Chapter XXII: The Raven's Rise

The citadel was in a state of controlled frenzy. Guards searched every house, knowing that there was little chance they'd find Sigan or Emrys (or the Catha) but duty-bound try. Tensions were high everywhere. Not only were the people of Camelot quite sick of having their homes raided, they'd heard plenty of rumors about what was going on in the castle: Uther's possession, the war with Odin, and Emrys's possible injury, which gossip had exaggerated to him being on the brink of death.

Gaius was tired and tense, but he didn't get the opportunity for much sleep after his interrogation. First a trickle, then a flood of townsfolk visited his chambers for a series of increasingly minor maladies. Really, they just wanted to hear what had happened between Emrys and Sigan.

At least Gaius was getting a lot of practice with telling his cover story.

As the day went on, though, the physician noticed something that made him tentatively hopeful: although they tried to hide it, many if not most people seemed concerned for Emrys. Perhaps they just saw him as a lesser evil than Cornelius Sigan, but Gaius couldn't help wondering if there was something else to it. Merlin's whisper campaign of word and deed had been going along very well, and the people of Camelot knew that Emrys had skirmished with Sigan before. They also knew that he'd fought a wraith in Arthur Pendragon's place. In other words, they knew that he had a history of protecting them and their prince.

Again, it was entirely possible that the people of Camelot just wanted Emrys's protection against Sigan. But, Gaius reflected, they saw Emrys as their protector. They trusted him—perhaps only a little, but given time and nurturing, that trust could grow.

If Merlin were to defeat Sigan—if it was commonly known that Emrys had beaten Cornelius Sigan to protect Camelot….

His ward wasn't fighting Sigan for the prestige or fame. Gaius knew that. He was protecting his home and his friends, not looking for acclaim. Still, he very much doubted that Merlin would protest the good he was doing for magic's reputation. Also, it would help immensely when he had to reveal his true identity to the world.

With a start, Gaius realized that he, too, was taking something for granted: that Merlin would one day reveal himself to the people of Camelot. What's more, it… wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

At some point, he had come to believe—to well and truly believe—that Merlin could do it. That he could end the Purge, bring magic back to the land, even build Albion with his Once and Future King.

Arthur.

At the thought of the prince, Gaius's expression grew more somber. (His current patient took that as an assessment of her current state and began to wonder if something really was wrong with her.) Arthur had been with Merlin last night—the real Arthur, not just Merlin wearing his face. What's more, Arthur had been wearing Merlin's true face, not his Emrys disguise. There was only one possible explanation, and Gaius didn't like it one bit.

What in the world had Merlin been thinking, telling his secret to the Crown Prince of Camelot?

Except, Gaius reminded himself, he didn't know the exact circumstances of Arthur finding out. They had probably been in some improbable, deadly situation that required Merlin to use a magic that even someone as oblivious as Arthur couldn't help but notice. After a shock like that, it wasn't too much of a stretch to realize that Merlin had to be Emrys.

At least Arthur seemed to be taking it well. Gaius and the prince obviously hadn't had much time to interact, but Arthur had been willing to work with his magical manservant rather than throw him in the dungeons and/or never speak to him again.

Or maybe, suggested his more pessimistic side, Arthur simply didn't know enough about Merlin's activities to put him past the breaking point. Merlin had many secrets other than his magic: his dragonlord heritage, his status in the magical community, Morgana and Gwen's involvement, how he'd smuggled Kilgharrah and half the weapons vault—

Gaius froze, his blood running cold.

His patient, assuming that the physician's sudden horrified expression was because of her, made a frightened little squeaking noise. "Am I dying?" she demanded, eyes wide.

"What? No, of course not. You're perfectly fine," Gaius assured her. When she continued to look dubious, he improvised, "It was just a stray thought about—the potential war with Odin. As I said, you're perfectly healthy. Now go spread the word that Emrys is probably fine and we don't have to worry about Sigan."

"Just the war," she quipped.

Gaius nodded and shoed her out as quickly as he could. Another patient tried to enter, but the physician shut the door in his face. He locked it, then hurried into Merlin's room.

