0x13 - Master and Apprentice

Ingild's magnified eyes narrowed at him through the crystals as the gold leeched out of them. He thrust the crystals back to Oilell, standing behind him with the box as she did each year, her eyes having already returned to an innocent brown. Merlin would have thought with time she would grow less jumpy, but if anything she fumbled the crystals worse year after year. This year she dropped them, eyes going wide with horror at her blunder and practically throwing herself to the ground to scramble for them.

Ingild raised a hand as though to strike her, then his eyes flittered in Merlin's direction and his hand continued upwards to rake his finders through his receding hairline. Oilell shut the crystals in the box and straightened, keeping a wary eye on her master. She bowed briefly to Merlin behind her master's back and, as always, Merlin offered a weak smile in return, not quite sure what to think of her.

He'd never met anyone so timid, whose spark was so thoroughly beaten out of them. Yet Oilell's yearly unspecified act of magic immediately before the examination's completion was the only explanation he and his mother could think of for why the court sorcerer himself continued to be unable to sense Merlin's magic. The sorcerer's apprentice never left his side so they were unable to ask her why she was risking punishment to help him. His mother theorized that she saw herself in Merlin's place and was trying to save him from her fate; an explanation that was plausible, but didn't explain why she bowed to him at least once every time they crossed paths.

"So, did you see anything?" Merlin asked, even though it was obvious from Ingild's face he hadn't.

In Merlin's younger years the check-ups had ended in disappointment for Ingild, but he hadn't seemed overly bothered by Merlin's continued lack of magic. After he returned three years ago to find Merlin had shot up to tower over him and even surpassed his mother - tall for a woman - in height, however, Ingild had initially been very excited. When the test results were again negative he'd frowned and redid it, looking baffled at the continued negative results. In the years since then, he'd peer at Merlin more closely and insist Hunith remain where he could see her during his examination, watching them suspiciously while he did his spell.

"No," was Ingild's curt answer.

"That's too bad," Hunith said genially, placing a hand on her son's shoulder as though to comfort him in his supposed disappointment.

"Indeed," Ingild said sourly. "The term for Oilell's apprenticeship is coming up and I was hoping to find a replacement for her."

Oilell surprisingly did not look heartened by these words. He would have thought she would be happy to be leaving Ingild, whom she seemed so afraid of, but if anything this reminder seemed to put her more on edge. Perhaps she was concerned for her future replacement? Being Ingild's slave in all but name was not a fate Merlin would wish on anyone.

"Perhaps you'll have better luck next time," Hunith rose from her chair, and made her way over to the door to see them out. It was getting late, so it was unlikely that Ingild was planning to tarry in the village as he did some years, speaking to people that Merlin would rather he didn't, such as Old Man Simmons.

Ingild stayed seated, raising the glass of water Hunith had given him earlier in an unhurried sip. Hunith stood awkwardly by the door while he finished his drink, placing the cup back on the table in his own time. After drawing out the process longer than he needed to, he said casually, "I don't meant to impose, but the journey back to the capital is a long one and it's getting late. You don't mind if I stay the night?"

Hunith stiffened by the door, and Merlin knew what she was thinking because the same thoughts were going through his mind: Ingild had planned for this. He'd come late in the day on purpose so he could make this excuse, perhaps hoping to catch Merlin in a revealing slip-up while he was less on guard than during the examinations.

They could refuse him, but they were already walking on thin ice with him. They couldn't afford to raise his suspicions any further. They weren't certain what kind of political clout he carried with the king, but the fact that he was allowed to continue these check-ups long after the investigation of Merlin's father's death was over made them wary of his influence.

Hunith's face smoothed into a forced friendly position, which looked painful to Merlin. "Of course not. Make yourself at home."

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When he was told a great oak tree had fallen during the night to block the road, Merlin felt he should have seen it coming. Ingild's shock and disappointment at the news was unconvincing, especially considering he could probably clear it with a wave of his hand. "It looks like I have no choice but to stay here for now."

Under the pretense of helping, he dogged Merlin's footsteps. Random objects were in Merlin's path to trip him when they hadn't been before, metal suddenly turned red-hot and dropped from his burned hands with a pained cry, and all sorts of other minor mishaps followed him. He had to consciously force himself to push back his instinctual magic to avoid correcting them. There were a few objects pausing for a split second in their descent to the ground, but otherwise Merlin for the most part was successful. To his relief, Ingild didn't seem any less frustrated, which he took to mean these minor lapses of control had passed by his peeled eyes.

All through the day he could feel those eyes burning a hole in his back, and he grasped for idea about how to get him to leave. It seemed that lying low was his best bet, but as the day progressed and the incidents intensified he began to wonder if Ingild's schemes would succeed through sheer survival instinct.

When water was needed to be fetched for the laundry, Merlin gladly volunteered. His hope that public scrutiny would postpone magical accidents was dashed, however, when to Merlin's dismay he saw the street was deserted.

He quickened his pace, and pulled the well rope with greater force than necessary, uncaring that water was probably sloshing out of the bucket. He could feel Ingild's calculating gaze on his back as he reached down to grab the bucket, wishing he hadn't left his house.

A force like a massive gale slammed into his back and Merlin lurched forwards, flailing his arms. Somehow - impossibly given the well's small diameter - to his horror he pitched head-first down the well as though he'd dived in deliberately. He stretched out his limbs, slowing his descent to a halt, and he awkwardly tried to climb upwards while upside down. Immediately the walls became slick and his grip started to slide, and instead of ascending no matter how desperately he scrambled he was descending inch by sickening inch.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears and he couldn't tell if he was dizzy from blood rushing to his head or the knowledge that he was stuck in a well and upside down with no room to turn and sinking. He could barely see the grey sky through the tangle of limbs above him, but even though he couldn't see him the weight of Ingild's gaze was heavy.

