1x09 – The Fork in the Road (Part 2)

With a whispered word, the sparks from the crackling campfire flew high into the air, beating fake leathery wings and roaring out a little puffs of smoke from miniaturised great maws. Even if only spark and smoke, here was at least one dragon flying free tonight.

The soft, even breathing of his slumbering companions was a deafening prod in the nocturnal quiet, yet despite the faint nausea accompanying the thought of one of them suddenly waking, he made no move to smother his spark creation. It was stupid undoubtedly, but…

But…

But would it really be so bad, if they did wake? Hadn't he been itching for a confrontation? Hadn't he been asking himself, over and over, how to push his friends towards thinking over magic? Well, waking to find a foot-long dragon composed entirely of sparks flitting about their heads – now, if that didn't force them to think on it, nothing would.

Get a hold of yourself, Merlin told himself disgustedly, and with a thought doused his creation. It fell innocently to the ground in great white flakes. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

Like Oilell. Oilell who was dead, who had been dead for a year now.

Because of me.

How long did it take them to catch her? Surely not long, if his mother had heard by harvest time. All this time, almost the whole time since he'd left, she'd been dead. And he'd barely spared a thought for her, for what had become of her, for a vague promise he'd made and had no idea how to keep.

It was a wonder she hadn't risen from her grave to haunt him for it. After saving Uther, he would deserve it.

Try, to the best of my abilities, to free magic?

He hadn't. He'd had the perfect opportunity right there, and what had he done? He'd saved Uther. Uther, whose purge had killed Oilell's family. Uther, who had outlawed magic in the first place.

Why had he done it, again?

Arms encircling his drawn up knees, the warmth rising off the fire licked his toes, his knees, his elbows, his wrists. But the smoke stung his eyes, and his core was cold. And staring at the white flecks dotting the grass, faintly illuminated in the flickering of the fire, he couldn't think of a single answer.

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Arthur cursed the timing of his ultimatum yet again as he rode through fast falling darkness. If only he'd picked a different day to start a battle of wills with Merlin! Then he wouldn't be out alone in the Forest of Ascetir, with neither attendants nor his father's leave, chasing after his servant in the vague direction of a village that wasn't even on the map he was trying to consult in the last legs of light the day afforded.

Rolling the wretched thing up, Arthur glanced at the sky where a few starry dots twinkled mockingly back, and dismounted. He was fiddling with the packs when he noticed a tendril of smoke rising above the treetops from further up the trail. Curious and hopeful, he grabbed his sword and approached. The low red hue of a campfire became discernible through the dark silhouettes of the trees. A little ways out from its dim glow a gawky, familiar silhouette stood tensed, sword drawn in a horrible stance.

And Arthur couldn't resist. "I'd ask you for money, but I know you don't have any."

"Arthur!" Merlin spun around, nearly decapitating Arthur in his surprise.

Arthur winced at the warp of air swishing ineffectively above his head; Merlin had swung at him with the blade half-angled to the broad side. It was a good thing Arthur was here; commendable though Merlin's bravery and love for his mother were, he was always worse than useless against bandits.

"Put the sword down, Merlin, you look ridiculous." Favouring his servant with an unimpressed look, Arthur strode past him to the campfire, calling over his shoulder. "And you can go bring my horse – it's tethered in the clearing off the trail, about thirty paces back that way – and unpack my bags."

Despite technically being on an indefinitely extended "day-off", Merlin vanished to do just that with nary a word of protest, having slunk into the silence he'd fall into far too often lately. Arthur supposed he had good reason to sulk now, with his village under threat, but Merlin had been like this long before his mother turned up, and for no good reason if you were to believe him (which Arthur wasn't). Pressing the issue now, though, seemed rather insensitive. So he just wordlessly took the night watch in Merlin's place.

Though he'd been riding hard to catch up the previous day and hadn't slept, when late the next morning they heard screams from the direction Hunith had indicated Ealdor lay, Arthur didn't hesitate to nudge his mount into a gallop. Kanen, it would appear, was not an outlaw who adhered to any kind of personal code of honour; it was a day before his promised week of grace ended.

Driving away the bandits was easy, even without any men at his command. They clearly were unprepared for an actual fight, and retreated quickly in the confusion of Arthur's arrival. But Arthur knew bandits, and knew the difference between driving away and driving off.

"He'll be back." Arthur grimly promised the villagers gathered in front of him. "And when he is, you must be ready for him. First of all, we have to prepare for –"

"Excuse me," cut in a voice from the back of the crowd. "Am I the only one wondering who the hell this is?"

It was a young man, around Arthur's age, with dark hair and a dark scowl directed straight at Arthur. Arthur fought to channel all the diplomacy drilled into him through the years as he introduced himself (to a scoff of Yeah, and I'm Prince William of Ealdor) because smacking around an unarmed peasant of the village he'd come to protect wasn't exactly in concordance with the Code of Chivalry… no matter how satisfying it might feel.

No king, his old tutor had liked to pointedly repeat whenever Arthur settled a score, is beloved by all. There will always be someone who disagrees with you. What differentiates a just king from a tyrant is his response to verbal antagonism.

"You just want the honour and glory of battle! That's what drives men like you!"

… fantasizing about socking that glaring, hateful visage, though; now that was fair game.

"Will…" Merlin put in uncertainly, drawing the naysayer's attention. Some kind of silent communication seemed to pass between them, for the naysayer's scowl deepened, and Merlin's face tightened in concern.

The exchange was swift, and familiar, like one word was all they needed to communicate. And it made something inside of Arthur curdle, even as the rest of the villagers pledged their support. The scowling man lingered in his thoughts as he prepared for training the next day, inside the tiny, cramped shack Merlin used to call home.

"That's just Will," Hunith said when he asked. Merlin was out gathering wood for training polearms, and Arthur told himself Merlin's absence had nothing to do with why he was suddenly bringing this up. "He's always been a bit difficult. Still, he's a good boy, he'll come around."

"Not really a 'boy', though," Arthur fished, trying for casual but not sure he was succeeding. "He looks like he's my age."

"Well, he's just under two years older than Merlin, so I suppose," Hunith said, adding salt to some grey lumpy sludge that Arthur was hoping tasted better than it looked. "But when you watch a boy grow, he's forever a child in your eyes."

"So you know him well, then?"

"Mmm," Hunith agreed absently, hefting the pot over the fire, "He and Merlin have been thick as thieves since they were little, always doing everything together. Sometimes it almost feels like I have a second son, he's over so often. Well, less now, now that Merlin's moved away. Actually, that's about when Will came over really surly – sort of sweet, when you think of it that way. He's just missing his best friend."

Something in Arthur twisted. Merlin's best friend, was it?

"So anyway, don't worry about him causing trouble – Will's not that kind of kid. Worst he'll do is grumble at you."

That should be reassuring, and yet, somehow, Arthur didn't feel any better.