He'd had the door closed all morning, and he'd been so distracted by his gossipy patients that he wouldn't have heard anything. Or maybe, hopefully, he hadn't heard anything because there was nothing to hear.

Dropping to his knees, the physician pushed aside the loose floorboard. He'd once despaired at Merlin's tendency to hide important things in such an obvious location, but the place was actually a very good hiding spot. It was easy to access, hard to find unless you knew where to look, and (at Gaius's insistence) enchanted to look completely non-suspicious.

With shaking hands, he sorted through the carefully concealed objects. Spellbook, cloak, a letter from Balinor and Hunith….

He must have missed it, Gaius told himself. But when he went through the stash again, he couldn't find it.

The Raven's Key was gone.

They left Tintagel shortly after noon. Merlin knew why, of course. They'd been gone from Camelot far too long, and now that Sigan knew where they were, it was more important than ever to get away. If he couldn't possess Merlin, he'd probably try to kill him.

Still, Merlin couldn't help but wish that they'd stayed a little longer. He was still exhausted from a night of little sleep and lots of magic. Arthur, who'd had less sleep but also less magic, wasn't faring any better, though he seemed to be better at hiding it.

As long as he didn't fall asleep on his horse, Merlin decided, he would be fine.

The day dragged on. Merlin didn't fall asleep on his horse, but it was a near miss a few times. It was all he could do to help set up camp that night, and he lost consciousness almost as soon as he lay down.

Then he was standing in the council chamber of Camelot's castle. It was lit by torches that burned with unwavering light and empty save for a dark-haired man in a raven-feather cloak.

Merlin gave a very undignified yelp and jerked away.

Cornelius Sigan held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Peace, Merlin. You have nothing to fear from me."

The younger warlock's heart began to still as he realized what was going on. He'd heard of dream-walking, but he'd never tried to do it or received a message in his sleep. It was one of those things he wanted to learn eventually but didn't have time for quite yet.

If Sigan had gone through the trouble of contacting him in his sleep, then the older warlock probably wasn't going to attack quite yet. (Could you attack people through dream-walking? Merlin couldn't remember. That suddenly seemed a lot more relevant now.)

"…What did you want to talk about?" Merlin finally asked. He remembered Nimueh and scowled. "I'm not going to join you."

Sigan's gaze darkened. "Why not?"

"Because Arthur Pendragon is my Once and Future King. We're going to build a great nation together. You, though, you just want to tear things down."

The older warlock snorted. "Do you really think that Albion will just spontaneously take shape? No. Take it from someone who has built a kingdom: nations are born from conquest. The traitor and I destroyed a half-dozen petty chieftainships to create Camelot. Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin."

Merlin stiffened at the phrase, but he had to press on. "Maybe, but it still seems like a dumb idea to completely obliterate my home."

"Homes can be replaced. You can create something better than that den of corruption, find someone better than a traitor's spawn to rule over Albion."

"Like you?" Merlin asked sharply.

"Or you," Sigan replied, not quite denying it. "Spellbinders of every land already see you as their ruler."

He shuddered. "No thanks. I'm not going to destroy a city and uproot thousands of people just because you can't let go of your grudge against a dead man."

Rage flitted across the older warlock's face, rage that was quickly forced behind a mask of false civility. "Do you know why I want Bruta's legacy destroyed, Merlin?"

"Because you're angry that he killed you?"

"That did not help his case," Sigan admitted, "but his betrayal began long before that."

"…What did he do?" Merlin asked slowly. He knew that Sigan was guiding the conversation, that he wanted to be asked, but knowledge was power. If Merlin knew, he… probably wouldn't be able to reason with him, but it might reveal some kind of weakness. Maybe.

Triumph gleamed in Sigan's dark eyes, triumph and ancient fury. "He sent an assassin after my pregnant daughter and her family."

Merlin's jaw sagged. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. "Your daughter?"

"My daughter, yes," the older man confirmed. "I married a princess—if you could call her that—from one of the small kingdoms that Bruta and I conquered. She was assassinated shortly after our daughter's birth, so I sent the babe to live with some distant cousins of mine. Court was too dangerous, you see. Eventually she wed a bastard of unknown parentage, a man with the blood of dragons in his veins. Brynden, his name was, and she was called Ganieda. I believe you know the rest of the story, grandson."

