Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour,
To think of things that are well outworn?
Of fruitless husk and fugitive flower,
The dream foregone and the deed forborne?
Though joy be done with and grief be vain,
Time shall not sever us wholly in twain;
Earth is not spoilt for a single shower;
But the rain has ruined the ungrown corn.
- Swinburne, The Triumph of Time
… Is a candle brought to be put under a bushel, or under a bed? And not to be set on a candlestick?
For there is nothing hid, which shall not be manifested; neither was any thing kept secret, but that it should come abroad.
- Mark 4:21-22
"A story, sire?" The expression on Merlin's face didn't change .
"Yes. You do enjoy the power of stories, don't you, Merlin?"
"I don't know what you mean."
Arthur was struck again by how much Merlin had changed over the years. In the castle, in his servant's garb, it was easy to see him as the affable fool. Out here, there was a self-possession to him. The wilderness became him. Arthur could almost see Druids emerging from the trees to follow Merlin, for he sat taller on his steed, like a wild knight presiding over a sylvan court. A king without a crown.
There were certain places where the Old Religion was strong, and Merlin had spoken of life flowing quicker in the soil there, of currents of power gathering, making certain landmarks sacred. Arthur had paid little attention in such places, less than he should have. He had no frame of reference for such things, and his own worldview could not accommodate there being powers in the land greater than kingship, greater than those recognised by the throne of Camelot.
But sometimes, at the back of his mind, there lurked a prickling knowledge of the truth in Merlin's words. At certain places, at certain times, the artifice of the rules they lived by became clear. The trappings of kingship fell away, and without Arthur's armour and royal crest, what truly made him a king, and Merlin a servant? There were times when Arthur came dangerously close to feeling the power shift between himself and Merlin. Times when Arthur felt that should Merlin come into his true majesty, Arthur would be the one to bow low and pay homage.
Arthur dismounted, tied his courser to a nearby tree, and waited for Merlin to do the same. When Merlin was done, Arthur reached for the scabbard that was strapped to his saddle, and withdrew Excalibur. The blade seemed to make a faint chime, on the edges of Arthur's hearing.
"Now, this sword, for example. You told me a number of stories about it. Stories that inspired me to retake Camelot, and reclaim my mantle as king. There's more to this weapon than you shared with me."
"Sire," said Merlin, "whatever I tell you, you must promise me one thing, on your honour as king. You must not send me away. It is my destiny to protect you. That is the sole reason for my existence, the only reason I act. You must-"
"I won't send you away, Merlin."
Merlin took a deep breath. "I did not tell you the full story of the sword's forging. It was made by Tom the blacksmith, Gwen's father. And there was magic in its making."
"So you're saying Tom was a sorcerer?"
"No, sire. What your father couldn't understand was that banning magic from this land affected more than just sorcerers. Magic was once a force that acted upon every single person in Camelot. It was part of the air they breathed, the water they drank, the fabric of their lives. Sorcerers were closer to the wellspring of power, but that power flowed in a current that bore the whole kingdom in its tow.
"We aren't all farmers, but banning ploughing would starve each one of us. We aren't all tailors, but outlawing weaving would leave us naked and exposed to the elements. And… we aren't all sorcerers… but outlawing magic stripped something away that was part of every single person's life. Especially craftsmen.
"Blacksmiths remember the Old Ways. Theirs is one of the oldest arts. The Risen God is not a smith, but the Palatines had Vulcan, the Saxons had Wayland Cunning-Smith, the old Cambricmen had Gofannon. That was not an accident. Smithing was almost magic, once upon a time, for knowing how to transmute ore into weapons was a power that kingdoms were built on."
Arthur had turned away from Merlin. He took a few paces, hefting the sword in front of him, feeling its balance.
"Go on," he said.
Merlin continued, "On the night that Tom completed his apprenticeship, his master took him to one of the burial mounds of the ancient kings. They brought a new-made sword with them, and threw it into a pond on the hillside, as an offering. It was a Midsummer night, one of the times in the year when the Sidhe have great power to influence this world, according to the Old Religion."
