A/N: Here comes what so many of you have been waiting for...knights! You'll get a bit more of them later on. And Carthis is on the horizon. We'll get there soon, I promise!
PS. I know the chapters have been getting progressively shorter and shorter, but have no fear. The trend is over. This is the longest chapter so far. Enjoy that. =P
**EDITED**
Merlin was still awake when weak morning light began to filter in over the tops of the trees. Leon had long since woken Elyan to take over the watch, and the dark-skinned knight was cleaning his dagger for want of anything else to do in order to occupy his hands. Merlin lay as he had for the last several hours, just staring blankly up at the slowly lightening sky and trying to keep his mind as empty as he possibly could. It wasn't working, not in the slightest, and his panic wasn't diminishing, despite his best efforts to force it down.
He wondered briefly whether or not he was powerful enough to stop time in its tracks. Slow it down, certainly, that he had done before without even having to think on the matter, any number of times, but stop it entirely? He was supposed to be the most powerful warlock to ever exist, surely he could. Maybe that way he wouldn't have to go through with this.
As tempting as the thought was, the others in the camp were beginning to stir now, roused by the growing sunlight, and he'd lost his chance. He pulled himself upright and set about rolling up his bedding with movements long since made mindless and automatic by practice. He crossed the sleepy camp to pack his things into his horse's saddlebags, making sure to keep his head down so as not to make eye contact with any of the wakening knights; if he did that, one of them would surely start up with questions that he wasn't sure he could answer just yet.
He leaned into his Llamrei's familiar warmth, letting her support him for a moment. She turned to nuzzle his stomach, searching for a carrot or a piece of apple as a treat, but he didn't have anything to give her so he just patted her velvety soft nose fondly; Arthur had gifted the gentle mare to him after Merlin had been thrown by no less than three of the spirited geldings that were usually housed in the royal stables. She was his for life, Arthur had said, all his, no strings attached.
Merlin suspected this had also been a 'thank you for saving my life' gift, as it had been given shortly after the incident with Lord Bayard and the poisoned chalice whose intended target was still a little fuzzy. Llamrei was certainly no war horse, of no use to any of the knights, but her easy, long-suffering temperament was just right for Merlin and his more intermediary horsemanship. He was exceedingly glad to be able to take her with him. At least here was something he didn't have to give up.
By the time Gerund emerged from his tent, again with his blue cloak around his shoulders, all of the knights were awake and eating the stew Merlin had made as a means of keeping himself busy and engaged. He caught Merlin's eye and inclined his head respectfully, the sort of informal acknowledgement that he had seen Leon give Uther outside of official meetings where a bow would have been the more appropriate form of greeting.
He felt the color rise in his cheeks and he looked away quickly. Arthur's eyes were hot on his back, which did nothing to help his discomfiture. Gwaine's hand on his shoulder, though, drew a small grateful smile from him. The smile faded quickly when Elyan clapped him on the back and leaned over his shoulder with his usual friendly grin.
"What's up with you this morning, Merlin?" he asked with a jaw-cracking yawn that distorted a few of his words. "Your face is longer than your horse's."
The joke fell flat as all attention immediately turned to them and Merlin winced, knowing there was no stalling past this point. In the silence, Elyan looked around at all the impatient faces, his own brow furrowing in response.
"Alright," he said slowly. "What did I miss? And why did no one wake me for it?"
An uncomfortable silence greeted his question as the other knights looked between Merlin and Arthur expectantly, waiting for the explanation that had been promised to them. They all knew that something had happened with their king and his servant, something that involved a mage from another kingdom, but only two of them knew what. Gwaine and Mordred hung back from the scene and stayed silent, waiting to see how events would unfold.
Merlin kept his eyes determinedly on his own knees, examining his bloodless fingers twisted into the course fabric of his trousers. He would soon be wearing finer things, he supposed, silks and velvets maybe. He wondered in a sort of detached manner if he would be allowed to keep his neckerchief or if it would be deemed too ratty a thing for a king to wear.
Arthur cleared his throat and Merlin breathed a silent sigh of relief as the attention shifted away from him at the noise, however brief the reprieve would be.
