Strongest of the Warlocks: Chapter Twenty-Six: Birthright

AN: Thanks for all the kind words, sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter out, but here it is, at last! And gosh is Merlin's family complicated!


Merlin came around slowly. In reality, she'd been coming in and out, too weakened to move. The spell, she'd known, would completely tax her, but she hadn't been expecting how everything faded with it. Her body was in agony, every bit of her aching from the power she'd exerted from the spell. Breathing was difficult and her heart felt like it was getting slower and slower.

"Aurelius, you push yourself too much," an unfamiliar voice hummed and Merlin couldn't even drag her eyes open when strong arms came up under her, carrying her away. She was settled onto something soft and a hand cupped the back of her head to tip water down her throat. At least, Merlin's dazed mind thought it was water, but it was tainted from metal and herbs.

She didn't have the time or the care to dwell on it, because, as soon as she swallowed, consciousness fled her.

It could've been minutes or hours or even days before Merlin stirred once more, body still aching as she raised an arm to rub at her eyes. Then awareness hit her like an arrow in the chest and she shot up in the bed, blinking owlishly as she looked around the dimly lit room, the walls hollowed, water trickling…was she in a cave?

And it was only then that she noticed there was someone else there.

Danu had been older and taller with a more maternal appearance, and this woman couldn't have been more different. Her hair was a bright, vibrant red, plaited intricately back to reveal the dark eyes, wearing a combination of leather and metal armor, with a curved helmet sitting at her booted feet.

"Well met, Merlin Ambrosius Aurelius," she said, a smirk warming across her face and Merlin groaned loudly, pressing her hands into her face.

"I keep telling you people," she complained, "I'm not this person you think I am."

Rather than be annoyed at Merlin's continued refusal, this woman's smirk merely widened. "I think a life of thinking you are lesser has made it impossible for you to view yourself as someone created and gifted by the gods."

Merlin lowered her hands to glare at the woman.

"I'm Brigid," she offered helpfully. "The second aspect of the Triple Goddess."

"Yeah, I kind of assumed." First Danu, now Brigid, maybe Merlin would round the day off with the third aspect. She twisted slightly to set her feet on the ground, and that combined with how sharply she had sat up hadn't done her any favors. Her head spun and without being asked there was something between Merlin's hands that she immediately vomited into.

It took her a few seconds to realize it was Brigid's helmet. "Um," Merlin said intelligently, "sorry."

Brigid remained unconcerned, waving a hand, vanishing the vomit and returning the helmet to the ground, scrutinizing her intently. "To be perfectly honest, I'm more surprised you have the strength the sit up after the sheer amount of magic you poured into that spell. Anyone else would be dead."

Merlin looked down at her hands, shaking in her lap. "Well, I'm not feeling the best, if it's any consolation."

Brigid didn't smile. "You're very lucky; you were just barely strong enough to make it work. I can count on one hand and still have fingers left over the number of sorcerers that would be able to accomplish a spell of that magnitude. Most of them are dead now."

Merlin personally wouldn't mind that, at least she'd feel a bit better. Her shirt was smoldering a little, her skin burned underneath from one of Nimueh's fireballs that she hadn't managed to dodge, and pushing up her sleeves showed an assortment of bruises dappling her arms that hadn't been there before. And she was definitely feeling a little feverish.

"That kind of power isn't something that you're used to and it did more damage to your body than perhaps you were expecting." Brigid's fingers fluttered again and Merlin gasped, her skin heating, the burn bubbling away, and the ribs Merlin hadn't even realized were broken, snapping back into place.

"Thanks," she said thickly over the throbbing and the goddess nodded simply.

"Nimueh has been returned to what she was before," she added, "a water nymph bound to never leave the water again."

That seemed well-deserved if you asked Merlin.

"Now, you and I have much to speak of."

Merlin furrowed her brow in confusion. "What d'you mean?" Speaking to Danu had been a chance meeting; this was less so. She eyed Brigid suspiciously. "I've not offended you somehow, have I? And you're here to settle the score?"

That actually made Brigid laugh, a sharp guttural noise that could've easily come from a wolf. "No. What I do have is knowledge that I must impart on you. And if you wait and listen, I will give you a way to heal Arthur Pendragon."

