off after them.
()()()
After some troublesome days on a vast, yellowish plain – whereupon they met some riders from whom they finally got their hands on some horses so Merlin could rest his feet and Arthur worry a little bit less, but only a little bit - they reach another forest. While Lothlórien was mysterious and light, this one is mysterious and dark even if Legolas seems to like it a lot. Apparently he likes talking to trees. Merlin wishes he knew how to do that.
But, the warlock is too exhausted ask that. When the others start dismounting to go into the forest his protests are nearly violent. "No! Please! No more walking or running or other stuff on foot!"
"Don't be such a girl, Merlin," Arthur retorts and the warlock just stares at him. How can the prince have the energy to stand? He's dressed in a ridiculously heavy and hot chainmail and everything and he's run for miles! He should collapse any moment now, not stand there smirking at him!
"Besides," the prince adds, "coming on this quest was your idea. Frankly I'm shocked. You usually hate all kinds of quests or other adventures."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time!" Merlin cries and clings to the saddle, refusing to climb down. Abandoning the 'whine until Arthur gives in' plan, he picks up the next weapon in his arsenal which is 'look cute and pout until Arthur gives in'.
Not-so-reluctantly (because he hates seeing Merlin uncomfortable in any manner and, anyway, it's for the sanity of them all; he'll spare the rest of the Fellowship from much suffering by not having Merlin complain continuously) the Prince of Camelot gives in and lets Merlin ride, and they enter the dank deep forest, Arthur leading the horse by the reins.
"When we're back in Camelot I'm going to make you scrub every hallway till I see my reflection in the stone, for having the stupid idea of going on this Quest and dragging me with you," Arthur says warningly. "You never cease being an idiot, Merlin."
"Well, you're a dollophead, sire," Merlin shots back as quickly as an arrow, and the prince twists his head to growl at the dwarf, elf and other man who all sends them amused looks.
"Not a word!" he growls at them, warningly.
"I wouldn't dare," Gimli says hands up and Arthur can almost bet that he and the elf, who's suddenly become best buddies, huddle up at night and make up juvenile, romantic stories about the Prince and his servant just like the knights of Camelot. It's a dreadful habit. Really, they gossip even more than the servants of the castle.
()()()
Something white appears in the woods so suddenly that Merlin's horse rears and he nearly falls off, staying in the saddle only thanks to some quietly whispered magic words.
"You're alive!" Arthur cries in shock. But how? Men don't just rise from the dead like that!
Wait. Unless there's magic. Well, of course there's magic. The Prince slaps a palm in his face; how could he be so stupid not to think of that?
"Indeed I am," Gandalf, now white instead of grey, answers. "Now we must hurry to Edoras, and free King Théoden."
"Free?" Merlin asks, wide-eyed. "He's been kidnapped?"
"Not quite. Saruman and his servant Worm-tongue has him trapped with a spell."
"Another evil sorcerer, another evil enchantment to break, and I'm not even surprised!" Arthur grumbles. "Why are there always more bad guys than good guys?"
Likewise, Merlin isn't that happy to hear about another dark magic having to be broken but that's something he can actually do, and so far he's done pretty much nothing to help in this quest. Arthur is the one with the sword and thus, like in Moria, he'll always jump in front of him and defend him from the very evil orcs and other dark things lurking out there, instead of letting Merlin pick up a sword and do it himself. He's so stubborn Merlin wonders sometimes why he's not sprouted donkey ears yet – the incident with the goblin doesn't count!
()()()
Then there are some ten thousand soldiers on the march toward them set on destroying first Edoras and then the rest of Mankind.
His day is just getting better and better isn't it?
Ten thousand – ten thousand - mutant orcs led by this crazed wizard with sudden, almost maddening crave for power and now he's going to attack this little peasant kingdom that only have horses but no proper knights and this uppity King who brags about his unbreakable Keep and, yes, frankly Arthur thinks they are very royally very quite much screwed.
"Don't be so pessimistic," Merlin says when fitting him into his armour. "Look on the bright side. You've got meto help you."
"God help me."
"And my magic."
Well. That might be somewhat of an advantage.
