Merlin paced his room.
He nearly tripped over a dog-eared book, but he paid it no mind. His mind and heart were in great turmoil. He'd made his decision.
But since when had it been Arthur over everything? Where was his morality?
Maybe this is what starts the druid boy's resentment against Arthur, he thought. If I get him caught, and he somehow escapes execution. . .
Merlin growled deep in his throat. He closed his eyes.
What would his mother say?
Hunith had always been his moral compass.
Look at the options, love, he imagined her saying. Follow your heart. And I hope your heart doesn't tell you to let the mad king kill an innocent child.
He needed – he needed more information. And he couldn't let a child be killed, no matter what he was destined to do.
Merlin ran a hand over his face, feeling emotionally exhausted. The Dragon would probably shove more 'Kill the Druid!' down his throat.
Gaius, then.
"Gaius!" He called, thundering down the stairs.
"Ah, Merlin," Gaius said, focusing on his work. "I need to make some more medicine for Lady—" He noticed the look on his ward's face. "Merlin? What's wrong?"
"Gaius, how accurate are prophecies?" Merlin said immediately.
Gaius hesitated, slowly setting the test tube down. "I'm afraid I do not know," He said sadly. "If this is about the prophecy regarding you and Arthur, it is more widely known than other prophecies, so it is considered to be more likely to come true—"
"What?" Merlin managed, and his head spun as his view of life realigned itself.
He realized he had never once questioned his destiny. He'd just accepted it. What would Will say? He thought rationally. This meant that. . . If the prophecy didn't have to come true, then. . . .
Had he wasted so much of his life on this, on nothing?
Then he thought about Gwen. About Lancelot. About Morgana. About Arthur himself. No. They were his friends. It wasn't a waste, then. But still. . . .
"Who can tell me, then?" Merlin hoped his voice wasn't too desperate, but judging by Gaius' face he wasn't succeeding at showing calm.
"Merlin—" The man sighed. "The Druid elders, probably. But I don't think there can be any way to know for sure that a prophecy will come true."
Feeling sick, Merlin ran out of the workshop, collapsing against a pillar, breathing hard.
He began to plan.
He was waiting for Arthur and the druid boy with two saddled horses and already broken bars. Did Arthur really expect him to break the door with a grappling hook and rope?
"Competent for once, Merlin," Arthur said breathlessly, his arm around the boy. Coming from him, that was an effusive Well done, Merlin. Then his eyes narrowed. "Why are there two horses?"
"I'm going with you." Merlin said.
"No you are not—"
"Yes, I am." Merlin said calmly. "You hardly go anywhere without me. Tomorrow when we come back, you can say you dragged me on an impromptu hunt to distract yourself from Morgana's betrayal. I am not going to be left behind."
Arthur opened and shut his mouth, torn between being impressed at the thought behind this plan, fear for his friend at the thought of him accompanying him on this, and annoyance at being ordered around and told he couldn't survive without his manservant. "Very well, Merlin." He sighed. "Come on. Quickly."
Merlin hadn't really been looking for permission, but he swung himself on top of his palfrey, a sturdy mare that would have been laughed out of a knight's stables. Arthur and the boy got on to Llamrei, and they set off, Merlin closely following.
They rode silently. "Lord Angevin once gave me these leaves to tell you to vote for changing the taxing routes," Merlin commented.
"He did what?!" Arthur hissed out with gritted teeth.
"Oh," Merlin said. "I probably shouldn't have said that."
"Merlin." Arthur said. "What exactly do you mean?"
"The nobles think I have your ear," Merlin explained. "They give me things and tell me secrets to persuade you to vote some way or tell the council and king something."
"You don't, do you?" Arthur's voice was less suspicious, more casual, but Merlin was still hurt.
"Of course not," Merlin said, unable to prevent the injury from creeping into his tone. "Besides, great prat that you are, you hardly listen to my – very good, too – advice."
"Your – council, is occasionally very good. I have used it." Which was his apology.
The boy giggled. Merlin spoke in his mind – Hey. Mind telling me your name?
He jumped and then hesitated. Merlin wanted to know the name of the boy he was risking execution and Arthur's death to save. Mordred. My name is Mordred.
Nice to meet you, Mordred, Merlin lied. He would have to wait and see if this was nice or not.
"We're nearly there," Arthur told Merlin.
"We are forever indebted to you, Arthur Pendragon, for returning the boy to us." A voice spoke. It then added mentally, And to you, Emrys.