Merlin gaped. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. Part of him wondered (rather hysterically) if this was how Arthur had felt when he told him about his magic. The rest of his mind, though, spluttered around frantically, searching for a way that this couldn't be true.

"But—Ganieda had sisters. Kilgharrah—"

"Cousins, really, but they grew up together. She called them her sisters."

"Kilgharrah said that Brynden was a farmer."

"He was. Bruta had promised a keep to him and Ganieda, but something kept delaying him. Perhaps he already suspected that Brynden was his father's son. Until the keep was prepared and warded, though, they preferred the safety of anonymity." His face twisted into a scowl. "Conveniently, this made it much easier for the traitor to arrange their deaths."

Merlin tried to think of another objection but came up short. And now that Sigan had a face of his own, he could see that they actually looked a bit similar. It wasn't a strong resemblance, but they might have the same eyebrows.

Gods. First a dragonlord, then a king's brother, then a pair of renegade Sidhe, now Cornelius bloody Sigan and his princess wife who no one even knew existed. Did he have any normal relatives?

"And that is why the traitor's heir must die," Sigan growled. His fists were clenched, a muscle jumping in his neck. "That is why their kingdom must turn to dust. Bruta betrayed our family and had his own brother assassinated. I was as close as to him as his own shadow, yet he tried to have my daughter and grandson, your ancestors, killed. His spawn will betray you, too."

"No. He won't." Merlin shook his head. "I'm sorry that Bruta betrayed you, but he's dead. He's been dead for centuries. If—"

"His legacy remains," Sigan interjected. "His legacy and his blood."

"And your legacy," Merlin retorted, "and… and your blood as well. Probably. Unless you're lying to make me join you, which won't work."

"Oh, you'll join me, grandson," the elder warlock replied. Something about his smile made the hairs on Merlin's neck stand up. "One way or another, you will join me."

Suddenly the younger spellbinder was very aware that he had no idea how to get out of this dream or what Sigan could do to him here. Sweat broke out across his brow, but he forced his voice to remain steady. "Or maybe you could join me. Build Albion as you once built Camelot, but without being betrayed by your king."

"I served a Pendragon once, and he had me executed for demanding justice. I will not serve another."

"Then don't serve. Walk away. Learn more magic, find out what happened to your other descendants. Visit the Orkneys or Rome or Constantinople. You have a second chance at life. Don't waste it on someone whose bones are dust."

"Vengeance is not a waste," Sigan said. "If you had ever been betrayed, you would know this. But I see you've inherited my Ganieda's stubbornness and Brynden's willingness to see the best in people. Very well, then. I'll just have to take more drastic measures."

The dream faded into darkness.

Morgana had spent the day under a cloud of foreboding. She'd tried to tell herself that it was simple nervousness, that she was just on edge from knowing that Sigan knew where they were and who Merlin really was, but she couldn't quite convince herself. Something was wrong, or would be wrong, and Merlin and Arthur were too exhausted to face it.

She spent half the afternoon reviewing her meager repertoire of spells. Merlin hadn't been able to teach her much, but she could unlock locks and conjure shields and make objects float. She lacked finesse with all those abilities, especially the last, but it was something, at least.

Now it was night and she couldn't sleep. She should be able to—they'd ridden hard to make up for lost time—but she couldn't. The sense of foreboding was too great.

With a heavy sigh, the witch gave up. She crept out of her bedroll and made her way to the fire. Sir Leon sat by it, his back to the flames so as to better keep watch. The knight gave her a sympathetic smile. "Can't sleep?"

"No," Morgana admitted. "I just… have a bad feeling about tonight."

Leon frowned. "Do you think we should double the guard? I've already been considering that, honestly. Those bandits we encountered last week can't be the only ones in the area."

Of course he assumed she was anxious about bandits. Still, Morgana didn't discourage the belief. "I don't know."

"We have enough people for it, assuming we can get that Gwaine fellow to pitch in," Leon speculated.

