Morgana is invading Camelot.
Outside.
Morgana.
Locked...
He is locked.
Morgana is invading Camelot.
Try "Patentibus".
Morgana is...
Like after great physical work, his muscles are tense and with every passing minute, his movements are more sluggish, uncoordinated.
His thoughts adopt the same clumsiness and for a while, he just sits there. His mind feels super-focused, therefore not being able to focus on anything. Merlin is too hot, he feels each and every way his clothes touch his body and it's too rough, the sounds, Gods, the sounds! Clanks, bangs, murmurs, scratchings, Mordred's breathing and confusing muttering.
Merlin looks at his bony hands, that are folding into familiar shapes to perform magical spells without any magic behind it.
Forbeo. Vagnerioh. Ogharef.
Yes, just like this. One thing at a time. The most important thing is to start.
Merlin takes a deep breath and looks up.
The door is a regular wooden thing, not even a solid sturdy oak that is Arthur's door, just a few unpolished planks, nailed down together. Still, it stands unmarked from Merlin's countless magical attacks. Almost painting-like, magical whirls marring the walls around.
Magical whirls are marring the walls around.
Too obvious. He needs to cast a Vanishing spell. The ink. He's seen it on the table before, maybe it got away in a blast. Or maybe he can draw a charm with soot…
Focus. The way out.
As if obstructed by an invisible force, Merlin with effort returns his attention to the door. From all the spells cast outside magical streams are constantly shifting and breaking at increased speed, so it is hard to diagnose, but without a doubt, there are no enchantments on it. Which means…
Which means nothing to Merlin. Unless there's one of Gaius's volumes in this abandoned guest room.
Back to blasting then. There's one spell he has wanted to try…
- Mordred, – he calls. The kid whips his head back, from where he examining what seems every stone in the wall. There's no usual snappiness in him, just confusion and fear, Merlin gestures "Step aside", but dumbly Mordred turns his head where Merlin is pointing.
Merlin also can't act with his usual harshness:
- Move aside, - he says gently, - I'm going to try and blast the door again.
Mordred frowns. Again he intently stares at the wall, caressing it, and then steps behind Merlin to the ancient bed.
Merlin wants to hug the kid or at least to pat his shoulder, instead, he says:
- Be careful. The blast is going to be big.
- Ugum.
Mordred's voice is barely a whisper. He crouches to the other side of the bed, arms over his head.
Merlin inhales. He lifts his arms, fingertips tingling. As always without much strain, he yanks the stream of force so much bigger than himself. The hard part is to maneuver it how he needs it.
Sweat beads at his temples.
- Patentibus, - he whispers.
When Merlin was a child he was scared of fire. Villagers from the neighboring place burnt someone, a family. He remembers he and Will were watching as a thin pillar of dense murky smoke wobbled in the distance. Echos of screams and chatters were rattling through the wast infinite fields.
Or maybe it was just his imagination.
Mordred is scared of water. Not the river and the lakes, but man-made things like wells and aqueducts and bathtubs.
Merlin wonders if that because of how he has seen sorcerers being executed. Like that ghost boy persecuting Uther.
Daegal isn't scared of anything in particular. He says despite his mom being a druid they lived as regular people.
Still, he notices how the boy flattens when the flash of Camelot red appears.
Merlin guesses some things are universal for everyone magic touches. He has seen this exact expression on his mother's face. He hates it.
When Gwaine comes someday late to treat a nasty gush at his arm, Merlin's eyes can't seem to leave his thick crimson robe. As always when there's no danger, their interactions turn awkward. They gravitate toward each other, but like water and oil can't seem to mix without something.
Merlin smiles at another anecdote from the mission and Gwaine stops. His cow eyes, full of genuine compassion, sear Merlin:
- Is something wrong? Are you feeling unwell?
Merlin is feeling unwell. Merlin is also feeling disgusting at himself for lying. But that's given.
What's new is the cold trickle of dread in Merlin's stomach. He wonders what will Gwaine do if he meets someone with magic, not him, but a stranger, like a druid or a healer like Alice? (or Mordred?)
This time he can't brush off his thoughts no matter how hard he tries.
