(AN: I'm upping the rating content rating, just to be safe. There is pain and war-related tragedy in this chapter. I doubt it will bother most readers, but there will be injuries and death in upcoming chapters. The suggestive adult content and language will remain at K+ or lower for the duration of the story. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoy!)
"Here we are," said Gaius, dropping yet another huge volume in front of Leon. "The sword Gramr. In the lore of the north, across the sea, it was said that the gods planted this sword in the roots of an ancient tree where it held fast. Only a great hero could claim it."
"Oddly familiar," said Leon.
"Yes," said Gaius, reminding himself to have a chat with Merlin about using great legends for his own theatrics. If anyone more inquisitive than Leon read this story, they might have some very uncomfortable questions about tale he'd spun for Arthur of the Sword in the Stone. "When such a man came and claimed the sword, the gods regretted letting it go. They attacked the hero, killing him and shattering the sword. Years later, his son brought the shards to a sorcerer, who reforged the weapon, making it ten times more powerful. It could slay dragons and slice anvils in two. How the Sarrum came upon it, I have no idea. I'm sure he couldn't have imagined the true extent of its power."
"But what does that mean for Arthur?" asked Leon, forgetting to address his king's station in his worry.
"I cannot say for certain," said Gaius, brow furrowing. "The magic of this sword is old and powerful, but not evil. It has a life of its own, a sense of justice. My guess is that it didn't want to kill him."
"It's a sword," Leon said flatly.
"An ancient, magical sword," pressed Gaius. "A sword of gods. Whose to say that it couldn't choose whom to kill and whom to spare?"
Leon looked thoughtfully into Arthur's still face.
"Then why won't he wake?" he said in a small voice.
Gaius sighed.
"The history of this sword is rich," he said, sitting beside the knight. "It has seen bloodshed and betrayal. It has been shattered and remade. Perhaps it seeks to share its wisdom. For now, the king seems to be in a deep trance. We can only hope that the magic of the sword releases him in due time."
"That sword..." Merlin said. "As soon is it touched my... my magic, I knew there was more to it. Any normal sword would have weakened it, maybe, but that sword... it didn't just slash through my magic. It... broke it."
"What about now? Could you use your... I mean is it alright now?" Arthur asked.
"Do you want me to try?" Merlin asked. He watched Arthur closely. It was hard to read his expression, what with them both being slightly transparent. Still, he could see his friend pale.
"Never mind," Merlin sighed. "I'm not sure it would work here either way. This place is so full of magic, it'd be like lighting a torch on a sunny day."
"Anyway, that's beside the point," Arthur said, clearly trying to get onto a more comfortable subject. "The point is, why did getting struck by that sword send us here, and why are we fading away? Are we... you know..."
"Dead?" Merlin supplied. "I don't think so. I think-at least I hope-death will be a bit more interesting. No, it just seems as though our souls have been temporarily separated from our bodies."
"I dunno, Merlin, that sounds a bit like death to me."
"Well, sure, if we stayed here. But we're fading. We must be going back."
"We're not fading anymore," said Arthur, looking sullen.
Merlin thought for a moment. He was fairly sure he knew how to get back to the real world, he just wasn't sure Arthur would go for it.
"When we faded before," he said carefully. "It was when we were talking."
"I don't know how it was in Ealdor," Arthur said raising an eyebrow. "But see, where I come from, this thing we're doing right now where we move our mouths and funny sounds come out, that's called talking."
"I mean really talking," said Merlin, frustrated. "Talking about us."
"'Us?'" Arthur said looking disgusted.
"Yes, Arthur!" Merlin all but bellowed. "You and me and my magic."
Arthur went quiet for a moment.
"Alright, Merlin," he said, staring the servant down. "Which part do you want to talk about? The fact that you lied to me for years, betrayed my trust, deliberately put Camelot in danger-"
"I would never put Camelot in danger," said Merlin, stepping up to Arthur, temper flaring once more. "I have given everything to protect Camelot, to protect you!"
"I never asked for that!" shouted Arthur. "Protecting Camelot is my duty, not yours."
"I have a right to protect my home and my friends as much as you, sire!"
"Protect them?!" Arthur scoffed. "You protect people from magic, not with it. Whatever good magic can do, it does more harm."
"Maybe it does!" Merlin shouted, surprising himself a little. "Maybe it does. But so does any weapon, and this is what I have! I don't have a sword or a crown or an army, I have magic. It's all I have."
Arthur looked stricken, and Merlin almost regretted his words. Almost.
"This is who I am, Arthur," he said. "It's who I've always been, and it doesn't have to change anything. I mean, I know it changes everything. But it doesn't have to change... us."
Arthur looked thoughtful. Still wary, still a bit angry, but thoughtful. Merlin pressed on.