Ingild was going to kill him if he couldn't prove himself magical. Why was he even so sure Merlin had magic despite any evidence? Perhaps he wasn't trying to kill him, just scare him into revealing himself? But if he wasn't bluffing and Merlin didn't act then he would die, slowing sliding until his head was submerged and his lungs filled with water.

Merlin was saved from his debate by a grip closing around his ankles and roughly yanking him upwards. He cleared the well and was dragged so his legs were on the ground and his face lay on the cool stone of the rim, with Mathew's weathered face peering into his in concern. To the side lay Ingild, sprawled on the ground as though he'd been shoved aside.

"Are you alright?" Mathew asked gruffly, and once Merlin gave a shaky nod he rounded on Ingild. "You were standing right there, why didn't you grab him?"

Ingild pushed himself off the ground, brushing the dirt off his clothes as though it was a personal offense that it should be there. He gave an unconvincing, "Must have frozen, so sorry. Don't know what came over me."

Mathew narrowed his eyes, looking between Merlin's face - which now felt utterly drained of all the blood that rushed to it while he was upside down - and Ingild's, which was still lowered to face his clothing instead of them.

"It's taking longer than we thought to clear the road, if we don't get more men to help then it might not be done by nightfall," he said with an edge to his voice, folding his arms over his chest as he stared down Ingild. "Seeing as you're the one who's waiting to return to the capital, it only seems fair that you be the one to pitch in, doesn't it?"

Ingild's head jerked up, open mouthed and looking as though he wanted to protest. Whatever he wanted to say died off at the expression on Mathew's face, which brooked no arguments. He straightened up and cleared his throat. "Of course," he said reluctantly, his eyes darting to Merlin's for a split second. "I'll just inform my apprentice where I'm going, then."

Mathew placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze, and they waited for a moment while Ingild ducked back into the house. When he came out Oilell trailed behind him like a whipped dog. She was holding a bucket protectively against her like a young child with a security blanket. Ingild gestured to her and said,

"My apprentice has agreed to help you, Merlin, to make up for the way that I froze. I do hope that you'll forgive me."

Merlin gave a wooden of course and watched as Mathew and Ingild followed the road outside the village and into the woods, with Ingild walking slowly and Mathew practically stepping on his heels. He glanced briefly at Oilell, whose head was bent so a curtain of stringy hair concealed her face, and then looked away awkwardly. He was hyperaware of the fact that this was the first time he'd been around her without Ingild breathing down both their necks.

He turned away from her and re-lowered the bucket into the well, pulling it up this time without the near death experience. Oilell moved to lower her bucket, and he took it from her. "You don't have to help me," he craned his neck at an uncomfortable angle to look at her, but she flinched away, lowering her head more as though there was something terribly fascinating on the ground.

"I mean, we both know what your master really wants is for you to tail me, so it's not like he'd care if you didn't. And I don't mind - it's not your fault he tried to kill me and I'm really grateful for the help you've already given me. So you don't need to help me with my chores too, if you don't want to."

Oilell didn't reply - merely held out her hands to take the bucket, bringing into focus the strange band of lighter coloured skin around her wrists and the inky black symbol on the back of her right hand. He gave it to her, feeling as though he was talking to a wall when he continued blathering to fill the silence, "Or you could, if you don't mind. Thanks, it's nice of you."

She ducked her head as though respectfully acknowledging the thanks, and turned back towards the house. Merlin followed her there, trying to think of a time he'd heard her speaking and failing, wondering if she was a mute.

They filled the laundry basin in silence, Merlin taking the more rigorous job of scrubbing the clothes and leaving Oilell the more lax task of hanging the laundry to dry. As it looked likely to rain she did this on a line inside, and they both worked in silence. Merlin wondered where his mother had gone off to, but when he asked Oilell she mumbled something unintelligible, proving herself not mute but otherwise being uninformative. He'd had to look around for clues to see that his mother's medicine bag was missing to work out why she'd left so suddenly.

At last, unable to stand the silence, Merlin raked his brains for something about her appearance to compliment Oilell on. The problem was that Oilell - while not ugly - had rather bland features and her clothes were rags even by backwater village standards. There was only one thing about her that stood out in a good way, and Merlin seized on it.

"That's a pretty tattoo." Oilell ducked her head, turning to adjust one of Hunith's dresses that she'd already hung up. Unintentionally this displayed the three simple but graceful spirals on the outside skin of her hand. "Where'd you get it?"

Oilell's voice was muffled and nearly inaudible, but this time Merlin was ready for that and straining forwards was just able to make out, my grandmother. Encouraged that she'd responded, Merlin prodded again, "Yeah? I like the design. Is there any special meaning behind it?"

Oilell stepped away from the already hung up dress and took another sopping wet dress from Merlin, avoiding his gaze as she mumbled, "It's my people's symbol."

"Really? So then who are your people?" Merlin asked curiously.

It was strange enough to think of Oilell as having a grandmother, much less a group of people she belonged to. When he was younger, Oilell had been more a a fixture than a person to him; something that came into his life once a year, but otherwise hardly existed. As he grew older intellectually he knew she must have a past before he met her and do other things when he didn't see her, but trying to picture what her life was like left him with nothing but murky darkness.