Arthur stretched his leg out and sank into a half-sitting stance, the sword at eye level, his left hand held out in front to balance it. "Such practices are frowned upon, if not outright forbidden."
"Indeed, sire. Later that night, Tom had a dream. He was shown a broken sword hidden on that same hillside, a sword from the tomb of the ancient kings. He retrieved it, and took it to the forge at midnight, and melted the steel down. He said the forge had never reached such temperatures before, and never would again. Some power guided his hands, and there were shadows working with him on the anvil that night, when he remade Excalibur. He took the blade up, and when the work was done, he cast it away. It never saw the light of day again… until the day Uther fought the Black Knight."
Arthur looked over his shoulder. "You're saying… Tom armed Uther. With a magic sword."
"No, sire. I did. With Gwen's help. And I obtained the sword for you, not for Uther."
"You did?" Arthur looked at the blade. "What was that phrase you used?"
"Take me up. Cast me away. Those are the runes inscribed on the blade."
"And Tom put this on because…"
"Because that is no ordinary sword. It is the sword of the King of Albion."
"Then why doesn't it say, 'Take me up. Grasp me firmly.' Surely that would be better advice for one who seeks to rule."
"No, it wouldn't. The tighter you grasp something, the more powerfully Fate will tear it from your grip. A king's rule is suspended on a blade's edge. It is never secure. Every time you take up this weapon, you must be prepared to cast away something of equal value. Excalibur will bleed you as surely as it does your enemies, though the wounds may be more subtle. But a true king does not care for the personal cost he suffers, if his sacrifice benefits his subjects. That is why only a true king can use this weapon."
Arthur looked at Merlin with a concerned expression. "How do you know so much about kingship?"
"Because, sire. Kings aren't the only ones with burdens. There are… other talents that demand great sacrifice of whoever wields them."
"Yes. Quite. About that, Merlin. That is why we are here. We need to talk."
"I'm listening, sire."
Arthur held the sword high above him, where it blazed in the sunlight that fell through the tree branches. "My father would sometimes tell me a bedtime story. Would you like to hear it now?"
"If that is your wish, my lord."
"Many, many times throughout her history, the Kingdom of Camelot has been afflicted by great hardship. During one of these times, a Pendragon queen was unable to bear her people's suffering, and in desperation, she turned to a sorceress. The sorceress told her that for Camelot to prosper, raw magic must be released into the land, for it had been sealed away by the queen's forefathers in a charmed casket. Within that casket, the sorceress said, the queen would find the power to restore the kingdom to a place of beauty and wealth, an enchanted empire, so great that it would make the gods tremble."
"I see where this is going," said Merlin.
"So the queen opened the casket. And out of it came horrors she could not have dreamt of. Necromancy, plagues, unspeakable monsters, and demons. All the bowels of Hell were emptied into the Earth. And worse than the outward calamities were the sins of pride, jealousy and wrath that took root in men's hearts. Ordinary humans were granted power over Nature and the souls of other men, and unable to restrain themselves, they shattered the fabric of the world. Witch-Queens built towers so high they blotted out the Sun, and sought to overthrow the Throne of God.
"But at the end of all this, when the world had been ravaged by the queen's actions, the last thing to emerge from the casket on tremulous wings was humanity's most precious treasure: Hope. And the queen used it to rebuild the blasted kingdom, and fill the walls of the Citadel with the most exquisite achievements of mankind, wonders never before glimpsed by mortal eyes."
Arthur looked at Merlin with a strange hardness in his expression.
"Merlin. Knowing all this, knowing the cost of humanity's greatest treasure, would you still open the casket?"
Merlin swallowed, his eyes wet. "I am not the one who holds the key, sire."
"But I think you have an opinion, and I'm asking for it. It's one thing for you or I to make a choice for ourselves, to take up a gift that would cost us dearly. But can we make that choice for the entire kingdom?"
"Your father already made that choice once, Arthur. So did many of your ancestors. That is your duty as king."
"The question is, who are your ancestors, Merlin?"
"Sire?"
"Are you Emrys?"