"I have lied," he said, feeling stronger as he spoke. "But only when there wasn't another choice. And all those times I said you'd be a great King, that you'd bring justice and peace to Albion, I believe that. That's no lie. But magic isn't your enemy, Arthur. And neither am I."
Merlin tried to keep his face impassive, but inside he was nearly bursting with hope. This could be the moment when all he had worked for came through, and magic finally returned. It was all up to Arthur.
"Merlin," Arthur said, finally. "I think you know what your friendship means to me- alright, don't start crying into your petticoat- and you know I trust you. Whatever else has happened, I know you would never knowingly put Camelot in danger. Hell, you've helped save it... probably more times than I know."
Arthur smiled, and Merlin laughed aloud, feeling lightheaded with exhilaration. He couldn't believe it was finally happening!
"So," Arthur continued. "As long as I have your word that your days of practicing magic are over, we can go home and pretend this never happened."
Merlin's heart plummeted to his feet.
"What?" he said breathlessly.
"I forgive you," said Arthur, resting his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "And I know you were only trying to do what's right. But now that I know, I can't have you practicing magic in Camelot."
Arthur laughed, as if it was a joke.
"Then," Merlin said, forcing the words past the painful lump in his throat. "I have to leave Camelot."
"Come on, Oswin," Elyan panted, straining as he supported the younger man. "Almost there."
In reality, he wasn't sure if they were "almost" anywhere. He was simply following Erec, all of his attention focused on the old soldier as he led them forward. All that existed was Erec's back before him, the stones beneath his heavy feet, and the sound of pursuit behind.
Suddenly, Erec disappeared from sight. Before Elyan's weary mind could fully grasp the change, an arm shot out, pulling him and Oswin through a door before closing it again quickly.
Facing the door, both men held their breaths as the voices and running footfalls grew closer. Oswin, not fully aware, let out a small moan. Quick as lighting, Erec clapped a hand over the young soldier's mouth. He and Elyan watched the door tensely as their enemies passed. As the noise quieted, they finally relaxed and looked around the room.
It was a bed chamber. Elyan glanced at Erec, who immediately helped carry the unresponsive Oswin over to the bed. Both men worked to remove the man's shirt, exposing a deep wound just below his left collarbone.
"Damn," Erec whispered, pressing a handful of the sheets into the wound to stop the flow of blood. "Did you see how it happened, sir?"
"It... it was his own sword," Elyan said, fighting to catch his breath. "Maybe the fourth or fifth time they blasted us into a wall. We hit hard... we fell. I heard him cry out. When I pulled him up, the sword came out. I knew it was bad, but we had to run."
Erec nodded, jaw clenched. Elyan silently cursed the fact that they'd left their mail and armor behind. They had entered the castle wall through a drain, swimming underwater; even bringing swords had been a challenge. But with a mail shirt, Oswin's injury would've been little more than a bruise.
Elyan stared at the Oswin for a moment. The young soldier had joined the army just that spring. He had a mother, father, three younger siblings, and a sweetheart in the country that he wrote love letters to. Only a week ago, Gwaine had stolen one and read a poem from it aloud as its red-faced author chased him around the courtyard. Now, Oswin's face was lax, and white as the sheets below him.
"This bleeding won't stop," Erec growled, pressing even harder on the wound.
"I'll see if there's something here to sew it up," Elyan said, straightening. He headed for a row of cupboards that lined the back wall of the chamber. Focused on his task, he nearly tripped over the body that lay sprawled on the floor, hidden from view by a low couch.
It was a young woman. Younger than Gwen. She was dead. Probably had been since yesterday. Looking into her face, Elyan allowed grief and anger to wash over him for a moment. Her lovely features were contorted in fear and pain, one hand stretched desperately before her. Elyan followed her frozen stare and felt his own heart freeze.
There was a cradle in the corner.
Elyan made his way to it on unsteady legs. He didn't want to look. He knew what he would find. But maybe, just maybe one of the sorcerers had shown mercy. As he approached the tiny bed, he remembered standing on tiptoe beside a similar crib years ago and meeting his baby sister for the first time. Seeing her bright eyes looking back at him. Reaching down to grasp her warm little hand.
There was no brightness or warmth in this crib.
Elyan swallowed through the urge to be sick and turned back to the task at hand. Rummaging through the cupboards with numb fingers, he pressed down his cold horror and buried it with burning anger at the monsters who had done this. They had killed these innocent souls when they should have known better than anyone the evil- and the consequences- of such actions. Though it had been months since Elyan had carelessly drunk from the Shrine in the woods, he knew he would never forget the pain and anger of the dead Druid boy that had haunted him after. How many restless spirits such as that now roamed this castle, thanks to the sorcerers' hate?
Finally, he came across a needle and thread. He dashed back to the bed with it and handed it to Erec.
"Right, take this," the soldier said, indicating the cloth over the wound. Elyan did as he was told. He didn't mind letting the older man give orders. Erec had over thirty years of experience in battle, and a soldier in Camelot didn't survive that long without knowing something about field medicine. "Try and keep it covered where I'm not sewing, and wipe the blood away where I am."