Time for a new topic. Any new topic. "Anyways, about tomorrow, we might need salves for bruises and cuts from sparing. Do you have anything like that?"

"I do, but I'll need to restock before the raiders return." A calculating look flashed across her face, and she continued obviously more present in the conversation, "I'll have to gather more herbs, and if Merlin came with me it would be a big help. He's used to the area, and Gaius has probably taught him more than I've ever forgotten about herbs and medicines, and…"

Hunith continued on for some time, about how desperately necessary it was for Merlin to accompany her into the woods tomorrow, until Arthur was starting to get the feeling that going to get herbs wasn't really about going to get herbs. Still, he didn't have any experience with mother-son interactions, and her reasoning was difficult to argue with – not when Arthur didn't have a role for Merlin to fill in the village that couldn't easily be passed to someone else.

So Arthur incorporated it into his plans: he would train the men, Morgana and the women would prepare the weapons and traps, and Merlin and his mother would take care of all the medical preparations. And Merlin's so-called 'best friend' would probably grit out prophesies of doom from the sidelines while making jabs at Arthur's expense.

At least Merlin would probably be too busy picking herbs and whatnot to be 'thick as thieves' with this Will.

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The woods around Ealdor held many memories for Merlin. Most happy, but at present the one intruding on his thoughts was anything but. These are the woods Ingild grabbed me in, he couldn't help but think, and guilt twisted even tighter in his chest. If he'd just been less careless, he wouldn't have needed to be rescued. Oilell wouldn't have put herself on the line for him.

Promise you'll do everything in your power to free magic, she'd asked him, her last request. One he'd fully intended to honor… and yet…

The swords was descending, nearly upon Uther now, and all thought had fled… Words were pouring from his mouth… The figure in the sand started to shimmer…

Lost in that distant February day, Merlin didn't register Hunith glancing around furtively. His whole body jerked when she spoke up,

"Merlin, we need to talk."

It took a moment for Merlin to reorient himself in the chill September morning, leaving the frigid trappings of winter buried in his mind.

Satisfied her son's mind had returned to his body from whence it had drifted, Hunith took a deep breath. "About Oilell – it wasn't your fault."

Merlin's heart sank. They were having this conversation again, were they? Hunith had been offering platitudes since she'd first broke the news to him, and Merlin was heartily sick of hearing them.

Despite his best unapproachable air, Hunith soldiered on with the talk that she'd obviously gotten him alone to have. "She was a grown woman, and she made her own decisions. The best way to honour her is to be thankful for her help, and live your life to its fullest."

When Merlin opened his mouth, it was to say that he appreciated her concern but he didn't want to talk about this and could they please just go back to picking herbs in silence?

Somehow, though, what came out was, "She asked me to free magic, you know."

The words hung heavy in the air – for how could they do anything but? How could any one person free magic? It was such an impossible request, and yet she'd asked it, and he'd promised…

And now she was dead. Dead because she'd held up her side of the deal, while he…

His mother took a long moment before replying, "Well, I presume that's something you want too and - as servant to a prince - you're in a good position for it. Are you worried you won't be able to?"

"Sort of…" Merlin mumbled half-heartedly, and then sighed, deciding he'd already jumped the fence and there was no more sense dithering. "More that I've missed my chance to." Seeing his mother's confusion, Merlin took a deep breath and started at the beginning.

"At Arthur's coming-of-age ceremony, a knight in black armour broke in and threw down his gauntlet…"

It took him some time to get through everything, but somehow the telling was like unburdening a load carried for so long he'd forgotten how it felt to be free of it.

When he finished his mother didn't say anything, just stared into the distance as if the forest hid an appropriate response to such a tale. Slowly, almost absently, she said, "Your father passed through these woods when he fled the Purge…"

Guilt stabbed at him; he'd never thought of that, and the browning leaves ringed crimson by the early morning light seemed to take on a new, sinister appearance. His mother was also looking at the forest as though seeing it for the first time, but her face was clearer for it, and her words now came steady and confident.

"This forest has been witness to many things, you know." She put a hand to the trunk of a gnarled old tree, as though appreciating its presence. "Anyone fleeing to Essetir would've crossed it – Oilell included. Imagine, running for days and weeks on end to escape Uther's reach, thinking you were free at last, only to then be snatched up by Ingild, perhaps even in the very woods you thought marked safety."

Her hand dropped to her side and Hunith turned to face her son. "Being legal isn't the same as being free, Merlin. You should know that better than anyone – especially here, of all places… This is where we taught you hide-and-seek… where you learned to hide yourself from 'the men in red' and ordinary villagers alike." She placed a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him to the left, pointing off into the distance obscured by the treetops. "Over there are the Tunnels where we hid Aithusa when the neighbours started getting too suspicious. I once led a bounty hunter there, you know, possibly past this very clearing. These were the woods your father died in, and it's here that Cenred's sorcerer kidnapped you."

She released her hold on him. "Uther's not responsible for half of the injustice that's gone on in these woods alone. How would killing him end the persecution against people like you?"

"It certainly wouldn't hurt, though."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. How do you think Arthur would react if his father was killed by magic – killing in his place, no less?"

Merlin was silent, an unsettlingly vivid vision of Arthur swearing over his father's grave to never forget the evils of sorcery rearing up unbidden in his mind.

Hunith placed a hand on his shoulder. "Life is seldom kind enough to give us a clear right and wrong choice. When you come to a crossroad in the woods, the choices are left and right, and you can't see far enough to know which – if either – is a good path. You just observe the little signs, make your best guess, and keep going."

"And what would your best guess be?"

"Living a country away from your crossroad, how am I to read the signs? I do, however, have one to go off of," she smiled, nudging her son. "That's how I know you made the right choice."

"How?"

"Because I know you. You're kind, and smart, and have a good heart. You always have. That's why I trust your judgement, even if you don't. If you thought that saving Uther was the right thing, then I do too. Your father, if he were here, would agree. He'd never want you to torture yourself with the condemnation of his ghost."

The relief at hearing this, spoken so confidently and knowingly, could not entirely warm him. More than one ghost had been haunting him.

As though sensing this, Hunith sighed heavily, "I'd love to say that Oilell would understand, but they would be empty words. I quite frankly have no idea how she'd react. Neither of us knew her well enough for that. But not everybody Uther has wronged is so naïve as to think his death would solve all their problems. And for what it's worth, Oilell never went after him either."

"Maybe she just never had the opportunity."

"Well, I have never gone after Uther, and I have much the same cause to as you. I cannot say whether, put in your place, I would have saved him… but for the sake of my own integrity, if for no other reason, I hope I would."

Merlin blinked. "And if it made everything worse? If Uther lived another twenty years, hunting sorcerers all the while?"

"At least I wouldn't have made a martyr out of him. Better to live another twenty years and die a man than to die tomorrow and live on another hundred as a hero. But I don't think he'll live that long – Uther is a hard, cold man, who's made many enemies and will continue to make more. You couldn't stop them all if you were his personal bodyguard and your gifts known and accepted."