Merlin was briefly struck dumb. "And my mother?" she asked suddenly. "What about my mother?"

"Your mother is recovering. Nimueh was the source of her ailment and Nimueh no longer has the magic to keep it going, but Arthur's is more complicated; the bite of a Questing Beast is no mere thing. We'll get to that, there's something else I need to talk to you about."

Merlin's eyebrow twitched. "What's more important than saving a life?"

"Elmet is," Brigid said and Merlin's mouth snapped shut. "You know that better than most, even if you don't understand why. Danu gave you the basics, I'm here to give you the whole story."

"Not sure I can really handle the full story if people keep going out of their way to kill me," Merlin muttered to herself, shivering slightly. A second later there was a blood-stained cloak around her. Brigid straightened it around her shoulders.

"There will always be others that seek to harm you, especially with your unique lineage, but be comforted by the fact that Nimueh can no longer stand against you."

Merlin sighed heavily. "I'm not this—"

"Just listen. Please."

Merlin fell silent. She'd never heard of a god saying 'please' and it startled her more than anything else.

"How old were you when you knew you wanted to go to Elmet?"

"Twelve," Merlin said immediately but then she froze. No, that wasn't right. She was twelve when she finally wore Iseldir down enough for her to take her. He'd joked that it had taken him so long because he was afraid she'd never leave; somehow it was less of a joke now. She'd been younger, much younger.

"Did your mother ever tell you about where you were born?" Brigid asked instead, making Merlin frown.

"No, not really," she admitted, "just that she was on the road…you're not saying that—"

"I'll come back to that," Brigid decided, raising her voice slightly to speak over Merlin and the sudden rumble of her stomach, reminding her -embarrassingly- that she'd skipped breakfast and lunch and was well on her way to dinner. She blinked and suddenly there was a bowl of steaming broth in her hands. It smelled delicious and there were a few mushrooms and celery pieces floating in it. She lifted it to her lips and swallowed, the broth scorching all the way down to her stomach, but Merlin couldn't bring herself to care. "Danu did tell you the basics, Nimueh was the Court Sorcerer to King Cian of Elmet and she did curse him…but there's so much more to the story than you realize."

Merlin frowned, continuing to swallow soup until she was crunching on celery, waiting for the tale to begin.

"Let me tell you a story," Brigid said, "about a man named Cian who fell in love with the Lady of the Lake, Vivienne."

That made Merlin's eyes bulge and she coughed thickly, barely managing to swallow what was left of her celery. "What?" she gasped, her eyes stinging. "I thought the Lady of the Lake was Nimueh…that's what I was told."

"Vivienne was who Nimueh was before the magic she used corrupted her." Brigid couldn't really offer anything else, her mouth twisting. "The more she learned, the less she was recognizable as Queen Vivienne, until eventually she was forgotten completely, leaving only power-hungry Nimueh in her place."

Merlin swallowed thickly, eyes fixed on her bowl, just so she wouldn't look at Brigid.

"Now, Cian was an inquisitive boy that grew into a patient man who fell in love with Vivienne little by little until he made a request of Us; grant Vivienne a mortal body so that he might marry her and make her his queen."

It seemed oddly romantic but Merlin knew that it ended tragically.

"We granted his wish and he and Vivienne ruled peacefully until the day he decided to teach her magic without knowing the dangers of diving deep without a lifeline to pull you back."

Merlin blinked. That was the first thing that Iseldir had taught her, because magic, like most things, was a tool. You had to practice with it to keep it sharp because one that was dull was prone to do more unintentional damage and casting without restraint led to serious and often fatal consequences. Just look at what happened to her.

(Merlin had seen a spell backfire rather terribly once and the caster hadn't survived. The stony expression on Iseldir's face as he made her promise that she'd take care with her casting was something that stayed in Merlin's memory no matter how long ago it had been)

"For many years, they ruled in harmony, bringing peace throughout the land. Elmet was the envy of other nations, so fertile and blessed. To be within Elmet was to breathe the cleanest air, was to see the clearest skies, was to grow the freshest fruits. Elmet was—"

"Paradise," Merlin knew instantly.

