Strongest of the Warlocks: Chapter Twelve: Vengeance of a Sorcerer


"The one thing I never understood…was how Perce could fall for anyone."

Percival wiped the sweat off his brow, trying to ignore his two younger siblings as he banged a dent out of a sword.

"I know what you mean…he's got that whole stoic thing going for him."

Percival lifted his head to arch an eyebrow at the twins, Byron and Edgar, who had a habit of being more of a nuisance than a help. They didn't have much of a skill at blacksmithing and spent most days hunting and gathering with a few boys their age (which was fifteen summers).

"But I hear the ladies like that sort of thing," Byron pointed out to his brother.

"True, true," Edgar nodded, conceding the point before appealing to his older brother. "Come on, Perce, when are we going to meet the elusive and mysterious Merlin?"

Byron waggled his eyebrows towards Percival, who turned back to his work as his father stepped into the forge.

"Are you two annoying your brother again?"

"We just want to know when we get to meet our future sister-in-law," Byron said innocently.

"She's very busy," Percival said, lifting his eyes, his lips twitching, "just like I am."

"Yeah, but you get days off," Edgar pointed out.

"Working in Camelot is very different to working here, Ed," Percival said, straining to not roll his eyes, but it didn't work well for him. "Getting time off is much more difficult."

"Or maybe she's just stringing you along?"

Percival's grip on his hammer slipped and his father's eyes sharpened over Byron. "That's enough," he barked.

Merlin didn't get much time off, that much Percival learned very early on, and most times it was only for a day or two and that wasn't enough time to come and visit him. Mostly her days off –as rare in number as they were– were spent in Druid camps, teaching and learning healing.

They've started calling me Iseldir's Heir, Merlin had told him in the last letter and he could have just imagined her shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she wrote the words down, I suppose it's because they haven't seen anyone with as much skill in healing magic since the Chieftain, but it's still a little strange. You would think heir would imply his child, which wouldn't be so terrible, I admit, but Iseldir's not my father, and being called his heir just makes me feel a little odd…

Merlin's letters flowed like a stream of thoughts, never stopping and never pausing, not until the end of the parchment, where she scrawled a hastily written: Love, Merlin.

That was how she always signed them, without a thought of how the words might affect him…because Percival had never heard Merlin say the word love towards him…but he hoped one day they would be exchanged between the two.


Merlin was terrified, but it didn't show.

Her stomach was roiling beneath the fine silk dress and she barely ate any of the food on her plate, eyes instead glancing over the soldiers that were positioned at several key points in the dining hall.

Morgana and Gwen were standing shoulder to shoulder, which seemed to be more for Gwen's benefit than Morgana's, as the lady was wearing a calm expression in contrast to Gwen's harried one.

"Do my soldiers frighten you, My Lady?"

The words were practically purred and Merlin had to refrain from curling her lip in disgust.

"Soldiers do not frighten me," she said smoothly, "only their intention."

Arthur was tense sitting in his father's chair and his eyes met hers briefly, but whatever he had wished to convey to her was muddled with so many emotions that Merlin couldn't read it accurately.

The fact remained that both parties knew exactly what was going on, even if neither offered to admit it.

"Is that so?" the Duke was grinning at her in a way that made her skin crawl. "And what intention do you think they possess?"

"One of ill intent," Merlin replied before Arthur cut across her.

"You will have to forgive the Lady Morgana," he said, his jaw tensed, "she is used to speaking her mind."

"I can find no fault in a woman like that," the Duke said, eyes darkening as he looked towards. "But one would say that I'm making you uneasy, Prince Arthur."

Morgana strained not to shift her weight from her left leg to her right as she stood, unmoving, at Arthur's side, but her eyes flickered towards Gwen who couldn't have made it more obvious just how uncomfortable she was.

"Maybe you do," Arthur said coolly, "what other reason would the Duke of Lancaster have for bringing a legion of soldiers to Camelot when the king is away with our troops?"

Silence reigned for a few scant moments as the Duke sipped his wine silently. Merlin watched him swallow the alcohol, downing it quickly.

"You are smarter than you appear, I'll give you that," the Duke conceded, "but I'll admit I was a bit obvious when I arrived…but surely you've guessed my intention?"

"I really couldn't imagine what it is," Arthur spoke through gritted teeth, fingers tensing around his fork.

"You want Camelot," Merlin spoke with certainty.

While all the eyes had been focused on Arthur, Merlin had lowered her own, her dark curtain of hair hiding the flare of gold in her eyes as she had breached the shields of the Duke's mind.

Mind magic was difficult to manage and was considered one of the top tiers when one was studying to become a Master. Merlin had never shown a particular aptitude towards the magic. Mind magic was an intrusive and offensive magic and that type had never been one she excelled in.