Merlin was quiet a long moment, thinking over the scenario his mother painted. If their positions had been flipped, he knew he would not have condemned her for showing Uther mercy. By that token, he could understand her acceptance of his own decisions, and believe his father would show him the same. Perhaps even Oilell, who from the little he'd known her had struck Merlin as far from vengeful, would forgive him for an act of mercy, whatever its outcome.

Yet, somehow it was harder to forgive himself. "I just… I'm just not sure what I'm doing," the words felt very raw in his throat. "I came to Camelot to study magic, and I did, I am, but with it… the more powerful I get, the more I feel I should be helping. Changing things. And yet, even if I become the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth, it'd still be no good. Freeing magic isn't so easy as chanting a spell to make all the bad things go away."

Hunith gave a sad smile in regretful agreement. "There's no power on earth that can change what's in people's hearts."

Merlin sighed, "I know Uther isn't the problem, not really, but without him maybe people would be more receptive."

"Because that's always been so true of your life here?" Hunith asked archly, seventeen years of lies and hiding wrapped up in one look.

"So maybe not," Merlin admitted with another sigh. "But if even Uther's life or death is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things… then what isn't? I said I'd free magic, but damned if I know how. I think, sometimes, that maybe if I can show Arthur it's nothing to fear and despise then when he becomes king he can change things… But there's no guarantee that he'll change his beliefs, and even less that he'd be able to convince anyone else to if he does. And who's to say how long it would take to uproot Arthur's entire worldview in the first place, or how many people would die in the meantime?"

"I think," Hunith said slowly, "for a task like the one you've shouldered, there can be no quick solution. Anyone who says otherwise does so ignoring the many and myriad causes of the persecution you face. I have no advice to give; if I did, I'd have given it long ago. All I can say is that if anyone can convince Uther Pendragon's son of the goodness in magic, it's you."

"So if I can't, everyone's doomed?" he'd intended it in jest, but somehow the joke got lost on the way out.

"You know if you'd asked me a week ago, I'd have rated persuading Camelot's prince to accept magic up with making sweetmeat out of clouds on a list of things that could ever happen. Along with said prince riding off to come to the rescue of some tiny insignificant village in another kingdom. Yet here he is. Because you care about Ealdor, and he cares about you."

Merlin shook his head. "Arthur would do the same for any village. That's just the way he is."

"Well, you know him better than me," there was unspoken disbelief in every word. "But I think you should give him a bit more credit. He likes you."

"That's because he doesn't know me."

"But if he did, he'd have more cause to question your 'inherent evil' than that of any other sorcerer brought before him."

"And if that's still not enough?"

"Like I said, you should give him a bit more credit. In fact, you should give the both of you more credit. No rational, intelligent person could know you and not see your goodness." She put an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into a small hug. "Have a little faith in yourself: you're doing the best you can, and that's all anyone could ever ask for."

They stayed like that a long moment. Eventually, Merlin gave his mother a small smile, and gently pulled back. Wordlessly, they resumed gathered the herbs. Yet, somehow, the silence was now rather companionable, and the day seemed a bit brighter.

As they worked, the sun climbed through the sky. When it reached around noon-height his mother straightened, brushing the grass from her damp knees.

"I'd say that's everything we need, don't you?"

Merlin nodded, turning back to the village. "We should be heading back for lunch anyways."

As they walked, Hunith asked, "So what are you planning to do when Kanen comes? Still disguise yourself?"

"I don't know," Merlin sighed. Truthfully, he'd been too preoccupied to give the situation with Kanen the thought it deserved. "Everyone would wonder where I'd gone. After coming all this way, especially with my friends tagging along to help out, it'd look odd for me to just vanish. Even if I manage to come up with some kind of excuse, the people here know too much about me – I don't think they'd overlook the coinciding of my disappearance with a sorcerer's sudden appearance the way Arthur and the others would."

"Simmons at the very least would make the connection, and he'd hardly keep quiet over it." Hunith agreed. "But didn't you say you can do illusions now? Can't you make a fake Merlin to take your place?"

Merlin shook his head. "I could glamour a broom or something with my appearance, but when it doesn't walk or talk or even breath somebody's going to think something's a little odd."

"What about if you glamoured me as you?" she asked. "Your friend doesn't want the women fighting; no one would miss me until it was all over."

"Glamours aren't easy to animate. It's like, I don't really know how to describe it… think of a glamour like a picture. The real world's is a blank sheet, and you 'draw' an image atop it. As long as the sheet is still, the drawing looks like it's really there. But if the sheet flutters, the image distorts and suddenly it's not realistic anymore. You can offset this by continually 'drawing' more images to account for the movement, but if you're doing that then you have to be paying very close attention to what's going on with your glamour. It's not a true transformation; you can't just slap one on something and walk away."

"Well, could you do a transformation then?"

"I dunno… I've altered my own features and converted material types – you know, statue to dog, painting to snake, that sort of thing – before, but to fully change one person into another… I've read about the theory, and it's pretty complicated. I don't know if I can get it down in time, not enough to change a woman into me, anyways. The more physical differences between the two people, the harder it is to get it to hold."

"So then, you think you could with a boy your age and roughly your build?" Hunith raised her brows meaningfully.

"That's…" right he was going to say, when her implication hit. "That's … that's brilliant! Thanks, Mother!"

She smiled as he took off, tearing through the woods shoving branches out of his face, until he was bent over gasping for air outside a familiar cottage. The door opened to a dour face raising a quizzical brow at his state, and Merlin panted out, grinning from ear to ear,

"Will, I need your help."

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Back in Camelot when the idea first struck Arthur, and even on the road as he was fleshing out the logistics, training the villagers to mount their own defence had sounded… not easy, per se, but simple. Just show them a few basic blocks and strikes, drill them to perfection and run Kanen off with superior numbers. It was neat, and more than a one-time solution. After all, didn't they say you should teach your subjects to fish, not just distribute some? Same time honoured principle.

Unfortunately, reality was a little more complicated.

"Alright," Arthur said, forcing a smile brimming with confidence to his lips. One by one the not quite neat rows of village men turned to him. A spindly looking youth turned so fast he fell over, his practice rod tripping the beefy man beside him. Arthur hid his wince in an even wider grin. "Good work, men. Let's wrap up for today. Tomorrow, we'll go over how to flow these moves together, so be here at first light."

The men dispersed, talking excitedly, and Arthur kept that confident smile plastered on his face. Once he was inside Merlin's mother's shack, though, he put his face in his hands and rubbed his tired facial muscles, resisting the urge to groan.

"Something wrong?" Morgana's maidservant asked, looking up from where she was helping Hunith prepare dinner.

"No, just, ah, long day." Arthur gave a show of stretching, and then turned to Hunith. "Where's Merlin got to?" he asked, casting around for his own servant.

