Prince and Pauper
Gaius was horrified when Merlyn told him that she had been the one to release the prisoners. He clipped her on the back of the head and set to ranting and raving as he paced, leaving Merlyn to tap her foot in anxiousness while she waited him out. If she delayed too long, Arthur would come searching, suspicious on what had caused the holdup – as if informing her guardian of Arthur's demand would not take a little time.
"You're lucky he didn't inform the king immediately! What would you have done then, Merlyn? You cannot protect Arthur if you are dead!"
It had already been ten minutes and Merlyn still had to tell Gaius that the prince knew of and wanted him to create a Magical Cuff.
"What a stupid thing to do, girl! I thought I taught you better than this! I knew you were reckless but actively breaking the laws when Arthur is already suspicious of you is asking for the pyre!"
Merlyn blew a strand of hair out of her face, not having bothered to tie it up since she still had another two days of the stocks before it was all over. The only reason she was free now was because it was late at night and Arthur wanted Gaius to begin his task immediately.
"What do you have to say for yourself? What idiocy could have driven you this time, hmm?"
She blinked when he paused, looking up to meet his raised eyebrow and expectant glare. She said, "Arthur also knows about the Magical Cuff and has ordered you to create it."
Gaius stared, gobsmacked for a minute before he started sputtering, "How in the name of the Fate's – when did he – how did he find out? Did you tell him? Of all the things, girl! Of all the things to let slip!"
"I didn't let it slip!" she defended, feeling attacked. "He had read about cuffing magic in one of the magical books he browsed and when I said the same word, he realised it had more significance than a trinket. You know I'm rubbish at lying on the spot! He caught me out and knew I knew something. He would have forced it from me one way or the other."
"This is just…" he turned away, appearing unable to find the appropriate expression. He raised a hand to his forehead and Merlyn regretted the stress she was creating. If she could leave him out of it, she would, but Arthur would not condone it and the physician was the most knowledgeable man in Camelot regarding sorcery.
"I cannot do this," he mumbled, lumbering over to the table and lowering himself onto the seat. "I will not make something that will be used against you. I refuse. He can hang me if he must, but I refuse."
"Gaius…" she whispered, aghast. "You must! I cannot let you die for me."
"Then flee, Merlyn," he stated like it was simple. "Find the druids. Go back to Ealdor. Be anywhere that isn't here, where you will not suffer such a burden."
She shook her head, shocked he would say such a thing. "I cannot," she refused firmly. "My place is here, by Arthur's side. And you know he will hunt me down if I leave. I cannot run from this, Gaius, and I need your help."
"Merlyn –"
"No!" she snapped, his arguments only making her feel worse. Any alternative he mentioned, she had already contemplated. If she wanted magic accepted, and Arthur alive when it happened, then she had to remain. "He wants nothing to do with magic right now. I cannot run away, and he will expose me to the King if I do not comply. Please…" she begged. "I don't have a choice… don't make this harder…"
Gaius heaved a long, sad sigh, dropping his head in defeat. "I do not have all the knowledge," he murmured. "I, alone, cannot complete this task." He raised his head and met her eyes sternly. "The Great Dragon is tethered by enchanted chains, very similar to what you will need. He will have the knowledge you seek."
"The dragon," Merlyn repeated, surprised at first, then apprehensive. "He will not give up this knowledge without a fight. We did not part ways on the best of terms."
Gaius' eyebrow raised and he said solemnly, "Then let us hope that he truly believes in Albion's future, and he sees fit to forgive you."
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She didn't have a chance to visit The Great Dragon before a missive arrived for the King. The House of Tregor had been attacked and overrun by invaders, and the noble family was missing, presumed dead. Lord Godwyn of Gawant, long-time friend of King Uther and neighbours to the ravaged island city, managed to save but a few dozen citizens. The rest had been killed, enslaved, or imprisoned with no way to rescue them without sacrificing hundreds in a siege.
Arthur shared with her that his father had been allies with the Lord of Tregor since his inception into Camelot and Merlyn thought it must be difficult to know there would be no retribution for the carnage.
Nevertheless, the King extended his welcome to any survivors who wished to settle in Camelot and Arthur was sent out with a small platoon to visit them personally, a cart of supplies at their back. Merlyn had never been to the Kingdom of Gawant, lying south-west of Camelot, but she found the land almost alien to what she was used to. It was windier and wet, large mists spread wide over broad plains that encompassed most of the land. Despite the relatively flat terrain, tall outcroppings jutted from the earth in rocky clusters, grass torn away as if the stones were giant fingers reaching for the sky. Yet, the soil was fertile; the cattle fat, the crops lush and the people rugged but welcoming. The House of Tregor sat just off the south-west coastline as part of the Severn Sea, prime trading position with the Western Isles and greatly protected by the design of its city and its powerful neighbours. But clearly not protected enough.
Arthur was still furious at her stunt with the prisoners and treated her with disdain the entire trip – but, honestly, it felt no different to his usual attitude so she simply avoided him. Instead, she rode beside Sir Leon and they spoke of recent happenings, not having chatted for far too long. Sir Lucan soon approached on her other side and quickly, all three were trading embarrassing stories while Sunstrider made sure their steeds kept their distance.