"The druids."

Merlin's interest was further piqued; he knew next to nothing but the druids. "Were you born a druid?"

She nodded, facing the dress she was meticulously hanging with far more attention than the task deserved. Merlin was barely glancing down at the clothing he was washing now, trying to read her expression by the tilt of the back of her head. He couldn't tell whether this was a topic she wanted to avoid, or merely a manifestation of her crippling ever-present skittishness.

He ventured, "What was it like, growing up as a druid?"

She mumbled something too low for him to hear, and Merlin debated asking her to speak louder but decided he didn't want to embarrass her by implying she wasn't speaking loud enough - even if she wasn't. "Hmm, I see... Are you going to go see your family once your apprenticeship is done?"

She shook her head, saying just loud enough for him to hear. "I can't." He was about to ask why not? but Oilell must have sensed the upcoming question because she continued, "The Purge... they're dead."

Merlin's hands stilled in the soapy water, guilt stabbing him in the chest. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I - I'm really sorry."

Oilell turned her head so that she was half-facing him, and made a little wavy motion with her hand that looked like she might be trying to tell him not to worry about it. Her head was still lowered, but Merlin thought he could see her eyes occasionally darting up from the floor to him when she said, "They'd be honoured you asked."

"Why?" Merlin asked, baffled.

"You give us hope," she said simply, as though that was a forgone conclusion she was surprised he hadn't reached himself.

"What? What do you mean?"

Oilell looked up fully at him for the first time, searching his face the way he was searching hers. She seemed to be waiting for him to come to some realization, but when he continued staring at her waiting for clarification she seemed to come to one of her own. Hurriedly she snatched a new piece of cloth and turned away from him. "Forget what I said."

That only intrigued Merlin more. "Why don't you want to tell me? I've never even met any druids before today, how would they know who I am, let alone get hope from me?"

"Please don't ask me to speak of the future," she enunciated clearly in a normal volume. It sounded almost deafeningly loud in comparison to her previous barely audible answers.

"Why not?"

He didn't know how she could know his future, but the thought of being told it was enticing. And seeing as she was apprenticed to a prestigious sorcerer, her words had more credence than normal fortunetellers. It was all rather pointless to think about, though, if she refused to tell him anything.

Oilell fussed with the bandages she had grabbed, trying to get them to all hang evenly at the same height and distance apart. "Oilell?" Merlin called softly, as though speaking to an injured child. "Why won't you tell me?"

Oilell's hands stilled in their needless fussing and her fingers tightened around the bandage she was holding, bunching the fabric. Her voice shook when she said, "Once, I dreamed a dream of things to come. Take my advice: knowing one's future is a wretched thing. Please, don't ask me again."

It was more words strung together than in any of her previous utterances, and he wondered if that meant she felt strongly about it.

A tense silence lay between them after that, only broken when Hunith returned. Mother ad son chatted idly, and Oilell stood off to the side in silence. Merlin looked over to her occasionally, but she made no attempt to even acknowledge that there were other people in the same room as her, much less make eye contact or join their conversation.

At nightfall Ingild returned, sour-faced, with the news that the road had been cleared and they would leave at first light in the morning.

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Once Ingild and Oilell's retreating figures disappeared down the road, Merlin and Hunith could breathe again. Merlin rubbed his eyes; he hadn't slept well the night before, convinced that Ingild would make another attempt while he was most vulnerable. Beside him his mother stifled a yawn and he knew he hadn't been alone in this thought. Despite their worries, however, nothing had happened.

Throughout the day Merlin could scarcely believe they would be allowed to return so easily to the pattern of their normal lives. It struck him as odd that Ingild would so meekly accept Mathew's rebuke and leave with no further incidents after risking manslaughter to expose him. Every time the wind rattled the shutters he glanced over his shoulders in alarm, half-expecting to see the sorcerer returned to harass him. He knew he was not alone in his worries when Hunith insisted he take Will with him to fetch firewood.

"Soo…" Will began as soon as they'd made it to the treeline and could be reasonably sure no one from the village would overhear them. "Mathew came back from fetching an axe yesterday with your stalker in tow, and let me just say neither of them looked particularly happy with the other. Care to explain?"

"You were on the work crew?" Merlin asked. He hadn't seen Will in the fields the day before and wondered where he went to, but assumed he was playing hooky the way he often did.

"I figured the sooner that man left the better for you, though I don't see why he couldn't just use magic. And you're not dodging my question that easily: what happened?"

Merlin launched into a downplayed version of the events of the day before while they gathered firewood, dawdling so they could talk where they didn't have to worry about snoopy gossips who were doubtlessly wondering the same thing as Will. They say nothing stays a secret in a small village, so Merlin considered it a minor miracle no one but Will – and possibly that old woman that Old Man Simmons would never shut up about – had ever found him out.

Will wore a tight expression while he spoke, and Merlin knew from past experience he was angry on Merlin's behalf. The truth about "Hunith's old friend from her years in the capital" was one of the first things he'd told Will about years ago back in Vivienne's tent, and though at the time Will had been mildly surprised (given everything else going on a suspicious court sorcerer hadn't seemed so strange) it wasn't until Ingild's next visit that fiery anger burned in his eyes at the mention of the man. Merlin suspected it was Oilell's presence that did it; it was one thing to be told if Ingild found Merlin out he likely wouldn't be treated well, it was another to see Merlin's possible future in the very jittery flesh.

