Silence greeted Arthur as he returned to the cave. The Druids had retreated farther since he'd left, most of them pushing their backs against the cavern wall. All of the knights had drawn their swords, keeping them hovering at the ready. Cian was the only one that remained where Arthur had left him, standing tall like a wise, wizened statue in the middle of the cave. His fingers lay laced before him, his pale eyes watching Arthur's every movement.
He didn't speak, so Arthur didn't either, resigning himself to perching on his chosen boulder while he awaited Merlin's return.
If Merlin returned.
The thought shouldn't bother him. After all, in Arthur's best case scenario here, Merlin would never set foot in Camelot again. However, logic didn't seem to prevent a smidge of sadness from striking him. The thought of never seeing Merlin again wasn't one he'd had time to process.
Luckily, he didn't have to confront that reality yet. Merlin had not fled.
Cian must've seen him first, because his attention shifted from Arthur to the cave entrance. Arthur turned to look too, spinning around just in time to see the forlorn servant-sorcerer trudging back. Arthur's cape lay neatly folded in his arms. Everyone present, Druid and knight alike, watched silently as Merlin made his way across the uneven rocks to the centre of the cave, poised between Arthur and Cian once more.
The servant placed Arthur's cape down gently on one of the boulders before straightening to face the Archdruid. "Thank you for the time to think," he said. His voice was quiet. A little beaten down. He hated himself for it, but Arthur couldn't help but feel bad.
Cian acknowledged Merlin's thanks with a simple nod. His stance remained stoic, but Arthur could detect a bit of uncertainty in his expression now.
Maybe Merlin did, too. His expression radiated sadness, and he wrung his hands like he wasn't sure what to do with them now.
"So, erm, while I was thinking," Merlin began, and Arthur sat up a bit straighter. "I thought about my home. Ealdor. It's not far from here, as Arthur said, and within Cenred's kingdom. I—I guess what I thought is, I know what it's like to live in fear."
He took a deep breath, and Arthur cocked his head, unsure what Merlin was getting at.
"Cenred didn't—doesn't—care much about his outlying communities, let alone the small farming ones," Merlin continued. "My community didn't feel we had much protection, as when attacks did come, our cries fell on deaf ears. We were often too scared to report anything. Living with fear… it takes on a life of its own, doesn't it? It becomes a part of you, whether you want it to or not, and sometimes it feels like there is no other option than lying down, giving up, and dying."
He paused, and as he did, a cold realisation washed over Arthur.
Merlin wasn't talking about living in Ealdor.
"It took me a long time to no longer jump to that option. Just lying down. Giving up. Dying." Merlin began to pace, and the noise of his boots on the stones marked the only sound in the space. "It took a father figure and finding something worth living for to knock me out of it, and I'm not sure if that's something I can give to you."
He gestured to the assembly of Druids at this, before pausing once more, as if unsure if he should keep going. "After all, you are right that Uther had no intentions of giving you the haven he promised," he admitted, and Arthur winced. That bordered on treason. "Uther sent us in Gaius' name, but Gaius himself never gave him that blessing."
Merlin crossed his arms tightly, almost hugging himself before looking back up at Cian. "But despite that, I can't help but hope such lies can be forever in the past. Maybe it's unrealistic to imagine peace can be achieved, but I can't help but dream about it every day anyway. I hope that one day soon a king will offer a true haven."
He gestured to Arthur at this and Arthur didn't have time to process the motion before Merlin pushed on. "I hope that one day your secrets won't need to be kept. But that day will never come if someone doesn't take the first step towards a better future."
He stopped for a moment, catching his breath, and Cian smiled weakly. "A touching story, and a wonderful sentiment, Merlin," he said. "And while I appreciate your hopes, I do not know if it can be applied today."
"And why not?" Merlin insisted. Even in the dim light, Arthur could see tears growing in his eyes. "The Druids place peace before violence, when possible. Arthur only wants to protect Camelot. You feel the need to protect this… powerful sorcerer Uther is hunting. I suppose my question is why? What has he done to deserve that loyalty? What hope do you have in him that you're willing to die for him?"
With each word, Merlin's voice grew more shrill and Arthur's understanding of him grew more painfully clear. His thoughts swarmed, trying to categorise everything he was hearing, and he suddenly realised what Merlin was saying—what he was actually on about.
Merlin wasn't anguished over Arthur's threat. What he was anguished over was the Druids' willingness to lay down their lives to keep his secret. Because why were they protecting it? And was it really worth dying for?