The city of Gawant was situated on the southern edge of the kingdom, built upon the side of a single forested mountain just before the valley to the sea. It was a beautiful city, with cream sandstone walls and soft-blue tiled rooves, beholding many broad turrets and spires. It wasn't as intricate as Camelot's artful details but it was clean and lively, rich with the scent of the sea and protected by much of the harsh wind by the mountain.
"Could you pass me the salt?" Princess Elena requested, drawing Merlyn back to the present and she moved from the window gifting her a partial view of the mind-boggling expanse of water to where the pretty – if awkward – blonde was sitting at the long centre table. Arthur and Lord Godwyn had yet to return from their visit with the refugees who wished to relocate to Camelot, but Merlyn had been left to tend to Princess Elena while her own maid, Grunhilda, was on a short trip to visit her family. Lord Godwyn was a good man, kind considering his status, and his daughter was not snotty or conceited at all. In fact, she was rather clumsy and dishevelled for a princess, which drew Merlyn to her, as one kindred spirit to another.
"Thank you," she said as Merlyn handed her the shaker, only for her to drop it and almost spill the contents all over her meal. Merlyn managed to catch it beforehand and the rumpled royal slapped her hand to her forehead. "Oh – bugger!"
Merlyn snorted in surprise at her expletive then clapped a hand over her mouth at the disrespect. Princess Elena turned to look at her then grinned at the contrite expression at the black-haired girl's face. "Apologies," Merlyn said. "I'm notoriously clumsy as well. I'm simply surprised at hearing such language from a royal."
"The stableboys taught me," the princess admitted slyly. "Father hates it but…" she shrugged and picked up her goblet, gulping down the contents quickly.
"I hear you ride well," Merlyn said as the blonde put her empty cup back down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The princess shot her a surprised look and she elaborated, "One of the stableboys mentioned it as I settled my steed – Gunter, I think was his name."
Immediately, the highborn smiled, and it transformed her features from slightly ungainly and furrowed to smooth and fair. "Horse riding is one of the things I can do," she said happily. "My mother was a skilled horsewoman, apparently. My father says that I take after her a lot."
"You didn't know her," Merlyn surmised gently.
Princess Elena looked saddened. "No," she sighed. "She died when I was a babe. But I know she was a wonderful woman, beloved by her subjects."
"Then you do take after her, for I have only heard good things of you also."
The young royal chuffed out a laugh then accidentally snorted when she inhaled. She paused, eyes widening in mortification, but Merlyn laughed, prompting the blonde to giggle in return.
By the time Arthur and Lord Godwyn returned, both young women were chatting like old friends, Elena guffawing from one of Merlyn's childhood stories while Merlyn was in stitches from her involuntary snorts. The men both paused in the doorway, Arthur incredulous and Lord Godwyn surprised. It had been much too long since his daughter had laughed without a care. Her rough-edged personality offended many of the nobles residing in their small kingdom, so the young woman had lacked the fruitful bond a friendship could bring. It was nice to see her happy once again.
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They left two days later with a small cluster of survivors seeking Camelot's shelter. As Camelot lacked much in the way of seafaring resources, most of the refugees decided to remain on the coastal kingdom as their livelihoods had been based over the water. The families that ventured into the land-based realm were merchants in weaving and jewellery with one lone, grieving fisherman.
She gave the battered man some calming tea during their first night on the road, his quiet tears wrenching at her heart.
"I plan ter join the guard," he told her, his accent deep and husky, his weathered hands wrapped around the hot mug. "Me father was a fisherman an' his father before 'im, but I canna… I canna do it without me Aedre."
He ducked his head, emotion overwhelming him, so she wrapped him in a blanket and sat beside him in silence. So much death. So much destruction. And for what? Dominion? Pride? Greed?
Not good enough.
All she could hope for was that one day, Albion would deter such cruelty, for what bully would dare stand against a United Kingdom? Those who sowed pain and terror were cowards, and cowards only liked to fight when they had the better odds. Albion would be a land of power and respect, and no bully would dare stand against that.
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Once they returned to Camelot, the refugees were given council on how to settle into their new home and Arthur was relieved of his duty. He wasted no time sending Merlyn off to create the Cuff, warning her with dark eyes of his expectations.
"Do not test my resolve, Merlyn," he cautioned. "The King has reason to ban magic and I will not defy him for you any longer."
So she crept down into the bowels of Camelot and called for the dragon, nervous and apprehensive to how he would answer her. Their previous confrontation rang in her ears, the accusations she blasted at him: What about your selfishness? Would you care for me at all if I did not further your ends? Would you care about what happened to Arthur if he was not the one to build Albion?
She winced, remembering the anger and… hurt?… in his eyes.
There was the familiar flap of large, leathery wings and the dragon descended from high in the cave. He took his time to land, settling himself on his perch and folding his wings with care. He glared down at her imperiously.
"Dragon," she said then sighed in annoyance at herself. "Actually, I would like to know your name, if you are willing to give it. I've been rude for too long."