After Ingild left that year, Will had latched onto Merlin's arm so hard it left bruises and made him swear he would never let Ingild find him out.

"You have to do something about him," Will said, not for the first time. His neck was craned at an awkward angle to talk to Merlin while he gathered up pieces of stray wood without looking to see what he was doing.

"He's gone, I'm fine." It was a weak argument.

And so he couldn't be surprised when Will easily countered with, "And what about next year? Merlin, he almost killed you. What if next year he succeeds? What if he doesn't wait a year this time, just turns up in a month or two when you're not expecting him and catches you in a moment of carelessness? You can't just ignore the problem and hope it will go away on its own!"

"I'll be cautious. Don't worry." Merlin insisted, unable to think up a more solid argument.

Ingild had been a problem for as long as he could remember, coming once every year to cast a shadow on Merlin's life and remind him – as if his mother's cautions and the magic bubbling within him poorly contained by sheer willpower wasn't reminder enough – that Merlin was abnormal. Since before he was old enough to be conscious of what he was doing, his entire world had revolved around trying to hide his abnormality.

Despite this, nothing made him feel like he was truly the freak who a nice woman like Catrin feared to antagonize more than when he was sitting across the table from the man from the capital being peered at like a piece of meat for signs of defect. No one else he knew ever had anyone scrutinize them in that way. And Ingild never gave up, as though even without his testing equipment he could sense something not quite right with the gangly boy named Merlin.

Ingild had been a fixture in his life for so long it was hard to think of him as a true threat. After all, every year Oilell's eyes would glow immediately before the test's completion and Ingild would lower his crystals and say that he saw no signs of magic. But Oilell was completing her apprenticeship soon. She wouldn't be there to shield him next year.

Merlin would have to be the one to, as Will put it, do something. But even if instructions for Oilell's enchantment to conceal magic floated down on a scrap of parchment from the heavens to him, there was no way for him to cast the spell while under Ingild's scrutiny without the pupil colour change giving him away just as surely as the test would. If only he knew how to wield his magic for more complex tasks than stopping the descent of falling objects then perhaps he could best Ingild, but he didn't even know where to begin to look for teaching.

If only his father was here. Merlin's memories were an indistinct blur of impressions, something that seemed grossly unfair. He remembered a deep voice and the scratch of a beard when he kissed his cheeks, big strong hands and a tall sturdy body that he climbed like a squirrel scurrying up a tree, inventive games that taught him caution in a way even a child could understand, and waiting for the door to open each day to signal his father's arrival.

But there were so many things he had been too young to know about his father. That his father also had magic was not something he had realized until several years after his death, when it occurred to him that someone needed to have enchanted Magic the toy dragon to change colours. Or that the dreaded men in red hadn't been looking for him that day at all, but rather his father who had a bitter history with them going back to before Merlin was born. Or that there was a reason a good deal of his childhood toys and stories involved dragons, something that his mother had only reluctantly explained to him when he started questioning why he was the only one who could communicate with Aithusa.

His father could have been his mentor and teacher, teaching him spells and control and how to deal with people who want to exploit him for his powers. But he was dead, and though his mother did her best to help him she knew little about magic. Had it not been for Oilell serving as an example of what awaited him if Ingild discovered his gifts he probably would have begged him to teach him out of sheer desperation.

There was no one he trusted who could help him, and he didn't know how to help himself when he was against a trained opponent. His impotence in the face of Vortigern's magic was something he would never forget. He had been forced to stand there while over his head two strangers argued, his life dangling by a vulnerable thread at the mercy of a lunatic's whims. He never wanted to feel so completely helpless again, but if Ingild's suspicions were confirmed he'd be in exactly the same position as when he was nine and a robed man pulled out a dagger.

"We should be heading back," Merlin said, because he didn't want to continue this conversation where Will told things he was already far too aware of.

Will's looked unimpressed by Merlin's attempt to cut off their argument, and he started to say something that from his tone would have been scathing. Merlin would never know what he meant to say, though, as he was barely three words in when an ominous crack punctuated his words.

The thickest tree nearby was swaying, slowly tipping towards Will with creaks that promised nothing good. With a loud snap, the trunk sped up in a hasty descent as though felled by an invisible axe. Without receiving any command from his brain, Merlin's arm instinctively shot out towards Will who was out of his reach. A blazing sensation flaring within his eye sockets and Will flew backwards as though pushed, landing unhurt on his bottom.

Merlin let out a breath in relief, calling out, "You alright?"

Will pushed himself upwards with a groan, grunting the first syllables of an affirmation before his eyes widened with something like horror and he started forwards, exclaiming,

"Merlin, behind you!"

Merlin spun on his heel. There, at the edge of the treeline looking straight at him with an expression of triumph, was the court sorcerer.

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He was alone in an empty room lit by a single candle that contained one bed and a table, and he had no idea where it was or how he had gotten there. He guessed Ingild must have knocked him out or placed a spell on him, but it seemed to him that one moment he was standing in the woods and the next he was laying on his back in an unfamiliar room, with no transition between the two scenes other than perhaps a blink.

Experimentally he wiggled his arms and legs, and found he was tied head to toe with thin chains. After a bit of thrashing on the floor – where he may or may not have hit his head against the wall more times than he cared to admit to – he gave up on freeing himself by simple struggling. He closed his eyes, concentrating as hard as he could on the idea of forcing the chains off him, and reached deep within himself to where his magic lay. The second he grabbed a tendril of it, the chains constricted so he could hardly breathe. He pushed at them with his magic and they seared him with red-hot heat. Wheezing, he opened his eyes and stopped trying to work his magic.