"He'll be back in a minute," Hunith said absently, focused intently on the grey lumpy sludge that did not in fact taste any better than it looked. Why were they even eating this crud again, they'd already had it for supper the night before, and breakfast today, and lunch! "He's just clarifying a few things about tomorrow with Will."

Oh, well of course he was off with his best friend. Why had Arthur expected anything else?

The door creaked open just then and Arthur looked around hopefully, but it was just Morgana. Arthur sunk down in a wooden chair Hunith was borrowing from her neighbour's house, resting his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands as he watched the women flit around the tiny kitchen with tired eyes. It had been a long, long day.

Bowls were placed on the table. Morgana set one in front of him with a great clack, glaring at him for some reason. As the last of the cutlery was being set out, the door banged open.

"Sorry I'm late!" Merlin burst in with a wide grin – wider than any Arthur had seen in a while. "Mmm, this smells good," he snagged the seat across from Arthur, flouncing into the chair. "New recipe?"

It looked exactly the same as the other mush to Arthur, but Hunith nodded, "Guinevere had some great ideas for seasoning," she said, taking the seat beside her son. Morgana and her maid joined her across the table, the maid smiling at the praise.

Arthur took an experimental sip and hid a grimace, swallowing with difficulty. Still tasted like flavourless mush of lumps to him. He put down his spoon. "So, how'd picking herbs go?"

Hunith swallowed her spoonful of lumps. "Oh fine." She hesitated, glancing at her son. It was a look that Arthur knew all too well, from various servants and other subjects trying to tiptoe around him when they had something to say that they didn't think he'd like.

"Oh really?" he asked, just wanting her to get straight to the point. He had no energy left for any tiptoeing. "Any trouble?"

"Well, we didn't manage to get any wefreclove, but luckily it's not that late in the season yet. There's usually some still growing on the other side of the Tunnels this time of year. Merlin's going to go check tomorrow, while I'm making up the poultices and potions."

Morgana frowned, saving Arthur from voicing his concerns. "Isn't that a bit dangerous to do alone?"

Merlin shrugged. "I'll be fine." He took a noisy sip of mush, and continuing casually, "Will agreed to come with me. His father was called up in war; he already knows a bit about fighting."

Arthur picked up his spoon again, stuffing the bland lumpiness in his mouth and swallowing without chewing. The slight scratch against his windpipe almost felt good. "At least it'll give him something productive to do." The bitterness in his words surprised him; Arthur didn't really know where it was coming from. "Keep him out of my hair."

The others looked at each other at that and Morgana kicked him under the table, but nobody said anything. Arthur finished his mush in silence, and left to go over his plans for tomorrow; those men were going to need a lot of work, and he didn't have time to focus on anything else.

Merlin left at first light in the morning, before even Arthur headed out to meet with the men. All day, he fought back a grimace. He'd never had to train men who swung swords like plows before, and it was painfully difficult to keep them from tripping over their own feet. He dragged himself back feeling like his shoulders were being worn down with lead weights. The only heartening thing that day came with Merlin's unexpected news at dinner.

"… and then Will fell down the cliff and hurt his leg. After I finished bandaging him up I said, 'Will, that's definitely broken and there's no way you're going to be able to climb back up, how're we going get you home?' and he said, 'You know, my father once told me about a man who lives in a cave around here called the Dragoon the Great, he's a hermit who helped him once. Maybe he'd let me stay.' And so we found the guy, and he remembered Will's father and said yeah, of course Will was welcome to stay until his leg heals, and then we got talking with the guy and one thing led to another and he said he'll come fight!"

"Good, we need all the men we can get," Arthur said with more feeling than he meant to. He cleared his throat and hesitated over whether to come out and ask, but decided to just go for it. "Does this 'Dragoon the Great' know how to fight?"

"Well Will's father was on campaign when he helped him out," Merlin shrugged. "So probably. Besides, it can't exactly be the safest thing in the world, living all alone in the mountains, can it? He probably has to fight off bandits and stuff all the time."

Well, that was something, at least. "Alright, tell him training is at first light."

"Er, I don't think he's planning on showing up until Kanen does."

Arthur frowned. "How's he supposed to know when Kanen's coming if he's not here?"

"… well… uh, he did know Will and I were coming before we got there. I guess, um, you can see pretty far from his cave!"

Arthur did not return Merlin's bright grin. "It still doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't he just –"

"I don't know, Arthur, he's a crazy old hermit who lives on berries and sleeps in a cave, he doesn't really think like you and me, does he?"

Arthur picked at his mush, pushing it around so it looked more eaten than it actually was. "I suppose so."

He stretched, rising from the table and wandering out to the woods, both so he could be alone with his thoughts and escape Hunith's attempts to "feed him up". He breathed in the woody scent, thinking how nice and peaceful these woods were, and tried to breath out all the toxic anxieties of the last few days.

Light footfalls came behind him and Arthur looked over his shoulder. Morgana's maid had followed him, a hatefully familiar bowl in hand. "Hunith thought you might still be hungry."

He took the bowl with a forced grin and a thanks, muttering to himself as she turned away, "I think."

The woman spun around, scowling something surprisingly fearsome. "Food is scarce for these people, you shouldn't turn your nose up at it!"

Arthur just stared at her. Admittedly he didn't know this woman well, but he'd never seen her be anything other than quiet and demure, the ideal maidservant. This was… unexpected.

And yet… not in a bad way.

She became flustered, dropping her eyes and wringing her hands. "Oh, no. I-I shouldn't've spoken to you like that. I'm sorry."

"No, you were right." Arthur suppressed a sigh and took a large spoonful, telling himself at least he was keeping up his strength. He was going to need it for more training tomorrow. "I appreciate your speaking up."

She blinked at him, and then a slow grin made its way across her face, brightening it. He'd never noticed how pretty she was before. "Well, I'll not make a habit of it," she said with a half-laugh, then cleared her throat and looked away. She bounced on her feet a little, glancing in random directions, then said with the air of one keen to change the topic. "Well, if there's one good thing out of all this, it's that Merlin seems to be cheering up. You know, I think the distraction is helping him start to finally move on."

Arthur lowered the spoon, his full concentration suddenly on the maidservant and whatever it was she knew about his servant. "Move on?"

She looked taken aback. "Oh I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" She bit her lip, remaining silent. Arthur cast about for her name, sounding it out warningly, "Guinevere, knew what?" She looked away, her shoulders tensing. Arthur sighed, glancing around for witnesses before quietly admitting, "I'm worried about him."

She looked up, meeting Arthur's eyes. Whatever she saw in them made her soften. "Well, I don't want to go into it in too much detail," she twirled one of her dark curls anxiously, glancing around and lowering her voice. "There was this girl but, well, it just wasn't meant to be. Poor Merlin, he's been really down about it all, and now this happens… well, at least it's keeping his mind off her. She probably wasn't good enough for him anyways."