Brigid nodded solemnly. "To those that had never seen Avalon, yes, it was…and with that peace, Cian and Vivienne found the time to further their line, to sire a son who would one day inherit their kingdom, a boy named Balinor who became the first Dragonlord."

"Dragonlord?" Merlin repeated. She'd never heard of such a thing.

"A title that was granted to him, alone as he was with his ability to speak to and tame dragons…Balinor called them his spiritual brothers," she sounded almost fond. "And teaching others to do the same was no simple feat, yet he rose to the challenge."

"You gave him that gift?" Merlin guessed.

"Well," Brigid mused, "not just any child of eight summers can track me down and beg for the power to speak to dragons…but I understand he and Kilgharrah were quite inseparable afterwards."

"Kilgharrah?" Merlin breathed, her eyes wide. "You mean the dragon under Camelot…that was his childhood friend?"

"Yes," Brigid said thinly. "Uther feared dragons almost as much as he feared magic, and speaking Dragon-tongue was a quick way to cut your life short. Many sorcerers found that out the hard way when Uther had them rounded up and executed until all that remained was the Dragonlord himself…no one had quite a bounty on their head like Balinor had."

Merlin blinked rapidly, trying to tamp down on the righteous fury that rose up inside her, only just, barely quelled by a lifetime of experience in not showing how she felt. So many skilled sorcerers, so much magic lost because of one tyrannical man. Her fingers burned blackened spots into her wooden bowl.

Then she had to think about it. "Wait…there's no way he could've still been alive, I mean, Elmet fell…centuries ago." She caught sight of Brigid's growing smile. "What's the lifespan of a nymph?"

Brigid's eyes gleamed, glad Merlin had picked up on that. "Very long. Unlike Cian, Balinor looked little more than thirty summers after more than two centuries of life."

"So Balinor's still around?" Merlin didn't know why she was so curious.

"He might be," Brigid conceded slyly, "but I'm getting off track with my story."

Merlin thought the entire story had been off-track to start with, but Merlin wasn't about to tell Brigid that. Inciting chaos in her present condition wasn't the smartest idea.

"When Vivienne became Nimueh, she forgot everything she knew, everything she was," Brigid explained, "it was a hard process to watch, especially for her husband and son…and when she cursed the land, its people had to flee in order to survive. Balinor was forced to abandon his father, trapped, unable to die, unable to rest, for hundreds of years, as his once prosperous kingdom became barren and lifeless."

That was horrible, Merlin could admit that, especially being one who had been to Elmet and seen what it was and what it could be again, but she still didn't understand what it had to do with her.

"While fleeing from Uther and his men, Balinor was found weak and injured by a woman who happened to be strolling through the forest at the time, who took him home and cared for him." Brigid's eyes were glittering. "Tell me, does this sound familiar?"

"Oh no," Merlin said with growing horror.

"The man I am speaking of is your father."

"Oh, Goddess, please no." Merlin pressed her hands to her face. This was the exact opposite of what she needed. The identity of her father had never been something that she'd particularly care about, not when he'd abandoned her mother before she'd even known she was pregnant. A part of her had rationalized it, of course, it had been the time of the Great Purge and he probably would've been killed if he stayed, but there was something eternally angering about the fact that your father didn't even bother to come back at all in the past eighteen years…

Merlin was annoyed by it, but Iseldir was a far better, a far kinder man than any father she could hope for.

"Wait," she said, her eyes bulging, glancing up to where the seaside was undoubtedly located above ground, where Nimueh had been forcibly dragged through not long ago, kicking and screaming. "That was my grandmother?"

Goddess, that was even more horrifying than the revelation about her father.

"If you want to think of it like that." Brigid shrugged. "But Nimueh has no memory of the love she had for her family, no knowledge of her family at all. For all intents and purposes, Vivienne is dead and all that remains is Nimueh, and there is no sorcerer who has the level of skill to piece together memories as destroyed as that."

"But that would make Cian…" It hit her like a brick to the face. Of course, several people now had called her 'princess', including Cian, and many druids called her 'lady' with reverence that she'd always assumed just had to do with her being the goddaughter to their chieftain and a skilled healer. It had always seemed to her to be more of an endearment than an actual title.

