Lady of Magic

Chapter Fifteen

What kind of trick is this?

The portraits did not move again, and once Merlin got over her initial fright, she boldly went up to touch them. Oil on canvas, dry under her fingertips. If Mordred had enchanted them, it seemed a rather random and useless spell.

There was no exit behind any of the portraits.

Frustrated, she threw her arm at one of them, slicing it with a bolt of magic. Curse all of them, bloody druids, bloody imbeciles, all of them, sitting around waiting for me when I said I did not want anything to do with—

The frame glowed, stopping her thoughts short. She drew back, ready to bolt, but some compulsion kept her in place. The frame dimmed, but so did the canvas, dipping into pitch black. It had been the one showing her mounted on a horse. Merlin's own magic surged, ready for anything, but the canvas simply shimmered for one heartbeat before the shadows lifted, revealing the the same background as before, a terrain loosely populated with trees on a cloudy day…except the image of Merlin herself, and the horse, were both gone.

What sort of wizardry is this? Merlin blinked again, trying to come to terms with what just happened. Then she heard a faint sound. Clop-clop, clop-clop. Hoofbeats. A wind blew in the canvas and the trees rustled, branches quivering. The draft blasted out, blowing across the bed in the chamber, through Merlin's hair.

What is this? Astounded, Merlin could only stare for a moment, before she cautiously approached the portrait—or was it a window now? Forest air blew out, and she could smell the grass and leaves, the hum of other horses and men, murmuring.

Is the canvas still there? She reached out to touch, and abruptly, she was no longer standing in the chamber. A horse was moving under her, and her elbows were stuck by the joints of her armor. The staff in her hand dropped as the shift in perspective caused her to become disoriented. She swooned to the side, and was caught just as she started to slip off her mount.

"Milady!"

I have seen some strange things but this has to beat them all, Merlin thought as she was suddenly surrounded and lowered carefully off her horse. Men were whispering, and she heard some women too, words of confusion and concern.

"She needs rest."

"We should have stopped earlier…"

Stopping sounded like a very good idea, especially since Merlin was starting to feel distinctly sick. She looked up to see Paris move out of the way so Selene could take a look.

"Emrys," She knelt, "Can you tell me what happened?"

What is going on? Merlin had to make a concerted effort not to give in to the urge to vomit. I am in armor…the two Culacians are here…for a moment she wondered if she was still on the journey to Culacia and the whole arrival and subsequent cure had been her imagination—but she was fairly certain she had been traveling with Gwaine and Roskin instead of Lancelot and Gwen. And Elyan. And…what looked like a whole group of druids.

"Emrys?"

"I have no idea what happened."

She had spoken without meaning to.

Selene was scanning her. Gwen, Merlin noted, was also in armor. It reminded Merlin suddenly of the time when they had gone to Ealdor, when Morgana had been sweet and compassionate and not the complete demon she was now.

"She seems alright, a little nauseated," Selene frowned. "I think she just needs to rest."

"We have been traveling fast," Gwen stated, "This delay cannot be avoided, I fear."

Alright, where am I? Merlin was barely aware of Gwen helping her up. She got a closer look at Gwen and did a double-take. Or…maybe a better question is when am I. Perhaps the portrait opened to a world of its own. Next time throw a rock at the canvas instead of touching it with your hand, you idiot.

"Break for an hour," Lancelot announced to the druids, "We move again afterwards. The King cannot afford too much of a delay, but rest is a necessary evil."

"No," Merlin called out, and once again, it was as if someone else had taken control of her lips. "Half that time. I just need something to eat, that is all."

Not if. Someone else was taking control. Distantly, Merlin could sense the presence of another conscience, one that was like her own, and yet different.

"Anyone have water and food?" Paris was asking, and someone called him over to fetch some rations. Selene went with her brother, leaving Merlin alone with Gwen and Elyan.

"I guess I pushed myself a little too much," Merlin said to them in a sheepish voice.

Alright what is going on? Merlin tried to assume any control at all over her body, but it seemed like she was just an observer. An older Merlin was operating the vessel, and she was still talking to the two siblings.