He used the name too. Merlin inclined his head, uncomfortable.
"You must not let it be known that it was us who brought him to you." Arthur said, mouth pursing the way it did when he was particularly anxious.
"We will not. You have our word." Another man spoke.
Merlin spoke in the first one's mind. I have questions I need to ask, and someone told me the Druid elders were the ones to ask.
I am such, Emrys. You may ask what you wish.
Merlin wondered how to articulate his thought process. Why do you call me that?
Emrys? It is the name given to you in prophecies, the legends of the old.
"Merlin," Arthur said impatiently. "Come on. We've gotten Mordred back."
Oh. Arthur must've leaned his name. "A minute, Arthur." Merlin said distractedly. What exactly do the prophecies say? And how likely are they to come true?
The prophecies … Predict the bloody Purge of Uther. They say that Magic lost had to be returned – through you, Emrys. You are Magic itself. Merlin could feel the awe in the druid's mental voice as well. He blushed. And together with the Once and Future King and Queen, it is said that you will reinstate it to the land, better than ever before. A Golden Age.
And Queen? Whoever Arthur married, Merlin supposed. Or maybe Arthur would make Morgana Queen instead of the mostly ornamental position of ward.
"—A minute, Merlin? What do you mean by that?" Arthur was saying furiously. "Have you lost your—"
"I just need to talk to—" Merlin looked at the man.
"Iseldir," The druid said.
"Iseldir for a moment, sire. Please." Merlin added. Arthur looked mutinous, but Merlin urged his horse ahead, ignoring his master's tirade. And what of the prophecy that speaks of Arthur's death? Mordred is destined to be the one who kills him. If you want the Golden Age to come, what are you going to do about that?
Iseldir paused, clearly thinking. Destiny is not something that would. . . Necessarily happen, Emrys.
Merlin, please. What does that mean?
It is one inevitability. But like many rivers lead to the same sea, how the same river may end in different seas, how nature's path is unpredictable and stormy, so can be said about the future.
Merlin considered that. So you mean. . . Mordred killing Arthur would only be one possibility? And so is Arthur growing into the destined king?
His Highness already is the Once and Future King, just as you are already Emrys. . . . . Merlin. Merlin could feel Iseldir's hesitation at using that name. It is just that magic may be brought about by him in several ways. He could be the one doing it, or simply be the catalyst, such as his death. But all the seers agree that the two of you are pivotal to the bringing back of Magic.
Merlin felt sick at the thought of Arthur's death. How do I take the path that will lead to magic being brought back without Arthur's death?
I'm afraid the future is every uncertain and doesn't show a particular path for an outcome, Iseldir said sadly.
Great. He didn't know. Of course. "Thank you, Iseldir." He said out loud, loudly so that Arthur would shut up. His master was livid. "I think I'm done here now, though."
"If you wish to learn more," Iseldir said. "You are always welcome at our camps." You can use your magic to sense where we are, now that you have met the boy, Mordred, and me. He ducked back into the trees.
"Finally!" Arthur fumed. "You'd better have a bloody good explanation for this, Merlin!"
Merlin looked at him, and he saw a boy, just a couple summers older than him. The Prophecied Once and Future King, but also a flawed man Merlin hadn't allowed himself to see. Everything I was promised may not come true at all, Merlin thought. This realization pained him so much he had to look away and take deep breaths.
"Merlin?" Arthur's voice showed more concern now, as much as he allowed himself to show his servant.
But also my friend, Merlin reminded himself.
"This life is so. . . Peaceful." He said to the prince. "I wanted to see if I could, well, join them, I suppose." He immediately regretted telling the partial truth.
"Being a druid is illegal in Camelot," Arthur snapped angrily, as Merlin had predicted. "Are you. . . Are you really thinking of leaving?" He seemed unbothered, but his voice had dipped a little.
"Why? Scared you'll have to make your own bed?" Merlin teased.
"Merlin!" Arthur snapped.
Merlin didn't reply, just stared seriously into Arthur's face. His friend's face. Who was part of a prophecy Merlin would like to come true, but might not anyway.
"No." Merlin said. "Camelot is my home now."
Arthur grinned, then immediately scowled as it to neutralize it. "Great. An idiot's made a home in my kingdom. Come on, Merlin. I want to at least get nearer to the city before daybreak. You've delayed us enough."
His horse took off.
Merlin followed his king.
The King he was not beholden to anymore, but followed anyway.
Out of choice.
And this would make quite a difference in their lives.