Nothing happens. Or more precisely, the door isn't affected. It stays eerily still all through the deafening explosion when furniture is hopping sideways and all the knicks and knacks that stayed upright the last time are flying to the floor. Merlin himself can't stay straight and tumbles ungracefully to the ground.
- Mordred, you okay? - He doesn't recognize his voice through the wool in his ears.
- Mhm. - Mordred responds, climbing from behind the bed. - What do you think the locking spell is?
His voice is not so lost anymore, more... curious and Merlin is truly sorry that he can't provide any answers:
- I don't know. I don't even know if we are locked with a spell or something else.
Mordred doesn't give up.
- It must be really complicated magic then. Do you think Morgana specifically locked us up? So we won't stop her?
Merlin signed. He wouldn't be surprised if it was for a more sinister reason. His memory flashes to the scene of a greenish spell exploding the roof of someone's house that is barely seen from their window. Although the window of the room is situated inconveniently above the lush endless fields behind the Camelot castle, rather than the town, the sounds of brutal invasion are unmistakable. More evidence that Morgana has truly abandoned all the kindness she had.
The last time she didn't manage to kill Merlin, so who's to deny that Morgana wouldn't want to get some sweet revenge privately.
And Mordred is there just as a cherry on top. A former friend that betrayed sorcery and became a knight. Considering Mordred hang out with Daegal all the time and they haven't tried to recruit him...
He glances at Mordred. He is looking into the distance, lips pursed, expression hurt, worrying the hem of his tunic with his little fingers.
Merlin doesn't dwell on the exact relationship the kid now has with Morgana, because evidently, Mordred doesn't know it either.
Just in case Merlin is careful with his words:
- Maybe. She didn't know I was Emrys the last time, but maybe Daegal told her.
Mordred doesn't answer, but his hands are clenched into fists.
After that, they just sit there silent. Merlin is leaning on the bedframe, Mordred is tucked into a chair.
If you don't count trying to climb up the fireplace or jump out the window (and Merlin doesn't) new escape ideas do not appear.
Suddenly something grumbles. Merlin smirks, turning his head:
- Someone's hungry!
Merlin rolls his eyes but not mean-spiritedly. Still, he pulls his legs closer to his body, hiding. He's almost shy when he says the next words:
- It's fine, - he pauses. - It was only half a day. I'm used to much worst.
Merlin figures. He hems assentingly.
All the thoughts he has been having lately surging on the front of his mind, clear as spring water.
He knows Mordred is a druid. And he knows druids are... struggling. But he guesses he doesn't understand.
He observes Mordred anew. His grown-up like demeanor, his gloominess, his small for his age frame. The question flies from his lips like a brisk titmouse:
- Why are you here?
Mordred shrinks into himself tighter.
- I already told you, - he says with just too proactive annoyance.
Merlin doesn't answer. It's very important for him to know, but he won't make Mordred talk. Having magic is confusing and messy and complicated. Merlin's heart changes about it five times a day, and, frankly, he's afraid the time when it will set.
After all, Mordred speaks:
- I was tired. What I remember of my childhood there's always killing and stealing and lying. And sometimes you need to do that, or you'll die or someone else will die. But it's still bad! - his eyes darted to Merlin, looking for approval. - And even when we stayed with druids. You have to lie to people to get money. To the good people. And you have to kill them too if they find out about you too much or your friends will die. And I just want to live normally. - He pauses. - Here, you can. And I know normal people can be bad and lie and kill too, but there're rules and it's not... - He pauses again. - And so many people can't be wrong... And I want magic to return because there are fairies and the Priestess and goblins and others, but people... Maybe we shouldn't... rely on it so much.
Mordred is extremely vulnerable before him, but also defensive and Merlin can't help and give him a smile. His heart is beating wildly as the metronome of his heart leaps with abandon on "Magic is poisonous and you are selfish for using it" side.
At last, Mordred looks determined.
- And when... If... I mean, when Morgana... I want to help you stop her. I don't want magic hurting people.
- Alright. - Merlin catches his eyes. - Thank you.
Merlin barely remembers the first time he had run away from home. He was maybe five or four and he could understand only very little. Like you mustn't tell about your "tricks" or something very bad will happen. Fire is bad, cause it makes mum sad. When you see a red cape - run.
Maybe it was the fire that started it. He had tried to make it form a figure "see, mum, it's not scary" and accidentally made it erupt. He remembers Hunith's face twist as the contents of pot she dropped scalds her legs.