He said nothing at first and Merlyn had a belated idea, "It's not impolite to ask, is it? I mean, is your name a secret?"
"My name is Kilgarrah," he intoned, cutting her off. "I never told you because you never asked, young witch."
"Oh," she said. "Well, I'm sorry for that, Kilgarrah. And I'm sorry for how last we parted. We were both stubborn and angry, and I let it get the best of me."
"Did you reveal your powers to the seer?" he asked, and she swallowed heavily.
"I did," she admitted, and his nostrils flared in annoyance. "But that was my decision to make and it is now done." She swallowed, uneasy, and said, "I have a request."
"But of course you do," he said. "For why else would you be here?"
She tucked her chin at the barb but continued, "You know that Arthur knows of my magic, and that he does not accept."
"I do," the dragon intoned, his interest piqued.
"Well… he… he had Gaius and I researching ways to force me to stop, since it was clear I could not do so on my own."
"You are a creature of magic," he stated. "You can no more stop it than you could stop your heart."
"Well," she said, huffing a mirthless laugh. "He found a way."
The dragon blinked, clearly trying to puzzle her words. He lowered his head and moved closer. "What do you mean, young witch?"
"He, er, Arthur learned of a magical device called a Cuff that nullifies one's magic. He has ordered it to be created on pain of death."
The dragon reared back. "Those abominations were wiped from existence," he snarled. "They were used to enslave and torture magical beings. How did he come by such knowledge?"
"A book," she said. "And me. He…" she felt sick, particularly with Kilgarrah's saying they were used for enslavement. "He has ordered Gaius and I to create one. And he said… he said that if I refuse, he will turn me over to the King for execution."
"Arthur is the Once and Future King, and you are Emrys. I do not think he is capable of fulfilling such a threat."
"You didn't see him," she said, staring at him with wide eyes. "He believes that this is the only way that I will be saved from sorcery's corruption. He told me… he said he preferred me to die now than to have me live as a twisted version of myself."
The dragon looked away, golden eyes flicking over the rocks as he assimilated the new information. Merlyn glanced down, taking deep breaths to try to temper the restlessness itching under her skin. Her heart was thumping in her throat, as quick as a rabbit's, but her gut burned with angry bees. She distracted herself by watching the glimmer of shadows playing off the divots in the platform, cast off from the dragon like he was a faint, golden moon.
"The Cuff is not an artefact for the faint of heart," Kilgarrah began in a strong voice, meeting her eyes once more. "It takes strong magic for it to be created – and stronger still for it to be broken. Once worn, the bearer cannot remove it – only one of equal or greater power can do so." Merlyn gulped, anxiety sitting in her throat. He softened his tone as he added, "You are unique, Merlyn. You are of magic. I do not know how it will react to your powers." He paused heavily. "You may die."
She took a shaky breath, feeling ill. Not only might her spirit be trapped, but she could not remove it once it was on. And it might kill her.
"If you should die, Merlyn," said the dragon sombrely. "Albion will never be born."
She took another breath. Then another. She clenched her hands into fists and firmed her resolve.
"I cannot believe that to be so," she said, meeting Kilgarrah's beautiful, glowing eyes. "You say my destiny is written, that fate is almost impossible to avoid. If that is so, then I must trust that the future is resilient, and it will not be ruined by these actions. Arthur is changing. I must believe that he will, one day, realise magic is not evil. Until then, I must comply with his wishes so that I may remain at his side, as his protector. If… if it doesn't kill me."
"Very well," he said. "But I ask for something in return. Before you carry this abomination, I wish to be released from my chains. You promised me my freedom in the past, Merlyn, and I will hold you to your word."
"I will," she agreed, mind whirling with the threat the Cuff bore.
The Great Dragon accepted her words and raised his head above her, sucking in a deep breath. Merlyn closed her eyes and opened her mind as hot air swirled over her frame, caressing like silk instead of roasting her flesh. Knowledge burst behind her eyelids, blooming like the first roses through snow, splashing the fields of white with vivid colour.
She gasped as she opened her eyes and familiar flash of heat warmed her irises.
"Wow…" she whispered.
The dragon said solemnly, "The creation of such things comes at a steep price, Merlyn. Be prepared to pay it."
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Morgana was not happy that Arthur had reverted to keeping Merlyn by his side. The black-haired girl knew the highborn was eager to discuss things and annoyed that her chances were being ruined by a prince's inability to let her out of sight.
Arthur, too, was annoyed, though his irritation was because of the length of time it would take to create the Cuff. The iron band had to be burnished in a magical flame during the darkest part of a moonless night while chanting a long and complex spell. Afterwards, the Bind Runes had to be inscribed on the inside of the metal in lots of threes each night until it was complete. As the next new moon was a week away, he was understandably irritated. And Morgana wasn't helping, taking every chance she had to bicker with him.
It was after one such argument that Arthur had stormed out to train with the knights, desperate to let off some steam. Merlyn had quietly followed, bringing his burnished sword to clean while Arthur used his training blade. She settled herself on a bench at the edge of the grassed area with a rag and oil when a raven flew down from the balustrade to land atop a rack of shields nearby. The movement caught Merlyn's attention and she tilted her head to observe the bold bird, wondering what had drawn its attention this low. Its black eyes locked on her and, even as she watched, it glided from the shields to land on the other end of the bench she sat on.