Arthur took a large gulp of mush to keep himself from having to respond. This was why Merlin had been so out of it for so long? Because of a girl? How… strange that it hadn't occurred to him. Now that he thought about it, all the signs were there. The constant distraction, the far off glances, the big soulful and sad eyes that seemed to be constantly asking why, the reticence on what was troubling him… it should have been obvious that Merlin was lovesick.

He felt strangely lighter, with that mystery explained. Merlin would get over the girl, they'd clear up this mess with Kanen, and things could finally go back to how they should be.

He shoveled more of the grey gunk down his throat, even scraping the bottom of the bowl for good measure, and handed it back to Guinevere. She smiled at this, and he smiled back somewhat fondly, glad she'd followed him into the woods.

"Well, let's hope this helpful hermit Merlin's found is a sign that our luck is starting to look up."

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Will was an extraordinarily honest guy. One would think, given how much people claimed to love this trait, that he would also be a popular one too, but no. No, Will had long since concluded that when people said things like "I just want him to be honest with me" what they actually meant was "I just want him to convince me that his nice-sounding bullshit is the truth." Honesty was hard, bitter, and rarely as appreciated as was claimed. Ironically, the only person who could take the blunt force of Will's honest nature was the biggest liar he knew.

And so he'd always secretly expected that one day Merlin would come running to him and say "I'm in trouble, please, you've got to help me tell one real big whooper."

Though, he hadn't expected Merlin to be quite so prepared.

"So I just have to wear this amulet-thing and act like you for half an hour or so, yes?" he asked, watching Merlin mumble mumbo-jumbo and pass his hands over the crystal he'd dipped in some weird magic juice like two hundred times already.

"Yes, Will," Merlin said exasperatedly once he'd finished his mumbo-jumbo and was dipping the crystal in Hunith's spare cooking pot yet again. He flipped a page in the massive book (and since when did Merlin have such luxury items as books?) he had hovering off to the side (and since when could he do that without sparing it the least bit of attention?) and pulled the crystal (and since when did he have something so expensive as a crystal?) out of the now sky blue gunk.

"So why do I have to be here for this part?" Because really, this was weird, even by hanging-out-with-Merlin standards of weird.

Sure, he'd more or less gotten used to randomly glowing eyes and things moving by themselves, but that was different. That was more like… having a friend who had an extra arm, or something, and so happened to be able to do some things Will couldn't, being only a regular two-armed bloke. But this was not some inborn nifty little trick like that. This clearly needed study, time, and props, and accomplished something so unbelievable that Will couldn't help but wonder what other things Merlin was now capable of.

(That, and truthfully it reminded him a little too much of a certain murderous nutcase whose magic had seemed much more structured and less natural than Merlin's. But, despite glaring evidence like a missing dragon and suddenly knowing Merlin had magic, for the sake of his sanity Will was determined to write that whole weirdness off as a very strange dream, and so he was most definitely not thinking of it now.)

Point being, Will wasn't exactly comfortable being here, especially since there didn't seem to even be any need for his presence just yet.

"Look, if you want to wander around alone in the woods with Kanen on the loose, don't let me stop you," Merlin bit out, irritated. Which, well, so maybe Will had asked him this a dozen or three times already, but this ritual-y thing was taking forever, so who could really blame him? He'd been stuck hiding out in the Tunnels for three days now, and was beginning to sympathise with that dragon's decision to just sleep the time away. Hiding was bloody boring. "But you can't go back to the village if supposedly you've broken your leg and are hanging out with your father's old war buddy, so would you just shut up and deal with it?"

Easy for him to say – Merlin wasn't the one all but exiled until the time came for him to mill around a battle doing nothing but looking as Merlin-y as he could manage.

"Besides," Merlin said, waving his hand over the crystal yet again and muttering nonsense. He smiled, and held it out to Will. "There, done. Happy?"

Will rolled his eyes and took it with a huff, slipping it over his neck. It felt like he'd been doused in cold water. Holding out his hands, he noticed they were paler and thinner than usual, and the trapping scar on his left thumb was missing. He glanced up, looking at Merlin questioningly.

"Well?"

Merlin looked a bit disconcerted, but grinned, "You look like my long lost twin."

Will took off the amulet, watching his hands shorten, and put it back on, watching them lengthen and thin. Then he took it off and shoved it in his pocket. "Seems to work okay."

And strange, how easy Merlin made it all look. Like Kanen wasn't someone who had all of Ealdor quaking, but someone so easy to defeat the only issue worth focusing on was how to do so anonymously.

"You sure you'll be fine for the actually fighting bit?" Will asked.

Merlin shrugged like taking on a horde of bandits was just a bothersome Tuesday chore. His nonchalance was strangely contagious. "I've faced worse. Did I tell you about the afanc and griffin?"

"Yep," Will grunted, as they'd already whiled away a good deal of time in this ridiculously long ritual – whoever heard of needing three moon rises for something to set, and for the "simple" version of it no less! – and were rapidly running out of things to say to each other.

Merlin may have been away for a whole year, but Ealdor hadn't really changed all that much in his absence. And, though Camelot was apparently way more eventful, there was only so long Merlin could drag his stories out for. They'd been through how Will should address Merlin's Camelot friends in order to stay in character and gone through various plans for sneaking "Dragoon" out over and over again, until they were both heartily sick of it.

"Scenario One," Will sighed, resigned to going through their escape plans again from lack of anything else to do. "Arthur is running at you ready to skewer you for having the audacity to save us all with a perfectly legal gift in a kingdom that isn't even his…"

"I still don't see why this is Scenario One," Merlin grumbled yet again. "Why can't the one where he holds a feast in my honour be Scenario One?"

Will didn't dignify that with a reply, though he did shoot Merlin a withering look. Merlin had been entirely too eager in some of the Scenarios they concocted. Some of them were just him being silly, but some of the others…

If there was anything Will dreaded about the coming fight, it was the Camelot princeling's reaction. Because there was a light in Merlin's eyes when he'd described some of the scenarios of Arthur learning "Dragoon" had magic, and Will didn't want to watch that light be stamped out.

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After an only slightly less pitiful early morning training, Arthur called the men into the common building for an emergency strategy meeting – not that he called it that. Keeping up morale was everything.

"We're not going to be able to defend Ealdor with sword and sinew alone," he was saying grimly. "We're going to need a plan. We need to find some way of limiting their mobility and drawing them into a trap. If we fight them on their terms, then..."

A woman's scream cut him off, and Arthur was out the door before the men had gotten to his feet. A horse was riding into town and across its back was a slumped figure.

A scrap of parchment was pinned to the man's back with an arrow. Make the most of this day, it will be your last.

None of the villagers blamed Arthur. The dead man's wife sobbed over his body, his children sniffling into her sides, but they did not turn and scream curses at him. The village men were somber, but still shuffled back into the common building, asking what do we do rather than hurling accusations. Arthur ghosted through his plan, nodding to the villager's input and modifying it to their suggestions. He excused himself at the first opportunity.