"Sir Gerund," Arthur said. "If you would be so kind as to explain the message that you led us here to deliver?"
The order was couched as a polite invitation, but it was clear to those who knew him as well as his knights did that Arthur was out of his depth and simply wished to delegate the unpleasant task to someone else. Gerund raised an eyebrow in surprise and looked uncertainly to Merlin, probably under the impression that he would rather tell them all himself. Merlin saw the question in his gaze and nodded permission for him to explain everything in his stead; he was only too happy not to have to say the words.
Gerund hesitated, but he eventually turned his attention to the knights waiting with poorly concealed impatience written in every taut line of their faces.
"I brought you here so that I might be able to speak with Merlin," he began with another glance at the man in question.
Merlin didn't meet his eyes this time, preferring to study his knees again rather than bear witness to this, but he nodded his encouragement anyway.
"Why would you need to do that?" Elyan asked.
"I was well acquainted with Merlin's father, Balinor," Gerund admitted. He looked ready to go on, but Leon interrupted him with a gasp that made Merlin flinch.
"Balinor, did you say?" he repeated, his dumbstruck expression leaving no doubt that he remembered the name and knew its significance. "Balinor, are you quite sure?"
"Who is Balinor?" Percival asked confusedly.
"He was the Dragonlord whose aid we sought during the great dragon's attack on Camelot," Leon responded. "We had hoped he would be able to control the beast, but he died before he reached the kingdom."
"And in doing so, he left his legacy to his son," Gerund said solemnly, ignoring the stunned noises made by the knights who didn't already know. "Both his abilities and his kingdom."
"His…his kingdom?" Percival spluttered in bewilderment, something that may have been a strangled attempt at the same question coming from Elyan. Leon seemed to be too shocked to respond at all.
Merlin squeezed his eyes shut tightly, tucking his head against his chest and wishing the ground would simply swallow him whole so he wouldn't have to look up and face his friends' stunned expressions.
"Yes, his kingdom," Gerund confirmed. "Our Queen Eleanor, who had been recently widowed, perished in a difficult birthing a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, we were unable to save her daughter. In absence of husband or child, the throne should have passed by proximity of blood back to her brother, Balinor. Instead, it falls to his son and heir."
"Merlin?" Elyan asked incredulously.
"I was lucky to have been able to locate him at all, let alone as quickly as I did," Gerund continued, unheeding of the knights' apparent inability to comprehend his words.
They were staring at him, Merlin knew. He could feel the sting of it, the prickling on the back of his neck, and he clenched his fists impossibly tighter to stop them from trembling, his grip nearly hard enough to tear a hole through his trouser leg.
"How did you?" Merlin finally looked up as Arthur spoke, his voice and face carefully schooled into neutrality. "Find him, I mean," he clarified. "Until shortly before Balinor's death, Merlin was unaware of his parentage, and Balinor of his progeny."
"I'm afraid that is why the subterfuge was required, my lord," Gerund admitted with a slight bow of apology. "The missive we sent to you was not the only one to be sent. We reached out to several kingdoms in the hope that news of our plight would reach the new Dragonlord's ear. If it did, we knew that he would be obliged to come to our aid in subduing his wayward kin. We regretted the need for deception, but there was no other way for us to determine the identity of our heir."
"So…there's no dragon at all?" Percival asked in confusion.
"There are two," Gerund told him, "but neither has made any move against us. Kilgharrah has always been a benevolent presence. His wisdom served us well before he left the kingdom with Balinor and it will undoubtedly do so again. As for the other…" Gerund trailed off, hesitancy clouding his features.
"The other?" Leon pressed, finding his voice at last.
"The other is in the company of Morgana," Merlin heard himself say, his mouth acting without his permission.
All eyes turned to him and he finally forced himself to unfold from his defensive position by the fire, rising to his feet even as he failed to lift his gaze from the ground. "Morgana has managed to win his loyalty, though I don't know how. He is but a child, hardly more than an infant. He doesn't understand the consequences of his actions, not that that excuses them. I don't know how he fell in with her, but I fully intend to draw him back."