It was ironic, as these were questions Arthur had asked as well. What he hadn't counted on was Merlin's perspective on them. After all, every knight in Camelot's army was willing to die for Arthur. It was an uncomfortable thing to know, but it was a reality he had grown used to. Clearly, Merlin was neither comfortable nor accustomed to that sort of fealty.
And it also spoke of Merlin's character. Truly, it was a comfort to Arthur to see Merlin did not crave power. If he did, he would be pleased by all this. In that fact, Arthur took heart.
"Knowledge comes with a price," Cian was saying, and Arthur crossed his arms, focusing back in on the conversation. "In the wrong hands, it can do far more damage than the sword. Prophecy is the most dangerous kind of knowledge. Some outcomes are inevitable, but how they come to pass can be manipulated."
The Druid heaved a sigh. "There are many prophecies about the sorcerer Emrys," he admitted, and Arthur flinched at the mention of the name. He hadn't told it to Cian. Neither had Merlin. "Many writings that Emrys himself does not—and should not—know. Not yet. However, all the prophecies would do great harm in the hands of Uther Pendragon. He will not understand them, and he will not try to."
"And why is that?" Merlin asked. His voice had grown soft now, the shrillness gone. It occurred to Arthur that Cian had just told Merlin new information. Prophecies—many prophecies—written about him.
Prophecies he didn't know.
Cian pursed his lips, clearly debating whether he wished to say more. Arthur sat forward, awaiting his decision with bated breath. He hadn't really thought Merlin would get anything out of the old Druid.
For once, he enjoyed being wrong.
"Emrys represents everything Uther fears," Cian said finally. "Peace with magic users. Reconciliation. All you have said you hope for. But if it comes about, it will not be on Uther's terms. There are many ways these prophecies can run their course, and several of them end with an Albion where my secrets are not needed and our safety is not a lie."
A smile had wormed its way onto Cian's lips—one of wonder and hope. It was not lost on Arthur, but it quickly faded.
"There is not, however, any option where this future is achieved without magic," the Druid continued. "And that is why Uther will cast it—and the good it allows—aside. Worse, he will try to prevent it."
The Archdruid took a pointed step toward Merlin, and Arthur noticed the servant did not flinch. "You ask what this great sorcerer has done to deserve our loyalty," Cian declared, and his expression turned scary in the flickering firelight. "Allow me to answer that with another question. What has this prince done to deserve yours?"
He gestured to Arthur at this, and Arthur's eyes widened, unprepared for the attack—and certainly unprepared for Merlin to look at him. Their eyes met for half a second, both men processing different things before Merlin grimaced, turning back to Cian.
"Hope and loyalty are close friends," Cian continued before Merlin could answer. "We are loyal to Emrys in the hopes of what he may achieve, just as you are loyal to a man you hope will be a good king. Let us hope neither of our loyalties are misplaced."
Something had changed in Cian's tone. His words now sounded suspiciously like a threat. Arthur didn't think he was imagining it, and Merlin looked more uncomfortable than ever.
He had been called out. That much Arthur knew, his brain struggling once again to translate what Cian was really saying. You know why we are willing to die to protect you and your secret? Because we believe you will help us, just like you believe this prince will help you. Let's hope we aren't both misled. If so, the outcome may not be pleasant.
A grim thought. Arthur could see Merlin's laboured breathing. "That traveller," Merlin blurted, and Arthur frowned at the mention. "Oliver. He came to us and said you believed Emrys to be in Camelot. Do you still believe him to be there today?"
Arthur's brow furrowed. He wasn't sure why Merlin would ask such a question.
Cian tilted his head, his narrowed eyes a mirror of Arthur's confusion. "I am not sure what you mean by that. Are you asking do I believe he is there now?"
"Yes," Merlin confirmed. "We were told Emrys was in Camelot, but is he still there? Is he aware we are looking for him?"
Cian paused, clearly still deciding how to respond, but after a second, the corners of his mouth lifted somewhat—almost like a smirk. "I do believe Emrys knows of your hunt," he informed. "What he thinks of it, I cannot say, but to the best of my knowledge, Emrys has left your kingdom. You can rest easy in knowing that. In fact, I have been told he is travelling back in the direction of his natural home, occupying someplace within Essetir. Whether he is fleeing or pursuing some other goal, I could not tell you, although I doubt Cenred would welcome an investigation."
Natural home… Travelled back… It took Arthur a moment. It took him far too long to realise just what smart little trick Merlin was playing, and when he did, he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
Yes, technically Emrys had left Camelot. Technically he'd gone to Cenred's kingdom, and technically Cenred's lands were his natural home. Technically Cian had been told as such—and just now, by Arthur himself.