A breeze stirred the hillside, making the leaves whisper and the dandelions flutter their petals, as if the name alone called the woods to bear witness. Merlin was still amidst all the movement.
"That... is what the Druids call me."
"Why did you lie to me about the dragon?"
Merlin blinked rapidly. "I… I've told so many lies, sire. Sometimes I lose track of how many I've told, and why. I know how it began. First it was to survive. But then it was about keeping you safe."
"How does deceiving me all this time keep me safe?"
"Sire. I know you're angry, and you have a right to be. I didn't choose this. No one wants to spend their life living a lie. But if the people you cared about would have to kill you, or send you away, if you didn't lie... I just wanted to stay with you. To protect you is my destiny. And I would give up anything for that. Truth. Happiness. My life. Without question."
"Tell me everything, Merlin. From the beginning."
"I'll tell you what I can, sire."
"Tell me everything."
"What I can. And then you may decide whether you trust me."
Arthur shot Merlin a look of challenge. "I need you to say the words, because I can't bring myself to believe it. All the evidence is there. It has been all along, but my mind refuses to accept it. It always has. You're a sorcerer, aren't you? You have been this whole time, hiding right by my side, even while sorcery is a capital offence in Camelot."
For a while, Merlin said nothing. His face was more stoic than it once had been, but Arthur saw grief warring with worry, thoughtfulness giving way to surrender. Here was a man ready to lay down a burden which he had carried for such a long, long time. It should have come as a relief, yet strangely, there was a sense of detachment about him.
Arthur was reminded of how falcons were broken in, how they got so used to their tethers that afterwards they would never try to fly away. He was giving Merlin the space to open his wings, but after so long, perhaps Merlin had forgotten why he would want to.
In the end, Merlin stretched out his hand. "Forbærne ," he said softly.
Fire crept along the blade in Arthur's hand, enveloping the steel as lovingly and gently as an embrace. Flecks of light danced off the flames, streaming into the air, like sparks thrown from a blacksmith's forge. The sparks converged, forming a shape, a little dragon that hovered above Arthur's blade, as if the crest of his House had been given form. Despite the restrained display of magic, Arthur saw beauty and power roiling in the dragon as it flapped its wings, and he understood that Merlin was something different from any sorcerer he had encountered before.
I am teetering on the brink, Arthur thought. How many revelations can I endure before the world makes no sense to me?
The fire died away, gently as the sun slipping behind clouds.
Perhaps emboldened by Arthur's silence, Merlin began to speak.
"I have magic," he said, the catch in his voice belying the calmness of his face. "And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.
"Some destinies are pre-written. Some people's lives have been foretold. You are not just the King of Camelot, but the Once and Future King, born to unite the lands of Albion. You are the rock of ages, upon which the people of this island shall build their greatest kingdom. The New Albion will be the city on the hill, a light to all nations. You are her king, born for glories that will be remembered by every people, in every age. And I was born to serve you."
So Merlin told Arthur, if not everything, near enough.
He told Arthur the story of how he had come to Camelot, and heard the call of the dragon, King Uther's ancient enemy. How he had learnt that Arthur and Merlin were two sides of the same coin, one face loved and golden and shining in the light, the other face dark and despised and hidden in shadow. He told how he had betrayed his own kind to protect Arthur and Arthur's loved ones, how he had saved King Uther's life countless times, even when other sorcerers had suffered all the more for it. How the ban on magic had robbed him of his right to practice magic in safety, so that he had stumbled in darkness, struggling with his gift, trying to safeguard himself and everyone around him even while hobbled and blindfolded.
He told how he had spent years gathering more knowledge and power than anyone he knew, but remained trapped in the role of a fool, mocked and mistreated by those who owed him the greatest debts. He told how he had traded his life for Arthur's on the Isle of Blessed, how he had conquered a dragon with his voice, how he had stopped an immortal army with that same enchanted sword, how he was responsible for shaping Morgana's malice through negligence, and how he'd thwarted her plans for the throne again and again.