Usually thoughts were harder to understand, being a mesh of colors, phrases, and emotions, but Duke Elton of Lancaster was remarkably easy to understand. The image of Camelot's fortress kept cropping up along with the desire to obtain.

Anger flashed in Arthur's eyes at Merlin's accurate guess and Morgana tensed where she stood at his side. She may not have been born in Camelot, but it was her home, none the less.

"The king will return with his army," Merlin continued, removing her hands to rest on her lap, her eyes blue steel, "you will be outnumbered, and the king does not take kindly to traitors."

Arthur was half-impressed how well Merlin was playing the part of the king's ward. It was surprisingly convincing. Of course, it was obvious to those who knew both girls that Merlin wasn't Morgana, physical similarities aside. Morgana had a more diplomatic was of talking, one that usually involved moving around the subject, while Merlin was rather head-on and direct.

"He will have executed within an hour of his return," Arthur agreed. "But if you leave quietly, Your Grace, I will forget this situation occurred."

But that would have been far too easy and nothing ever did seem to go the easy way.

Duke Elton smirked. "I think not," he countered, "besides, I have the help of a certain individual who will ensure I succeed and your father fail."

Merlin arched an eyebrow. "Magic," she surmised and Arthur's anger grew.

"How dare you!" he seethed.

"Yes, a young sorcerer," Elton was grinning widely now, "a former Druid with a deep loathing for someone who came to live here in Camelot…a healer-witch who killed his father…and his powers were enough for me. I convinced him to aid me, and it didn't take much."

A healer-witch who killed his father…the memory made Merlin's heart leap to her throat, racing unbelievably fast.

The Duke waved forward someone from the shadows, a young man garbed in a long brown cloak that was worn and ratty. His eyes were the precise color and shape of Caedmon's but they lacked the child's light, coming off more flat and empty than Caedmon's had ever been, and Merlin knew which she preferred. Lank brown hair fell into empty brown eyes.

Whereas his younger brother was the epitome of light and good, the elder brother was of darkness.

"I am Girec," the man said, his voice as brittle and cold as ice, if not more so.

His eyes swept over the occupants of the room, from the soldiers he'd arrived with, to his traitorous employer, to Arthur straining in his seat, to Merlin gripping the arms of her chair so tightly that she feared she might break the fingers from stress alone.

His gaze went right through her and Merlin knew in an instant that he'd recognized her and Gwen, where she stood watching the scene could see the flash of recognition in both their eyes.


"Who is he?"

Merlin and Gwen had been locked in the Lady Morgana's chambers for the night and Merlin hadn't really liked the idea of sleeping in someone else's bed, but Morgana was doing the same thing, so eventually she found herself tucked into the covers, idly tracing the triskelion symbol against the palm of her hand with the finger of her opposite hand.

"Someone with a long memory," Merlin admitted with a sigh before glancing up to Gwen. "How much do you know about Druids?"

"Not much," Gwen admitted, perching on the edge of the mattress. "They're executed once Uther finds out they're in Camelot, they have powerful magic…I think that's it."

Merlin snorted, leaning back against the pillows. "Some of them are powerful, I suppose, but most Druids are your average sorcerer with their level of magic, the Chieftains are the ones to worry about."

"You know Druids?" Gwen asked in surprise and just a little awe.

Merlin smirked. "I'm what you'd call…a Druid-Friend."

"That's daring," Gwen told her with eyes still wide.

"Druids were my friends long before I entered Camelot's walls," Merlin said, fingers smoothing out the blanket over her legs. "Coming here didn't change that."

Gwen remained silent, waiting for Merlin to speak, to say something about the man who had looked upon her friend with so much contempt and disgust.

"There is a man," Merlin said, speaking so suddenly that Gwen stared, "the Chieftain of a Druid camp, named Iseldir…when my mother was carrying me she traveled to Camelot to see my uncle…maybe she was worried about me, I don't know, but on the way back to Ealdor she went to into labor, far from anywhere."

Gwen couldn't imagine being born in the wilderness like that; she had been born in the safety of her father's home.

Merlin ducked her head, giving a small laugh. "Mum liked to say that I called out for help and Iseldir answered." Merlin knew better. Her magic had flared up and had sought out the nearest strongest magical being to help her and Iseldir had come.

"Iseldir is my godfather," Merlin told Gwen, "he's the one who inspired me to learn how to heal, which was how I met Girec."

"Was he a patient?" Gwen asked, curiosity clear to as day.