Somehow it was even worse to find out how wrong she actually was.

Merlin was gaping at the unshakable Brigid, who didn't seem to notice the sheer state of her shock.

"I-I need a drink," Merlin decided, and Merlin didn't even like wine all that much but she was definitely going to need some to get through this conversation.

No sooner than she'd said it, there was a goblet in her hand, the empty bowl of soup whisked away. She downed it without looking and was reduced to a coughing fit as it burned all the way down.

"Feel better?" Brigid asked.

"No," Merlin coughed. "You can't just spring this stuff on me! I can't be some princess! I'm not this great gift that you and Iseldir think I am! I'm just a healer!"

"A healer who had to become a warrior." Brigid arched an eyebrow. "One that has faced many foes and lived to tell the tale. You might not believe me now, but let it seep in, daughter of Balinor, because Elmet is waiting for you, it has been waiting for you this whole time. The granddaughter of Cian, heir apparent to Elmet whose first breath awakened the earth at your very touch…you are capable of so many things, Merlin Ambrosius Aurelius, you just don't realize it yet." Brigid's eyes were glowing with unearthly power. "You thought your destiny was to exist in Arthur's shadow, to make him become great while you fade into obscurity. I'm here to tell you that you're wrong. You are Our gift to the world, born of magic, of the earth, of the sea, and of the sky. You will breathe life back into Elmet, you will bring magic back to the land, because that is what you were born for. To heal is, and always will be, your greatest gift. You and Arthur may be two halves of the same coin, but that doesn't mean you can't exist apart from one another. You can both bring justice and honor to your respective kingdoms."

Merlin blinked furiously. "That sounds like a lot of faith."

"It is, isn't it?" Brigid mused, standing tall, making a gesture towards Merlin to follow, and she did, though much slower and much more confused than when she started.

Brigid only stopped when she reached the altar that had likely been once used for ritualistic sacrifice, twisting around, this time with a small goblet in hand. It was molded silver with delicate rune work, the kind that Iseldir had drilled into Merlin over and over when she was ten.

She held it out to Merlin, who took it a bit clumsily as the goddess raised her hands to the sky and Merlin tilted her head back to see the clouds come together, gradually darkening until the rain began to pour down. It was dousing Merlin and she couldn't even feel it, only hearing how it made soft tinkling sounds against the silver as it filled the goblet, only easing when it was filled to the brim.

Brigid took the goblet, brandishing a thin flask that Merlin was certain hadn't been there a moment ago.

"This is the Cup of Life," Brigid told her. "Blessed by centuries of powerful sorcery so that it contains the very secret of life itself. If Arthur drinks water from the cup he will live." She poured the water into the flask without spilling a single drop, offering it to Merlin who took it gingerly, sliding the top tightly over it.

"And you're just giving it to me?" Merlin asked dubiously. "Even knowing who his father is?"

"To hold someone accountable for their parents' shortcomings is a human flaw," Brigid said dryly, "and not one I am known for. The boy is capable of change, but you would know better than me." Then she reached behind her to pull out a small box. "This was your grandfather's. I hope that the day you return to set him free, you will be wearing it."

Merlin opened the box to see a beautiful blue labradorite nestled in crafted silver. The overwhelming urge to slide it onto her ring finger almost pulled her under, but then she snapped it shut, clearing her throat and shoving it into her pocket. She looked up and Brigid had vanished and so had the Isle, leaving Merlin knocked to her knees on the shoreline. Water soaked her knees and her fingers brushed against metal.

The sword she had forged in Kilgharrah's breath was in the shallows waiting for her, like it had been there the whole time when Merlin knew full well that she had flung it hard into the center of the lake.

She lifted it up with the hand that wasn't clutching the flask tightly, its weight familiar to her.

Forged in a dragon's breath…surely that would be strong enough to break the chains that had bound him for nearly twenty years…

Triton moved towards her, nickering softly in something that might've been construed as worry.

"I'm fine," Merlin told him absently, patting his neck, "just a little out of sorts is all."