Or maybe it was a different accident. Whatever, after, the picture in Merlin's head is long pine trees, slimy grass, and dark forest, smelling of rotten leaves and rain.
He has had a lot of stories like this, crazy things he had done out of stupidity. One time he didn't leave the house for three months afraid he'll accidentally reveal his magic. Another time he had given himself an ugly burn while "training to withstand a pyre". Again, runaways. He did it more times than he can count, thinking Mum and Will will be safer without him.
He hates how it all blurs in his mind, almost making him forget that his time in Ealdor wasn't all misery and fear.
He also hates how despite his recklessness and proclivity for bad ideas, he never once tried to eat wolfberry or hold his head underwater really long. All those things folk believes tell will help you get rid of your magic.
When Daegal comes, as white as his tunic, it's Mordred who makes him blackout with a precise blow to the base of the neck.
- Careful! - Merlin jumps at Daegal's side, gently lifting his unconscious body, that still manages to look skittish, to set it on the bed.
Mordred doesn't seem affected. He's examining the wall that is behind the door.
- It's a talisman, - he says, smug, - it was hidden there. One of the stones is loose.
Honestly, kids!
- It's all good, but why did you make him unconscious? He said he wanted to let us go?
Under Mordred's look, Merlin feels like he is a madman:
- Will you go?
This feeling in his stomach is like after a particularly sour apple eaten on an empty stomach. "Protect Arthur" blinks in his mind, like a candle on the wind, but waiting has left him tired, and the fire that was his mind now merely smolder producing thick curls of obscuring smoke. He hasn't considered running, but the thought suddenly looks more and more sound. Judging by what Daegal had time to let on, Morgana's army has seized the castle.
Could he fight her alone?
And could he risk getting a kid injured?
Mordred frowns, huge eyes splashing with emotions. In a second he's inside, the door shut, the talisman in hand.
- Please, Emrys! We can't just go away-
- If we do, it's not forever, - Merlin cuts off, - just for regrouping. Wait a little I need to think.
- Well, I'm against regrouping.
Stupid child. Does he think he'll participate in this mission?
- Well, I'm aga...
A screeching shout chops trough the air. They both race to the window. Merlin's limbs are melting.
The wast field beneath them is quickly filling with carts. Like a parchment that freshly got coffee spilled on it, they arrive, creaking and moaning, pulled by the horses unlike Merlin ever has seen before - blue-black and as wide as two normal ones.
Atop of carts figures lay unmoving. Sometimes there's two of them, sometimes there's three. The King of Camelot lays alone.
Something snaps inside Merlin, all currents of magic rushing under his will, their bits bursting into this world like a juice out of a taut ripe berry. He's so disgusted, he wants to throw up. When he turns, one thought is plunged into his head like a nail.
He needs to stop this.
Merlin always kind of felt unique. He is an only sorcerer among people he knows, he doesn't fit in with druids or other hereditary magic users. Gaius says there isn't a magical being comparable with him either.
So even when he accepted he has a destiny, he never related to one of the sides. There were magical folks and there were ordinary people and there was Merlin. The battle between the first two was as old as time and Merlin is just a bystander.
He is hesitant to admit but having a sorcerer around (not Gaius, Gaius is family and it seems always will be a Camelotian first) makes him belong to the side.
This depends on the time of exposure, he notices. With Fisher king he doesn't feel bad for lying, with Freya he's ready to bewitch the knights he knows by name, with Mordred he starts, slowly and against his will, to resent his closest friends.
Walking through the castle's corridors, casting spells whenever he pleases, and knowing his eyes are glowing is surprisingly easy. Merlin thought he would be reserved, old habits hovering over his frame like a heavy rainsoaked coat.
Instead, he feels like himself.
With a twitch of his chin, he sends another group of attackers flying. Druids. So much for peaceful people.
Mordred behind him tenses when they pass their unconscious forms.
- Why are they doing this? - his voice is questioning, but not surprised.
Merlin doesn't answer him. The doors of the Great Hall are near and he is not slowing his steps. He made his choice.
He wants magic free again, but this kind of magic he'll never support.