"That came out of nowhere," She was saying, "One moment I was fine, the next I was sliding off the horse."

"It happens to the best of us, and you have slept poorly the past few days," Sir Elyan inclined his head.

"Come, have a seat, perhaps in this half hour you can nod off for a few minutes. It would help," Gwen took Merlin by the arm.

Selene and Paris came back with food and water, which Merlin took without hesitation. Lancelot joined her a few minutes later.

Where is Arthur? Merlin wanted to ask, but the self she was inhabiting seemed more inclined to eat than ask questions.

"It looks like it will rain soon," Paris noted.

Merlin glanced up at this. "Hm," She felt herself frowning. Sure enough, in the distance was a heavy patch of dark clouds, sweeping toward them at an alarming rate.

"It looks like it will rain hard," Selene looked at her. "Perhaps we really should just rest and wait it out. We cannot outrun it. At the pace it is going, the storm will be brief, and we can do what we can against the flash floods once we are not pelted by water."

"It certainly seems like our only option," Merlin agreed. "Very well. Fate will have its way, it seems. Let us hope the delay does not prove costly."

"It will be alright," Gwen touched her arm. "Wars are not won in a day. If you rush now only to give out before the end, it is not worth it."

Wars?

The other druids were tired, and all too eager to take advantage of the break the storm would allow. They set up spells to create a transparent shelter, while some spread out blankets to rest on the ground. Merlin herself curled up near Selene, shutting her eyes despite wishing dearly that she could ask someone what was going on. It was not quite frightening to be out of control of her body—it did not feel like hers, for one, and it seemed like whoever was in control was still Merlin, just a different version…but it was not pleasant to be forced to observe without having any control over what she could do.

Time seemed to speed up, for when she opened her eyes the storm was in full swing, and thunder shook the air as lightning splattered against the magical barriers.

"You alright?"

It was Paris. He was awake and was taking a seat next to her. A hand reached out and brushed her hair back from her temple.

Wait.

"I'm fine." Merlin felt herself smile. "You should get some sleep too. I have been driving you insane the past few days."

"Nay," Paris grinned, "You were fine. If you really want crazy, turn around and look over there. You think she is a sweetheart now, but my sister has yet to show her true colors in front of you."

"Oh? Hm, but Arthur did tell me she was quite the hard-tongued visitor when the two of you came to Camelot for the first time."

"Ugh," Paris sighed, "Sooner or later that temper of hers would bring about misfortune, I know it."

"Only with bad people," Merlin told him, "And Selene chooses her company wisely. I doubt things will go as poorly as you fear."

He was still stroking her hair. I am not fine with this. What, did this mean that she and Paris…? I am not fine with this.

"Company is not always ours to choose," Paris sighed again, and he finally scooted down to lie next to Merlin.

"You and I will take care of her," Merlin promised, and then tucked herself into Paris's waiting arms.

Alright, no. Just…no. How do I get out of this portrait?

"Renel would be in her sixth month," Merlin murmured. "That clotpole. He keeps exclaiming he wants to feel the baby kick, and now that it's old enough he goes and heads out to war."

"He is a young man. The call of battle will draw him more than domesticity."

"He is not just a warrior. He is King, of Camelot, no less, and Renel is carrying his firstborn. You'd think he'd play the game so that he could wait a little bit longer. That imbecile."

"Not all things are within our control, and Arthur is use to putting kingdom before family."

Who is Renel? Merlin felt a flare of some emotion she could not quite identify. Certainly not jealousy. Why would she be jealous? Besides, even if she did think she could ever be with Arthur—well she did, once, when Arthur fell in love with Gwen and she realized that he was capable of seeing beyond class boundaries, but even then she knew he would never fall for her. She was not like Gwen, graceful, soft-spoken, feminine and warm. She was Merlin, sharp-tongued, clumsy, odd-looking even for a man, let alone a woman, and—

"I am glad I have you," Merlin told Paris. "You are such a sensible man."