He sat outside Hunith's hut, so as to not have to face those within, and stared at the ground, so as to not meet any of the villagers' trusting eyes (so trusting why were they trusting didn't they know couldn't they see that it was all his fault). He relished the sharp, monotonous shhhk of the whetstone passing over his blade.

A set of familiar scruffy boots entered his field of vision. "I heard about what happened," Merlin said quietly, sitting down next to him. "It wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it? I'm treating these men like soldiers, and they're not. You should see them fight. They...they haven't got a clue! You need to tell them all to leave before Kanen returns."

"No, we're going to stay." Merlin said sharply, craning his neck forward to forcibly meeting Arthur's eyes. "We're going to fight, and we're going to win."

"How?" Arthur demanded, thinking of the hopeless spectacle that was the training sessions.

"Because they believe they can. Because everyone believes in you," a wry, almost ironic smile made its way across Merlin's face. "They've seen you fight, they've seen how much effort you're putting in for them when they're not even your subjects. They know you care about them a damn sight more than anyone else ever has."

"And that belief could have them all slaughtered."

"Or they could all starve when winter comes and there's no food. Sometimes you need to gamble to win. They've chosen you as their best bet, but this is their village. They're going to fight tooth and nail to defend it, whether you stand by their side or not. But they only have real hope it'll be worth more than a brave last stand because you've given it to them."

"They barely even know me."

"But I do. You're brave and rude and pigheaded, and you've faced bandits and raiders and afancs and griffins and the wrath of your even more pigheaded father and come out in one piece. I've faced half those things with you and my sword swinging is twice as hopeless as anyone else in this village and I'm still in one piece, so clearly you're doing something right." Merlin cracked a grin, and Arthur found himself returning it.

Maybe Merlin didn't tell him about his doomed crush, or his childhood friends, or really anything about his life outside of work. But this… this was worth far more than such small talk, or all the things that friends should supposedly be able to answer about each other.

"Thank you," Arthur clamped Merlin on the shoulder and stood. "I'm going to see how the trap's coming along."

Merlin rose as well. "I'm off to tell Dragoon about tomorrow."

The night passed all too quickly and soon Arthur was getting ready for the big battle, overseeing the last of the trap preparations and trying to find where Merlin had disappeared to – honestly, he wasn't even suited up yet, and where could he even vanish off to in somewhere this tiny anyways? – when Hunith came to him.

"Arthur, Dragoon is here to see you."

A man walked through the door, closely followed by a subdued Merlin in armour. An old man, with a great silvery beard and everything, who looked strangely fami- wait a minute…

"Emrys?!" Arthur did not quite choke, but it was a far nearer miss than it should be for a future king drilled in all matters of poise and diplomatic grace.

"You young people and your shouting," the old man grumbled in an all too familiar voice. "Really, there's no need. I am only Emrys among my own people. To outsiders, I prefer 'Dragoon the Great' – much more impressive sounding to beslubbering rump-fed bleatbrains looking for cheap little druid tricks."

Arthur just stared, and stared some more, not even listening to the old druid because what was he doing here – okay, so maybe it made sense that he hadn't stuck around Camelot but wait if he supposedly lived in a cave around here then how had he known about the whole Mordred situation and gotten there so fast and why wasn't he with the rest of the druids and how had he met Will's father and why had he helped him and why was he helping them now and how did Will's mysterious aid turn out to be some random passing acquaintance and was it just Arthur or was this a really really weird coincidence and – and – and…

"What are you doing here?" burst out of him, then he whirled on Merlin without waiting for Emrys' answer. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Emrys?" Merlin repeated, almost woodenly, and for some reason the old man gave him a grumpy glare. Merlin looked closer at the face, and said in a very stilted manner. "I suppose it is. You know, it was just so dark the first time I didn't get a good look at his face."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the weak excuse. He opened his mouth to lay into Merlin, but before he could Emrys was shouting. "Well, are there bandits here or not! Because I'll have you know my rheumatism does not appreciate hiking all up and down mountains. It was promised bandits in compensation. And I don't see any! Are you telling me I dragged my old bones all this way for nothing!"

Arthur didn't respond to this blathering; he just frowned. This whole situation was pretty fishy. Emrys was a doddery old man who couldn't even make it to the Darkling Woods without being carried, and apparently had trouble getting here as well. How was he to fight? And anyways, weren't druids pacifists? No druid Arthur had ever come across had a sword and Emrys wasn't carrying one now, so how…?

Wait…

Druids…

The Old Religion…

Magic…

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "How are you going to fight?"

"You'll see. So impatient. But know this: this land is very different to the one you know, and the laws you are accustomed to do not translate to the order of things here."

That was not at all reassuring. "And am I to take it then that there is a specific law that you –"

"Arthur!" Morgana called, running over. "Kanen and his men have crossed the river."

Damn it, could Kanen have picked a more inconvenient time? Arthur glared at the old druid, resolving to keep a watchful eye on him, and warned, "This isn't over. We'll continue this later, Emrys."

Arthur immediately regretted using the name, for Morgana's eyes lit up and snapped to the old man with ill-disguised eagerness. Arthur turned away, pretending not to hear the not all that hushed, How's Mordred?

Arthur barked loudly, "Merlin!"

Merlin obediently, yet oddly silently, came, falling into step behind Arthur. Arthur stomped over to their hiding spot, all the while deaf to Morgana, who was most definitely not happily introducing herself to the most maddeningly mysterious man of their acquaintance. Nor did he hear her part with a we should talk more later – and if he did, that had nothing at all to do with his tenseness. That was solely the result of Emrys crouching down behind him, groaning about his sore joints. Arthur had to keep himself from snapping back, in case Emrys took it as an invitation to grumble as loudly as he had in the Darkling Wood. The man knew nothing about sneaking around.

Hoofs sounded from the forest, and Kanen rode through the village gate. "Come out, come out wherever you are," the bandit sang out to the ostensibly deserted village, smirking.

Guinevere and a village woman pulled up a gate, trapping the bandits, limiting the mobility of their steads. Arthur waited, but no fire sparked around them. He bit his lip, glaring at Morgana's hiding spot, wondering what was taking her so bloody long…

Emrys coughed, and Arthur whipped his head around to glare at him for jeopardising their position, the useless old senile sack of bones - !

Flame leapt along the oil lines, encircling Kanen's men, and Emrys opened blue eyes twinkling in smug mirth. Suspiciously smug mirth. But the bandits' war cries distracted Arthur, and he led the ambush with a shout.

Yet as he parried lunges and sunk steel into flesh, dying flickers of orange-red caught his eye and he found them drawn back to the suspicious druid. Emrys was standing close by Merlin – and when had that happened. Arthur kicked away his opponent, fighting his way over, trying to crane around the chaos of untrained fighters to spot Merlin again.