"Um," she said eloquently, unsure what it wanted. "I have no meat to give you."
It didn't startle at her quiet words but, instead, hopped closer, well within arm's reach now.
Merlyn glanced at the busy knights then back at the black bird. It cocked its head at her then turned its body around so that one of its legs was visible. Tied to the scaled limb was a tiny letter scroll.
"Huh," she said in surprise. "Is that for me?"
It cawed quietly and held out its leg, so she cautiously extended her fingers and untied it. Once the letter was in her palm, the raven flew off, but she did not unravel it to read immediately. She didn't think anything written on a missive delivered by a bird would be something Camelot citizens needed to see. Best to examine it away from prying eyes.
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Later that night, in the isolation of her servant chambers, Merlyn read the letter by the yellow light of a magical flame. It was short, as the scrap of parchment was small, but it was from Alwyn, the brown-haired man from the dungeons, thanking her for her actions in rescuing him and the other prisoners. He extended the hand of friendship from his druid clan: If you wish for more knowledge or peaceful company, seek out a raven and tell him your pleas. We will answer.
Seeing the welcome from her kin, from people who only wished to live in peace, caused a warm ball of happiness to bloom in her chest. The druids might have revered her once for her prophesised role in creating Albion, but now they valued her for her own merits, for her own deeds. It reassured that small part of her brain that was still a lonely, insecure child faced with mistrust and suspicion for things she couldn't control.
"Merlyn!" Arthur called, and the magical flame blinked out of existence before she could register the summons. In the absolute blackness left behind, Merlyn slid off her bed only to have her foot catch in the bedsheet and throw off her balance. She landed with a loud thump onto her hands and knees.
"Ow," she hissed, shaking her foot free, clambering upright once more, only to knock face-first into the door as she misjudged the distance. "Bother!"
When she finally fell into the brighter room, rubbing her nose, the prince had an eyebrow raised in exasperation. "How you manage to live day by day is a mystery to me, Merlyn," he said, clearly having heard the commotion.
"I'm not always this clumsy," she said defensively. "It seems to come in waves."
"Well, let us hope it doesn't last beyond tonight," he said. "Tomorrow, you have been requested to join Morgana on her pilgrimage to her father's tomb." His expression spoke of his displeasure as much as his voice and Merlyn figured it was because she would be away from his side for the day.
She raised an eyebrow at him, surprised. "And you agreed?"
"I couldn't very well say no, could I?" he exclaimed. "This is Morgana we're talking about. When I hesitated, she lashed me with her words and accused me of being overbearing. Me! Overbearing!"
Merlyn felt that answering that would only get her in more trouble so she kept her mouth shut in a rare display of tact. Thankfully, Arthur was too caught up in his rant to see her biting back her words.
"And then she said that I'm acting like a child unwilling to share his toy! I mean – can you believe her? I was always great at sharing my things. As long as it wasn't my swords, or my horses, or my battle figures. Or my clothes."
She raised a brow. "So pretty much everything, then," she said drolly, and Arthur shot her a glare.
"The point is, I agreed to let you go, if only to shut her up. But," he added, suddenly serious. "Do not make me regret it. I'll not have you using this opportunity to practice sorcery. If I hear a whisper of anything odd happening tomorrow… if you disobey me, I'll turn you over to my father, understood?"
"Perfectly," she muttered.
"I mean it, Merlyn," he said, obviously not trusting she was taking him seriously. "Releasing those prisoners was the last straw. If my father ever found out, you would be flogged and strung up for the crows. Do not test me again."
She bowed her head, clenching her jaw. "Of course, sire," she said, keeping her tone monotonous.
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Riding out of the city was like shedding a full body of armour and Merlyn sighed in relief as the weight of Arthur's presence evaporated into the ether. Beneath her, Sunstrider sucked in a contented belly-full of air, not even minding Morgana's steed, Grane, as she stepped close enough for Merlyn's and Morgana's boots to scrape. Around them, arrayed in a loose circle, was a handful of Uther's personal guards, but they were discreet and the black-haired girl hardly felt their presence at all. Beside her, Morgana eyed her with interest but made no move to begin the conversation Merlyn knew was itching her tongue. It was nice to know she could be patient when she needed to be.
"I know I've said it already," Merlyn said, breaking the quiet. "But I am very grateful that you talked Arthur into letting me out today, particularly on such a personal journey."
"And I told you, I could see the very life being strangled from you under his thumb." She cocked her head at Merlyn curiously. "What did you do to incite such scrutiny? He is wary to let you out of arm's reach."
Merlyn looked down. She didn't like lying but she was still trying to juggle the who-knows-what-knows-who conundrum. She didn't want to tell Arthur that Morgana had magic since he was still so negative towards it and she didn't want to tell Morgana that Arthur knew Merlyn had magic lest the highborn connect the prince's treatment to it. In Merlyn's mind, it seemed prime material to lead the highborn into that creeping darkness that taunted at the edge of awareness.