"Girec's parents Amena and Afton were attacked by soldiers from Cenred's kingdom. Amena escaped without too many injuries," Merlin said slowly, remembering how it had felt to be fourteen and surrounded by chaos. Her hands had been shaking and there were so many people suffering and in pain. Screams and moans had echoed in her ears as she tried to focus on her work. "But Afton was seriously injured…I tried to do the best I could, but the blood wasn't stopping and he bled out…when Girec found me, his father was dead and I was covered in his blood."

Gwen lifted a hand to her mouth in shock, imagining just how terrible it would be to find her father dead and the young healer who had been in charge of keeping him alive…

"He blames you for his father's death," Gwen realized.

Merlin's fingers twisted into the dark hair that she'd opted to leave down, but the regret was clear.

"I tried to…forget about everything that happened that day," Merlin spoke carefully, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her hands into fists. "For awhile I blamed myself…but…" Merlin caught herself just short of exposing who she was to her friend. There would be a time for that later, but right now, magic was feared more than anything else in the land. "I would have had to be a very powerful sorceress in order to save Afton's life."

Gwen's hand slid over hers, her darker skin a stark contrast to Merlin's fair complexion.

"I'm sure you did everything you could," Gwen said gently.

And Merlin was sure she had, but the fact remained that the only reason Girec agreed to assist the Duke was because he had heard Merlin was now working in the palace in Camelot.

She had put so many people at risk by coming to Camelot, and that made her sick to her stomach.

The depth of his desire for vengeance against her was one she had greatly underestimated…Iseldir had told her he just needed time to come to grips with the loss he had suffered, but after the Druidic funeral rites had been performed, Girec had vanished, leaving behind his healing mother and traumatized little brother.

Caedmon had latched onto Merlin when she came to check on Amena a few times a week, but Merlin had tried her best apart from that to stay away from the family.

Merlin wasn't quite sure how Caedmon had managed to worm his way into her life, but she knew that Girec would hold that against her as well.

"Get some sleep, Gwen," Merlin said, giving the hand on top of hers a reassuring squeeze. "Tomorrow's not going to be any easier."

But the words weren't very reassuring.

Gwen had dragged a pillows towards the corner of the room that was hidden behind a dressing screen in order to give herself a make-shift bed, seeing as she wasn't allowed to return to her home for the night.

"You don't have to—" Merlin started to argue, given the largeness of the bed she was currently tucked into.

"Actually, I do," Gwen insisted with bright eyes, "you are still playing the part of Morgana, and ladies and servants do not share beds."

Well, at least some didn't. Merlin had heard a great deal of rumors when she resided in Cenred's Kingdom, concerning servants that were more commonly referred to as bed-warmers.

"You're not going to be as comfortable," Merlin pointed out.

"I'm sure I can handle it," Gwen remarked with a tone laced in amusement.

Merlin could only shake her head in fond exasperation.


No matter what Gwen thought, Merlin did not go straight to sleep, though she certainly gave off the impression of it.

What she needed was advice, but with guards posted at Morgana's door, it made it a little difficult.

Merlin stewed in her irritation at the whole situation.

Kilgharrah would know what to do, but Kilgharrah wasn't someone she could physically talk to…but maybe with the help of a little magic.

Her eyes burned gold beneath her closed eyelid and she breathed in deeply before releasing the breath, and, with it, her spirit.

It was a weird feeling, like when she'd been poisoned and appeared at Arthur's side, but this time she felt more like she was floating.

Her form was glowing an eerie blue and Merlin looked down to her slumbering form, checking to make sure she was indeed breathing (because Merlin didn't really need to almost die again), before moving silently towards the door.

She extended one hand towards the wood, and it sank right through.

"Amazing," she murmured to herself before stepping right through to end up in the outer corridor.

The two guards on each side of the door gave no hint that they had seen her, but Merlin had been expecting that, so she ran right past them.

If she had been thinking more about it, she might have tried to glide, as though she was a ghost in the night, but Merlin was more focused on getting down into the dungeons that she went right through one of the Duke's soldiers and didn't even notice.

"Kilgharrah!" she called, not quite sure if her yelling for him would work given her present state, but he was a creature of the Old Religion, surely he could see her? "Kilgharrah, can you hear me?"

A rustic chuckle was the answer to her query. "It's been so long since you've come to me for help, young Warlock…and never before in a spirit-form."

"Camelot has been taken over," Merlin said in a single breath. "There's a Druid sorcerer here—"

"The one who means to kill you?" The dragon finished for her. "Yes, his thoughts are very loud and easy to pick up on."

Merlin couldn't help but stare at him.

"I suppose you want help to defeat him?" Kilgharrah mused. "After all, he has already dispatched the man who has orchestrated the take-over."

She paled. "He's done what?" she gasped in horror.