He should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

The creak of floorboards echoed outside the room, and the door creaked open. In stepped Oilell, dressed in a different raggedy dress than she'd worn the day she departed Ealdor. Around her wrists concealing the pale strip of a tan line were iron cuffs etched with a complex array of symbols and runes, which despite being decorated looked more like chainless shackles than a piece of jewelry. She walked straight over to Merlin and knelt down beside him, looking unsurprised to see him conscious.

Merlin asked the only thing that could be asked in a situation like this. "What happened?"

"My master soon will need a new apprentice." Her eyes were unreadable, like she'd closed the shutters to her soul and refused to let anyone peek through to see what she was thinking. Though she still spoke softly it was well above the whisper she'd used in their previous conversation and, rather than giving off the perpetual terror which Merlin associated with her, her tone seemed emotionless as the dead. "He doesn't have a year left to bide his time waiting for you."

Merlin called himself ten different names of fool, unable to believe his presumptuous stupidity. He'd taken it for granted that Ingild would continue following a pattern of one visit per year even after he'd branched out to attacking Merlin to get him to trip up. Why had he assumed he'd give up and leave just because he hadn't been successful yet and Mathew – a non-magical common villager he could kill with a few words – was suspicious of him? Ingild must have doubled back to force Merlin's hand when he didn't know he was being scrutinized, and how did such an obvious ploy not occur to him to seriously suspect?

"I know the spell to release you from those chains," Oilell unexpectedly said, still inscrutable in her expression and tone. It was unnerving, as though Oilell was a completely different person. Merlin didn't think he'd ever seen her go so long without making a nervous movement of some kind.

"Will you use it?" Merlin asked, scarcely allowing himself to hope. Normally he'd believe Oilell would help him, but right now she was being even less understandable than usual, and she'd phrased her sentence as a statement of fact, not an offer. Not to mention aiding in his escape in this way would surely incriminate her; she had no reason to risk Ingild's punishment over a boy who was almost a complete stranger. Merlin's carelessness had resulted in his capture; she was under no obligation to put herself in harm's way to fix his mistakes.

"That depends," she said in a deadened voice, "on whether you will make me a promise. You must promise to restore magic to the land. Only then will I help you."

Merlin felt like he was nine again, when Aithusa had shared her expectations of him. It was different this time though; he was no longer a child, but otherwise nothing had changed. He'd physically grown into the tall Merlin of Aithusa's dreams on the outside but on the inside he still felt the same size. Magic was no closer to being free, and despite his natural magical talent he was still as impotent to live up to Aithusa's great expectations as he was then.

"I'm sorry, I can't."

Something knowing, almost sympathy but with a mournful cast to it, flickered in her eyes. When she spoke her tone was gentler than before, and her voice cracked in places, "I don't expect you to do it today, tomorrow, this year, or the next. It doesn't matter to me when you fulfill your words. Only that you do everything in your power to do so."

She closed her eyes as though in pain, her face contorting into a grimace and her throat bobbed in a swallow. Her lips formed a single word and, though no sounds came through, the ghost of please felt like a tangible weight on his shoulders.

"Then I promise to do all that I can." It was all that he could truthfully say, and he didn't want to make a promise he couldn't keep to Oilell, whom he already owed years' worth of debts. If it hadn't been for her, he would have been carried off by Ingild when he was four.

Oilell nodded slowly in acceptance. She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and mumbled a string of foreign words, her eyes flaring with a golden hue at the end and the engravings on her wrist bands also glowing. The chains slid off Merlin like water off grease, and he stretched out his limbs only then discovering how stiff he was.

"Thank you." Merlin rose and walked to the door, stopping at the threshold and looking back to Oilell, still kneeling on the floor.

Now that he was free, his earlier thoughts about how Oilell would likely be punished for helping him escape came crashing down on him like a weight made out of guilt. "You can come with me if you want," he offered. When she looked taken aback, he hastily elaborated, "I'm pretty sure Ingild's going to work out I didn't free myself and I don't want you to take the blame."

Oilell rose and came forwards until she was standing two feet in front of him, and for a moment he thought she was going to accept. Instead, she lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing ankles shod in shackle-like iron circlets similar to the ones on her wrists. "For the duration of my apprenticeship, these alert my master to my location. I can't escape him."

Merlin couldn't take his eyes off them. How could two simple rings of metal do something so sinister? Oilell might as well be chained up like a prisoner, or kept in a cage like a captive bird. "I am so sorry."

She shook her head, dropping her skirts to conceal the chainless fetters around her ankles. "It's not your fault."

"But Ingild will punish you on my account, all because you helped me."

"That won't be a problem," she said, some emotion he couldn't name flickering in her eyes. He got the feeling she was choosing her words with care when she said, "My apprenticeship is nearing the end and I do know magic. He will not be able to hurt me, or come after you."

Merlin got the feeling that there was something she was not telling him, but – as much as it galled him to admit it – Oilell was more capable of looking after herself than he would be of looking after her. She was a nearly fully trained enchantress, while he was a peasant boy who could only do paltry tricks like stop a clay pitcher from smashing. What exactly could he do for her that she wouldn't be able to do for herself?

He couldn't save her from her master and whatever it was she had censored from her reassurance, because he couldn't even save himself. Not now, not when he was nine and Vortigern was standing over him with a knife, and not when he was four and he couldn't find his own way home. He had been kidnapped three times, and each time he'd depended on other people to help free him: his mother, Vivienne, and Oilell. What was the point of possessing magic when he couldn't even use it for saving anything other than pottery?