A lot out of sorts, if she was being perfectly honest, but Merlin still had a job to do, so she stuffed the flask in her bag and the sword into her belt, and hoisted herself up onto Triton's saddle. She gave him a small nudge, and they were off. But she couldn't help turning her head to look back, watching as the isle disappeared slowly behind the obscuring fog until it was hidden from view once again.


"How is he?" Merlin asked once she'd returned to the palace to see the crowd of people in the courtyard outside, holding lit candles aloft. Merlin wasn't sure she liked the idea of premature mourning when Arthur wasn't even dead yet.

Gwen shook her head, her lower lip trembling. "He's not doing well," she admitted quietly, looking back to the bed and Merlin moved past her to press the back of her hand to his flaming brow before sliding her fingers down to the side of his neck where his pulse throbbed slowly. Merlin pretended she didn't notice when Gwen scrubbed at her eyes.

Gwen, who hadn't seemed to like Arthur all that much when Merlin first met her-maybe not outright dislike but certainly indifference- had certainly changed her tune slowly but surely over the past few months, and maybe Merlin had noticed his eyes lingering a bit more on her than visiting noblewomen but she'd been more focused at the time on trying to keep herself from being outed.

"They've started to say goodbye," Gwen added sullenly.

"I noticed," Merlin said, pulling the flask out and holding it up to the light. Surely a goddess wouldn't lie about its healing properties?

"What's that?" Gwen asked, drawn to the flask. "A cure?"

"Hopefully," Merlin said, still on the fence about it, but Arthur would die if she did nothing. "Hold his mouth open, would you?" But before she could begin to pour the water, they were interrupted.

"What are you doing?" Uther, it seemed, was too tired -emotionally or physically, it was hard to say- to be demanding and Merlin had a brief moment where she completely blanked on the explanation that she'd come up with for what was in the flask before she quickly recovered.

"It's a tincture, sire," Merlin said simply, "made from juniper and the lobelia plant." She could just feel herself beginning to sweat under his scrutiny.

"A cure?" Merlin hated the hope in his eyes, hated that she'd put it there; giving Uther the Tyrant hope was the last thing she wanted to do.

"If we're lucky," was all Merlin said, turning her back to him to slowly pour the water into his mouth, watching him swallow little by little of the precious water until the flask was empty and Arthur's breathing eased. She didn't feel the need to explain herself as she took Gwen's wrist and tugged her gently out of the room. "Can you keep an eye on him for me?"

"Sure," Gwen seemed nonplussed as Merlin started walking away, startled to see her draw a different sword from the one belted at her hip from behind a large potted shrub. She swore it glowed eerily. "Where are you going?"

"To see my mother," she said first, and then, more solemnly, "and to correct a mistake." Somehow, Gwen liked that response even less as Merlin stormed off.

And she didn't look back to see not just Gwen, but Gaius as well, who was watching her with a concern that burned into unease, thinking of a man she was so very much like and wondering not for the first time if Merlin had ever met her birth father.

He was starting to see Merlin as Balinor was; a powerful adversary to Camelot who wouldn't be against slitting the throat of its king. Gaius had played his part in the Purge and he'd told himself so many times that it was for the good of Camelot.

It was for the good of Camelot that men and women and children burned. It was for the good of Camelot that Nimueh's craft wasn't allowed to be practiced any longer.

He'd told himself that so many times that it had become the truth.

And he truly feared the day when Merlin stood apart from Camelot, because Gaius served Camelot and had made the harsh choice of revealing the identities of powerful sorcerers before, he only hoped he wouldn't have to do it again.

The air felt impossibly cold suddenly, like winter had come on suddenly without warning; Gaius breathed out a cloud of breath.

It felt like he'd garnered the attention of some unearthly being, but nothing was said to him, so he continued on, rubbing his fingers together for warmth, unaware of the icy eyes following his movements.


Hunith came around slowly, in a bit of a haze, and the first thing she saw was a long braid of pure black, looped over one shoulder as she slept with her cheek resting on her fist; it didn't like an all too comfortable position.

She reached out and squeezed her daughter's hand, that single touch bringing her around, blinking the blue eyes that were so like her father's hazily, clearing them of the fog brought on by sleep.

