Then
After bidding good day to Lady Morgana and her servant, Em's head was still spinning from his sudden realization. How did a Camelot noble, a lady of the court, somehow manage to resemble his móraí? Perhaps their faces differed in structure, but the important features—eyes, nose, hair color and texture—were virtually the same. Em sent out his magic tentatively to find Iseldir's; it had been a day since his uncle had left, so surely he was not out of Em's range yet.
Uncle? he called.
The reply was immediate. What's wrong? Are you in danger?
What do you know about the Lady Morgana?
Why do you ask?
Just tell me, Uncle. Em paused. Please, he added.
Not much. She's the ward of the king. Finnlagh told me her father, a knight, died defending Uther in battle, so the bastard king took her in and raised her alongside Prince Arthur.
If only his generosity extended farther, Em remarked drily.
Now, why do you want to know, Emrys? You're draining my magic by communicating with me from such a long distance.
That's a lie, Em said with a laugh. I had to run some errand for my uncle, and I ran into her. She bears an uncanny resemblance to Móraí. Black hair, emerald eyes.
Odd. I'll discuss it with Finnlagh when we get back. Good work. Iseldir was quiet for a moment, but then he said, Stay safe, son. Em could hear the raw emotion in those three words.
I will. Stay safe, Uncle. Tell Alvarr and Cedran I love them.
With that, the comforting presence of his uncle's magic drained away. Em resisted the urge to seek it out again. He trudged through the halls of the castle sullenly, Bandit scampering ahead, blissfully unaware of his master's troubled thoughts.
Em completed the rest of his errands and was trying to find his way back to Gaius's chambers when he turned a corner and smacked into a solid wall of plate armor. He glanced up and saw the blue-eyed glare of the prince again. He backed up a step and stared at his feet, resisting the urge to swear in Druidic. Em wondered if Nature had cursed him. How had he managed to literally run into the Crown Prince of Camelot twice in one day?
Arthur's head hurt.
The newest crop of squires from Camelot's nobility was turning out to completely useless. They were sixteen already, and not even half of them could hold a sword correctly! He had mastered that at age seven. He and Sir Leon had run the squires through their daily drills that morning mercilessly. Arthur needed to turn those boys into men who could one day defend their kingdom. The Knights of Camelot were an elite, highly-trained group tasked with protecting Camelot. They answered directly to Arthur, their crown prince and future sovereign.
So, as he stormed down the hall to seek the break he so desperately needed in his chambers, he was in a foul mood. When that untidy peasant boy from before ran into him again, he seized the boy's upper arm and shook him, growling, "Is there no brain between those big ears of yours, you stupid urchin?" Arthur's eyes widened in surprise when he felt rock-hard biceps. The boy's thin frame and baggy clothes belied the power of his body. Arthur released the boy roughly. The boy murmured, "My deepest apologies, sire."
Ignoring the boy, Arthur glanced down when he heard a low growl. The boy's shepherd mongrel was crouched low to the ground, teeth bared.
"Quiet, Bandit," the boy said. The dog whined, and let out another growl. "Quiet. Down." The dog crouched lower, but did not lie down. "I said down!" The dog lay down.
The boy glanced up for the briefest of moments, his icy blue eyes nervous. "Sire—"
Arthur interrupted and said, "Bandit?"
The boy blinked. "Pardon, sire?"
"The dog's name is Bandit? Does he have a habit of robbing people?"
"His name is Bandit. Only thing he's ever stole is bread off the dinner table. I was just a kid when I named him," the kid muttered. "Sire," he added hastily.
"What might you be called, boy?"
"Merlin, milord."
"No family name? Just Merlin?"
"Where I'm from, milord, we don't have family names, just our first names."
"Where's home?" What Arthur really wanted to know was which country backwater somehow managed to whelp scrawny youths with iron musclesso he could go there and recruit those youths for Camelot's army. Preferably taller ones with more meat on their bones.
"Ealdor, sire," Merlin said. When rthur furrowed his brow in confusion—he knew the names of all of Camelot's notable villages-, he added, "It's in Essetir."
That explained the boy's funny accent. It also made it impossible for Arthur to recruit boys from Ealdor for the army. Well, damn.