()()()
Dwarf, elf and men stare at him in disbelief. "Magic? You're a wizard?"
"You could've mentioned it a bit earlier, laddie," adds Gimli and takes a huff on his pipe.
"Warlock," Merlin says, "it's called warlock. I know it's confusing, I mean, I've been called sorcerer countless times before, thought wizard is a new word to me but, anyway, the difference is a warlock is born with their powers while a sorcerer-"
Arthur rushes into the hall interrupting them, glaring at the elf, dwarf and all of the Rohan people that have gathered around the warlock, and they automatically take a step back. "There's no time to discuss etymology or whatnot now. The enemy is coming!"
()()()
Shielding wards are nice to have but not very useful when you're trying to kill Uruks or orcs. Or any kind of creature, really. Well, maybe it is, but not in a direct weapon-like kind of way that Arthur would prefer.
Throughout the battle, it rains and thunder clashes in the distance, and the wet keeps getting in his eyes making it difficult to see and his chainmail heavy. Why does it always rain during battles? Honestly, he can't recall ever fighting a war under sunlight. (Not that it'd be possible now either, it's nighttime after all.) No wonder his armour always starts to rust.
But thanks to the wards that Merlin's placed on him (and possible everyone in Edoras' army), he receives only minor injuries. Well, until the Uruk-Hai bloody blast the wall apart.
"Merlin!" he shouts over the chaos and sees his manservant sending a large ladder full of enemies crashing down to the ground with the snap of his fingers. "Stop them from getting into the Keep!"
So Merlin does.
But wait.
Why has everyone around except the two of them stopped moving entirely?
"I said stop the Uruks, not time itself! How clumsy can you be?"
"Oops, sorry."
Merlin's eyes flash gold and lets time and motion flow again, for the humans at least, and then it takes just five or ten minutes before the battle's well won and over with. It doesn't take long for the sky to clear and then it's suddenly dawn and brilliant sunshine falls onto the valley and birds chipper at the distance.
"Thank god," Arthur breathes out, sinking onto the ground. "I thought it'd never end."
"But, the battle was only like fifteen minutes long," Merlin says somewhat confused. "Or ten. I didn't count that carefully, I mean."
Not long thereafter, a large company of horse riders arrive lead by a previously exiled Éomer, all of them heavily armed. They're a bit disgruntled however to find the battle won, the Keep throughout cleaned from the battle, all enemies' bodies burned and the field which twenty minutes ago only contained brown grass is now full of white and red flowers. Merlin regards his handiwork with a pleased smile, not seeing how the Middle-earthians stare at him mouths agape.
"Honestly, you're such a girl, Merlin," Arthur says and scowls when spotting something white and horse-like near the horizon. "If that's a unicorn, then I'll ..."
"No, look!" Merlin exclaims excitedly. "It's Gandalf! Ooh, I can't wait to exchange magic tricks with him. Though I hope he's not as tight-lipped about it as Gaius ... or full of riddles like the dragon ..."
"Oh godsno," Arthur groans and buries his face in his hands.
()()()
"So where off to next?" Arthur asks merrily and digs into another steak: it's his favourite and it's a feast, so he's got every excuse.
"Be careful with those," Merlin intones from his right, "we don't want to put another hole in your belt." And he ducks just in time to avoid being hit by a goblet.
"To Minas Tirith in Gondor," answers the White Wizard. Ah, yes, the city Pippin saw in the Palantir, that round black stone-thing, which is most probably magic. Everything is most probably magic in this land. "There we'll have a word with the steward and wait for Frodo and Sam to destroy of the Ring. Pippin and I shall ride at dawn."
"Can I come with you?"
Arthur glares at his servant. "Merlin, NO."
"But, I want to see it! Don't you remember it's supposed to be awfully large and beautiful and made out of white stone and built on levels and –"
"Shut. Up," Arthur commands and begins gnashing teeth, appetite totally gone. His warlock shouldn't speak so warmly and dreamily of any city or kingdom or place but Arthur's city and kingdom! No, the Prince cannot stand it. And Merlin definitely isn't to go there without Arthur, or anywhere without Arthur, because he doesn't like it. No, not at all.