There – he found him! But the wind picked up, cycling oddly and blowing dust into the air, and Merlin and Emrys vanished from sight. Arthur froze as a twister rose high into the air, throwing fighters back indiscriminately. Kanen's men shouted in terror. Their steads bolted, the men dogging their galloping steps like the hounds of hell were nipping their heels. Kanen stared after them, rage twisting his face, and then his eyes snapped to Arthur's.

"Pendragon!" he snarled, charging Arthur.

Arthur moved instinctively – bandits here, as in Camelot, relied more on number than skill, it would seem. It was the work of moments to run Kanen through, and then Arthur was striding past his collapsed form, to the doddery old man standing by the dissipated twister.

"YOU!" it was hard to marshal the anger pounding through his skull into coherent speech.

"Yeeees?" Emrys drawled mockingly, but Arthur could see worry in those blue eyes.

It did not calm him. What business did Emrys have to worry now, after the fact? After he'd already made his choice! "Wind like that doesn't just appear from nowhere. I know magic when I see it!"

"Arthur, for goodness sake!" came an unexpected voice, and Arthur turned to see Morgana striding up to him, planting herself unnervingly close. Her green eyes flashed like flints of jade. "Get a grip – he just saved all our lives!"

"He's a sorcerer!" Oh, why was he even bothering – this was Morgana, she wasn't going to see reason! Arthur looked to Merlin, needing some kind of rock of common sense to shore himself up for this argument.

But Merlin was scowling at him. "And what law, exactly, does that break here?"

Arthur opened his mouth, closed it, and couldn't seem to find the words. Because sorcery wasn't outlawed in Essetir, he remembered that from the peace talks with Cenred. It was a major point of contention that was only truly resolved after Cenred's Court Sorcerer died and he couldn't find another one (apparently the sorcerer had been in the habit of killing off competition, 'clear proof of the true nature of his kind' Arthur's father had said).

But just because Cenred didn't outlaw it didn't make it right! And Cenred's morals were questionable at best; everyone knew he was a bastard upstart who killed his own father for the throne, and if that weren't enough just look at how well he'd dealt with Ealdor's problems! Glancing around, Arthur saw the villagers had all backed away, eying Emrys as fearfully as Arthur's own subjects would.

Feeling firm again, Arthur opened his mouth to argue that if he could come here to save a village from bandits he could save them from a sorcerer… but the words just wouldn't come out. What, exactly, was he "saving" them from, when Emrys had driven the bandits off? And how, exactly, would he go about doing so? He couldn't banish the man; he was already in another kingdom! He had no dungeons to hold him in. But he could hardly lynch him here nor drag him back to Camelot for trial – repaying salvation with death was hardly just… and oh God he'd just thought of sorcery as salvation, what was wrong with him?

Arthur glanced from Merlin to Morgana's scowling visages, as though somewhere there lay the words eluding him. Then Morgana drew his eye; her eyes were widening at something just past his shoulder.

"Arthur!" she cried, and tackled him.

There was a confused rush of sky, the all too familiar twang of a crossbow, a snap like a stick breaking, and something warm and wet dripping onto his face. A scream of horror went up from the surrounding villagers, Guinevere's echoing above the rest with a hair-raising shriek of,

"My lady!"

Guinevere darted forwards, pulling Morgana off of Arthur, clutching her upright against her. Morgana moaned as she swayed. Flecks of red dotted the ground below, blood dripping from the arrow shaft piercing Morgana's armour, just above her heart.

Turning to Merlin, Guinevere begged, "Please, she needs help."

But Merlin was grey-faced and frozen, looking panicked at being addressed. Hunith came running forwards, skirts hitched above her knees, and knelt down beside Morgana. Her face tightened at what she saw.

"Merlin, bring me some bandages and the leftmost jar on the second shelf," Hunith ordered crisply. She sounded perfectly in control of the situation, but Arthur knew what a person trying to keep everyone from panicking while inwardly doing so themselves looked like; usually, that was his role.

Morgana's head slumped forwards, and only Guinevere's grip on her shoulders kept her upright. They had precious little time.

Emrys knelt in front of her, mumbling hair-raising nonsense as he pulled the arrow from her chest. Morgana spasmed, but didn't wake. Arthur's hand fell to his sword, but he made no move to draw it. Blood spurted, and Hunith hastily yanked off the mail, pressing her headscarf against the open wound. Merlin came sprinting back, hovering anxiously as Hunith cleaned the wound, clutching the bandages white-fingered.

Before their very eyes, though, the blood clotted, scabbing over into a wound that looked days, if not weeks, old, and well on its way to healing. Emrys didn't stop muttering, though, and some colour returned to Morgana's face. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking dazedly at nothing.

"You're all right now, dear," Hunith said soothingly. "Everything's going to be just fine. Now, let's get you inside, and you can have a nice lie down, and you'll feel better in no time." Merlin and Guinevere helped Morgana to her feet, pointing her in the direction of Hunith's hut. They slung her arms across their shoulders, bearing most of her weight as she stumbled forward.

Emrys rose, his old bones creaking, and faced Arthur, silently awaiting judgement. Arthur stared back at this man, at this sorcerer, who'd come to Camelot knowing its laws, who'd broke into the citadel to rescue a child, who'd been insolent and slow and kicked Arthur, who'd come to Ealdor's aid, who'd used magic, who'd saved Morgana without a second thought, who'd used magic to save her while Arthur stood by helpless.

He should thank him, but the man was a sorcerer – he couldn't have done it out of the goodness of his heart. There had to be some reason, some trick or plot to it all…! Yet, nothing was coming to mind. Wouldn't it have been easier to leave Morgana to her fate and use the distraction to escape? Or even easier, just not show up at all and leave all Ealdor to its fate? What exactly made the man leave his hermit lifestyle and come down from his cave today? Compassion was the only thing Arthur could think of, but magic corrupted, his father always said so and just look at all the times he'd been proven right!

His conscience was screaming at him, urging him to act, but he couldn't make out its words. Do the right thing, it screamed, but he couldn't tell what that was.

The man was still staring at him, waiting.

"Just… just go!" Arthur finally said, turning away and following the others to Morgana's bedside.

Maybe that would silence his screaming conscience for a while.

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Disappointment was not possible without anticipation. If you never hoped for anything, you would never see those hopes dashed.

When and why had he dared nurture hope?

Curled into a ball in Old Ann's deserted house, Merlin breathed out a heavy sigh, sending great clouds of dust up into the air that set his eyes watering. He bit back a cough; although he no longer wore Emrys' face, if somebody were to hear him and come check out the noise, it would be difficult to explain why there were two Merlins in the village.

It felt like forever before he saw his own face slip into Old Ann's house.

"Sorry I'm late." Will took off the amulet, shrugging the kinks out of his shoulders and beginning to undress. "I went with the one about feeding the animals, so we've got about three minutes before they start to think something's weird."

Merlin nodded, pushing himself upright. "How's Morgana?"

"Hunith says she'll be fine."

Merlin hesitated, not sure if he wanted to know. "And Arthur?" even to his ears, his voice sounded small.