He looked the boy up and down once more. Merlin's hands were clasped behind his back, and he stared resolutely at his worn boots. His raven hair was close-cropped, with the barest hint of curls. He wore trousers that had obviously been mended over and over again. His red shirt was of obviously better quality, sewn from sturdy fabric and recently washed. He wore a blue neckerchief tied around his neck, a style favored by mountain people. Perhaps Ealdor was in the Feorre Mountains of Essetir? And around his hips was a belt with an empty scabbard—
"You're a swordsman?" Arthur curled his lip. No matter how muscular this boy was, it looked like a light breeze could knock him over. There was no way he could pick up a sword.
"Just as a hobby," Merlin explained.
That set the gears in Arthur's mind whirring. "Well, how about this, Merlin—since you've managed to run into your Crown Prince not once, but twice, you get the honor of dueling him. Be at the training grounds tomorrow at noon." That would give him and the other knights a good laugh.
Merlin looked up at him in pure horror. "Milord, I—"
Arthur slapped him hard on the back. "I'll provide the armor and helm. See you tomorrow, Merlin," he chortled, heading back to his chambers. He couldn't wait to tell Leon about the entertainment he had arranged for tomorrow.
In a blind fury, Em raced back to Gaius's chambers, Bandit close at his heels. He burst into his uncle's chambers, growling, "Some cabbage-headed prat told me I have to fight him tomorrow because I bumped into him on accident! You'll never believe who—"
Gaius turned away from his worktable, where a shirtless, muscular young man sat. His torso was littered with bruises. Gaius arched his brows, and Em immediately shut up.
The man grinned a bit when he saw Em. "Who's this young brawler, Gaius?"
"My sister's boy, Merlin. He arrived from Essetir this morning," Gaius said. "Merlin, this is Sir Oswald, a Knight of Camelot."
"How do you do, Merlin," Sir Oswald said.
"How do you do," Em echoed. He came to stand by Gaius. "How'd you get those bruises? They look pretty severe." When Gaius coughed pointedly, Em added, "Sir knight."
"Training," Oswald explained. "You should see the other fellow."
"Were you training with staffs or wooden swords?" Em peered at the bruises.
"Wooden swords."
"Well, it's nothing a compress of arnica and comfrey can't fix. Arnica for the pain, and comfrey for the swelling. Uncle, I don't know my way around, where is the arnica and comfrey?"
"The boy's a physician as well?" Oswald looked impressed.
"Oh, no, sir knight. My grandmother has extensive training in the healing arts, so I've learned a trick or two from her over the years."
"Your uncle as well, I'd imagine. He's a brilliant man."
Em shook his head. "Uncle will doubtlessly teach me many things in the future, but I've only just met him today."
Gaius let out a deep sigh. "Merlin, boil water for the compress. I'll get the herbs and linen."
The two got to work. After a minute or two of silence, Oswald asked, "So who's the 'prat' who asked you to fight tomorrow? What'd you do to him?"
Em looked up from the kettle he had placed over the hearth to boil. "All I did was run into him! Well, I ran into him twice, but the second time wasn't my fault, honest. And I wouldn't call him a prat, that was just a slip of the tongue, really—"
"Who is it, Merlin?" Gaius asked sharply.
Em mumbled something.
"What was that?"
"Prince Arthur…"
"PRINCE ARTHUR CHALLENGED YOU TO A DUEL?" Gaius roared. At the same time, Oswald burst out laughing. Em's ears turned pink and he turned back to the kettle.
"Hand-to-hand or swordfight?" Oswald asked.
"Swordfight, thankfully. I know how to handle a sword."
Oswald nodded to the sword on the table. Em had placed it there before he delivered the medicines for Gaius. He had figured it was not wise to carry a sword thorough the royal palace. "Is that yours?"
"Yes, sir knight."
"Bring it here, lad." Em obliged. Sir Oswald weighed the sword and tested its sharpness. Finally, he handed it back to Em. "It's a fine piece of steel, Merlin. Where did you get it?"
"My…stepfather was a soldier in Cenred's army. It was his, originally."