Several thoughts flew through her head in quick succession: Arthur was married to someone named Renel, he left her pregnant and alone in Camelot while traveling out to fight a war—Merlin was glad she would not marry Arthur since it just figured he would dump her aside the way he dumped Renel when war loomed, though she was not quite sure she wanted to be with Paris, and—wait, I was kidnapped by Mordred and these are his paintings. Wasn't the whole point to separate me and Arthur?

In a rush, Merlin found herself back in the chamber, sprawled on her side. The portrait in front of her had reverted back to how it was when she first saw it, a woman in armor on horseback.

Arthur's not really the type to abandon his loved ones for war if he can help it, Merlin reminded herself. If Mordred intended to use the portraits to drive Merlin away from Arthur, it was not going to work that easily. Besides, I am not exactly with Arthur.

Still, she felt shaken, and she was not sure it was just the experience of being in a portrait trapped in the body of another self, with no ability to control what she did or said. Certainly, that had been unnerving, but there was an undercurrent of dismay at the idea of Queen Renel, whoever this lady was. Maybe she was a princess. Or will be a princess.

You do not even know she is real, you imbecile. Merlin shook her head, grimacing with self-scorn. This was unbecoming, and really, her priority should be getting out of here, before she got stuck in a portrait for good this time, not some fictional wife of Arthur—really, it was not like she expected Arthur to be a bachelor all his life. He had been about to marry Gwen when she first left Camelot, and it was a wonder he took no bride in the intervening years.

Just focus on getting out of here and you can worry about Queens and Arthur later.

Having control of her body again was a bit disorienting in its own way. She kept over-reaching, and it took a moment before she had her coordination back. She kept away from the portraits this time, searching for some other means of getting out. There had to be a way. She had somehow been brought in, after all.

She threw some magic at the walls again, even though it did not work before. Once again, the magic was simply absorbed. Frustrated, she cast several more times just to vent, straining her muscles to throw out with her arm at full force—

The last spell bounced off the corner where the floor met the wall, ricocheting to the ceiling, and smacked into one of the picture frames with such violence that the thing swayed and nearly fell off. Merlin managed to catch sight of herself clad in leather armor, fire in the background as human figures ran with hands covering their heads, before the canvas darkened.

Wasting no time, Merlin whirled around and ran, but a resounding boom knocked her forward, and then air started sucking into the canvas with an audible hum.

She was standing in a village, but then she was falling, and an arm quickly grabbed hers to steady her.

"Emrys?"

It was a man she did not recognize, but Merlin replied, "I am fine, Jomain."

She did not give him time to respond before sweeping forward with a purposeful stride. There were other druids here, many casting spells to put out the fire.

"We have to find Arthur." She said this with vehemence. "This has gone too far. Jomain, come with me."

She transformed into a bird, a merlin by the feel of it, and heard Jomain change into a similar raptor. The two ascended above the smoke as more houses fell.

They flew at full speed, so that Merlin's wings were burning by the time they saw the fortress. It was nowhere near Camelot; this was a temporary fort, built as a station for soldiers to launch from. Arthur was on a tall wall, crown glimmering, arms folded and cloak sweeping behind him, staring ahead. He was not looking in the direction of the burning village, however; it was too far away for him to see, and he did not seem interested in it anyway.

Merlin and Jomain transformed after they both landed. Arthur did not turn to look at them, but a smirk did twitch at his lips, an expression that looked very unfamiliar to her, but did not seem to surprise the individual she was inhabiting.

"Merlin," The King exclaimed, "About time you showed up. You were always especially tardy."

"Arthur," Merlin stepped forward, and she never heard her voice sound quite like that, even when she had been mad at Arthur, even before she returned to Camelot after he asked her to. "What have you done?"

He snapped his head around. "I do not answer to you, Merlin."

The condescension in his voice was alarming.

This is not right.

"On the contrary," Merlin said coolly, but her tones became progressively more heated as she went on, "We are two sides of the same coin. You answer to me, whether you will it or not, for while your blood carries the royalty of the Pendragon line, through my veins runs the will of Destiny, and I demand to know, what have you done?"

He glared. Merlin glared back. Jomain lingered behind her, hesitant to intrude.