"He didn't like that a whole slew of prisoners escaped from under his nose," she said, which was not untrue, it simply wasn't relevant to his actions with her. "He wants to be sure no servants were to be used as scapegoats."
"That's… protective of him," the noblewoman said, green eyes drifting off into the underbrush as she mused.
"So it seems," murmured Merlyn, not feeling particularly protected.
Thankfully, they moved onto lighter topics as Morgana described the work she and Gwen were doing regarding the orphanages and the homeless. "Gwen had a lovely idea regarding rehabilitation of those who struck misfortune. If I can submit for funding off the King, we may be able to provide care and clothing for more than we are now, free of charge. If they are able to receive thus then they will be better suited to look for work and employers would be more willing to hire them. Is that not a fantastic idea?"
"That sounds wonderful," Merlyn said, caught by the ingenuity of such an idea. It was plausible at its roots and would be a great help to those who could work but were not given the chance.
They also discussed Gwen's growing concerns on her attempts to fall pregnant, though Morgana knew more on the subject than Merlyn as the two were able to see each other more often.
"She is afraid that she is barren," said the noblewoman, their steed's shifting closer so that they could talk without the guard's listening in. "She hasn't even had a late bleed, so there has been no miscarriage. I think she is too ashamed to seek Gaius' aid but you are a woman and her friend, I believe she would greatly appreciate your input."
"Of course," said Merlyn. "I've already mentioned to her that it is not unusual for a woman to take over a year to conceive. They have only been wed… nearly five months now."
"I think…" Morgana glanced at the nearest guard, but he was still too far to overhear. "I think she senses something is wrong. Is that possible?"
Merlyn shrugged. "I'm unsure. Gaius says that a woman's intuition is a powerful thing. Many have come to him knowing they were pregnant even before they missed their moon cycle. It wouldn't be impossible to assume the opposite could be true."
Though it was a terrible thing to imagine happening to any woman who wanted a family – and Gwen had made it clear that she wanted one, one day. She loved children, and she'd now met the man of her dreams; if now, it turned out that she couldn't bear, it would be devastating. Merlyn had seen, during her placement with Gaius, the devastation that could take hold if a woman lost a babe or couldn't carry – like they had failed as wives, as mothers. It was horrible to see, since women offered so much more than a body to bear, but it was clear the grief could be debilitating. Never, ever would she wish that upon a person.
But it had her thinking. Could magic solve such issues as barrenness?
Her magic book didn't delve into anything like body modification or enhancement, but it was more of an overview than a gospel, and Merlyn knew much information was missing from its pages. Thankfully, she now had access to more sources of information than she'd had before.
She hummed to herself. She wondered if the druids would be up for a visit soon.
And if Arthur would permit her to slip away for it.
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They were riding through a shallow valley between the forest when they were attacked by bandits. It was a large group, with steeds of their own, and the royal guard were caught unawares. Sir Robert swung his horse about and shouted, "My ladies, you must follow me!"
He barely had time to finish his sentence before he jerked and fell over his skittish horse's neck, an arrow protruding from his back. Bandits swarmed close and Sunstrider reared, forelegs striking out at one who ran too close. He fell under Sunstrider's body and was crushed beneath his hooves.
"Run!" Merlyn shouted, spinning him around, but Morgana was already being pulled from Grane by several masked men. The grey mare bolted the instant she was able, heading back towards Camelot but Merlyn was distracted by another bandit jumping at her with a sword. She yelped, unprepared, but Sunstrider's hind leg snapped out to catch him in the ribs, the snap of bones clear through the shouts and clashes of swords. The man fell in a groaning heap and didn't rise.
She looked back to Morgana to see one of their guards had cantered up and managed to dispatch the men holding the highborn, but he was now besieged by bandits on his other side, sword working to keep them at bay. Morgana ran away from the melee and Merlyn shouted to her, "Morgana! Take my hand!" holding the proffered limb out as she spurred her stallion forward. Morgana spun and saw her fast approach, reaching out a hand to clasp Merlyn's. With a little bit of magic, the noblewoman was swung up behind her, her arms twining instantly around Merlyn's waist. Sunstrider gave a rebellious squeal, probably thinking it was an unwanted addition so Merlyn planted a hand on his neck to tell him otherwise before he could buck them both off.
He renewed his charge through the chaos, knocking over a fleeing bandit too stupid to move out of the way. He was crushed underfoot but another managed to strike out with a sword and her steed shied with a scream of pain. Along the crest of his neck, red poured free, a deep gash from ear to whither.
"No!" Merlyn cried but was jolted off balance as Sunstrider skidded to a sudden halt, three masked men waiting on the rise of the hill he had been approaching. Their swords gleamed and their smiles were wicked.
"Get off the horsey, girlies," a brown-toothed, dirty-haired one ordered. "Boss wants to see the noble."
"Over my dead body!" Merlyn snapped, wishing she had a blade, anything, to fight with. There were several royal guards still fighting and they were loyal to the King alone; she would not be spared should they see her use magic.
"That can be arranged," he leered and stepped forward while resting the flat of his blade in his other hand. Cocky.