He felt so useless.

"Farewell," Oilell said. "Don't forget your promise."

This would probably be the last he saw of Oilell. He would likely never know what became of her, whether she was fine or whether she had misjudged her abilities and she was hurt for her role in his escape. Since he was four she had protected him, and he had never repaid her except today with one promise which he had no idea how to fulfill.

Impulsively, Merlin threw his arms around her. She stiffened in the hug, and he thought that this probably wasn't his smartest move when physical contact always seemed to make Oilell jump. When he awkwardly started to extract himself from the embrace, however, her arms hesitantly rose to encircle him loosely, shifting in position as though she didn't know where to place them. The reciprocated hug only lasted briefly before she pushed him away, her head lowered so that he could only see the slightly crooked part of her hairline.

"Go," she whispered, pushing him away and to the other side of the doorway. Her hand closed around the door knob, but she did not shut the door.

"Thank you for everything." When those words seemed insufficient in light of all she'd done for him with no true reward, he added, "I'll never forget you."

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When the tall, gangly dark haired boy turned the corner she lowered the curtains and turned from the window she'd been watching out of, sidestepping the bundle of pillows stuffed under a blanket where Emrys had been chained up before.

It was done. For eighteen years she'd trembled and prayed to any gods who would listen and fought against this moment, and in the end she had changed nothing. Knowing the future was a wretched thing indeed.

Once, she'd dreamed a dream of things to come, and woken with her throat torn up from her screams.

Her mother stroked her hair and her father fetched the Ollam to heal her throat, and when she was well enough to speak again she told them of what she'd seen. Then her mother had lied and said it was all just a dream, but she could feel her frame shaking as she hugged her like she was saying goodbye. Her father clasped his hand on her shoulder and told her to be brave, called it an honour for the fates to choose his daughter as the childhood protector of Emrys.

She hadn't felt honoured, only terrified.

The door opened behind her, and the stumbling heavy footsteps were so familiar that even if she didn't know who had the other key to the room she would have been able to identify the owner. She turned to face her master, taking in his red cheeks and the way his squinting eyes couldn't seem to focus on her face as he stumbled towards her, giving the lumpy outline under a blanket where Emrys had been only a cursory glance. The potion she'd slipped into his mead was already taking effect.

"You using magic, girl?" he slurred, fumbling with the crystal hanging around his neck accusingly, waving its fading glow in her face and grabbing her arm, looking pointedly to where her wrist bands had not yet completely faded from their telltale golden glow. She was slightly impressed he'd noticed, inebriated as he was.

She nodded meekly, trying for the usual terror that filled her in his presence but not sure she was doing a convincing job. It was so pointless to be afraid of him now. Everything was so pointless now. "The room was cold," she lied. "I warmed it up a little."

Usually at this point she would be punished for using her magic without permission, but his heady good mood must have made him generous because he merely dropped her arm and grunted, "Don't do it again."

Humming an off-key poor attempt at a tune, he threw himself on the bed. "What a day," he sighed contently, closing his eyes. "I knew it; I knew such powerful magic couldn't have skipped a generation. They called me delusional for not giving up on getting the dragonlord's son. But I was right. I was right. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces."

As always he neither expected nor wanted any response from her. She'd almost forgotten how to converse, something she'd painfully been reminded of yesterday during Emrys' valiant attempts to talk to her. It was easiest and safest to only speak when asked a direct question, and even then it was best to answer in as few words as possible. But today she felt bold, and why shouldn't she?

For years she'd cowered from Ingild, cringing from the inventive punishments magic allowed him to inflict on her. She'd followed him like a dog even after he removed the physical iron leash that bound her to him, because the enchanted shackles chained her just as surely as interlocking metal links had. With her head down so she could not be accused of looking her betters in the eye and her lips sealed so none could say she was speaking out of turn, she lived like a corporeal ghost. She was afforded the notice of one too; even when describing in graphic detail the fates of her predecessors and betting on how her own apprenticeship would terminate, the courtiers acted as though they'd forgotten she was present.

So while Ingild mocked her for not being as quick-minded as Esmeralda nor as charming as Grettel nor as magically talented as Briston, she reminded herself of their grisly fates and that she had lasted more than twice as long as any of them. Fake ineptitude made her not a threat to Ingild's position, and consequently her apprenticeship not only was not cut short by a tragic accident but was renewed at the seven year completion date, an action so uncharacteristic for Ingild that it caused a flurry of saucy court rumours. The renewal, however, was something that by law could only be done once, a law ironically implemented long ago by a just king to protect apprentices from exploitative masters. She was out of time as everything she'd been delaying caught up with her.

She raised her hand towards Ingild, shaking uncontrollably even as resolve settled over her like a crushing cloak. Her bridges were rapidly being burned – some by her, some by the unstoppable force of time. She couldn't go back now that she'd freed Emrys; if Ingild wasn't muddled by a spiked drink then he wouldn't be fooled by the lumpy shape of a blanket thrown over some pillows. Drugging him could only be a temporary solution.

She closed her eyes so she didn't have to see what she was about to do, and whispered a word to put Ingild to sleep. She didn't want to think about what she was doing, and that would be so much easier if she didn't have to struggle to overpower another sorcerer, even a drugged one.