No one spoke in response to this. Even Arthur was looking at him in shock now, his expression unreadable but his shoulders tight. This shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it felt, considering Arthur, Gwaine, and Mordred had all encountered Aithusa at Ismere and knew him to be in league with her. Maybe it was just Merlin's involvement that made it seem worse somehow.
Merlin was supposed to have protected him, to have raised him and made sure that he was well taken care of. Instead, he had neglected Aithusa and allowed him to be taken in by Morgana of all people. He was injured, stunted, sickly, stuck under Morgana's hateful influence, and it was Merlin's fault. He blamed himself, so why shouldn't the knights do the same?
Gerund shifted on his feet, his hand twitching ever so slightly toward the hilt of his sword as if he might be considering stepping in to defend his new sovereign from the potentially hostile knights, but he made no move to break the oppressive silence that reigned over them all.
"You're leaving for Carthis immediately?" Gwaine spoke up, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his face uncharacteristically solemn. He already knew the answer, of course, but it was something to say in order to break the impasse.
Merlin nodded dumbly, numbness finally creeping up to wipe out all other emotions as his friends stared at him in open astonishment, betrayal and disbelief and confusion warring for dominance. It was like he had reached a limit of how much he could feel in a given span of time and had stopped feeling entirely, unable to handle the onslaught. It was strangely pleasant. Maybe it was better this way, leaving Camelot, when the knights were looking at him like that.
"My lord, I would request permission to accompany them to Carthis," Mordred said formally, stepping up from the fringe of the camp to stand by Merlin's side.
Arthur looked at him in surprise, as did the rest of the knights besides Gwaine, who had already known of this plan having been there when Merlin had proposed it, and Gerund, who Merlin suspected had most likely deduced the young knight's magic in their talks the night before.
"Why, Sir Mordred?" Arthur inquired when he'd gotten his bearings again.
"As you know, sire, I grew up with the druids," Mordred said carefully, which raised a bit of a murmur from the knights who hadn't yet heard of that fact. "The camp to which I was born broke up and dispersed in order to avoid raids when I was still young. I have reason to believe that Carthis may be home to relatives of mine."
Merlin didn't know if this was true or simply an excuse Mordred had concocted to explain his interest in a magical kingdom, but it seemed to be the right thing to say in any case. Arthur deliberated for a moment, his lips pursed, flicking an occasional glance at Merlin before he nodded curtly.
"Far be it for me to deny you your family. You have leave, Sir Mordred, to visit Carthis."
Merlin didn't miss the slight emphasis on the word visit, making it clear that Arthur expected Mordred to return to Camelot shortly, and neither did the knight in question, but he simply bowed his head in gratitude and shifted closer to Merlin's side.
"Well," Gerund said brusquely. "The sun is getting high. We had best be moving on if we want to reach Carthis before twilight falls. I'd like to introduce you to the council this afternoon, if at all possible."
Merlin's head snapped up, eyes going wide and the comforting numbness giving way to panic once more.
"Today?" he yelped.
He had been hoping for more time to think, to prepare himself for the enormity of what was happening to him, to adjust to the drastic change; he hadn't yet managed to work past the feeling of surrealism, the thought that maybe this was all just a bizarre nightmare and he would wake up any moment now in his tiny room in Gaius' chambers with Arthur bellowing through the hallways for him like he had a million times before.
"I know this is all moving very quickly, but time is of the essence," Gerund said with an apologetic grimace.
Merlin's shoulders slumped with the reminder that the stability of a kingdom rested on this, on him. He rubbed at his face wearily, feeling the weight of stares on his back once again. He wondered if they were having as difficult a time processing all of this as he was.
"Alright," he sighed, resignation making his words flat and toneless. "I guess we'd better get going then."
He moved off toward the horses, intending to check one more time the things he had already packed and secured at least twice since he woke up. It took a moment for the knights to gather their wits about them enough to copy him.
They broke camp in a daze, shooting unsubtle looks in Merlin's direction all the while. They didn't seem capable of finding any words, but Merlin couldn't blame them for that; he couldn't think of anything to say either, after all.
"We will ride shortly, my Lord," Gerund told him.
Merlin flinched as Leon stared over incredulously at the deferential form of address, his bedroll falling from slack fingers to flop back into the dirt.