Merlyn pressed a hand against Sunstrider's neck and felt his fatigue. He would not be able to carry two riders the whole way to Camelot. He may not even be able to carry one.
Hold on, boy, she told him and sent a little bit of energy into him. Carry Morgana home.
She blinked to cover the gold flash across her eyes but when she felt Sunstrider bunch his muscles in preparation to flee, Merlyn leapt from his back. The brown-toothed man didn't have time to raise his weapon without cutting himself so Merlyn was able to land on him with her full weight, his body crumpling beneath her. She heard his leg snap and his accompanying scream was loud in her ears. Thankfully, she still heard the strident gait of a retreating canter and Morgana's frightened screaming of her name. She didn't look back, too busy snatching up the fallen man's sword and bringing it to bear against his two angered cohorts. The large weapon was awkward in her grip and she wished she was better with a long blade; her wrists unable to handle the weight for long.
It didn't mean she couldn't brawl with the best of them.
They saw her clumsiness and sneered, one stepping forward with confidence. She caught his testing jab with the flat of her sword and surprised him by shoving it roughly to the side, the metal scraping loudly, before she released the weapon altogether and lunged at his exposed midsection. It was clear he hadn't expected such tactics and fell under her tackle with a yelp. She straddled his torso to lay into him with her fists but a sharp cry from behind had her ducking and rolling away instead. Where she had been, was another bandit, but his sword was suspended unmoving in his grip as he stared down at his own chest where the point of a blade protruded. It was removed with a wet slide and he fell to the side, revealing one of the royal guards; Geoffrey, if she wasn't mistaken.
"Flee, Merlyn," he said, slaying the man she had tackled before hauling her upright. "I'll guard your back."
"No," she said, grabbing his arm as a handful of masked men started running down the slope from the trees to engage them. "Morgana is safe. We must all run! Go to Camelot and sound the warning, you will better at identifying them than she."
Another guard staggered to join them, his head bleeding profusely, though he was aware enough to take defensive position beside his comrade and swing at an overenthusiastic bandit. Geoffrey, gave her a push and turned to meet a second foe, clearly expecting her to run. Across the valley, a riderless horse galloped past and, with their backs to her, Merlyn felt safe enough to call it towards her. It was panicked but sensed her beckons as an instinct, changing direction obediently. It rushed close enough for her to grab a rein and spin it to a stop, dragged only a little before it obliged.
"Get on!" she shouted as the bandits met them once more. They ignored her. "Geoffrey, Morgana needs you to see her to safety! Get on!"
He growled at her logic but downed the last bandit in their vicinity, spinning and mounting in one smooth motion. He held out an arm but Merlyn grabbed the injured soldier and pushed him into his reach. "I'm good at escaping and they'll not kill me immediately; I'm defenceless."
"I cannot leave a woman –"
"You are doing just that by having Morgana suffer alone on an injured horse!" she stepped back lest he grab her and turned to meet the approaching thugs. "Find her, get to Camelot, find me!"
Geoffrey cursed and she heard him grunt as he heaved his fellow up behind him. "Bloody women!" he snapped. "Heeyah!"
The horse leapt away with a squeal and Geoffrey shouted back, "Arthur is going to kill me!"
Merlyn would have laughed but she was too busy trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. The swarming bandits quickly surrounded her as she held up her hands, flinching as one or two poked her with their swords, eager for blood. Her heart pounded with adrenalin and she trembled with nerves. Gods, she hoped they didn't plan to kill her.
After a moment, they parted to allow their leader through. He was recognisable through the typical arrogant swagger and maskless face.
"Well, well," he said, his accent the lilting drawl of the Western Isles. He looked her up and down like a man inspecting stock. "You don't appear to be the King's ward, now do you?"
"I am just a servant," she snapped, lowering her hands since he seemed more inclined to banter than to harm. "You failed."
Suddenly he grabbed her neckerchief and dragged her close. His stinky breath washed over her face and made her stomach roll. "Hmm," he said softly. "But I don't believe that is true." She felt his fingers touch between her breasts and shuddered in disgust only to realise he wasn't groping her when he lifted the medallion. He gave her a smirk, knowing exactly how he had frightened her before he peered down at the solid metal piece.
"Now this," he said. "Is not the trinket of a mere servant. Friend of Camelot, are we?" he asked rhetorically. "Not as treasured as a King's ward, mind, but there'll be a pretty payment for you, I'm sure. Not many of these are handed out these days."
Merlyn glared at him but didn't respond. The man smiled at her silence and said to his men, "Let's go, boys. Our schedules a little tighter than we planned now that Camelot with be alerted but I'm sure we're up for the challenge."
There was a roar of approval and they dispersed to collect weapons and do whatever else criminals did after an attack. The leader stayed with her, watching her watch his men.
"What shall I call you, My Lady?" he asked.
"You can call me nothing and release me now," she retorted. "There will be people coming for me."
He leant forward. "That's what I'm counting on, love," he whispered like he was revealing a secret. "And my name's Kendrick, since you asked so nicely."
She glared. "Don't care," she hissed back. "People like you don't need names; you are all the same. I will call you Lowlife One."