As she began the incantation the circlets on her arms began to warm. At the beginning it was a warning, like metal left too long in direct sunlight on a warm day, but as the spell progressed she felt like she was wearing bracelets of fire. A stench like frying meat assaulted her nose and between her choked words she could hear sizzling and popping. At last she reach the end of the incantation, pushing out a final wave of magic to finish her spell as she held in a scream. The salty taste of blood filled her mouth; without even being aware of what she was doing, she'd bitten her tongue to stay silent. With a final searing flare that was so painful she thought she'd passing out, her spell reached completion. At that same moment she lost all sensation below her wrists and the magical core within her she'd spent years delving into was ripped away, leaving her feeling cold and empty inside like a lantern without a flame.

She dropped her arm before she opened her eyes and quickly raised her head so that it was held as high as a haughty noblewoman's, unable to bear the sight of the mottled red and black flesh of her lower forearms. She couldn't feel it, she couldn't bear the sight of it, but she couldn't stop herself from smelling it. Before her lay Ingild on the bed, unmoving as though he had fallen asleep while she hadn't been looking. Childishly, even though she knew it was avoiding reality to do so, she wanted to believe he had.

That way she wouldn't have to admit to herself that she'd killed a man in cold blood.

Dear Triple Goddess, she'd gone through with it. She was a murderer.

She felt like she should be tearing herself apart with guilt, but all she could feel was a horrified disconnect to the scene in front of her. Like she still that little girl, asleep in bed beside her family, watching a surreal progression of years in snatches of blurred scenes which became progressively darker the longer the dream went on, until she was watching herself as a grown woman destroy her own flesh to kill a sleeping man.

As she hysterically screamed in her sleep, reaching forwards in vain to try and influence an image, the scene had shifted so that she was watching herself – shaggy and unkempt as though she was a common criminal on the run – a sprinting while horsemen chased after her, her dead charred arms flopping as a useless burden on each side. She'd skidded to a halt, tripping and falling on her face without her arms to catch herself, as they closed in around her. Then the scene changed one final time, so that she was watching her dead body hanging suspended by a noose in a cold stone court yard, her eyes a pulverized mess and bones showing through where birds were ripping away her flesh piece by bloody piece.

She'd set Emrys free and damned herself in the process. She'd spent years telling herself she wouldn't do it, that she didn't care about honour and fate could go to hell, but in the end she'd done it. Now that numbness had replaced her terror, was it acceptance or surrender she was feeling?

Because once, she'd dreamed a nightmare of terrifying things to come, and yet when on that critical day she stood in the darkened cottage looking into the deep blue eyes of a guileless four-year-old she hadn't been able to save herself by doing nothing. She'd incanted a spell in her mind and saved the little boy in front of her, knowing she was dooming herself in doing so, a decision she had to make over and over, year after year as the temptation of self-preservation warred with her conscience. Somehow, at the moment when it truly mattered, her conscience would win.

It would have been so much easier if she had just been allowed to risk her life for Emrys' life, but in knowing what was to come she hadn't risked it – she'd given it. And that was much bitterer a cup to drink.

She'd wanted to be able to hate him so badly. If she hated him then she could have let him die, and hoped that someone else would free her people. But she couldn't; he'd been young and helpless and afraid, just like her when Ingild had held crystals up to her face and revealed what she was with a string of words in the Old Tongue that doomed her to fourteen years as his slave. And he had a certain charm to him that one would expect from Emrys, she couldn't express what it was but every time she saw he there was something in his eyes that drew her to him and made her want to protect him for another year, her resolve to do otherwise thrown aside.

And he'd been kind to her, far kinder than anyone had been since alone she'd fled a burning camp to the sound of red-cloaked knights yelling battle commands pitched to carry over the sound of screaming. She was so used to being invisible that it had been jarring when he'd smiled shyly at her for the first time when he was seven, looking precious with too large ears sticking out over his face that was hesitantly happy to see her even though she stood in the shadow of a man who obviously frightened him. His awkward attempts to talk to her yesterday had been equally discomforting and endearing.

She didn't want him to die, not just because of he was Emrys but because he was Merlin too. Emrys was a grand figure of prophecy, Merlin was a sweet little boy she'd watch grow in increments each year, until he stood over her in a frame that now seemed too tall and gawky for him but was easy to see someday cutting an impressive figure. It was some comfort to her to think that she would have been a part of the man he would one day become, even if in this life she would never see Albion in all its glory nor Emrys standing at the side of the Once and Future King.

Emrys had promised her he'd fulfill his destiny, as she had fulfilled hers. She had to believe that he would succeed. Perhaps when she was reborn, her next life would begin in Albion and she would be allowed the happiness she had been denied in this one.

She turned to leave, planning to run as far as she could before anyone found the dead body in the room, even though the fates had cruelly informed her that she wouldn't be able to outrun her pursuers she had to at least try.

Please, she begged the gods who'd never before answered her prayers, don't let it be for nothing.

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When the door opened to reveal Merlin's lanky frame, Hunith surged forwards to embrace her son. She buried her face in his shoulder, holding him tight for a long moment as she sagging against him in sheer relief.

"I thought I'd never see you again. Will told me what happened – he's gone to the capital now to try and locate you. I told him I'd have the supplies ready for when you both returned, so you could make a clean get away."

"That won't be necessary," Merlin pushed her back slightly, so they were standing at arms' length facing each other while they spoke, still clutching each other loosely as they spoke. She was glad he didn't let go completely; it felt as though she'd lose him again if he did. "Oilell let me go and she said she'd use magic to stop Ingild coming after me."