"No titles until absolutely necessary, Gerund, please," he murmured a little desperately.
"Right, my apologies, my Lo—er, Merlin." Gerund gave him a sheepish sort of smile and went to track down his own horse from where it had been grazing freely.
Merlin fumbled with the straps on his pack, not caring that they were already fastened and secure.
"So," began Elyan awkwardly, wandering over to attend to his own horse. "Magical king, eh?"
The nonchalance was strained and forced, but Merlin appreciated the effort nonetheless; it gave him some hope that maybe his relationship with the knights wasn't completely lost.
"Apparently so," he responded, clearing his throat when the words came out gruff and hoarse. Elyan didn't seem to have anything else to say and so remained silent. He finished tacking his horse and turned to leave.
"Would you—" Merlin blurted out before he knew exactly what it was that he wanted to ask. Elyan looked back at him. "Just…tell Gwen, would you?" Merlin finished eventually. "Tell her that it wasn't because I didn't trust her that I didn't tell her. I didn't want to put her in danger by making her complicit in my crimes. She would have been judged as harshly as I under Uther's laws."
Elyan examined him for a moment, his expression hard to read.
"And under Arthur's?" he asked softly.
Merlin looked away, unable to hold the knight's disconcertingly direct gaze as shame spread through him like fire. Elyan had a point, of course he did. Arthur was not his father; he had proved that long ago. Merlin had thought often that maybe he was making a mistake in not trusting in him to do the right thing, but when the alternative was his death or banishment, he hadn't been brave enough to take that chance.
He heard Elyan's footsteps retreating and he heaved a sigh, leaning for another moment on his mare's sturdy neck. He hoped that Gwen would understand. She had been his first friend in Camelot, and he didn't think he could bear to lose her, not after he'd already lost Arthur.
"Are you ready, Merlin?"
Merlin turned to see Mordred and Gerund on one side of the camp with reins in hand, the tent having been broken down and loaded onto the horses, and the rest of the party he had arrived with on the other, milling about a bit uncertainly. They were packed and ready to go, but they didn't seem willing to leave just yet. They kept shooting anxious looks at Arthur as though waiting for him to put a stop to all this ridiculousness, maybe to call Merlin back or even to order his arrest, but he just stood at the head of his party and waited.
Merlin led his mare to stand with Mordred's and turned to face his king. Well. Former king, now.
"We will be in contact shortly, I suppose," Arthur said stiffly, his diplomatic mask firmly in place.
"Of course," Merlin said, making an effort to keep his voice steady, to meet Arthur's blank gaze with his head held high despite the sliver of hurt driving into his stomach. As a newly crowned sovereign, he would no doubt have to correspond with plenty of foreign dignitaries to reaffirm ties and renegotiate alliances. It had nothing to do with him, with them, but with their kingdoms. He could expect nothing more.
That didn't stop him from adding, "Take care, Arthur." It was Arthur who looked away this time. He motioned to his knights and mounted his horse. The others followed suit, except for Gwaine, who lingered.
"You take care, too, Merlin," he said. "Look after yourself."
Merlin gave him a smile, a pathetic little thing but present even so.
"I will, Gwaine."
They nodded once more in lieu of a goodbye and Gwaine swung himself up into his saddle more smoothly than Merlin could ever hope to do. Arthur turned them towards Camelot and Merlin watched with a heavy heart as his friends disappeared into the trees.
Mordred put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, and Merlin was surprised by how much comfort he drew from the simple gesture, from the offering of support, from a face he knew, even if it was one that had brought only fear and dread for many months. He would need a familiar face in the days to come.
"We have a ways to go," Gerund said, subdued.
Merlin simply nodded and mounted his horse, the others doing the same on either side of him. It felt odd to be in the middle for once, Merlin mused, knowing that those beside him where there to protect him from threats to his person. He had never been important enough to warrant such a central position in a travelling party. He had always been on the fringes, his eyes and his magic roving the trees for signs of danger, ready to defend Arthur at all costs. This was certainly a change. He didn't protest the arrangement, though. He doubted there would be any point to it.