Merlin's right in front of him now, hands knotted. "Please? Please, Arthur?"
Those blue, wonderful eyes go bigger and bigger like those of a doe. Brilliant and glistening with unshed tears. A heavy lump starts forming in the Prince's throat.
"Pretty pretty please, Arthur?"
It's not fair, the Prince laments in quiet agony; who allowed him to look so damn cute?
()()()
All right, so Minas Tirith is a pretty grand city. (Nowhere as fine as Camelot though, Arthur is very adamant in this opinion and nothing will make him change his mind.) It's actually quite comfortable. The beds are real and proper and finally he can have that hot wonderful bath he's longed for for weeks and afterward be served a hot meal, with dessert.
Convincing Denethor that, yes, he's really a Prince, isn't very difficult once he says Pendragon, apparently the man has some connections or at least claims to have 'Seen' Pendragon before albeit never having met one in person and Arthur doesn't quite understand how that's supposed to have happened. (Hmm … probably more magic is involved.)
Anyhow he's finally welcomed like the royal he is. For that, he quite could've liked Denethor. But he doesn't. Because honestly, the guy is rather creepy, with the constant black cloaks and dark glares at everyone who isn't royal and his obsession with the broken Horn of Gondor. And he sneers at Merlin in a manner that Arthur would've run the man through for, if he wasn't the Almost-King of a rather powerful kingdom that Camelot probably doesn't want as their enemy.
But, he's near the limit now. And his hand tightens around the hilt of his sword everyone anyone gets too close.
"It's like with the elves, isn't it, you didn't like them either," Merlin says when Arthur complains for the thirteenth time or so later that night, while the Prince is bathing and the servant making the bed and fluffing up the pillows that way Arthur prefers them. "You don't like anyone here, do you?"
"Of course I do!" Arthur retorts. "Gimli for example, he's a very nice chap."
"Only because you can intimidate him by threatening to send dragons on him if he says or does anything disagreeable or comes to close to me or, well, anything else you don't like - which is very mean, Arthur. And very rude."
"It's just a precaution," the Prince defends himself and stands from the bath, taking his time to dry up before wrapping himself in a towel and smirking smugly when Merlin suddenly gasps and then goes very quiet.
"Then," he continues good-naturedly, sensing Merlin's staring open-mouthedly at him, "there's Aragorn, he's not too bad either once you get to know him. Since he's betrothed and all to this elven lady and won't go near you. I'm not so sure about the elf, though, he's got this look about him I don't really trust. What do you think, Merlin? Or can't you think of it now, is your mind too ... preoccupiedat the moment?"
He flashes his bicep in a hopefully suggestive way.
Merlin has got to get it. Honestly. Anybody with a brain the size of a beetle should get it.
Apparently, Merlin doesn't get it. Or he does but thinks he's hallucinating. Either way, he looks like he wants to dig a hole in the earth and hide forever, face red and he inches toward the door instead of jumping Arthur's bones.
"What? Yes. I mean – no! I mean, err. I need to. Uhm." Heat spreads all the way up to the tip of his ears; Arthur's skin is kind of distracting. "Err. Go. Away." Improvising – he's never been too good at doing it in a convincing manner. Then he remembers the hobbit that's just gone and become some sort of guard, or maybe knight, of Gondor, and is determined to fight in the upcoming battle. "And visit Pippin and have a pep-talk about the upcoming battle … Yeah – I've got to do. That."
He flees the chamber before Arthur can jump forward and stop him.
"Damn it!" rages the Once and Future Prat; "How can he choose a hobbit over me?" No, this is even less acceptable than Merlin wanting to go on this stupid quest in the first place!
()()()
"Another battle? Already? They never seem to end!"
"Stop whining,Merlin."
()()()
Sometime later when standing upon a filled-to-the-brim battle-field, where there are both men and horses and orcs and other manners of strange creatures, a warlock suddenly pauses in mid-spell and points toward the horizon and the nearing shadows.
"Oh, Arthur, look! Those huge creatures over there, they're large like houses, and those black dragon-like things! What are those?"