He told of how he'd tried to save Uther's life a final time, but Morgana's hostility had perverted his magic, and caused it to be the instrument of Uther's final judgement. He told of the countless times he had worked spells to protect Arthur and Camelot, all while gambling with his own life to do so. How he had sacrificed everything important to himself to put Arthur first, how allegiance to Arthur had so consumed his life that Merlin had no existence outside of serving his king.
And he told of how he would do it all again in an instant to keep Arthur safe.
The sun was falling in the western skies when Merlin had finished. Arthur had paced around, listened patiently, argued, shouted with fury, cut through several tree branches with Excalibur, and worst of all, been silent as the grave, with a stranger's face. Both men had tears in their eyes.
At the end, as shadows lengthened and a chill began to set in, Arthur stood facing away from Merlin, who had fallen to his knees.
"And is that everything?" Arthur asked.
"I've said what I can, sire."
"So you still hold things back. You're just like Balinor. I should have seen that you were his son from the start. Lies have become second nature to you. I suppose he won, in the end. He didn't get to raise me, but his son, a sorcerer even greater than him, has taken control of my life - of my kingdom!"
"Arthur, if you think I'm the one in control between us, you have not listened to a single thing I have said."
"Balinor was also good at making my father think he was in charge. He made my father love him. But he held himself above mortal men. Is that why you and this dragon plotted to put me on the throne? Is that why you kept me safe - not out of any disinterested love on your part, but because you wanted something from me?"
"I never wanted to control you Arthur, even if I could! We are not our fathers. We have our own destiny to make. Our own successes, and our own mistakes."
"But they haven't been ours, have they? How could they be our successes, and our mistakes, when only one of us had all the knowledge? When you were keeping me in the dark, pulling my strings like a puppet all this time?"
"Sire…"
"If that's all you're willing to share, I suppose we're done here." Arthur began to walk towards his horse.
"Wait!" said Merlin. "Arthur! At least honour the promise you made to me."
"I said I wouldn't send you away. I didn't say anything about me staying."
"Arthur. Just… accept my pledge of allegiance. Don't leave me like this."
Arthur spun around. "What do you want from me, Merlin? To say I'm not furious? That I forgive you? That I trust you? That things will be the same between us? Because I can't say those things! Some of us can't lie as well as you!"
"No. I don't want you to say that, Arthur."
"Then what do you want from me?"
From the ground, Merlin reached upwards with his hand. His eyes shone with emotion as they looked into Arthur's, searching for something.
"Take me up," he said. "Take me up, Arthur. Not because you bear me love. Not because you forgive me. But because you need me. And when your destiny is fulfilled, cast me away. But not before then."
Arthur stared at Merlin for a long time. Then he reached down, took Merlin's hand, and pulled him to his feet.
The ride to Northumbria was a grim one. Arthur had barely spoken to Merlin in the two days leading up to their departure. The one exception had been him taking Merlin aside on the night before they left.
"Did you try to summon the great dragon?" he'd asked.
"Yes, sire. It… won't come."
"Why?"
"I don't know. It's possible this other beast is interfering with it somehow."
"Can a dragon-burnished blade slay a dragon?" Arthur demanded.
"I… why do you ask? I thought we'd agreed that I would make the dragons leave."
"But your voice isn't working on them, is it? Just answer the question. Can the sword kill them?"
"I don't know."
"Well, what good are you then?"
"It would have been easier to find out about magic if you hadn't killed everyone who'd practiced it, sire! The only person I could ask is the dragon, and he's hardly likely to teach me how to kill his own kind, is he? You only left one of him behind."
"My father hunted dragons. He also possessed weapons of dragon-burnished steel. That's what the Druids' vision showed me. This must be how he slew them."
"Your father did seem very… comfortable with Excalibur."
"Can't you ask the Druids about this?"
"Finna doesn't know either. She said most of the lore relating to dragons was concealed from all but the Dragonlords."
"What is the point of being a sorcerer if none of you can help with things like this?"
"Sire, you can't drive a people extinct, destroy all their knowledge, and then expect them to recover their wisdom in an instant because you now have need of it."
"Well, I hope for your sake your dragon friends listen to reason. Otherwise we'll have to slay them without hesitation. I won't lose any more men than necessary to our mistake."