Gerund spurred his horse forward and led the way in the opposite direction.
They rode without speaking for a long time, not really having anything to say to one another. Merlin felt drained, like he'd been wrung out and squeezed dry. The upheavals of the previous day didn't seem to have left any emotion behind for this one. He let the gait of his horse soothe him into thoughtlessness, driving out any troublesome musings that would try to take over his mind in lieu of conversation with the steady clopping of hooves, the bunch and release of strong muscles beneath him. It worked for a while and he relished in the temporary absence of strong emotion wreaking havoc on his thought processes.
They rode on through the morning, making steady progress as the sun continued to rise. They stopped when it reached its zenith in order to rest and water the horses and eat some of the travel rations from their packs. Merlin sat on the bank of the small stream by which they had dismounted, refilling his water skin and just looking at the forest around them. Gerund's claim of safety from the night before had proven true and they had not encountered any hostile parties, nor any parties at all.
It was all very peaceful here, the trees lush and green and the animals watching them curiously and without a hint of fear as they passed close by. Even the sunlight seemed brighter as it filtered greenly through the canopy of leaves to cast dappled shadows on the forest floor, the cool air crisper and sweeter in his lungs, and Merlin's magic was practically glowing under his skin, pleading to be released, to reach out and meld with the earth beneath his feet.
"This place," he said without turning to his two companions, speaking quietly so as not to disturb the strange sanctity he felt here. "It's so…alive."
"The magic of this land is healthy and content," Gerund said. "We are in harmony with the earth, and we honor her as she deserves to be honored. In turn, she welcomes us."
Merlin turned to look at him.
"So that's what I'm feeling?" he asked. "The magic in the earth?" The dragon had said much the same thing when he'd asked about Carthis, that it was balanced.
Gerund nodded.
"I imagine the land in kingdoms such as Camelot has had the magic leached from it," he said with a deep sadness, feeling true pain at the thought of such a fate. "Nature is not so forgiving there as it is here."
As if to illustrate his point, a small rabbit, his spotted brown fur making him nearly invisible in the undergrowth, hopped forth from his warren to sniff curiously at Merlin's boot, only bounding away when the warlock stood up.
"How long until we reach Carthis?" he asked, noting the placement of the sun in the sky overhead. He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be.
"We have made good time so far," Gerund said. "We should reach the city in a few hours, maybe less than that." Merlin nodded and fiddled with his neckerchief, wincing as the bruises hidden by it twinged in protest. "Would you…would you like for me to heal those for you?" Gerund offered tentatively.
Merlin started, surprised; the idea of using magic to heal the bruises had not even occurred to him, though it probably should have. It would not be the best first impression to show up before the council in coarse, well-worn peasant's clothes, coated in three days' worth of travel grime, and with a distinct handprint round his throat.
"I guess you'd better," he conceded. "I've never gotten the hang of healing spells myself, no matter how many times I've tried."
Really, he would have thought by now, what with all the times Arthur had gotten injured or nearly killed, he would have managed a few simple healing spells. Alas, they just never seemed to work for him. He was better at hurting people than he was at healing them, he guessed. And wasn't that just the way of things.
"We have many renowned healers in Carthis, if you would like to learn more about the art of healing. They are always happy to share their knowledge and their skills with any who will stand still long enough to listen," Gerund said with a chuckle.
He stepped close and gently laid the palm of his hand along the side of Merlin's neck, just over his neckerchief where the bruises were visible. "Gelàcne," he intoned, the word tripping off his tongue with the ease of familiarity, and with none of the undertone of fear and caution that could be heard whenever Merlin spoke words of the Old Religion.
A rush of coolness flooded over his skin made him shiver with the sensation, but when Gerund moved away, the stiff soreness that had plagued him since his violent encounter with Arthur was gone and his skin was left unmarked.
"Thank you," he murmured, reaching up to trace the unblemished skin with the tips of his fingers. It tingled faintly under his touch, a remnant of Gerund's magic reacting to his.