His smirk hardened into annoyance but he said nothing else, turning away and gesturing to one of his men, one who wore an executioner's hood as his mask. He approached with a piece of coarse rope and a leer.
As her hands were bound in front, Merlyn thought about using her magic. There were no Camelot guards to monitor her actions, though there were too many scattered bandits to take them down without some seeing her powers. And that meant they would be able to identify her before the King when they faced trial. Admittedly, the word of thieves and thugs meant little to a king, but it would be a little suspicious that one defenceless girl managed to take down an entire squad of brigands without injury. And the last thing she wanted was more suspicion.
She growled quietly to herself, annoyed at the oppressive laws.
Kendrick smirked, probably thinking her frustration was with him. "Don't worry, kitten," he purred. "I'll take good care of you."
She glowered at him, keeping her chin up despite the anxiety eating her belly. "I do not need your aid, or your company, or your care. You are filth, feeding off others like a parasite." She turned her head away, dismissively. "You are nothing but a tick waiting to be plucked."
He grabbed her jaw tightly and wrenched her head back towards him. Clearly, he didn't like insults. "I may be a tick," he growled. "But you should hope that I get my blood. For if I don't, I'll be taking it from your pretty flesh." His calloused thumb scraped over her cheek before he shoved her away. She staggered into the man who'd tied her hands and Kendrick snapped, "Gag her. Her face may be pretty, but her words are not."
If she was to be gagged with anything, she was glad they picked her own neckerchief. Gods knew what kind of grime would be on their rags if state of their clothes was any indication. She scowled in annoyance but didn't fight as the blue fabric was tied around her head, pulling in between her teeth and over her tongue like a bit.
When it was secured, the man added a length of rope to the knot between her wrists then led her, like an unruly dog, towards the trail between the trees.
Kendrick called to the men as they gathered together, preparing to depart, "We'll have to travel through most of the night to avoid patrols. Can't have our prize stolen before she meets Hengist, can we?"
There was a noise of agreement and a little bit of grumbling but they moved off in a cohesive group without fuss. Merlyn's captor walked ahead with Kendrick, but she had no opportunity to strike at his unsuspecting back as she was bracketed by three men either side, probably there for that exact reason. One or two sneered at her when she eyed them but they left her alone, mercifully, probably under orders not to 'spoil' her.
Find me, she whispered mentally to Arthur, even knowing he wouldn't hear.
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The first thing through Arthur's head when he saw Sunstrider burst onto the courtyard, hooves clattering against the cobblestones, neck and chest painted thick with blood was, No! Merlyn!
He rushed over as the trembling stallion skidded to a halt, staggering in his panic, mouth foaming and clearly in pain, but the woman upon his back pushed herself up from her hunched position and he saw it wasn't Merlyn, but Morgana. Her eyes locked on his as he neared and tears spilled down her flushed cheeks.
"Arthur!" she sobbed and reached out her arms like a child when he was close enough to help her dismount. Several guards and knights rushed closer as the noblewoman was recognised and it was a mark of Sunstrider's exhaustion that he did not react to the onslaught of strangers.
Morgana fell into his arms and cried into his neck, his own arms wrapping around her securely. He tried not to panic at her distress; it didn't mean Merlyn was dead, it just meant something bad had happened.
"Arthur!" she whimpered. "T-they-they came out of the t-trees – I was pulled from my steed, but Merlyn – sh-she – she rescued me – jumped off to save me! Oh, gods, we have to go back for her!"
"We will," he murmured, looking past her dishevelled hair to the horse. He was being led away gently, head hanging low with exhaustion and his muscles trembling with shock. Blood continued to leak from the extensive gash along his neck.
The prince called to the guards leading the injured beast away; "Call for the stablemaster to treat him – and spare no expense. I will have the Court Physician sent down to confer on treatments."
"Immediately, sire," said one and dashed off ahead.
Arthur sighed, turning to guide Morgana into the castle. Merlyn would be grief-stricken if Sunstrider died, and despite his issues with her lately, he wouldn't wish such anguish on her ever.
But first, he had to find her.
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The bandits finally stopped when the waning moon sank behind the mountains in the early hours of predawn, leaving the dark too deep to see. The men settled down quickly, foregoing a fire in favour of rest and passed around bits of jerky and drink. Merlyn was tied to the high branch of a sturdy tree at the edge of the camp and left to her own devices – and exactly the opportunity she was looking for.
She waited for Kendrick to move his eyes away before she closed her own and used magic to fray at the rope around her wrists. It took several minutes, as she didn't want to sound of shredding fibres to be heard over the quiet rumbles of voices, but soon, the bonds were loose enough for her to shimmy her hands free, wincing as the course strands rubbed at her chaffed skin. She glanced around furtively again but found several men on watch, including Kendrick. She decided to wait a little longer to vanish and wished her ability to slow time was not broken, as it would have been perfect to give her a head start. But her control was still untrustworthy, even so long after helping Gwen's father Tom when he was 'executed'.
So instead, she waited, and she watched.