"How shouldI know? You're the one with magic - can't it tell you?" Arthur retorts and raises his sword to parry an opponent's blow.
In response there's only another excited cry of: "Is that a blue dragon in the sky? Oh wait - it just passed by, maybe it had something more important to do." and "Look, look, a ghost army's coming from the river!"
"I'm kind of busy right now." The prince turns on the spot to cut down another enemy, and another, and another and he's steadily building a pile of orc bodies around him. Meanwhile Merlin is throwing around strange words and funny-looking sparkling lights and other sorts of magic that looks amusing but are deadly to anyone unfortunate to be in its way.
Fortunately the ghost army appears to be friends, led by none other than a disheveled ranger, a dwarf and an elf. Quickly the tide of the battle turns, and with the help of the riders of Rohan, the Gondorian army gains the advantage against the armies of Sauron.
Gimli passes them by after a while, looking pleased. "I'm on 35 kills."
"39!" cries Legolas the elf behind him, triumphantly, while climbing down from one of the large, gray four-legged creatures.
"Hmph," the dwarf grunts, "that still only counts as one!"
"1049," Merlin replies, flicking his wrist, "or something. I started to lose count around 570."
"But you're using magic," Gimli says, suddenly a lot less pleased. "That's cheating!"
()()()
After the battle has been dealt with, and they've rested for a bit and washed off and eaten, Arthur sits by the table in their chamber in the Gondorian castle, an empty parchment before him. He's not sure about how to word the letter he plans on sending to his father. After all, while wanting to brief him on what's happened, he doesn't want to mention magic or elves or hobbits or dwarves – though maybe dwarves, possibly, they're not that magical, they're just strangely short and bulky – but absolutely not any very magical rings.
From where he's lighting the fireplace, Merlin asks, glancing at him; "D'you reckon the Ring will be destroyed anytime soon?"
"I dearly hope so. We've been gone for weeks. Father will be mad; I promised to be back within the month."
"Well, yeah," Merlin says and shudders at the unwilling thought coming to mind; "if the King will be that, I fear to think how Gaius will react…"
Arthur feels with him and wraps an arm around the warlock's shoulders to comfort him, and for once Merlin doesn't make a fuss.
()()()
Not many hours later, completely ignoring the nicely fluffed pillows lying neatly on his bed, the Prince of Camelot proceeds to hunt down his idiot servant wearing only a nightshirt and an old pair of breeches. Because he's just heard of an unspeakable occurrence, one that must be remedied or proven false at once.
Thus, he comes crashing into the healer's wing with a loud shout of: "MERLIN!"
The servant is sitting on the side of the bed where Merry lies wrapped in white blankets, recovering from his encounter with the Witch King of Angmar. Pippin is next to him reading from some book and they're speaking very animatedly, and when entering the room, right before everything goes silent and the healers glares at him angrily for disturbing them, Arthur thinks he picks up 'turniphead' and 'reward' and 'destiny' and other similarly themed words.
"I didn't give you permission to run off!" Arthur says angrily.
"Well nobody gave you permission to be a prat," Merlin retorts.
"I'm the Prince of Camelot, I don't need permission. Anyway that is not the point."
The warlock gives him an unimpressed glare. "Then please inform me of your point, sire."
"You are my servant. Mine, not anybody else's, may they be nobles, commoners, men, immortals, have two legs or four or have horns."
"Yes. I'm aware of this," Merlin says slowly and somewhat warily. "And…?"
Arthur pins him down with burning eyes. "And then why am I hearing rumours of you polishing Aragorn's sword, taking care of Gimli's axe and fletching Legolas' arrows?!"
"It was just a nice gesture, they're friends! Plus I put some wards on them, you know, magical wards. To help in any coming battles."
"But you're MY servant! Hear that, mine! The only sword you'll ever polish is MINE!"
"… One of them beat you in a fight, didn't they?" The warlock breaks out in a knowing grin and Arthur only looks angrier at that, pouting slightly. "Oh, they did!"
"No, they did NOT. They never have and never will and anyway, it was just a stupid duel, nothing serious," Arthur says firmly but a bit too quickly and Merlin hides a snigger behind his hand. "Come with me, now. I order it as your prince. You haven't polished my sword or tended to my armour for weeks. It's started to rust thanks to your giant incompetence. Honestly, I should have you sacked!"