Some small part of him felt guilty for allowing himself to be healed. He deserved those bruises for all he had done, for how he had hurt Arthur. He would have borne his punishment gladly for as long as he had to, but he understood that appearance was of the utmost importance in a royal court, and if he was to be accepted there—and he did want to be accepted, he realized, whether or not he actually wanted to be there at all—he could not show up looking like a vagabond who came out worst in a tavern brawl.
The three of them remounted their horses and rode once more for Carthis. Now that he was more aware of it, Merlin could feel the difference between this forest and the more familiar ones of Camelot as they travelled, the way their surroundings became more saturated with magic with every step they took toward the center of the kingdom. One glance at Mordred showed that he was feeling it too, an open sort of joy painted across his face. It was as if everything around them was vibrating, alive and somehow much more than itself.
It was more magic than Merlin had ever felt in one place, with the possible exception of the Isle of the Blessed, but all his journeys there had been tainted and overshadowed by the dark magic of the twisted High Priestesses that he had been fighting against at those times. This here was pure and balanced magic that called out to his own and made it sing in his veins. It was a beautiful feeling, intoxicating, making him feel a bit lightheaded if he focused on it for too long.
"Does everyone in Carthis have magic?" Mordred asked. Merlin turned, interest piqued, in time to see Gerund shake his head.
"Magic may be a prominent part of our culture, but no, not all of our citizens possess magic of their own. Magical and secular peoples live side by side in Carthis, coexisting peacefully," the mage said, unmistakable pride coloring his tone. "The kingdom was, however, founded with and by magic."
"How so?" Merlin asked curiously. "I realize that I know next to nothing about my own kingdom."
He tried to think back over his time in Camelot, even back to his childhood, searching for any reference made to Carthis, but he couldn't remember anything. If there had been talk of Carthis, it had never reached his ears. And now he found himself destined for the throne of a kingdom about which he knew only the barest of facts. He should know something, at least, by the time they got there. How could he rule a kingdom he did not understand?
"Carthis is one of the oldest kingdoms in all of Albion, and the kingdom with the most peaceful history," Gerund explained. "It has been ruled by one family and one family alone since it was first founded—your family, Merlin. You come from an ancient line of Dragonlords, powerful sorcerers all of them, descended from the very first man to be gifted with the ability.
"And, of course, no one wants to incur the wrath of a dragon by rising up against his Lord, but that is not why your family's reign has always been such a peaceful one. The wisdom and foresight of the dragons has long been key in allowing your ancestors to rule justly and mercifully, and the people have always flourished under their sovereignty."
Merlin found himself smiling, growing warm at the thought. Pride bloomed deep in his heart for the great deeds of the forefathers he had never known he had and the compassion they had displayed consistently for so many generations. His was a legacy of kindness and clemency, of peace and wisdom. He had never had a legacy before, something to live up to. It scared him a bit, knowing that the bar was set so high, but the warm feeling didn't fade even as the pressure to match them made his hands shake a bit.
"There have been few wars, and those only brief," Gerund continued. "For the most part, we have remained isolated. With the help of magic, Carthis is almost entirely self-sufficient. Outside trade is a benefit, of course, but it is not strictly a necessity. We could close our borders completely at a moment's notice if the need arose and bear very little hardship because of it."
"And you have never been attacked by the kingdoms that view magic in all its forms as a threat to be rid of?" Merlin asked.
It was hard to imagine that Uther had not ridden out immediately, in his grief and his paranoia, with an army at his back to force the perceived evil from the land. An entire kingdom of sorcerers. Surely he could not have turned a blind eye.
"Most were wise enough to stay their hand," Gerund said grimly, his expression hardening a bit. "Carthis is a small kingdom, but it is a mighty one. Our army is formidable, though it does get little use outside of reinforcing our borders and keeping the peace internally. There have been…infiltrations, on occasion, but they have only been successful a scant handful of times. Those few who did move against us learned quickly not to do so again."
Gerund's mouth tightened, his lips thinning as he pressed them together. Merlin remembered what he had been told in the tent, that his aunt Theanor had been assassinated. It seemed like the sort of thing Uther, or maybe someone like King Odin, would have ordered. He wondered bitterly if he would lose all his family to Uther's hatred of magic.
"And your forces," Mordred put in. "Are they solely mages, or do you employ secular knights as well?"