- Mordred, I need you to not go in, understand? Hide behind that statue. - Before Mordred has opened his mouth to object, Merlin adds. - You'll be watching my back. Here. - He gives the kid a little pennywhistle, he planed recently for one of the Gaius' patients. - Use this, if someone's approaching.
It is almost adorable, the seriousness with which kid accepts his mission. After Mordred's back is turned, he cast an invisibility spell on him. The mission is a fluke, and it won't do if the kid gets hurt, fulfilling it.
Taking a deep breath he strides forward, making the weighty door swing open with his magic.
As he predicted Morgana is in The Throne Room. She springs from where she sat at Arthur's place, flaring under the glow of hundreds of candles floating beside walls. She clads in simple druid's robe and her hair is combed and Merlin almost can see the old Morgana in her. The impression fades as soon as she starts to speak, the surprise in her eyes wild:
- What are you doing here? - she hisses.
At least a dozen pair of druids' eyes snap in his direction.
Merlin stands tall. Magic is pulsating against him like a living, breathing creature. He commands it to stop.
- I've come to stop you.
Everything stills. The candle fires, the shadows, the gushes of wind.
Soft murmurs crawl through the Hall. "Emrys". "Emrys". "Emrys".
Merlin can see the exact moment the realization dawns on Morgana.
- You!
The regal man beside her catches her under the arm, his floral diadem sliding off. Merlin's eyes never leave hers.
- Why would you do that?
Morgana scoffs.
- You are asking?
Her tone is almost ironic, as though they are friends, sharing a private joke. Merlin doesn't like it. It punches him in the gut, leaving him breathless.
- They haven't done anything! That's more than cruel...
Merlin's thoughts are stepping on their own toes, he can barely speak. They are still standing on the opposing ends of The Hall and suddenly Morgana's face falls. Her mouth hangs open, a knowing expression on her face. Then as a slip and fall, it twists, shrill laughter cutting through the air.
- I've never thought titles mattered, but you, Merlin, you are a servant through and through!
She goes into another laughter fit. Merlin's heart beats in his throat.
He frowns.
- At least I'm not hurting innocents!
- Innocents? - Morgana's face turns cold, her voice grating Merlin's ears like sharp chunks of ice. - They are all at least bystanders. And we are just trying to have a life.
Her eyes darts to each of her companions, strange desperation creeping in them all. Merlin readies himself.
The first blow comes from the side and along with air kicks from Merlin all the uncertainty.
He blocks it milliseconds late, sliding a few steps left.
Then he isn't moving. The magic compliant and smooth as a brick of melted butter slides into the shapes Merlin commands it and all the spells shatter, colliding with it.
He stands watching glimpses of fear assaulting the air around. He is satisfied but also bitter. Never he wanted to invoke that emotion.
But they leave him no choice.
Involuntarily his thoughts go back to the scene of the unconscious... dead (no, the can't be, he would've felt it in the air, there's so many of them, no way) knights. Would they just wipe out all of Camelot?
They?
He takes a deep breath and almost faints. Searing pain blossoms at the bottom of his lungs. Magical exhaustion. He needs to wrap it up quickly.
He raises his hands, dropping the barrier. No one attacks.
He takes a step closer. Everyone steps back.
- Get out of Camelot. It is under my protection.
He says, something rough out of dragon tongue crawling into his voice. He is Emrys now. Not speaking, but commanding.
He gives them the rest of the day. Watches from the balcony as they collect the injured and unconscious, confer at the Square, unload the carts with the Knight.
(alive, thank gods, alive. They didn't have time to do something horrible to them.)
From time to time Morgana glances at him unbelieving. When it's her time to go, last, she spits at him from the abomination of the horse:
- Someday magic will reign free in Camelot.
- Someday it will, - he agrees, - but it wouldn't be your kind of magic.
The smirk Morgana gives him as a response is sad. Pitying.
After Merlin goes to find Mordred. He is still behind the statue, not wanting to meet the druids. Merlin saw him step back, seeing them, Morgana spilling out of The Throne Room.
- What now? - Mordred is avoiding his eyes, his shoulders shackled with the restless kind of energy.
Merlin doesn't ask what's wrong. A headache like a ringing hammer of outlandish overseas mechanism rattles through the crown of his head.
- I'm going to steal some magic books from the vaults. - He says. - Arthur will believe they came for it. - And what about Daegal?
