A/N: I know it's been a while and I apologize. I've been trying to get an online shop for my art up and running, and it's kept me pretty busy.
Arthur had set Likmus up with a chamber of his own, and he ran there now, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Likmus!" he cried as soon as he neared the doorway.
"Yes, my lord?" The Druid looked up and Arthur observed there was a white powder dusting his cheeks and hair. Suddenly, sickeningly, he saw a pestle in Likmus's hand, and realized he was grinding up Balinor's bones. There was no time for squeamishness, however.
"The spell. The Dragon King or whatever it was called. You have to do it now."
"So soon? My lord, if we—"
"It's not for Morgana. It's for Merlin."
Likmus rose to his feet, his expression bewildered, and Arthur wondered if he hadn't caught a hint of partially concealed anger there.
"Sire, if I may… respectfully… advise—"
"He's gone, Likmus, and I need you to bring him back."
"The materials for the spell are unbelievably rare, sire. If I use them now, for Merlin, it may be months before I can ready the spell again for Morgana. That's assuming I can even perform it a second time. The Pool of Nemhain is difficult at best to reach, and unless you know where a second Dragonlord is buried-"
"I don't care," Arthur interjected. "Merlin's flying right into a trap and I can't get through to him."
"I understand the gravity of the situation, my lord, but think of Camelot. What if Morgana was to launch an attack now? We'd be entirely vulnerable. For all we know, she could have been waiting for this very moment."
Arthur paused, his mind in turmoil. The idea of Merlin in danger had been blinding, but Likmus was right. He couldn't forsake the safety of his kingdom.
"There has to be something else you can do. Some other spell." He alighted on the dragonskin book and thrust it at the Druid. "We've got to hurry."
"My lord, I am in the midst of preparing the drakalos tossa. Do you think it wise to leave it unfinished with the threat of an attack looming?"
"Can't you just try?" Arthur glared at Likmus, who suddenly seemed very recalcitrant.
"Of course." He appeared to recollect himself and even formed a smile as he leafed through the book. "Although I doubt there will be anything here, sire."
There was a pause, broken every few moments by the sound of shuffling pages.
"There's nothing," Likmus said finally.
"Not in that book, no." Arthur squared his shoulders, and it became apparent very quickly that he was far taller and stronger than the Druid. "I'm sure you have others. I just need to talk to him. He's too far, and I'd only be reaching the dragon part of him, besides. I need to talk to Merlin."
"I might know a spell," Likmus admitted. "Not overly difficult, either." He gestured to a worktable not unlike the one in Gaius's chambers as he rifled through boxes and shelves, procuring a bowl of opal. It glittered with rich greens and blues, but when Likmus poured the contents of a few vials into its depths, the stone turned jet black. "Forgive me sire, but might I… That is, for the spell, I…"
"Out with it, we don't have all day."
"I need a drop of your blood, sire." He was holding out an ornamental dagger as if to prick Arthur himself, but the king glowered at him and took the blade, swiping it across his palm and squeezing until rivulets of crimson ran from his hand and into the fount. As when Likmus had added the vials, the opal changed again. Now the bowl itself was as clear as glass, but nebulas of black and electric crimson hung, frozen, in its walls.
"You may reach out to him now," Likmus leaned back.
"How?" Arthur stared down at the inky liquid and was surprised to find no reflection staring back.
"It's difficult to explain to an… erm, to someone without magic." He paused. "Everyone has an aura, sire. You're calling out to Merlin's. It might be hard for you to picture, so perhaps it might be easier to imagine memories. His voice, his face. It's a little more rudimentary, but it should still work."
"Are those my sausages?"
"Mm."
"You took them."
"To keep you in shape."
"Are you saying I'm fat?"
"No!... Well, not yet."
"I am not fat!"
"You see? It's working!"
"You coughed. Deliberately."
"Ah. I knew you would discover my secret in the end. There is just no fooling you, my lord.
"If I need a servant in the next life—"
"Don't ask me!"
"I always thought that if things had been different, we'd have been good friends."
"Yeah."
꜡ⱷⱵⱴⱶ, ȝͱƣƪ!
There was a sound in his head, not quite speech. It were familiar enough that Emrys understood someone was trying to communicate with him, someone he knew, someone he trusted, but there was something far more pressing on his mind and he ignored the cries.
ⱷⱵⱴⱶ! ƪⱵⱷɕȝⱷ!
He was a creature of rage. He had awoken as if from a dream, and all he knew was a terrible sense of loss and anger. Something had been lost. Someone. And just as he knew that something awful had occurred, he also knew that the one who had done it was waiting for him in the west.
He could feel it even now—a blackness radiating from the shore where he'd been born. It wasn't a single aura like everyone else he'd ever met, a spot of light and existence; this being contained no light at all. It was the absence of light, and it was massive. It ebbed and pulsed around a point. It was trying to speak to him, too, in hundreds of different tongues, and one was in a language he could understand.
Come and play, it said. I'm waiting.
He sped on and soon he could see the ruins of the Isle of the Blessed rising in his vision, a dark tower surrounded on all sides by what could only be an army. Warning bells were pinging in his head, and he would have ignored them all, had one not been accompanied by a burst of gold.
Merlin.
It was the yellow light and he recognized it instantly. At first it was from a dream, then from the woods, then from Avalon. And he was saying a name and it wasn't Emrys but it was his all the same.
Merlin, please, turn back.
The voice made him want to sleep—no, to change, he recognized, but he was getting so close to the isle and to the one who had killed—
Gaius, his name was Gaius, another voice was saying. The one who had been trying to reach him before. Somehow the man from Avalon had broken through and now the other was speaking urgently.
Other names were coming back in a flurry and now he wasn't Emrys, he was Merlin.
It's a trap. Nimueh will kill you. It was Arthur.
You have to change back now, before you're lost again, Kilgharrah said.
Come home.
"Nimueh's army." His wingbeats faltered but they did not stop. "She'll attack Camelot."
Her army is too great for you to face alone, young warlock. It can and will be defeated, but not like this.
"She killed Gaius," Merlin said, and the memories were flooding in, and they hurt. "I can't… He can't…"
Come home, Merlin, Arthur repeated softly.
Merlin turned around.