"We have those trained solely with weaponry as well as those learned in magic," Gerund told him, the tautness of his features giving way to an easy smile once more. "Even those who fight primarily with magic are required to be proficient with at least one secular weapon, though. There are a number of ways in which magic can be subdued, and it would not do for our sorcerers to be left defenseless in such a situation as that."
"I guess I'll have to work on my swordsmanship then," Merlin grumbled, not looking forward to the prospect.
Gerund chuckled.
"As sovereign, it will not be required that you train the knights and mages yourself. Queen Eleanor did not, though she herself was quite handy with a sword and a crossbow, and so others are already in place to do so. Unless, of course, you wish to take over."
"Oh no, no, no," Merlin said quickly. "I can barely hold a sword the right way up. And I don't have any magical training beyond what I've figured out through trial and error and a handful of spells from an old book I got when I was maybe seventeen. It wouldn't do to have me try to teach anyone anything."
Gerund laughed aloud at the vehemence of Merlin's denial.
"Well, we have the most learned and skilled masters in all the land, of magic and swordsmanship alike. If you would like to be taught rather than teach, then that can be arranged," he said with a smile. "I'm sure our High Priest would be thrilled to have a pupil so naturally gifted as you under his tutelage."
Merlin flushed in embarrassment, but he couldn't hide the thrill that went through him at the thought of actually studying magic, of being allowed to work and grow and test himself. He had never had the chance to push his boundaries, to learn the extent of his abilities. Maybe now he would finally get that chance.
"At what age do you usually begin your training?" Mordred inquired.
"Most show signs of magic around age ten, if they are to show any at all, but instruction can be found for any age group should they need it," Gerund explained.
Merlin marveled at the man's patience, to be answering all their questions with such a tolerant air, but he seemed to be enjoying their enthusiasm.
"The military training is much like that of secular knights, with youths working as assistants to more experienced fighters and learning from their example, and then entering a more regimented training program at around thirteen years. The youngest one can be knighted or dubbed a mage is sixteen years of age.
"Do you train the knights and mages yourself?" Merlin asked.
When Arthur was too busy with his kingly duties to train the knights himself as he would like, Leon, as his First Knight, would take on that responsibility in his stead. Gerund had introduced himself as the Foremost Mage of Carthis, and he had already told them that the Queen had not overseen the training, so it would stand to reason that it would fall to him.
"I used to," Gerund said with a modest dip of his head, "but I passed on that mantle a few years ago; my magic is still as strong as ever but I am getting far too old to be beaten down with a sword every day. For the last few years my primary duty has the protection of the queen."
"I presume you will be protecting me as well, then?" Merlin asked wryly.
He wasn't quite sure how he felt about people thinking that he needed to be protected. Lacking in formal training though he may be, he was still the most powerful warlock to ever exist, if the prophesies were to be believed. Besides, he had been doing the protecting for so long that he didn't think he knew how to do anything else.
"If you will have me," Gerund answered. "I would be glad to act in an advisory capacity as well, as I did with Eleanor for many years."
"Thanks for that. I think I'm probably going to need all the advice I can get," Merlin muttered darkly.
Gerund barked out another laugh, deep and full of true amusement. Even Mordred chuckled a bit.
"I think that you underestimate yourself, Merlin," the young knight said. "You have been advising Arthur on matters of state for a long time now. He has always trusted your judgment. You would do well to do the same."
Merlin shook his head, steadfastly ignoring the way he automatically relegated the statement to the past tense in his mind. Arthur had always trusted his judgment. Those days were long gone now, he was sure.
"That was different," he insisted. "Matters of morality and doing the right thing are something I feel comfortable taking a stand on. But I know nothing of politics and royal courts."
"You know far more than you think you do," Mordred said surely. "You just need to have faith in yourself."
Merlin sighed but didn't bother to argue the point any further. The dragon had said much the same thing. They both seemed to think that he was perfectly capable of this, of ruling a kingdom. If only he could have that same confidence in himself. Instead, all he had was a crippling fear of failure and a pervasive feeling of total inferiority. Somehow, he didn't think those would be conducive to a good rule.