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Morgana was handed over to her handmaiden, Farah, to be tended while a troop was sent out to search for survivors. Arthur and his men were mounting up in the courtyard when two of the royal guard returned atop a single steed, one man was semiconscious but the other, Geoffrey, was alert and explained the circumstances. Arthur tried to contain his irritation that the man had left Merlyn behind, but Geoffrey must have seen something in his expression.
"I'm sorry, sire," he said contritely, broad features pinched in remorse. "I understand if you want me punished but Merlyn would not budge, and Lady Morgana's fate was still uncertain."
"You are fine, Geoffrey," Arthur said on a sigh, threading his fingers around Hengroen's reins. "You did your duty in a difficult situation. I can ask no more than that."
The man dipped his weary head and handed his steed off to a waiting stableboy. As the pair headed towards Gaius' chambers, Arthur and his knights set out in the afternoon light with haste.
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The men had relaxed into their watch, eyes glazed with tiredness, so Merlyn decided it was now or never.
She had been adjusting her location slowly, inching further behind the tree under the guise of finding a comfortable position. She had kept her hands in her lap with the tattered rope covering her wrists but now, with no eyes on her person, she removed the bonds and pushed herself behind the trunk entirely. Her riding clothes were soft colours, brown breeches and a faded red tunic with her brown girdle belted at her waist, so she knew she could blend with the shadows of the shrubbery during the moonless hours before dawn.
She used magic to adjust her vision to the night and crept away slowly, trying to avoid crackly leave and twigs. Her heart thrummed in her throat loudly enough that she feared the organ would give away her location instead of her clumsiness. She wasn't the best at stealth, but with no need to hide her magic, she was able to use it to guide her true. A fox darted away at her passage and a couple of bats started a tussle overhead, their squawks and chatter giving her the perfect cover to quicken her pace, jogging between old trees back the way she came.
Then, back at the camp, Merlyn heard a shout and gave up all pretence of stealth in favour of speed. She sprinted through the underbrush, weaving around trees as the sound of thundering feet crashed along behind her. Her breath quickened as panic took hold and she wondered if this was what prey felt like when it was pursued. It was a horrible sensation, the fear that she wasn't moving fast enough, that she had no time to think, that they were right at her back, reaching out a hand –
She screamed as fingers tangled in her shirt and shoved her to the side, unbalancing her so that she tumbled roughly over sticks and stones. She scrambled to her feet immediately but the man, Kendrick she saw, was upon her with a snarl, torch dropped at his feet uncaringly.
"Let me go!" she shouted defiantly, even as she lurched backwards to avoid his punches, shadows flickering oddly in the low firelight.
"You think you can run from me?" he snapped, and she was suddenly hit from behind by someone else, stars bursting in her eyes as she fell to her knees.
Kendrick grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled it back so her face was bared to the sky. He loomed above her angrily, his image spinning dizzily. "No one escapes me unscathed."
Another blow to her head and she was out.
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There had been tracks leading off into the underbrush and it took everything in Arthur not to rush off to follow them. Three of the King's guard were dead, another badly injured, and a ransom note attached to an arrow demanded a high price for the Friend of Camelot's return.
"Come on, sire," said Lancelot, touching his shoulder. "The sooner we return, the sooner we can head out and rescue Merlyn."
But Arthur had a lingering suspicion that his father would not abide a rescue. Hengist was notorious for his ruthless army of men; it would take an army of their own to face him off.
When he faced his father with the ransom note in the council chamber, he saw the same knowledge in his pale eyes. Morgana, however, was not to be dissuaded.
"You must send a rescue party!" she demanded, the scratches on her face standing stark against her pale skin. Beside her, Farah kept a soothing hand on her arm.
The King released a slow breath, eyes on the ransom note in his hand. "If Hengist is holding the maid, it would take a small army to rescue her."
The highborn stared at him, aghast, and Arthur feared a scene was about to occur.
Morgana cried, "We cannot abandon her!"
"We will not," said the King, and relief rolled over Arthur's tense shoulders. He'd have done something regardless, but it would be nice not to need subtly. "She is a Friend of Camelot and it is our duty to uphold our oath." He sighed in annoyance. "We must pay the ransom."
That grated at the prince's sense of pride. If they paid the ransom and Merlyn was returned to him, what would stop it from happening again?
"Perhaps," he started, gaining the attention of the council and his father. "A strike team would be efficient."
"If they are caught, Merlyn could be executed!" Morgana argued, and Arthur held up his hands to placate even as he stared at his father.
"We know that a battle will waste our resources, but if myself and one or two men sneak into the castle under cover of night, there will be no need to bow to Hengist's demands. You know as well as I that there is only one place he can reside if he commanded the ransom paid at the Veil of Denaria. It is a well-fortified stronghold, but it will have weaknesses that a small unit can exploit."
The King shook his head. "I will not risk your safety for the girl. She may have a position of trust, but she is not the Crown Prince; you are." Arthur opened his mouth to argue but his father held up his hand. "My decision is final. We will pay the ransom and hope your servant is returned unscathed."
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TBC…
Sorry if the fight scene is a bit scattered or unclear. I'll probably come back and edit it later but I'm heading off to my next shift in about two minutes and wanted to post something for you patient people. Thanks so much for reading!