Interlude - Between Your Land and Mine

The soft glow against his eyelids had been nudging him towards consciousness for some time already when a thought jolted him; if it was this bright, he must have overslept.

Merlin sprang upright, flinging a single thin cover off and scrambling to his feet, before his sleep-blurred eyes displaced the familiar snug cottage he was expecting to see with the unfamiliar, spartan room he was actually in. It took a disorienting moment for his groggy mind to catch up with his eyes: he'd crashed for the night at the cheapest room available at a wayside inn just past the border.

Merlin determinedly did not let his recollections stray further back than the previous day. He had no desire to dwell on his abduction by Cenred's Court Sorcerer, or the price of his release. He'd already driven himself half mad on the way back to Ealdor over whether Oilell had escaped her master's wrath for freeing him, and how he'd ever accomplish his promise to someday free magic.

He'd probably still be torturing himself wondering how in the world he could even begin to go about doing so, had he not been bundled off again after barely setting foot through the threshold of his home, by his mother of all people. Yet he couldn't fault her, not when she'd dangled the promise of a real live mentor in sorcery waiting for him in Camelot.

Learning to use his magic properly... now there was step in the right direction, if he ever wanted to accomplish anything.

He did wish, though, that his mother had stopped to think that he'd just spent three days doing nothing but walking and might not really fancy immediately setting out twice that distance. Still, with packs containing provisions and a small purse to find a bed for the night, this journey was pure luxury compared to his escape back to Ealdor.

He made his way down a narrow wooden staircase that had impressed him somewhat the night before - he was now the only person from Ealdor who could say he'd slept a story above the ground. At the foot of the stairs was a small pub, where the innkeeper's wife was bustling about with breakfast laden trays.

Merlin needed to return his room key but - not wanting to interrupt the woman's work – decided to hang back until she was free. Since she stopped to chat to every person she passed, this took longer than anticipated. Eventually, though, she was behind the counter wrapping warm loaves from the oven in cloths, and he stepped forwards, getting her attention with a cough and an,

"Excuse me."

The stout, matronly woman looked up, breaking into a large smile at the sight of him holding out the key. "There you are, lad. Getting a bit of a late start today, aren't we? Did you have a good night's sleep?"

"Er, yes, I-"

"Good, good. You'll be from someplace in Essetir, am I right?"

"Yeah, Ealdor, whi-"

"Thought so. I can always place accents - ears of an owl, or so my dear mam used to say. Long walk from Cenred's lands - no wonder you slept so long. Bit of rest is just what you needed, I reckon. 'S always nice to have folks from abroad - livens up the news."

Merlin, feeling that he was not so much being talked with or to but rather at, did not share any gripping rumours from his motherland. Nor did the landlady give him time to, for she continued on with scarcely a pause to breathe. "And whereabouts are you off to today?"

"Camelot. I'm staying with my uncle G-"

"Camelot! You don't say - never been to the city myself. Oh, how exciting - 'specially for a youngster like yourself. Lots to do in the city, or so I've been told."

Spotting Merlin's packs, containing all his worldly possessions, she exclaimed, "Looks like somebody's trip is one-way. You heading there for an apprenticeship or job?"

"... something like that."

The woman leaned forwards, propping her elbows on the counter and using her hands as a rest for her chin. She'd completely stopped tasking now, and Merlin was getting an idea of why it had taken her so long to have a free moment. "So what does your uncle do?"

"He's the court physician, Gaius." Merlin fought to keep the annoyance from his voice. If she'd just let him finish his sentence in the first place, she wouldn't have had to ask.

"Gaius! He was just 'round hereabouts last spring, when the Water Elf Disease outbreak was sweeping through the young ones. Fantastic man, Gaius - fantastic physician. Simply extraordinary what he can get up to at his age, but I supposed that's the hallmark of any physician worth his salt - he who cannot even treat himself certainly cannot treat others, eh? Still, he is getting on a bit - young set of arms to help out will do him good, I reckon. It's been nearly two decades now since Gaius has taken an apprentice, and the physician's trade is a risky one - constantly around all sort of nasty plagues and ailments - and Gaius isn't as young as he once was. The kingdom could use a spare physician – I mean, it's not like Gaius' previous apprentices can take over."

Something about the way the woman said that last bit, a half-derisive laugh, made him uneasy. "Why not?"

The woman leaned over and whispered in badly concealed delight, eyes glancing in either direction as though spreading a big scandal, "They weren't just studying medicine, my lad, but magic as well. And we can hardly be inviting sorcerers back into our kingdom, now can we?"