"Pissy." Will said bluntly. "Spent forever interrogating me. What do you know about Emrys – that kind of thing."

Merlin's gut twisted. "What did you tell him?"

"You know, just that you'd never met Emrys before this whole mess and didn't know anything about him other than what you'd already told him." Will handed him his belt. "Says he wants to talk to real-me when I get back. I can't wait to face him as not-you and tell him to sod off and mind his own business."

Merlin sighed. He'd tried not to anticipate any of the, should he say, "more optimistic" scenarios he'd half-jokingly come up with… but it had been impossible not to hope for Arthur to take the revelation of "Emrys" as a sorcerer at least a little better than he had.

Merlin had even picked the most benign way to get rid of bandits he could imagine, not wanting Arthur's first glimpse of "helpful" magic to be excessively bloody. It was more scare tactics than an actual attack, but it made the horses bolt and the bandits scatter. It saved Ealdor, and all of them with it.

But still Arthur could not really be said to have taken it "well". The fact that he'd let Emrys go was small comfort in comparison to Merlin's impossibly high hopes.

Maybe he just shouldn't dream anymore – or at least not dream so big.

"Should I be concerned about him confronting me 'again'?"

"Well, he's stomped off into the woods to in a fine sulk, so you'll probably be fine for now," Will scoffed. Then he grew more serious, and with unusual gentleness asked, "More importantly, are you ok to face him?"

Merlin looked down. He was finding it hard to meet Will's eyes and say yes, of course.

Because he'd never had to deal with anything like this before. This… this outing of his magic but yet not, where he'd revealed himself using another face. Where Arthur didn't not know it was Merlin who was the sorcerer, and so he could just head back and resume his life normally, with nothing changed… except now he knew what would.

Because if Merlin hadn't used a disguise, if Arthur had known who he was… somehow, Merlin couldn't convince himself he'd react all that differently. If anything, it would have just thrown a heap of lies and perceived betrayal into the mix. And Arthur would have spat at him to leave, would have cut him out of his life and sent him into exile. Nothing would have been the same ever again.

But Merlin had used a disguise, and Arthur didn't know, so he got away with it without any consequences… except witnessing what they would be, and having to go back anyways.

"Merlin?" Will asked softly.

And Merlin looked up to see his best friend since the age of four, his best friend who'd known about and accepted his magic for nearly ten years now, looking at him in concern. And he was struck with a thought.

"Will, what did you think of magic before you found out I had it?"

This was evidently the last thing Will had expected him to say.

"Um… I dunno? That it could cause, like, stillborn calves and failed crops and whatnot? I don't remember ever thinking much on it."

Merlin's heart sank. Even Will… "So you thought it was evil?"

"Evil's kind of a strong word. Like I said, I don't remember giving it much thought. I just kind of believed the things everyone else believed because they believed them."

"So what changed?"

Will gave him a look of pure disbelief. "What changed? I found out my best friend is a sorcerer!"

"But you never accused me or even asked if I'd ever cursed calves or killed crops or anything. Why not?"

"Because what earthly reason would you have to do those things!" Will was still looking at him like he had taken one too many blows to the head. "Why the hell would you kill the crops that feed you? I mean, sure, maybe you could hike over to Aldre curse their crops, but just… why? It's not really something you'd do. Even when I was pissed as hell and questioning everything I knew about you, it never occurred to me that you were some cackling villain from some half-baked fairytale going around causing random problems for shits and giggles. You were way too much of a little mumma's boy for that."

"Thanks," Merlin tried for sarcastic, but had a feeling his irrepressible grin was giving him away. At least someone had faith in him.

If only he could be so certain of everyone else.

As though the latter thought was painted on his face, Will hurried to say, "Don't expect the same kind of logic to enter the brain of His Royal Pratness Sir I Know Magic When I See It! People like him, they think they always know best and are right about everything, and screw all evidence to the contrary."

"Arthur's not like that," Merlin defended.

Will raised a single-eyebrow and didn't deign to reply, conveying all his disbelief in a single look.

"Well, maybe he's a little like that," Merlin admitted. "But he doesn't… he doesn't just blindly believe what he's been taught when staring at proof otherwise."

"Looked to me he was more than happy to keep on believing all magic should just disappear off the face of the earth even after it saved this village and his little lady love's life."

"They're not together," Merlin immediately refuted, before addressing the main argument. "And I know Arthur didn't take it… well… but if he'd really been blindly following his father's beliefs, I wouldn't still be breathing… or, well, I'd have had to fight to keep breathing, at least. Hell, if he really blindly followed Uther, then he wouldn't have come here in the first place!"

Will was looking at him strangely now, doubtlessly wondering why he was defending the guy who'd turned on him the second he'd found out. Merlin bit his lip; he could ask himself the same question, except… except Arthur had flaws, certainly, and his attitude towards magic left a lot to be desired, true… but he wasn't like Will was picturing.

"Uther, when he heard about Ealdor's situation, basically said that's too bad but not his problem. Never mind that he'd have no compunctions if it was sorcerers we'd reported. Arthur straight up asked permission to send men over, and Uther shot that down in a second. I don't envy whoever drew the short stick on tell the king where his son's gone."

"Drama queen," Will muttered, but looked kind of begrudgingly, skeptically impressed. And he didn't know the half of it. This is far from Arthur's first time going against his father's ruling for a cause he thought was right. There was the incident with Nimueh's poison, fighting the afanc, standing up for Lancelot, smuggling out Mordred from under Uther's very nose...

"Yeah, he kind of is," Merlin said with the ghost of a smile. Everything was still all wrong, and he still had to go back to pretending to be someone he wasn't for people who'd rejected him as he was, but…

But he picked up the clothes Will had chucked down beside him, and finally started to change. Just because things turned out disappointingly today didn't mean they always would. Arthur had righted his own wrongs before; he might still do so again.

In any case, staying here forever would do Merlin no good. His friends were waiting for him.

/**

To be (sort of) continued... (I mean, obviously the "save Ealdor" plot point is over. The impact on the characters on the other hand...)

Aaand, surprisingly, Will didn't die here. I didn't plan on it, but getting to the end of my episode outline I realised it would cause a whole smorges board of problems if he died or even got injured while disguised as Merlin. I didn't want to deal with any of them, so Morgana got shot and healed instead (since, you know, Merlin had four months of nothing to do but help Gaius and study in my version, and can definitely heal simple puncture wounds).

I had a hard time writing Hunith's advice scene until I realised, you know what? If Merlin had said that he knowingly and willingly stood by and just let Uther die, she would have justified his inaction, told him he did what he thought was right, and to stop blaming himself for a tough choice forced on him months ago. Hunith is super biased that way, as is her prerogative as a mother. Once I realised Hunith =/= Gaius (who has more of an opinion on the politics of Camelot, and whose advice is thus full of entirely different biases), the scene started to finally come together.

**/