"Well, either way, the prince has been trained to kill since birth. Don't expect to win tomorrow."
"I don't, sir knight." Em groaned. "All I did was run into him."
Sir Oswald chuckled wryly. "For the prince, that is enough."
Now
After eating Morgana's surprisingly decent breakfast, Em found himself in the fields with Alvarr and Mordred. There had been no rain for over a week, and the crops were starting to wilt in the blistering heat. Em had been summoned by his brothers so that he could call water from deep within the ground.
Em began speaking the language of magic, and his eyes blazed gold. He crouched low to the ground, his palms hovering inches above the dry earth. He slowly rose to his feet and sent his magic deep within in the earth. When he felt his magic slosh against the water the underground aquifer held, he threw his hands up. The water surged towards the surface and rose from the ground in two swirling spouts. A wind mage called Sayre sucked one spout into a funnel of air. With a few deft flicks of her wrist, she used the air to scatter the water and make it fall in tiny droplets all over the fields. She repeated the same process with the second funnel.
The Druids working in the fields all stopped to clap and whistle. Em and Sayre gave joking little bows. Alvarr clapped them on the back, and they got back to work.
Around one, when they all stopped to eat a quick lunch, a girl with big brown eyes and dark brown hair raced out of the forest and tugged at Em's shirt sleeve. "Uncle Emmy, Mama said you need to come quick!"
Em looked down at his niece. "What's wrong, Astryd, what's wrong? Is it Freya?" Nature, did she lose the baby…
"No, Auntie Freya's fine. It's something else. Uncle Alvarr, you should come, too." She tugged at Em's sleeve some more. "Come on, Uncles, we gotta hurry."
Em and Alvarr stood up. "All right, Astryd. Take me to your ma," Alvarr said.
Em's niece grabbed his hand and pulled him through the forest. They broke into a steady jog. Despite only being a girl of eight, Astryd was able to keep up. Em's sword scabbard thumped against thigh. After ten minute of weaving through the thick woods—Em knew them like the back of his hand—, they found Iseldir, Adelina, and Declan standing in a clearing.
Adelina smiled fondly at her little daughter. "Thanks for getting your uncles, sweetheart. Now, you head back to Mormháthair Emery's. I heard she was making honey cakes." She winked.
With a delighted squeal, Astryd hugged her mother and headed back to camp. Emerald's honey cakes were legendary amongst her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Adelina waited until her daughter was out of earshot to speak. "Em, as you know, we've been sending scouts out to scour the area for any signs of enemies, especially since we got captured." She tried to not let her voice shake.
"Did our scouts find signs of Jarl and his men, after all these years?"
Iseldir spoke up. "No, son. But…" His voice trailed off.
"Tell me, Uncle." Em did not think he would like what they were about to tell him.
"About two leagues from here, Aglain's son Carraig spotted what appears to be a patrol of Camelot knights. He was on foot and able to stay hidden. He warned us as soon as possible."
Em's heart immediately began to pound. "Why haven't we sounded the alarm and start preparing for battle?" When he was met with silence, he closed his eyes. "There's more, isn't there?"
"Yes, there is. The knights appear to be in bad shape—all bruised and bloody and ragged—and they are led by no other than King Arthur himself."
Em looked stricken. "Arthur?" he whispered. "Arthur's here? I never told him about this place, I told no one, not even Uncle Gaius! Arthur never suspected I have magic. He—he thinks I'm dead." He practically had to choke that last sentence out. The bitter truth of it cut him like a sharp dagger.
"Carraig thinks they need medical attention," Adelina added. "What we brought you down here for, what we want to ask you, is this: do you think we should assemble a patrol and bring them here to camp?"
Em opened his mouth to reply, but found that he could not get any sound out.
A/N: Here's chapter 15! Sorry for being gone for so long, I was traveling for most of June and about a week into July. Got some inspiration for this fic while Iwas away, though :)
This may have been my favorite chapter to write so far. Part of the reason I chose to switch to the then-now format is to help move the plot along faster, but I also did not want to say goodbye to my Druid characters. I love them so, so much! As always, shoutout to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed this fic. Rereading all the old reviews makes me smile. Much love~