"You were always defiant," Arthur said thoughtfully, his gaze never softening. His eyes were so hard, they burned to look at, but somehow Merlin met them without flinching. "From the moment we met, you had no respect for authority. I suppose that is not to be helped. Perhaps it is even to be expected."

Merlin's leather armor glowed, and she was suddenly wearing robes, dressed in the white of the healer she was.

"Arthur Pendragon," She warned, "Do not think that because I once made a vow to serve you to the end, that I will not find ways to end your mad carnage."

"You were always the self-sacrificial sort," Arthur continued with a sneer. "Mad carnage, is it? And how is it mad, exactly? Any other king would do the same. I expected you to at least be able to learn, Merlin. The game of thrones has no room for mercy. Carnage is mercy. It is you or them."

This is wrong this is wrong, how do I get out of here? Merlin tried to will herself away, but she remained solidly stuck, the vision of Arthur, coldblooded and unrecognizable, remained unwavering in front of her eyes.

"I chose the course of destiny," Merlin hissed, "To see this land rise above the level it had been. I elected to serve a wise king, a king who would bring about change for the better, who would introduce an era of enlightenment and prosperity. I volunteered my gifts to a man who promised to change the rules of the game. You have failed me."

In a flash, Arthur had a sword at her throat. Merlin was shaken, though her vessel remained unmoved.

"You have grown more saucy over the years, witch," The king sneered, "Careful, or your arrogance may cost you your head."

"My head has never been worth much," Merlin replied, "Once upon a time it might have mattered a little, but we both know that now you see value only in my gifts. These gifts, which you take for granted." She spread her hands out. "Go ahead. You know we are two sides of the same coin. Cut me down if you believe you can bring glory to Camelot on your own."

"Insolent wench! You abandoned Camelot for years, and during that time I brought prosperity to Camelot—"

"Through peaceful means, Arthur Pendragon."

"All of Albion was at peace then," Arthur sneered, "And would have been, were it not for you—you failed to kill Morgana, Mordred, Crestathion, Lywir, all the sorcerers who sought to bring Camelot to ruin. Perhaps it was not mercy that stayed your hand?" He stepped close, and the blade's sharp edge sliced slightly into her neck. "You spoke of destiny, of duty. Tell me, Emrys, just how were you thinking to help me bring magic back to Albion?"

Lywir? There's another?

Jomain was tense, and Merlin wondered why he was not stepping in somehow, until she realized she was holding her hand out in a refraining gesture. She was looking into Arthur's eyes, the muscles of her own straining, as if looking for something she just could not find. Then her heart sank, a physical feeling borne of an emotion Merlin did not actually feel. Her vessel had realized something.

She had felt this before. Heart stabbed, shattered, that fateful night when Arthur had found out her two closest secrets. This time there was no fear, however. She reached out and grabbed the naked blade with one hand, ignoring how it cut into her fingers and palm.

"It does not matter now," She said softly. "Magic is a dream. Perhaps it always was."

With an input of magic to help, she pulled the sword through her neck.

"You can't keep her here forever."

"I'll keep her for however long it takes."

"She is stronger than you. She will find her way out, and there are those who would seek to find her as well."

Merlin opened her eyes. She was on the bed again, with the canopy overhead. The blankets shifted, and she turned her head to see Mordred looking impassively at her. Next to him was an older druid with hair that curled like Gwen's.

She jerked her body up. Black spots blinked in her vision, but she ignored the dizziness and the wave of nausea, remaining upright with sheer force of will. Two druids—she reached for her magic, but…What? It was not there!

"I see she has woken," Said the older druid. "Healer Emrys. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

"I have no mutual feelings," She hissed, trying to get her bearings. "What did you do to me?"

"We did nothing," Mordred replied. "You exhausted yourself."

Merlin stared. "I exhausted myself? Do you think I am an idiot? What trick did you use with the portraits?"

There was a brief pause.

"What portraits?" Mordred asked, looking perplexed.

Merlin snapped her head to the wall. Sure enough, it was bare; not a single portrait was to be seen.