How very clever.
Merlin laced his hands behind his back, his posture straightening. A bit of confidence seemed to have returned to him, emboldened by his own quick thinking. "The safety of Camelot is our only concern," he said, and Arthur cringed. For some reason is bothered him to hear Merlin say it. "You know for sure Emrys has left Camelot? And you don't believe he meant the kingdom harm?"
"I can confirm Emrys has travelled on," Cian confirmed, and he did seem to be smiling a little. "And I do believe he had no intention of spreading panic amongst your kingdom. If anything, it's the enemies of Camelot that should continue to fear Emrys. His is more their enemy than yours."
Merlin's confidence faltered a little. He opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur beat him to it. "And why's that?"
Cian turned his attention to him, and Arthur couldn't quite decipher the look on the sorcerer's face. Something between weariness and resignation. "I think you'll find that Emrys has silenced many enemies of Camelot's crown," Cian explained, and at his words, Arthur's blood ran cold. "If he hadn't, I don't believe you would be standing here today."
Arthur pushed off his boulder with force. Something like fear rocketed through him. Fear mixed with outrage. "What are you saying, exactly? He's been killing Camelot's enemies? Assassinating them?"
Cian pursed his lips. "Quite the contrary. I am saying he has been protecting you from assassination. You, and your father. By all accounts, you should have perished some time ago, Arthur Pendragon. You have Emrys to thank for your head."
Something else bubbled within him. Something not unlike the outrage or the shock, but worse. Disgust. He felt objectified. Of course. Of course that's how the sorcerers would frame it. Protection of their interest. He was like a delicate vase to them. A priceless chess piece. An object.
Merlin looked extremely uncomfortable at the turn in conversation. He glanced at Arthur, who struggled to remain a face of impassivity in the face of what Cian was saying. It was a lot to digest, and it left Arthur with a new question.
How many people has Merlin killed?
He drew his sword. He did so without thought, but it prompted his knights into motion, forming ranks. Snatching his cape off the boulder, he stalked up beside Merlin and squared up with the Archdruid. He knew he was breaking the set up of his own trial, but he suddenly didn't much care.
"Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me who Emrys has killed in my name. And tell me the prophecies about him."
Beside him, Merlin inhaled sharply, but Cian just laughed. "You speak of prophecies I am keeping from Emrys himself, Arthur Pendragon! Do you really think I will just impart them all to you? I am deeply sorry, but I would rather die."
"That option is not off the table," Arthur growled, but Merlin caught his arm, pulling him back. Arthur hadn't even realised he'd stepped forward, his sword point an arm's length from Cian's chest.
"Arthur, please," Merlin hissed, and Arthur hated having to look at him. His blue eyes had regained intensity and focus. "Your father sent us here to find out about Emrys' wearabouts and learn his aims. If he's gone, if he doesn't wish to attack Camelot, then we have the answer we came for. We've obeyed orders. We're done here."
"No, we're not," Arthur snapped, and he ripped his arm out of Merlin's grasp, turning his fury back onto Cian. "I wish to know these prophecies. Especially if they concern me. Do you not think I have right to know them if they speak of me? Or my kingdom?"
He took another step toward the Druid, leveling his sword with Cian's heart, but Merlin stopped him short. "Prophecies are magic, Arthur!" he reminded, and Arthur's heart skipped a beat. "You've said it yourself, we can't trust magic. What's stopping this sorcerer from telling you a string of lies and leading you to your death? If you listen to his prophecy, you are trusting in him and his magic first and foremost. And tell me, what would your father say to that?"
He said it forcefully, almost like a reprimand, and Arthur looked back at him. He stared at this sorcerer, his friend, long and hard. Despite everything, despite all he had learned about Merlin's true nature, he was once again stunned by the sorcerer's words. All this business with "technically, Emrys has left Camelot," and now expertly turning Arthur's own convictions against him.
It was ridiculous. Ridiculous because he was right. Arthur didn't believe he could trust magic. Certainly his father didn't. And as much as Arthur yearned to know what the Druids believed about him and his future—and about where Merlin lay within all that—he could not trust any narrative given to him by a magic spell. Not publically. Not today.
Clever, clever, clever. It was a word Arthur had never attributed to Merlin, but he was forced to assign it to him now. Merlin was annoyingly and frustratingly clever—somehow managing to wiggle his way out of Arthur's impossible trial. He hadn't chosen. He'd protected the Druids without sacrificing the tenets of Camelot's anti-magic laws, and he had acquired what Arthur had been sent to collect—information on Emrys. In the end, Merlin had gained enough reconnaissance to bring back to the king and put his mind at rest. The hunt for Emrys would end.