"I have seen how the need for vengeance corrupts," the dragon said wisely and solemnly. "The Druid abandoned his vows of peace a long time past in the name of killing you."

To think his anger for her and stretched so deep…

"How do I stop him?" she asked.

"I'm afraid you will have to do the one thing you would rather not, but in this instance, I'm sure you will find it necessary."

But when was there ever a necessity to kill?

The very thought of it made her queasy.

Merlin was a healer not a killer. She did not learn magic in order to take another's life!


"Where on earth did you get all this?" Gwen asked when she awakened the next morning to see Merlin, now in a dress of crimson, standing over a cauldron resting on the table, stirring in a multitude of herbs.

"I have my ways," Merlin said giving her a wink for good measure. "This is to knock out the guards in order to retake the castle."

Gwen gaped at her, looking from her friend, to the muddy-colored solution in the pot. "You're being serious?"

"Of course I'm being serious! Who do you take me for?" Merlin held out the cauldron to her and handed a scrap of cloth to cover her nose. "One whiff of this once I add the poppy blossoms and anyone will be down for about an hour, which is why you'll be carrying it around to all the guards."

"Me?" Gwen nearly squeaked. "But—!"

"Get the servants and the soldiers first," Merlin was speaking over her, but not enough to rouse suspicion from the guards outside the room that would be the first to smell the fluid's steam, "and then get Arthur."

"But what about you?" Gwen insisted, grasping her arm, her eyes wide and scared. "You can't take on a sorcerer by yourself, Merlin! You don't have magic! He'll kill you!"

"We'll see about that," Merlin said, dropping the poppies into the cauldron and making it steam upon impact and forcing Gwen to hastily cover her mouth and nose with the cloth that Merlin had previously thrust towards her in order to keep herself from collapsing from the potion's potency.

A sharp rap on the door and the door opened with the two impressive soldiers glaring at them through their visors.

Merlin plugged her nose and smiled as they caught the potion's scent and both collapsed in under five seconds.

Merlin looked down impressed. "I didn't think it would work that well," she admitted, her voice nasally from her nose being pinched.

"You're sure they'll be out for awhile?" Gwen asked, her voice muffled from the cloth.

"I know my potions," Merlin replied, ducking down to test the smaller of the two's blade, but even it was heavy in her hands. The dagger was much better, but Merlin couldn't imagine using a dagger well in the place of a sword.

She took off before Gwen could try to convince her to abandon her terrible plan.

Merlin knew that the Duke was long dead by now. She had managed to find him in her spirit-form the previous night after having her brief talk with the Great Dragon, and the sight had been appalling indeed; Merlin suspected that Girec had snapped his neck with a violent throw against the wall.

She knew where he was waiting for her, which was why, she suspected, that he hadn't left any guards stationed at the entrance into the throne room.

The doors were thrown open by her magic rather than the force of her own hands and she stepped inside to glower at the figure resting on the King's Throne. "That seat is not meant for you," she remarked coldly, hefting the dagger between her fingers.

Girec narrowed his eyes for good measure, trailing from her own down to the dagger clutched painfully tight in her grip.

"We both know that you don't need that," he spoke with a deep voice edged in darkness, "why don't you take me on as you really are, Witch."

Merlin found it insulting to be called a Witch when she identified more as a Warlock –even Kilgharrah had been able to see that–, but so many preferred to throw her in the category of female magic-users.

"I'm afraid it really wouldn't be much of match, Girec," Merlin replied, coming to a stop a few feet in front of him.

His eyes were like dark fiery pits and Merlin found them deeply unnerving in how similar they were to his brother's and yet how different. "I will have your head," he growled, "for what you did to my father."

"I did nothing to your father," Merlin countered furiously. "He was nearly dead when he was brought before me. Unless you wanted me to perform Necromancy, an art strictly forbidden by our kind?"

Merlin could see an outline of a sword beneath his robe as he spat at her: "You are not my kind!"

"Have you really been playing the fool so long that it's what you've become?"

If Hunith had been there, she would have tried to silence her daughter, who had reached the point of biting sarcasm and there was no going back.

"Here's a bit of information that you might like," she continued without stopping even for breath as he stood angrily, "your little brother likes me quite a bit…even wants to apprentice to me once I become—"

Girec, she knew, cared more about his family than anything, and the mere thought that the girl he considered to have murdered his father was more than enough to cause magic to crackle in the air like lightning as he gave a roar, lurching forward.

There was a spray of blood and a body hit the floor, pooling crimson across the stones.


AN: Ooh! Dramatic ending, but I'm sure we can all guess who's alive given how this fic is not yet done ;)

I hope you all enjoyed the brief scene with Percival, I really want to write him so bad, but we'll get there eventually.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!