"My mistake. You didn't know."
"Our mistake. It was my job to know you, Merlin."
Prior to their departure, Arthur distributed gold among his lords as compensation and reward for the battle fought in the valley. The men-at-arms, and particularly the mercenaries, had been expecting to fight human soldiers, not to fall prey to ghosts in the mist, and the talk of dragons unnerved them further. Merlin hoped their morale would not falter.
When they rode out, they left the greater part of their force behind to hold the border. Lord Broderick and Queen Annis volunteered to accompany the king. Each lord rode with but twenty knights, with assorted spearmen, archers, and other infantry, which brought their retinue to several hundred men. The Norman princes sent for a similar number of warriors to join them from their troops across the border. Such a number was deemed small enough not to provoke the Saxons until after the dragon threat was dealt with.
As they rode, Merlin kept stealing glances at Arthur.
The Norman prince and princess rode with them. Their steeds were grand, and finely caparisoned, with more ornate detail than the knights of Camelot were used to. Brother and sister both rode with assurance, and Merlin noticed that while the Norman knights were nominally under Prince Edward's command, they also reacted to Princess Marguerite's directions as though she were a seasoned captain.
"I have heard that one of the dragons is the more aggressive of the pair," said Prince Edward. "It has taken livestock to feed itself. But that is not the reason for its rampaging. It has made its lair on a hilltop, and it desires a hoard of treasure to line its den. It seems the beasts can smell gold and precious stones from a great distance, for the wyrm has torn up hillsides and burial mounds, dragging out the treasures within. It then fell on the wealthier towns, destroying merchant warehouses in pursuit of plunder. And finally it began assaulting the castles and keeps of the great lords.
"I hear the nobles are so frightened of drawing the beast's attention that they have dumped gold coins into the sea. The king has commanded that stockpiles of treasure should be broken up and distributed among the people, for it seems that large concentrations of wealth draw the creature. This may be the one time the common folk have been loath to receive the king's gold."
"What on earth can the dragon want with that much gold?" Arthur mused.
"I can little guess, my lord," said Edward. "They say that people have been offering human sacrifices to the dragon. They say some villages have sent the beast a virgin every day, in hopes of averting its fury."
There was a pause, while everyone contemplated this.
"That doesn't sound right," Gawaine said eventually. "I've been up North. I don't think they have that many virgins. They'd have run out by now."
"Maybe they wouldn't have a shortage if you hadn't been up there," said Percival.
"This makes even less sense," said Arthur in bemused tones. "Why would a dragon care about the marital status of the humans it was eating?"
"Well," said Bishop Rhodri, "there is precedent, sire. Many peoples have attributed mystical powers to those who preserve chastity of the soul and body. One thinks of the Vestal Virgins, or our own priesthood. One way this purity manifests itself is through affinity with certain fantastic beasts. For example, a unicorn was said to only allow the pure of heart to approach it. Often this meant the pure of body as well. Perhaps a dragon works on similar logic."
"Arthur and Merlin found a unicorn once," said Sir Leon helpfully.
"I didn't find it, exactly," said Arthur. "It concealed itself from all of us. But it showed itself to Merlin, and allowed him to approach."
"Yes..." said Gawaine in a thoughtful voice. "That makes sense."
Merlin was silent.
"What happened next?" asked Bishop Rhodri.
Leon said, "Arthur impaled the unicorn with his crossbow."
"Again," said Gawaine, "it all adds up. If the dragon wants virgins, I say we give it Merlin. That ought to keep it satisfied for the next fifty years."
"Maybe you can impale the dragon on your lance, Gawaine," said Merlin sharply. "Just imagine it's a cross-eyed tavern wench."
Gawaine quietened down, unaccustomed to such touchiness from the usually good-humoured Merlin.
The ride to Northumbria was a lengthy one. Though travelling as lightly as they could, it would take them almost a week to arrive in the region Prince Edward named Lancashire. The place sounded familiar to Merlin, though he could not recall much about it. He did know the outline of the old Saxon Heptarchy from his studies.
