Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
Chapter Thirteen
"It's less than a day's ride back to Camelot. If we leave now, we'd have him to Gaius before dinner."
"But he's too sick to ride," Gwaine protested, and Arthur huffed.
"What if he rode with someone?"
"The effort of traveling could still make him worse. Especially if we have another storm – and those clouds outside don't look promising."
Gwaine was right. Arthur knew he was. But that didn't make the truth any less irritating.
Merlin hadn't gotten worse overnight, but he hadn't gotten any better either. They poured more tea down his throat every time he woke up, for all the good it did, but he slept most of the time and his body didn't cool. And in the moments he was awake, he seemed confused.
"We're out of willow bark," Lancelot spoke up from where he crouched next to Merlin, holding the empty jar in his hand. "If we're going to wait it out another day and see if he improves, we'll need more."
"I'll go," Elyan volunteered immediately, and he headed out of the cave. Arthur didn't try to stop him, which, he supposed, was a decision in and of itself. They couldn't very well leave if Elyan was wandering around in the forest.
"We'll wait it out for a day," he agreed reluctantly. "But if he shows signs of worsening, we're sending someone to fetch Gaius and bring him here."
Decision made, Arthur sat down next to Merlin, his back against the cave wall. "Get some sleep, Lancelot. We'll take care of him."
Lancelot studied his friend's sleeping face for a moment, the bags on his own face visible, then nodded. "Wake me if he comes to," he requested as he laid down.
Arthur didn't answer because he didn't want to lie. He understood Lancelot's concern – Arthur had slept poorly the night before for the same reason – but the knight needed rest.
A few minutes later, Merlin stirred.
Arthur reached out for the cup as soon as he heard him, then drew his hand back as he remembered they had no tea left.
"All right there, Merlin?" he asked, and Merlin's eyes wandered until they found him. "I thought I told you I wanted you well enough to fix breakfast this morning. You never can follow orders, can you?"
If Merlin heard him, he gave no indication. Instead, he stared at Arthur, blinking uncertainly.
"Don't worry," Arthur reassured him. "You'll be fine. You just need some rest."
"Not worried," Merlin mumbled drowsily. "I'm winning."
Arthur raised his eyebrows and tried to hide a smile. "Are you now?"
"Mmhmm."
Merlin was quiet for a moment, and Arthur thought he'd fallen back asleep until he spoke again.
"Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"You know I'll always protect you, right?"
He tried to smother the laugh that wanted to escape, because it was clear that Merlin was entirely sincere, if somewhat confused. "I'm sure you will, Merlin."
Merlin frowned. "You believe me, don't you?" he asked, and strangely, Merlin looked genuinely worried. Almost frightened. "I promise I will."
His laughter faded in the face of Merlin's earnestness. "That's very kind of you," he said gently, "but you can't protect anyone if you can't sit up. So get some rest."
Merlin didn't seem to hear him. "It's my job to keep you safe," he insisted, his voice feeble but determined. "He lied. We're like a coin."
Arthur frowned as Merlin's words turned into nonsense, a haunted look coming over his face as he watched Arthur.
"Your job is to get well, Merlin. Focus on that for the moment." It wasn't the first time that Merlin had mentioned protecting him – he'd brought it up many times in the past, actually. But Arthur would never understand how Merlin had gotten it into his head that a servant's responsibilities somehow included keeping him safe, especially since Merlin had no notable skill with a sword.
Suddenly, a shout from outside pierced the cave, waking Lancelot and driving all of the knights to their feet. Then it came again, and Arthur recognized a very familiar voice yelling shrilly at the top of his lungs.
"Run!" Elyan's panic was evident. "Arthur, run!"
The cave echoed with the sound of five swords being drawn at once. As the knights raced towards the entrance to the cave, Arthur turned around and found Leon. The knight held a sword, but his other arm was still bound in a sling.
"Stay here with Merlin," Arthur ordered him. He would have liked to have left Merlin – and Leon, for that matter – with more protection that one injured knight, but the others were already gone, and Arthur certainly wasn't going to stay back.
He ran after the other knights, following the sound of Elyan's cries until they abruptly cut short.
"It was coming from over there." Gwaine turned to the right and scrambled up the ridge, and the others followed him. Arthur fervently hoped that Gwaine was right.
A few moments later, they emerged from the trees onto a large flat rock.
And there on the ground, backed up against a boulder, was Elyan. Arthur saw the despair in his eyes as the knight spotted the king, and when Arthur looked around, a sense of dread warned him of what he would find: the sorceress.
But he was surprised. Yes, the sorceress stood several yards away from Elyan, side by side with an older man, but they weren't alone. The ridge above them was filled with people. They looked down on Arthur with anger and triumph and hatred. Only a few held swords, but if they had magic, the absence of swords meant nothing. He automatically scanned the throng, trying to get a closer look at their hands. Not many were visible, but all of the ones he saw bore the same tattoo of the bramble and thorns.
Arthur didn't know if he and his men had stumbled upon them, or if they had been tracking and pursuing him; regardless, they were now in the midst of dozens of Deilen priests.