Merlin's mouth had gone dry. Not trusting himself to speak, he spread his lips in what he hoped was a convincing smile and made a throaty noise of agreement.

Apparently the woman was not quite convinced, for she adopted a rather concerned look. "Are you all right? White as a sheet, you are. Here," she drew back, unwrapping one of the loaves and holding it out to Merlin, waving it front of him when he didn't reach out for it. "Go on, go on, don't be shy! These normally go for a pretty penny, but you're looking a bit peakish. Not surprising, really, what with all the leagues you've travelled and now this disturbing talk of sorcery. Gotta take care of yourself and eat properly, lad! We can't have our new physician's apprentice taking ill!"

Merlin shook his head. "It's ok, I'm not hungry."

And though the long journey ahead and mouth-watering smells of breakfast in the pub had left his imagination on a nice bowl of pottage and a thick slice of bread to start his day with, indeed his stomach now felt rather shrivelled.

"Poppycock! You might not be now, but a growing lad like you needs to eat. I know, I know, thinking about sorcery always turns me off of food too, but believe me your appetite will come back twice as strong in a bit. I've raised five boys, you'll see, I know how you all are!"

Merlin squeezed out a smile and took the loaf with a mumbled thanks, more out of a desire to get away than anything. The landlady at last took the key from him, releasing him from the stream of chatter. Merlin made his way out the door as soon as he could without being rude.

Though the sky was a clear blue with only a few fluffy white wisps, Merlin was having trouble appreciating it. His reaction to idle gossip troubled him. Why should it have shaken him, when for years he'd put up with Old Man Simmons not-so-subtle mutterings on how hell-spawn brats with unholy powers ought to be dealt with?

Still, it was undeniably odd to have magic brought up without everyone present glancing at him, whether they believed Old Man Simmons' grumblings or not.

The sun passed overhead as he walked and, with the growing gnawing in his belly, food once again seemed appealing. He refilled his waterskin in a stream, and settled down in a clearing nearby. He took out some his mother's provisions, burying the innkeeper's wife's bread at the bottom of his bag, determined to forget the woman and her words.

After all, he told himself firmly, full and stretching on the sun-warmed grass to enjoy the simple sensation of being still, it could have been much worse. Something like this was bound to happen at some point. Better now out here with someone who'll forget me in a week than after I reach the citadel. At least now I know what to expect.

Merlin closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the midday sun caress his face. Then, with a reluctant groan, pushed himself up off the ground, refilled his waterskin again, dusted himself off, and set off down the road.

The remaining days of his journey were uneventful. He spoke to various people at inns in the evenings, but to Merlin's great relief none of their polite small talk had anything to do with magic. The weather continued to be sunny and pleasant, and overall he was in a good mood on the last day of his trip. When the towering walls of the royal citadel came in sight, he wasn't even thinking about whose castle it was.

In a village the size of Ealdor there were three things: farmhouses and farms and a communal storehouse. Anything more specialized was a four hour walk away to a larger village, which had a smithery and a carpenter's shop and every Saturday a farmer's market. Up to this day, Merlin had considered it to be a bustling place.

The city of Camelot dwarfed that village in the way that the ocean dwarfs a pond. It was overwhelming. There were too many things too close together: battlements, towers, houses, food stalls, clothing stalls, jewellery stalls, butcheries and bakeries and more shops and buildings than Merlin could name. It was too many things crammed too close together, and yet an irrepressible grin spread across his face as he tried to drink it all in nonetheless.

There were people everywhere, not even glancing at the wondrous stone masterpiece towering up to the very sky itself. Merlin thought he passed Ealdor's entire population just walking down two streets. There were so many of them... How on earth did they all get to know each other? How would he ever be able to remember everyone's name, let alone anything else about them? No one seemed to notice him, even though he was standing around bug-eyed and open-mouthed. How bizarre that he'd never been more surrounded, yet never more invisible.

For the first time, Merlin understood the meaning of lost amid a crowd.

He was also beginning to get a sense of why his mother hadn't thought it overly dangerous to go live under Uther's nose. Even if Uther happened to glance down from the towers of his castle, Merlin would look about as significant as an ant crawling amid a colony of other ants. If you want to hide a tree... he thought, relief buoying him. Unless he did something colossally stupid, it seemed unlikely any of the perfect strangers brushing past the gawking unfamiliar face without a single glance would ever look closely enough to discover his secret.

There came a high, clear sound from above - horns, or so Merlin guessed from his mother's descriptions. From a distance the low, insistent thrum of drums reverberated. The streets began to thin, the people all heading in the same direction. Merlin followed.