The Saxons had founded seven great kingdoms as they'd pushed the Brythons out of the land. In the south had been the kingdoms of Kent, Sussex, Essex and Wessex. In the centre of Saxon power had been Mercia and East Anglia. And finally Northumbria had flourished north of the river Humber.
All these kingdoms had been shaken when William the Conqueror had crossed the Channel and landed ships filled with warriors from Normandy. The southern Saxon kingdoms had fallen first, but the Saxon earls had rebelled against William again and again, until he had waxed wroth and butchered the Saxon nobles everywhere he found them. Next he had harried the North, burning, slaughtering and plundering without remorse.
More than a century had passed, and all the Saxons had submitted to the Norman yoke, their noble families extinguished and their independence forgotten. Norman-Frankish was the language of court all over Angland, and the Norman princes owned all the soil the Saxons tilled. One kingdom, however, still held out. Northumbria was on the border of Alba, and the Scots king's great grandmother had been a Saxon princess of the House of Wessex. With Scot support, the Saxons of Northumbria were stubbornly resisting Norman rule. But all knew they had lost, and their defeat was but a matter of time. The Normans held almost the whole island of Brython, and a single kingdom could not stand against them.
Merlin could not help pitying the Saxons. Many would say it was poetic justice for them to lose to the Normans the land they had taken from the Brythons half a millennium ago. Still, it grieved Merlin to see any people suffer, though he supposed it made no difference in the end.
This is all Arthur's land. It matters not whether they speak Saxon or Frankish, whether they claim descent from King Alfred of Wessex, or Duke William of Normandy. Let them fight among themselves, until their true sovereign arises.
"I have heard the name of Lancashire before," said Merlin. "I cannot quite place it."
"Lancashire is famous for many things," said Prince Edward. "Perhaps the most famous is its witch trials."
"Witch trials?" Arthur echoed.
"Indeed, sire," said Prince Edward. "I have heard that your father's reign was marked by a craze for the execution of witches. But Camelot is not unique in this. Such fashions come and go, passing through all the kingdoms. We remember times when magic was looked on more fondly, at least if the stories I grew up with are anything to go by. Even the Church has been tolerant of so-called magicians at times. But it must be said that the pendulum has swung so far in the other direction all over Brython, that I believe Normans, Saxons and Scots alike are as harsh in their treatment of witches as Camelot is."
Arthur seemed to be restraining himself from turning to look at Merlin.
"Lancashire is particularly notorious," Prince Edward continued. "They say the soil of that country is unusually fertile in producing sorcerers. And the kings of the northern lands enjoy hunting witches more than they do any other sport. As for myself, I do not think magic is as widespread as people believe. No doubt many such cases are due to superstition. And when it does exist, I believe it can work for both good or ill. Though perhaps there was more weight to these cases than I thought, for dragons are magic beasts, and perhaps it was magic that attracted the creatures to Northumbria after all."
"You think not all magic is evil?" said Arthur.
"How can it be?" the prince replied. "It is a force of nature. It is men's hearts that are good or evil. Our ancient tales make it clear that our ancestors were far more tolerant of the arcane arts than we are today, for they were surrounded by magicians in the days of yore. We even have records of Nazarin priests and kings employing the talents of sorcerers.
"I understand your concern, noble cousin. I heard that there was a female Druid at court, tending to your Herald. Even if there are other Druids among your party, you must know that magicians are generally tolerated if they are subtle in their craft. Many people see their use, and are willing to turn a blind eye to charms if they are not malicious. So it is best that any Druids keep a low profile in Lancashire. They are unlikely to arrest a Druid healer unless she does something uncanny in front of a stranger. Still, it best not to tempt fate, and we should not give the Saxon or Norman lords any pretext to accuse us."
"Indeed," said Arthur loudly. "So far as I know, there are no sorcerers among my retinue. But we shall all have to tread carefully. The dragons are a great peril, but as we face them, we should not forget that we are surrounded by men who may bear us ill will, and may be even more dangerous foes than the beasts themselves."
Merlin did not give any indication that he understood the warning meant for him, but Arthur was good at reading his silences. They rode on.