And also Gaius and Gwen and Arthur and...
Merlin takes shallow breaths, afraid otherwise the small semblance of comfort will tear.
- He's still there. They said he isn't with them.
When Merlin sleeps that night, he dreams of rough cruel voice, warm gushes of magic wind, Olyvya, the baker, her features drained into a predatory mask, too sharp and long, by the fire she's lighting, it stands ravenous in the velvet night, tightening space around, where only flares of familiar, peasants eyes, golden from the fire, are seen. He also sees Morgana's eyes, green and exhausted, brown watery Iseldirs' eye, and countless others he does not know. There's blood taste in his mouth, a rusty scabrous metal that makes his throat close off, and his insides twist. His own voice is booming in his head with words he doesn't understand.
He jerks awake, heart dropping like a boulder, and tugging him along.
He can barely process the white cotton curtains and hard stones grinding on his too bony frame.
- Merlin, my boy, are you well?
Gaius rushes to his sides, his abandoned medicine gurgling. A whiff of a mix of hypericum and rosemary and that smell all old people have nudges Merlin's nose and the next second he is used to it.
- Fine.
Merlin squeezes out a smile unbothered, now more annoyed than scared. Another nightmare.
Gaius, however, looks strict, and already is checking his forehead, likely considering what medicine Merlin needs.
- Gaius, truly, I'm fine.
Then he adds, seeing Gaius's skeptic expression:
- It's about Morgana's attack.
He is not even lying. The eyes. He does not know them, but he recognizes.
Gaius waits for him to elaborate.
- Was I right to stop them?
Thousands of volumes couldn't contain the wisdom hewn in Gaius' eyes.
- We make decisions to shape our future, but our future is unknown. There would be no regret, if only we were all omniscient. - He paused. - You did the right thing, Merlin. Druids are peaceful people, they believe too many deaths anger Gods. But that doesn't mean they can't be cruel. When I went on a round today, I saw the runes they carved into the buildings. These runes are designed to manipulate minds.
Merlin also saw those runes. They were emanating serenity, a bit on the numb side. Merlin secretly uses just those to help knights with a panic malady.
He nodes gratefully at Gaius, laying face to the wall.
He dreams about Morgana's eyes, how he saw them in The Throne Room, desperate, weary, kind.
Arthur burns the rest of ancient books.
- We can't risk them getting into the wrong hands. - He says. - And once we eradicate magic, there will be no need for them.
For the first time, Merlin feels anger at this kind of proclamation. Fathoms of Morgana's words about servants and just wanting to have a life caresses Merlin's consciousness, obtrusive like loose strands of hair in the wind.
Bitter, he rolls his eyes and stalks out the courtyard, ignoring Arthur's indignant exclamations.
He goes to his room, occupied by Daegal, since their falling out with Mordred.
The idiot did what he did for money. The pair that took him in when his mother died, took all of his mother's things in payment. With a possibility for him to buy it all back. Of course, he rushed to do terrible jobs, like being bait for various bandits group. Or spying to find out the plans of the Kind to help druids seize Camelot at the perfect moment.
Druids that by his words only wanted a bloodless coup, with all the people in charge trapped in an island until... until what? They change their minds or die of old age?
- What are you saying their plan was again?
Merlin asks without preamble and even accommodating Daegal can't help and signs long-sufferingly at him.
- They wanted Morgana to become a new Queen and stop the persecution of druids.
- And the knights?
- They wanted to put them to sleep and take to The Gala Isles. - The last words Daegal says with weird intonation, meaningfully, which means The Isles are another secretly magical ans important druids' place. - I don't know why they didn't do it right away with all the others! Maybe they met before the spell worked...
- Fine. - His head is spinning. Frankly, Merlin doesn't know why he does it to himself. He has heard it a million times now, but things haven't gotten more clear. - And what next? Do other people just accept that magic is legal?
- They accepted when The King started knighting commoners.
Merlin hates that the kid has a point.
- Besides, I was just an outsider. They didn't exactly tell me all their plans. Maybe they had a trick up their sleeve.
Merlin signs. The storm in his brain hasn't cleared one bit.
Maybe he should leave thinking to the people who are good at it. With that, he stands up and heads to the lower town. It's time to visit Gwen.