He was one of the last stragglers to arrive in a great open square. To the center was a raised platform with a plain round stump whose purpose Merlin couldn't guess, and a hooded man. The trumps quieted, but the drumming increased. From the side, an unkempt man in simple peasants' clothing was dragged forward by two men in shining chainmail, their livery dyed a bloody scarlet.

Merlin was seized by a desire to be elsewhere, anywhere else. But he could not move - his eyes seemed rooted on the restrained man forced onto the dais, made to stand before the whispering throng below.

"Let this serve as a lesson to all," came a measured, strong voice from on high.

Far above, on a balcony and ringed by solemn-looking men in red, stood a single man. He would be unremarkable in appearance, had it not been for his attire. He wore fine cloth of a deep, royal purple. From his neck hung a heavy ornamental emblem, and on his head was a golden crown.

The king's words washed over Merlin - there was nothing in them that he could not deduce. Instead, it was Uther's arm that mesmerised him. Slowly, it rose into the air, staying there a moment, almost in salute. The drums were deafening now.

And then the arm fell. The drums ceased. The swish of an axe filled the air.

Scarlet dyed the dais.

The king was speaking again. His voice started out full of steel, but then he spread his arms graciously and his voice lightened, "I declare a festival to celebrate twenty years since the last dragon was killed and Camelot freed from the evil of sorcery." He smiled down, and seemed for all the world like an indulgent parent granting a treat to well-behaved children. "Let the celebrations begin."

The crowd began to disperse, and it was as though a spell had been broken. Merlin found his legs, and willed them to carry him out of the square, away from the bloody dais and the smiling king and the silent onlookers. But there came a cry, a horrible wailing, and he found himself again unable to move.

There was a woman, old and frail, her quivery voice shaking with more than age as she cried up to the king. Bereaved mother and tyrant king held each other's eyes, and for a moment they seemed the only two people in the world. But the king broke this illusion, wrenching his eyes away as he shouted out an order, and the men in red were moving again. But the woman moved faster - magic insured that. The crowd buzzed as she disappeared in a high gale, and there was a rush to vacant the area.

Merlin forced himself to walk away. He needed to leave now, before anything else happened in this square. None of this involved him - or at least, he didn't want to look like it did. He needed to act normal, to continue on his way like everyone else, and find the man he'd intended to before he'd made the mistake of stepping into Uther's courtyard.

Gaius was a largely unknown quantity to Merlin. With the dim recollection of a boy who'd been little more than a baby, he could picture an old man standing alongside a man in red, first seen through the bars of an iron cell. Next, he'd seen him by flickering torchlight in the vast cavern under this city, leading his mother to him and showing them a way out. Everything else he knew of the man - how he'd studied healing for longer than Hunith had been alive, how he was like a brother to her, how he'd given up magic after it was outlawed, how he'd rescued Merlin's father and numerous others from Uther's clutches, how he'd been the one to give Merlin himself his chance to escape - were things he'd been told second-hand by his mother.

He'd always had trouble meshing his mother's Gaius with the blurred old face held in his distant childhood recollections. And after seeing his face again, Merlin still had trouble. But perhaps that was unavoidable due to the nature of their first encounter in over a decade.

Merlin hadn't been thinking when he used magic to break Gaius' fall. There'd only been the rush to do something, anything, in the ten or so extra seconds he'd bought himself by slowing time. He'd seen the bed, an idea occurred to him, and he implemented it without a second thought, not even considering that performing magic in front of someone from Camelot probably pretty stupid.

Though really, considering Gaius helped who knew how many sorcerers flee the Purge and had once drugged a guard to save Merlin himself, even if Merlin had been given time to consider it, he still didn't think he could have predicted Gaius' reaction.

"What did you just do!"

The harshness, the accusation, in the old man's voice made him take a step backwards.

"Erm..." Merlin was half-tempted to lie and feign ignorance, say it wasn't him and he had no idea what had happened, but that would be ridiculous - Gaius had known about him and his gifts since he was four.

"Tell me!"

"I-I, er, moved a bed?"

"If anyone had seen that...!"

"Well... no one did - except, you, I guess, but that's fine because, well, if you wanted me beheaded then you already threw away the perfect chance fourteen years ago."

This seemed to give the old man pause. Gaius scrutinized him, trying to place him. Merlin doubted whether he was recognizable as the little boy Gaius had so briefly met, but there could only be so many young magicians Gaius had helped fourteen years ago. A hypothesis blossomed across Gaius' visage, softening it as it took root. "Hunith's son?"