Reluctantly, Merlin heaves to his feet and follows the Prince out, the two engaged in heated banter all the way.
Merry and Pippin are left staring after them wide-eyed. Then they share a look and shake their heads in unison. "Merlin was really serious about Prince Arthur being a complete pillock."
()()()
Somehow Arthur manages to write that letter and Gandalf has an owl for him to borrow - probably one he's hidden in the folds of his great white robes – to carry the word to Camelot. Merlin follows him up to a high tower to see the owl and message go.
"Apparently, we're going to ride toward the Gates of Mordor and face Sauron in a final battle," Arthur says as they watch the bird take flight.
"That's crazy!" Merlin exclaims. "Isn't he, like, amazingly dangerously powerful?"
"No, it's clever. It's a diversion. Only, we don't want any casualties, preferably. So I was wondering…"
"Oh! You want me to do magic?" Merlin asks excitedly; he loves doing magic. (Who wouldn't? Except Uther, that is.)
"Yes. But it has to be big, Merlin. Awesomely big and very, very distracting so Frodo can reach Mount of Doom and destroy the bloody Ring of Doom and kill the Dark Lord of Doom once and for all. It's a massive responsibility. Get it?"
The warlock nods vigorously. "Yeah, yeah, I get it."
In fact he's already got a plan. Sort of a plan. Not quite full a plan. But still, a plan.
()()()
When the dragon finally arrives - seven weeks, five days and eight hours later than Merlin first had intended it to come - it lands right before the Gates of Mordor. The tiny army sent out has waited for several long, anxious minutes for it to appear. The creature's leather wings flap dangerously close to Arthur's nose.
"You're late!" Merlin accuses.
"A dragon is never late, young warlock, nor is he early –"
"That is my line!" Gandalf interrupts and the dragon glowers at the old man. "Now, will you help us out or not?"
"Yes!" Merlin agrees. "Help us now you're finally here."
"Very well, since my Dragonlord commands it," Kilgarrah says with a little sigh and then leaps into the air again. He circles the area once, then quickly steers toward the high tower in the distance, at the top of which there's a large burning lidless eye.
"You certain that it'll work?" Arthur asks Merlin when seeing the Great Dragon fade into the dark clouds and be lost from sight.
"If should. I mean, he's fire-proof and stubborn and he's asks the most difficult, complicated riddles," answers the warlock with certainty.
()()()
"I propose a game, Sauron," Kilgarrah announces when coming eye-to-eye with said dark lord. Were he able, Sauron would've blinked in surprise at the dragon's appearance. "A riddle game."
"Very well," a ghostly voice says, seemingly coming from nowhere. (Well, logically, since the Dark Lord doesn't have a physical mouth.) "Let's hear it then..."
()()()
Meanwhile, two exhausted little hobbits reach the top of the Mountain of Doom. There's a fight with a slimy creature commonly called Gollum as well, but eventually, they manage to climb inside the mountain and get rid of the Ring.
Then Mount Doom eventually explodes, and Sauron seriously didn't see it coming - well, at least not with his physical eye - while the dragon did, being gifted with foresight and all. He flies off before the Eye implodes in a powerful wave of magic, slightly saddened that their guessing game never was finished but then again, the Dark Lord wasn't that talkative and it would have taken years for him to come up with an answer, considering how he only thought about that golden trinket of his. Even Kilgarrah doesn't have that kind of patience.
Merlin is quick to send instruction to search the remains of the mountain for two tiny (very, very tiny) two-footed beings called hobbits. They're very, very tiny indeed, and he carries them to the white stone city where the Once and Future King and his Dragonlord are waiting.
"So, the Ring's destroyed, Aragorn's about to be King and everyone's happy … Can we go home now?" Merlin asks hopefully.
"Oh thank god!" Arthur exclaims, shoulder sacking with relief. "I've been waiting for months for you to ask that!"