They glanced over at the sleeping vagabond. None of them were quite certain why Gwaine had decided to come with them. Honestly, Gwaine probably didn't know why he'd decided to come with him. He had no plans of becoming a guard or working for Uther. Maybe he just wanted to see Camelot, or maybe he liked their company more than he cared to admit. The point was that he had joined them but was outside the official chain of command—not that he would listen to commands, Morgana thought. He didn't seem like a particularly obedient person.

Once Merlin had enough time to get to know him better, they'd probably get along famously.

"Do you think you can convince him?" Morgana asked doubtfully. "He—"

Merlin jerked in his sleep, his body completely rigid for a moment before going totally limp.

Morgana was on her feet before she knew it. The dread was stronger than ever.

"It's just Merlin," Leon tried to reassure her. "He's probably just having a bad dream."

"Nightmares are terrible," Morgana told him, a bit more sharply than she'd intended. She strode over to her friend, leaned over to shake him. "Merlin, wake up."

Nothing. The warlock was as limp as a doll.

Morgana shook him harder. "Merlin."

"Let him sleep, Morgana," Leon advised. "I think his insomnia's been acting up again."

A sudden gust rattled the leaves around them. The wind drifted down in a tight spiral, sucking up dust and mulch at its base.

"Spellbinder!" Leon yelled, drawing his sword and stepping between Morgana and the rapidly solidifying whirlwind.

Merlin was the only traveler still asleep. He just wouldn't wake, no matter how Morgana shook him. She shouted directly into his mind, but he gave no response. He was bespelled somehow, he had to be.

And then Morgana was flying away from him as though plucked up by an enormous unseen hand. She somehow flipped around midflight so that her back rather than her front collided with a nearby tree, but it was a near thing. All around her, the guards (and Gwaine and Gwen) found themselves in similar predicaments.

Cornelius Sigan—who else could it be?—was a man of ordinary height, his dark hair and close-cropped beard streaked with gray. He was dressed in black from head to foot; the only color on him was the iridescent gleaming of his raven-feather cloak in the firelight. He ignored almost everyone, staring down at Merlin with a predatory smile.

Could she levitate something? A sword, maybe. Excalibur. Where was Excalibur?

"Who the hell are you?" Gwaine demanded.

"I am Cornelius Sigan," the mage replied simply, almost absently. He stepped towards Merlin.

"Leave him alone," Arthur snarled. He kicked at the tree like he was trying to propel himself forward.

She couldn't see Excalibur. Maybe Merlin could move things without looking at them, but Morgana couldn't. She silently cursed the spells of concealment Merlin had placed on the sword. Maybe Beothaich—no, that would have the same enchantments, and she had no idea how to use it.

For the first time, Sigan looked away from his target. A sardonic smile curved his lips. "I think not, Arthur Pendragon. You see, Merlin Emrys here—" The prince jerked, Gwen and the guards gasped, Morgana went deathly white—"is being stubborn. Fortunately, there are rituals that can change even the most reticent minds."

With a chill, Morgana remembered Morgause's ideas about mind control. All thoughts of Excalibur and Beothaich halted.

"Emrys? Him?" Arthur forced a laugh. "You must be joking."

"I'm not, as you very well know." He scooped the limp, definitely enchanted warlock into his arms. "He is Emrys, and though he has rendered me incapable of possessing him, his power will still be mine. Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonweard!"

The pressure keeping Morgana against the tree disappeared. She fell, staggering to catch her balance. The wind whipped through her hair, blowing a few stray locks into her eyes.

When she could see again, Merlin and Sigan were gone.

Friends, you have my permission to panic.

There was a little bit of confusion last chapter about how exactly Sigan and Merlin are related. Ganieda and Balor are some of Balinor's distant ancestors. I have no idea how many generations passed between them and him. Let's just assume that there's a lot of 'greats' and that Sigan thinks of Merlin as his grandson because it's shorter than 'great-to-an-unknown-power-grandson-of-my-actual-grandson.'

Alternate chapter title: "In Which Crap Hits the Fan and Cornelius Sigan is a Terrible Great-to-the-Somethingth-Grandpa"

Next chapter: July 27. As everyone reacts to Merlin's kidnapping, one of his friends takes drastic measures to rescue him.

I'm slowly moving some of my works over to AO3. There's about 3 chapters of The Warlock's Quickening up there.