"You didn't tell me you were traveling with Iseldir," was the first thing Merlin said and Hunith startled faintly, a bit of color warming her cheeks, "you must like him a lot."

"Oh, hush now," Hunith swatted her slightly. "Allow me this happiness, dear."

"I do," Merlin insisted, "and I'm glad…but you can tell me these things, Mum."

"I was more worried that someone might read your mail in Camelot," Hunith admitted and Merlin gave a conceding grunt, checking her mother's temperature, the fluttering pulse at her throat, and how easily and deep her breathing was. "Am I cured?"

"The person that cursed you doesn't have a human form anymore," Merlin said with a nonchalance that Hunith wasn't familiar with.

"So, they're dead?" She was confused.

"No, I'm pretty sure she's still alive." Merlin seemed remarkably irritated about it before brightening. "Well, she's not really happy with her situation so that's the upside."

Hunith was so very confused.

"Mum," Merlin said so suddenly, with such a change in tone that Hunith couldn't help but pay attention. "My father's name—"

"Merlin," Hunith could feel her age weighing down on her. How many times had she asked Merlin not to ask about her father? Thinking about Balinor brought her so much pain and sadness. Not that her time with Balinor had been bad, just that she'd spent so many nights in the deepest, darkest places wondering if it had just been a random fling or she was truly the reason Balinor had never returned.

And years later when Merlin had dragged an unconscious Percival home, Hunith had feared the same for her daughter, but there had been something about the way that Percival had lingered the way he was a seemingly gentle giant even when Merlin wasn't around…she'd come around slowly to him and Merlin still wore his gifts and spoke with a smile that had no hint of sadness when he was mentioned.

It was more than she could've hoped for.

"Was his name Balinor?" Merlin barreled on, an edge to her voice that Hunith wasn't familiar with.

"Yes," she said, startled to hear his name after so long, "why?"

Merlin pressed a hand to her face. "Oh, no reason," she grumbled, "I'm just dealing with inescapable fate on a royal scale."

Hunith's head was still muddled from the fever and she was having a hard time following. Even her awareness, which had come abruptly, was fading fast.

Merlin sighed. "Get some sleep, Mum, we'll talk soon."

And that was the last thing Hunith remembered as she shut her eyes, delving into a deep slumber.

When her mother's breathing had evened out, Merlin shot Iseldir -who had been hovering nearby- a scowl. "Talk."

Iseldir had to know. Her mother had confided in him long before she'd fallen in love with him and left her home in Ealdor to be with him.

"Uther asked your father to use his power to bring the last dragon to Camelot," Iseldir spoke carefully, like he was afraid of setting her off, "this was before the Purge was fully underway, you see, and he claimed to want to make peace with it, but—"

"But instead, he imprisoned him in a cavern beneath the castle." Merlin was furious, even having heard the truth from Brigid, more furious than she'd even been with Nimueh. Magic had corrupted Nimueh, that wasn't her fault, not really, but Uther was an ordinary, power-hungry man and every day she found more and more reasons to hate the man.

No matter what Gaius or Arthur claimed, Merlin could see no good in him.

"Balinor ran, and after murdering the rest of his kind, Uther set his sights on him, seeking him out even in Cenred's kingdom."

Merlin's teeth ground together. She remembered the last bit; it was the only information her mother had ever told her about her father. "But he never came back."

Iseldir pursed his lips. "No, he didn't."

Merlin wondered just how many secrets about her Iseldir had been carrying over the years, but somehow, nothing quite compared to what Brigid had revealed.

But in that moment, she couldn't think of Balinor or Cian or Nimueh or Elmet. In that moment, she thought only of Kilgharrah, trapped in the bowels of Camelot, chained for nearly two decades.

She knew Camelot would suffer for what she did next but then she thought of Uther and his senseless slaughter and thought it was just desserts.

So, she took the sword from where she had tucked it and returned to Camelot, sneaking past the guards, silently making her way into the deepest bowels of the castle. Kilgharrah didn't stop her from taking the steps down to where his chains were tight around his clawed feet. And Merlin raised the sword and brought it down hard with one fell swoop, freeing the great beast from his nearly two-decade long imprisonment.

And his almighty roar split the sky.