A shiver of magic running down his spine and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end distracted him from his introspections. He immediately jerked his head up to scan the surrounding area, seeing no immediate signs of danger but knowing better than to assume that meant they were safe. Despite what many of the knights of Camelot seemed to think, magic was not all smoke and flame and loud noises. It could be invisible and silent while still being dangerous, killing you before you ever saw it coming.
"Peace, Merlin, all is well," Gerund assured him, having noticed his sudden vigilance but looking unconcerned. Mordred too was looking wary, a bit doubtful of his words.
"What was that?" Merlin asked suspiciously, all senses on high alert for the source of the magic he had felt.
"It was only the Perimeter," Gerund answered.
"The Perimeter?" Mordred questioned.
"It is a magical boundary that surrounds the main city of Carthis, about an hour out from the walls in every direction. Those sorcerers whose spells fortify it are alerted to anyone passing through."
"So they know that we're coming?" Merlin asked with a sinking feeling; he didn't like the thought of showing up to find a crowd waiting for him.
"They know that someone is coming," Gerund corrected him. "Three someones, to be exact. The more powerful of them may be able to recognize me, since they know me well and are familiar with my magical signature, but you are both unknown entities to them, never having passed through the Perimeter before. Individuals and small groups that pass through are mostly ignored, as they are usually just travelers or hunting parties. Larger groups warrant more attention, as you can imagine."
"So we'll be reaching the city soon?" Mordred asked, unable to contain the excitement he felt at the prospect. His eyes were wide and he clutched at the reins of his horse with a white knuckle grip, looking as though he might vault right out of his seat and run to Carthis if that would get him there more quickly.
"Within the hour," Gerund confirmed.
Merlin's stomach was an uncomfortable knot of conflicted emotions vying for dominance. A part of him was as excited as Mordred was, thrilled beyond belief at the thought of experiencing freedom and acceptance the likes of which he had never even dreamt of before. Another part still shrunk back in fear at the daunting task he had been given and the very real consequences that would befall the people of Carthis should he not prove to be worthy of the position he was to take up.
And another part, deeper down beneath all the others, yearned to reach out, to learn of his own history, his ancestors, his father. He had spent years in his childhood trying to bury those feelings, that desire to know someone he would never be able to, but now it was all within his grasp and that desperate need for kinship, for understanding, came flooding back. Even if he had never been there before, hardly even heard of it, Carthis was his; it was in his blood, and something in him seemed to know that, reaching out to the home of his forefathers.
The first thing he saw of Carthis was the tip of a tower, with a long blue banner emblazoned with the crest of his family flapping in the light easterly wind. Merlin's hand found the signet ring he had left in his pocket, tracing the intricate patterns with the pad of his thumb but making no move to put it on, not yet at least.
The tower, he marveled as they drew nearer, was far more slender and delicate than it should have been for its impressive height. Its snowy white stone shone almost painfully bright against the blue of the cloudless sky at its back. More and more of the structure became visible over the line of trees, beautifully designed and masterfully built.
It had been constructed with magic, it had to have been. By all rights, the weight of the soaring towers and high walls should have been too much for the slim stones, far thinner than those of Camelot's castle, to support, but he could feel that this castle had stood proudly for many hundreds of years.
"It's beautiful," Mordred breathed in awe.
Merlin nodded his agreement, momentarily struck dumb at the crushing realization that this castle was his, his by right of birth. His father had grown up in this glorious structure, had run and played in its corridors, had attended meetings and feasts in its banquet halls, had been offered its throne and turned it down, and now it would all fall to him.
He wondered if Arthur felt this way upon seeing Camelot's castle, overwhelmed and humbled, hardly daring to believe that such a thing could possibly be meant for him. He thought that he understood now why Arthur second guessed his every decision, rethinking and over-thinking every choice that he was expected to make until he nearly drove himself mad with it. It was all to be sure, absolutely sure, that he did the best that he could by those living in the shadow of his castle.
And Merlin would do the same, he knew. He was not worthy of this, this magnificent palace or the enormous weight of responsibility that it carried with it, of that he was sure. But if the responsibility would be his to bear anyway, then he would do his damnedest to make himself so.