It was incredible, really, to look at his not-so-idiot servant and realise how this was his life. Wording things delicately. Finding the loopholes. Struggling to reconcile his heritage with his lifestyle. It must be terrible. Frustrating, and tiresome. The pain Arthur had seen shining in Merlin's eyes earlier was still there, simmering below the surface—although now the sorcerer mostly expressed concern. Concern for Arthur. Fear for the Druids. He really did mean well, didn't he? It felt wrong to think it, but Arthur did think Merlin meant well.
It seemed insane, but then again, the truth often was. Trial two's verdict was very clear. Merlin, for better or for worse, had passed. Only one trial left to go.
Arthur closed his eyes and took a big breath, trying fruitlessly to wrangle the hurt, the anger, and the frustration he possessed. He felt like a deer in the path of a hunter's crossbow, but he'd acted out of anger too many times before. It never ended well. He needed to control himself. Now was not the time to pursue potentially useless prophecies.
"You are positive Emyrs has left Camelot?" he demanded of Cian, trying his best to keep his tone civil.
Cian nodded solemnly. "I am."
"Good. Fine. Fine." Arthur hated how breathless he sounded. He felt tears forming, but he pushed them back. He was losing all composure and he needed to end this. "And will he stay away?"
"That I cannot say. However, if you believe in my foreknowledge at all, your kingdom has nothing to worry about from this particular sorcerer. You have plenty of other enemies to worry about instead."
"How very comforting." Arthur couldn't keep a hint of contempt out of his voice, but he slowly lowered his sword. Glaring at Cian, he realised what he hated about the Druid. The old man seemed to stare right into his soul with a knowing smiling, sensing his true thoughts and feelings. Perhaps he could sense them, and Arthur didn't like the thought of anyone wielding that kind of power.
He took a step back. "In exchange for your life, then, I have one condition," he decided, and he swung his sword in a loop just to see if Cian would flinch. He didn't. "If you meet Emrys again, you must assure he stays away from Camelot. If he does return, or if he tries to do my kingdom any harm, he will pay for it with his life and so will you. Do you understand?"
Something shifted in Cian's eyes, but he nodded. "I understand."
"Wonderful," Arthur said listlessly. He sheathed his sword with a reverberating shinck, and behind him, he heard his knights do the same. "Then we will take our leave in peace."
"Glad we could be of use, Arthur," Cian drawled with a smile, and his dry sarcasm was not lost on Arthur. That, and that for the first time he'd referred to Arthur by only his first name. As if they were equals.
Exhausted and frustrated, Arthur ignored the jab. He swivelled on his heel and drew his cape around his shoulders, storming out of the cave. Merlin scrambled to follow, but Arthur didn't acknowledge him, focusing on his exit. He just wanted to return home and crawl into bed. He had too much to think about, and for every question answered he had gained several more. Prophecies the Druid refused to part with. Some prophecies Merlin knew, some prophecies he was barred from knowing, and all of which Cian refused to reveal.
All this, and also a new thought to chew on. Merlin was quite a killer, apparently, and Arthur didn't know what to make of that—let alone know what to do about it. An assassin in the night, using his magic to kill Arthur's enemies? Or something far worse? What was Cian implying?
It was a lot to process, but before he could think on it further, he heard the splash of running feet behind him, crashing through the shallow creek of the cave.
He whirled around, hands on the hilt of his sword, but only to see the little Druid boy from earlier ducking under Merlin's startled arm, his big blue eyes wide and innocent. "I'll be praying for you!" he cried, giving Arthur a wide grin and showing off several missing teeth. In his chubby little hands swung a metal necklace of some kind, and Arthur stared at it, fixated, while the pendant twirled and glinted in the moonlight. The circular centre presented curved symbols Arthur didn't recognise. "I hope you find peace and forgiveness!"
And with that, the Druid boy bounced back and ducked behind Merlin once more, disappearing into the cave darkness as quickly as he'd come—leaving Arthur frozen.
He stared. Stared unseeingly into the blackness of the cave where the Druid boy's ragged brown cloak had vanished. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, standing and staring like a madman before Merlin moved into his line of sight.
"Are you okay?" the servant whispered, reaching for his arm, and Arthur swallowed, shaking himself out of it. He dodged Merlin's touch, turning away and burying himself in his cape.
"Let's go," he said gruffly, stalking up the muddy slope with heavy footfalls. He'd never felt more tired and empty.
Today, his only prayer was for this waking nightmare to be over.