"So you are King Arthur." The older man took a step toward him, sword in hand. "How very considerate of you to leave Camelot and come visit us. It's much easier to deal with five knights in the middle of the woods than to deal with an entire town."
Five knights – so they hadn't been tracking them. If they had, they would have known there were six knights, plus a servant. At the very least, that hopefully meant no one was seeking out Leon and Merlin.
Arthur turned his attention to the man. His hair was graying, but looking closer, Arthur saw that his face looked younger than he'd first thought. Older than himself, but maybe only by ten years or so.
But then again, the man's eyes were old. Haunted and bitter. And as a smile bent across his face, Arthur knew the man truly hated him. Arthur was certain this man, more so than the sorceress, was his real enemy.
"Who are you?"
"What is the point of introductions?" the man asked, amused. "You must realize I intend to kill you."
Arthur felt a flare of anger. A knight, or any man with honor, would not refuse to give his name. "It is a matter of courtesy," he said shortly. "If I am to die, I'd like to know by whose hand." His own hand tightened on his sword, but he knew the familiar weapon would do him little good if these people were all sorcerers, as he suspected.
The man chuckled. "Very well. I am Maelor, high priest of the Deilen. I am the one tasked by destiny to ensure the return of magic to Camelot."
"The prophecies of Carys of Afon," Arthur remembered, thinking back to what Merlin had told him.
"Yes," Maelor said, surprised. "The holy Carys foretold of this time, when Emrys would abandon the Once and Future King and join the Deilen to restore magic to the kingdom."
"Carys was a fake. The true prophecy says that Emrys will always be loyal to me." Arthur said it with all of the conviction he wished he felt, and he prayed it was true.
In that moment, he could finally admit that he wanted it to be true.
Maelor's face twisted with rage at Arthur's words, and he stretched out his hand. "Wáce ierlic!"
The ground fell from Arthur's feet, and he felt his back slam against the boulder before he landed beside Elyan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other knights fall as well. He scrambled, about to rise to his feet, when Maelor took two steps toward him. Arthur considered, then decided it might be better to stay on the ground for the moment. If Maelor came closer, Arthur may be able to attack, but distance worked to the sorcerer's advantage. There was no point in risking further anger when the man was so far away.
"Carys was a Deilen priestess, a Seer who bestowed sacred prophecies," Maelor hissed, the gold fading from his eyes. "How dare you belittle the words she spoke?" Suddenly the priest looked up, startled, his eyes glowing as a shape blurred in front of his face. It took Arthur a moment to realize it was the bolt from a crossbow, arrested mid-flight.
"Interesting." He flicked the bolt and it fell to the ground, and then he stretched out a hand, eyes blazing again. "Âwinnan!"
A grunt sounded to Arthur's right, and Leon stumbled into sight, a crossbow in his hands and his legs clearly moving him forward against his will. It was strange to see him with a crossbow instead of a sword, but with his injured arm, he must have thought he wouldn't be able to fight well.
Of course, Arthur had no idea how he'd managed the bow with the injured arm either. And what was the knight playing at? Why was he here at all?
Because if Leon was here, that meant Merlin was alone in the cave, ill and unprotected.
"You were supposed to stay—" Arthur cut himself off. He'd almost given Merlin away. "—to stay back," he finished awkwardly. "What are you doing here?"
Leon looked at him apologetically. "You were gone too long," he explained simply, stumbling over to them as the power of Maelor's magic forced him to join the knights.
Arthur took a deep breath, controlling his temper. Leon was fond of Merlin, as were all the knights, but Arthur should have known he'd leave the servant in a heartbeat if he thought the king was in danger.
"I'm afraid no mere knight can save you, your majesty," Maelor said, sounding more entertained than angry. "This day has been foretold for many years. When the Once and Future King falls, Emrys's loyalties will no longer be divided, and he will join his own people. Without the king and his knights, the people of Camelot will accept the reign and protection of the Deilen with open arms." He closed the distance to Arthur, raising his sword to his throat. "Today marks the beginning of a new age in Camelot. The Age of Magic."
His words echoed what the sorceress had said in the courtyard. And just like in the courtyard, Arthur felt completely powerless to stop what was coming. He would die with a sword in his hand, fighting until his last breath, but he had no delusions that they could overpower a horde of sorcerers. Not on their own.
Lancelot said Emrys wouldn't be far if they needed help, and they definitely needed help. Arthur glanced at the knight out of the corner of his eye, hoping for reassurance.
But he was not prepared for the look on Lancelot's face. In the courtyard, he had looked hopeful, confident. His faith in Emrys had been evident. But there was no sign of that hope on Lancelot's face now. He looked determined and brave; it was the face of a knight ready for a battle.
It was not the face of someone expecting a miracle.
AN: This chapter was a pain in the butt. Not sure that matters to anyone but me, but I felt the need to say it. I have to admit, I'm glad to have this one done and posted so I can move on. ;) Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! Since I've been reworking this story, I've been able to take some of the thoughts from the reviews and work them into the story, which has been really fun!