"Yeah," Merlin smiled in relief as Gaius relaxed. "Yeah, I'm Merlin."

And so Merlin was shown up to his new room to drop off his packs, coming back down to be given a tour of Gaius' workplace on the main floor.

"This is where I keep the potions. The ones to the front are specially commissioned, the ones at the back are more generalised, just things I like to have on hand." Gaius wandered to a cupboard by the door. "And here's my store of herbs. If I know Hunith she'll have taught you some of them already, but Camelot is more temperate than Essetir and -"

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting him. Gaius opened it, and Merlin felt the blood drain from his face. On the other side was a man cloaked in bright red. Merlin fought the sudden urge to hide.

Gaius opened the door wider, beckoning him in. "Ah, Leon. What can I do for you?"

The man was clutching his left arm. He brushed his cloak aside, revealing a white band tied messily over his gleaming chainmail, and seeped in dull red. Protruding from just above his bicep was the head of an arrow, snapped off at the shaft. "I picked up a little something unwanted while on patrol."

Gaius gave a well-worn sigh. "Of course you did, and I hazard you're not the last knight I'll see today. Merlin," Gaius turned to him, "I need fresh water to clean the wound. Bucket's on that shelf next to the hearth, well's in the outer courtyard, on the way to the market. If you don't see it, just ask around."

Merlin grabbed the bucket, more than happy to be given an excuse to leave. The man in red was now eying him curiously, and as Merlin headed out he heard him say, "Who's he?"

The well, it turned out, was easy to spot, and all too soon Merlin was headed back. The man in red was now topless and Gaius was examining his arm, which still had the arrowhead sticking out. Wordlessly, Merlin held out the bucket.

As Gaius began meticulously cleaning the wound around the arrow, the man in red bit his lip and hissed, "Damn bandits."

"Was there an attack?" Gaius asked, worried.

"No, nothing like that. We've increase our patrols – the prince thinks they'll be more active because of all the people travelling to the festival. After today, I'm inclined to agree with him. We're hoping if we can scare them off now, they won't be able to waylay the travellers."

Merlin stared at the wounded man. He'd never really thought of what the knights of Camelot did other than arrest sorcerers, but now he felt rather stupid for not realising that they were sworn to uphold more than that one single law.

Gaius pulled the bloody arrowhead out, and the knight let out a strangled yell. Gaius placed it on the table with remarkable detachment. "Merlin, fresh bandages are in the cupboard to your left. Fetch me one; I'll need it in a minute."

The knight, determinedly not looking at his arm, was instead following Merlin's movements. Merlin clutched the bandage, fidgeting. He didn't like the knight's contemplative look.

"Gaius says you just arrived today… you saw the execution, then?"

Merlin froze, barely daring to breath. Why was the knight bringing this up? Did he suspect? Focusing on Gaius' hands as they worked, Merlin managed to mumble out, "Yeah, I saw it."

The knight gave a sympathetic grimace, then winced for real as Gaius started dabbing a thick paste into his open wound. "That's never pleasant. I must say I'm glad to have missed it myself." Merlin tried to stifle his surprise but must not have succeeded for the knight gave a wry grimace – or maybe that was the sting of Gaius' paste setting in. "First time I saw an execution, I was seven. My family had just moved here from our country manor a few months before, and I was still relatively new to the city... and then afterwards, there were so many others…"

The man's eyes gained a haunted look, and in horror Merlin realised he was talking about the Purge. The man shook his head, becoming clear faced again. "Still, that was then and this is now. I don't know what things are like in Essetir, but very few crimes carry the death penalty here, so it's bad luck there was one today, but…" the knight shrugged, wincing and making Gaius scowl at him, then at Merlin as if it was his fault as well.

"The bandage, Merlin," he said, a bit crossly. Merlin held it out to him, and Gaius started wrapping the wound, tying the staunch white strips in a deft knot hardly a minute later. "There, now don't get this wet or put pressure on it, and if you feel feverish or notice any discolouring, come straight to me."

"Thanks, Gaius," The knight got to his feet, smiling reassuringly at Merlin as he turned to go. "Just give it a few more days – you'll see what Camelot's usually like."

He shut the door behind him, and Merlin and Gaius were alone once more. Gaius started cleaning the area and Merlin – not knowing where anything else went – placed the half-emptied bucket back by the hearth.

"So, that was a knight," Merlin said.

"Yes, and there's probably going to be more turning up, if a patrol's gone badly, so you'd best get used to seeing them." Gaius threw the knight's blood-soaked bandage in the fire, and turned to Merlin with a shrewd look in his eye. "So, what did you think of him?"