It was tricky, slippery work. Elyan got through it by trying to imagine it was broken waterskin under his hands instead of Oswin's blood and skin. The warmth and stickiness ruined the illusion, as did the younger man's unconscious moans. Giving up on that strategy, Elyan instead forced his mind onto other things, namely, what they would do next.
His idea to search for Merlin had proved fruitless. There were sorcerers everywhere. Their small group had barely been making headway as it was, and now Oswin was... well, Elyan needed to rethink things.
"Done," Erec said curtly, wiping his blood-soaked hands on the sheets as Elyan did the same. The older man then straightened, wincing as his tense muscles protested, and glanced around the room for the first time. Elyan saw his eyes widen as they settled on the crib, and he automatically took a step toward it. The knight quickly laid a hand on the soldier's arm, stopping him. Meeting the older man's eyes, he sadly shook his head.
Erec's eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched. He turned away, gripping the back of a nearby chair. If the need for stealth hadn't stopped him, Elyan was sure he would have thrown it across the room. The old soldier took his duty to protect the weak seriously, be it the green patrols under his care or a babe in a foreign castle. And Erec adored children. Elyan had seen this warrior-who could make grown men flee in battle-morph into a placid pony to give rides to his grandchildren. The knight still remembered their squeals of joy as they clung to their grandfather's back, galloping around the practice yards.
Elyan reached out a supportive hand, but Erec was already moving away. He had found a pitcher of water and a basin. Elyan retrieved two cups from a nearby shelf and brought them to the table where Erec was already filling the basin. As the two men washed and drank in tense silence, Elyan's eyes wandered to the window. Daylight was fading quickly. If he didn't find a way out soon, he would burn, and his men along with him. His stomach knotted as he admitted what he'd realized hours ago: they had to leave. Without Merlin.
"Let's rest here for a while more," he whispered. "See if Oswin comes around. But whether he does or not, we need to get out of here. If we stay, we'll just get ourselves killed."
Erec nodded, eye softening in understanding. Elyan turned away, sinking into a nearby chair. Fatigue dragged at his very soul. Wherever Merlin was, Elyan hoped he could find his own way out, and find a way to forgive him.
Merlin wanted to leave? It felt as if the servant had slapped him in the face. Again. Arthur was more shocked now then he'd been moment he'd realized Merlin had magic. Because in that moment, Merlin had been protecting him. Which is what they did, he and Merlin. They looked out for each other. Through immortal armies and dorocha and death, they kept each other safe and sane. Together.
"I see," said Arthur, but he didn't really. "So, you are willing to give up your home, your friends, everything to continue practicing magic. A few conjurer's tricks mean more to you than any of us, is that it?"
"You don't understand," said Merlin, striding away in anger.
"No, I really don't," Arthur fired back, following him. "Because just a few minutes ago, you were telling me how much Camelot meant to you and how much you believed in me. But obviously, you don't really mean that. Obviously, you care more about magic, so maybe you should just join Mordred's little army and-"
The punch took Arthur by surprise, which is the only reason he stumbled backward and fell. Not because the punch had more force than he would have ever expected. No, if he had been prepared for it, he would've stayed on his feet.
Probably.
The strangest part was, Merlin wasn't apologizing or helping him up. He was standing tall, looking angrier than Arthur had ever seen him.
"You deserved that," Merlin said in a soft, deadly voice. "Don't ever compare me to them. Do you know how easy it would be for me to join them? How quickly every kingdom would fall to us if I did? How hard it was to resist that when everyone treated me like a helpless half-wit? You are a king, and you're treated like one. I could rule over all and was treated as less than nothing."
Arthur stared, processing the truth of that statement, thinking of every time he had belittled or ignored Merlin over the years, especially in the beginning.
"Is that why you want to leave?" He asked, not meeting Merlin's eyes.
"No," Merlin seemed to deflate, sitting on the forest floor across from Arthur. "I don't want to leave at all."
"Then don't," Arthur said, trying not to plead. "Whatever happened to, 'I'm happy to be your servant till the day I die?'"
Arthur would never forget the day Merlin told him that. At first, he hadn't really understood the depth of that vow. But Merlin had proved himself time and again, staying by Arthur's side, refusing to be pushed away. The king had somehow come to count on that constancy more than sword or armor.
Merlin's eyes became distant. He looked old.
"I still feel that way," Merlin said. "While there is breath in my body, I will serve you. I will serve Camelot. But I've learned that serving you doesn't always mean obeying you. And sometimes, leaving your side is the only way to protect you. And to do what's right."
The two men sat in silence as Merlin's words settled. Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling tired.
"You leaving isn't right, Merlin," he said quietly.
"Then don't make me," came the equally quiet reply.