Hunith couldn't help but be dubious. If Oilell was able to overpower her master, then why did she always resemble a spooked rabbit at his slightest twitch? She held her tongue, not wanting to cause her son to panic, but pulled herself away to gather up a traveling pack that was already mostly put together. "Still, it's not safe for you to stay here now that others know about your gifts."

She handed him the pack. "Catrin's eldest took a message to Gaius for me, asking for him to take you in. There hasn't been enough time for me to get a reply yet, but I'm sure he won't refuse."

Merlin took the pack from her, staring at it like she'd handed him an alien object. Slowly, as though he thought he was missing something in her words, he said, "But… Gaius lives in Camelot."

"Yes."

He looked at her like she'd gone insane. "Camelot! As in, Uther's lands!"

"Yes, as in the lands where none of the members of the royal court know about you," her usually nonexistent temper which had been quieted in relief at seeing her son rose again as she remembered Will's words the day he stumbled back from the woods. He'd been nearly incoherent with panic but made one thing very clear to her. "And no one else there will either, as long as you aren't rash enough to let more of your friends know your secret!"

Merlin's eyes widened, looking like he did when he was younger and she caught him with a hand in the bread box when it wasn't mealtime. "Imagine my shock when I find out that not only does Will know about you, but it wasn't even a recent discovery! How many times did I tell you he couldn't know, how many times, Merlin! Did my warnings fall on deaf ears? What were you thinking! And you didn't even tell me that you'd let anything slip, so tell me now: how many of the others know things they shouldn't about you that you've never told me about?"

He was looking at her like she was a stranger. Hunith's temper was slow to be stirred and she couldn't remember the last time she'd raised her voice to him. More often she'd wonder if perhaps she wasn't strict enough with her son and if Merlin was in danger of being spoiled. But this was too far; he'd risked his safety and hadn't even seen fit to tell her he'd done so.

"Only Will knows, honestly," Merlin protested defensively. "And he's known for years now and never told anyone, I swear!"

Which would be all well and good, except that was Will wasn't the only one in the village with any knowledge of the oddities surrounding her boy. Catrin had witnessed him doing magic only a few moments after birth, and though she refused to admit anything one way or another the fearful placating attitude she used towards a little boy was the center of many village rumours. Old Ann had never truly left their family, haunting them from beyond the grave in Simmon's pronouncement of the unnaturalness of her death and dragging her baby's name into it. And though her neighbours had stopped asking her about it, she was sure that they hadn't forgotten the way she'd kept her window shutters closed for years at a time. The village knew too many strange things about Merlin for them to dismiss any new evidence, if Will ever let anything slip or egged Merlin on to do reckless stunts the way boys their age did with each other. And this was all assuming that – without Merlin's knowledge – no one else had seen Merlin slip up the way Will had.

"It doesn't matter, you can't stay in Ealdor anymore. It's not safe for you here."

"And it is in Camelot!"

"Yes!" she snapped. "In Camelot no one knows you had gold eyes when you were born or were hidden away for years when you were young, or that strange things happen around you! You'll never be truly safe wherever you go, but at least in Camelot you can start a new slate."

Merlin looked as though she'd slapped him, and she felt a stab of guilt for her words, no matter how true they were. Counting to twenty to calm herself – something she hadn't done in years – Hunith cajoled, "It won't be so bad. The castle is beautiful, and the view from Gaius' chambers is breathtaking. You can see a real city market for the first time, and find a job somewhere. There's more people than you've ever seen living within the walls of the city, and new people come and go every day. I'm sure you'll make lots of friends. I know you don't remember Gaius very well, but he's really quite sweet once you get past some of his eccentricities. And he knows more about magic than anyone I know."

Something sparked in Merlin's eyes with that last statement, and she could see him finally begin to consider it. Gently, she continued with the argument that she was sure would convince him. "He can help you learn how to use your gifts, I'm sure."

She didn't say anything more, and Merlin seemed to be thinking hard for a good long while. Once his face hardened into a decision, he slung the pack over his shoulders and hugged her once again. "I'll miss you. Tell Will goodbye for me?"

Hunith nodded, choking as she failed to hold back tears the spilling down her cheeks. Her baby was leaving home for another country, and she didn't know how long it would be until she saw him again. He'd be living in Camelot, learning magic under the nose of the man who'd killed his father for being a sorcerer. She swallowed, steeling herself for the loneliness and worry that she would surely feel when Merlin walked out her door never to come back to live with her again.

He needed to leave, he'd outgrown Ealdor long ago and it had taken nearly losing him to Ingild and finding out about Will to open her eyes to this. She feared what would become of him if he stayed trapped in this oppressive environment that ground him down into something he was not, squashing out all the joy and colour that magic brought to him. She didn't know why he'd been gifted with such powers, but it was surely not to till fields and feed the pigs while their neighbours whispered about him as though they thought they were being discrete. Merlin was meant for more, but first he needed to learn how to wield his gifts from the only sorcerer she trusted with her son.

His face was blurry through her tears, and she wiped her eyes so that the last she saw of him for a long while was a clear image. "Goodbye. Be careful, have fun, and, whatever happens, always be true to yourself."

/**

* According to Wikipedia, the druids believed in reincarnation.

* Oilell was originally inspired by Mordred's chat with Morgana in 5x02, when he says his life was difficult even in places that claimed to support magic.

* Somehow, the more I wrote her the darker and darker her life became, until I was left looking at the screen of my laptop being really disturbed by what I just wrote.

* RIP Oilell, killed by her conscience.

**/