()()()
Meanwhile, an owl lands on the windowsill in the office of the King of Camelot, where said King is writing important documents. Coincidentally Gaius is also present, reading some old dusty book. Both men looks up and blinks at the bird in surprise and it hops into the room, landing on the table, impatiently showing its leg.
"It's a message, sire," Gaius says and unbinds it from the owl's leg.
"Very well, let's hear it."
"It's from Prince Arthur. It reads: 'Father, I apologize for my tardiness. A lot has happened as of late. In Rivendell a meeting was held, and it was very important, concerning a journey to destroy a dangerous enemy's weapon (NOT A MAGICAL WEAPON) which had been stolen. My manservant and I felt obliged to help. Thus we were made part of a Fellowship of Nine plus Two (Lord Elrond didn't count on me and Merlin coming with them at first - anyway, it's complicated).
In short, we have crossed a dreadful cold mountain, made our way through a deserted mine full of dark creatures, met with forest-dwellers, horse-tamers, fought in two battles and faced a Steward/Almost-King, Denethor, whom you'd like I think except he's dead now, he wasn't entirely sane and tried to burn both himself and his son that wasn't dead but everyone thought he was. But his son, Faramir, survived and we might have an ally there as well as in some other Kings and Queens we've met – I'll brief you on that when we're back home, there's a few that might prove good allies while others ... hmm, maybe not because they're not-magic-but-quite. NOT MAGICAL, that is.
Anyway, it's all rather complicated and I am unable to tell you all now. At the moment I'm writing this, we are waiting for word when to do our final attack upon the great enemy Sauron and hopefully we'll get rid of him once and for all thanks to two of our brave companions reaching Mt Doom and throwing an object of Great Importance into there. NO MAGIC IS INVOLVED WHATSOEVER, DO NOT WORRY. We should be back within the next few weeks, keep a steady eye out for our return. ALSO, NO MAGIC.
~Arthur Pendragon.
PS. Tell Gaius Merlin says hello. The idiot is annoying and stubborn as usual, and I think he's slacking off the care of my armour on purpose, my sword is getting duller. It might have to do with the owl incident, but I'm not sure. Suggest to Gaius that Merlin can clean all of his leech tanks when -
(here another hand starts writing)Gaius, Arthur is a giant prat and also his socks stink, and I willnotclean any leech tanks! I have doneall of the hard work on this trip using my GIFT. Arthur is mean to me again but since he's a turnip head that is no surprise. Don't listen to him, he's talking nonsense.
Love,
Merlin (the previous handwriting returns) and Arthur.'"
Uther looks torn, relieved to hear from his son that's been gone for so long, but worried when hearing of the battles and the long journey, not to mention all of those people his son so vaguely mentions. And then there's the servant Mervin or whatever (why, he never seems to be able to remember the boy's name properly!), he truly shouldn't slack off; it's not a vacationhe and Arthur are on!
()()()
The reply of the letter reaches them half-way to Camelot on the dragon's back. Kilgarrah is forced to land so the owl can reach them (when the dragon still was in the air the bird was too scared of the giant lizard to approach). Arthur unrolls the parchment.
Merlin peers over his shoulder curiously. "Oh! What does it say?"
"'Dear son, I hope this letter reaches you well',"Arthur reads."'You make me most proud. This quest sounds of uttermost importance. Make sure it is done well and also give me contact with these Kings and Queens you mentioned. GIVE ME MORE ALLIES, I need them. Also are you certain no magic is involved? If there is, make sure it is no more. Magic has already corrupted too much around Camelot. I certainly do not like it. No no no.
Gaius also wishes to rely a message to your manservant: he says "Be careful with your GIFT" though what gift that could be, other than some mental disorder or perhaps extreme clumsiness, I do not know. And also that "the leech tanks must be cleaned, no exceptions."
A feast will be held at your return. Do not forget the allies, though. I NEED THEM.
~Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot.'"
The Prince twists and turns the letter but there's nothing else, so he rolls it up and puts it in his pocket. "Lucky I mentioned to Théoden and Aragorn about a Camelot entourage visiting sometime in the future. Father should be pleased about that," he says with a satisfied grin.
Merlin, however, pouts. "Why do I always have to clean the leech tank?"