"He was… alright." It was most praise Merlin felt up to giving one of Uther's men, but nothing less seemed appropriate given the man's perfectly polite and considerate behavior.

Gaius quirked an eyebrow as if he knew exactly what Merlin was thinking. "Yes, Sir Leon's always been a very decent sort. He gets it from his mother."

Merlin made a vague, noncommittal noise. That the knights of Camelot had families was not something he wanted to acknowledge about them. Then, Leon's words from before sprung to his mind, the prince thinks… a prince… Uther had a family…

Keen for a distraction from that disturbing thought, Merlin picked up the bottle of paste Gaius had been using earlier. "So where does this go? In with the potions, or …?"

"In with the potions, but leave it out – when one knight comes in for a patrol injury, you know several more are sure to follow. Before then, though, I'd like to finish showing you around. For instance, on my work table there's -" There was another knock at the door. "… or we could do hands on learning instead."

The door flew open on its own, and in burst a man cloaked in red. "Gaius, oh good, you're in." The man shrugged off his cloak, throwing it carelessly over a rack by the door. "I was out on patrol, and there were these bandits lying in wait, and it's just a scratch, really, but my mother won't stop nagging me to – who're you?"

The knight cocked his head quizzically, almost comically at Merlin. Without the bloody scarlet of his cloak across his broad shoulders drawing attention, Merlin found himself looking at the man himself. He was young, perhaps even younger than Merlin, with a round face and soft eyes that clashed with what Merlin expected from a man in Camelot red, and a gaze even with the same air of courteous dignity the previous knight gave off.

In spite of himself, Merlin found himself answering the youth's innocent curiosity by holding out his hand. "Hi, my name's Merlin."

The knight took it with a childish, yet strangely charming, grin. "Brennis, nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Strangely, it was not a lie.

The man's grip was firm but not unpleasantly so as they shook, and he talked about his overprotective mother good naturedly to Merlin as Gaius patched him up. Gaius sent him off with eight stitches, a tonic, and a stern warning to take care of himself, to which the man rolled his eyes as soon as Gaius turned away. Fastening his red cloak around his shoulders, he gave a jaunty wave to Merlin and then he was gone, the door banging closed behind him.

Staring at it, the thought that more men in red might soon come knocking did not seem quite so nerve-wracking now. Men in red didn't always wear red; they were more human than Merlin had given them credit for. The knights of Camelot would kill him if they discovered his magic – but the same had been true of the villagers in Ealdor. If Merlin were to limit himself to only interacting with or liking people who'd accept him, he would have to become a hermit in his mother's house.

Although he had no memory of doing so, at some point in his distant childhood Merlin knew he must have had to accept that just because his neighbours hated magic didn't mean they were bad people, and that it was possible to like people who would probably kill you if they knew who you really were. In fact, it was hard not to, when their good was so visible, and he knew that they had been taught the bad.

Yet he never thought to apply this logic to the men in red – because how could the bogeyman be judged the same as nice people like Herleva? Herleva, who fed him dinner as often as Hunith did Will, yet always made sure to walk him home before the witching hour because 'You never know what they'll do if they catch you out and about, dear.' It was hard to blame and resent people who were so friendly and kind.

Merlin still felt wrong-footed here, and not really comfortable with these new surroundings and people, but at the same time like he could come to be.

Because Camelot might not be so different to Ealdor, after all.

/**

I'M ALIVEEEEEEEEEEEE! Seriously, you would all have been perfectly justified thinking me dead, given how long it's been since the last update. I'm really sorry!

I'm pleased to announce Season 1 is about 95% finished and, to give myself that last push, next Wednesday (the 26th) I'll start uploading a chapter a day.

Just so you're warned, after a somewhat rough (by which a mean boring, for me the writer) start, I decided that since you guys have already watched the show and know what happens, I can more or less skip anything that didn't change and doesn't directly impact the greater story or character arcs. So don't be surprised if Sophia Tír-Mòr is only ever referenced, or a huge chunk of episode gets condensed to little more than "Merlin was in the library because Arthur was about to fight a death match with a wraith." I tried to retell everything, I really did – that's why I was on hiatus so long, I was bored by my own writing! So I decided screw it, if it's boring to me it'll be doubly boring to you, let's just focus on what's different rather than what's the same and finish sometime this lifetime.

Lastly the point of this interlude chapter was to jog your memory of where we left off – you know, since it's been three years. If you find your memory still not jogged, I encourage you to reread season zero since things so unavoidably carry over.

Thanks for your patience, and I'll see you next week with chapter one. Merry Christmas everybody!

**/