Disclaimers: Nothings' mine, except Phyllida.

CHAPTER 5

Telling Arthur?

1

- Arthur, I have something to tell you.

- All right – spit it out then.

- Arthur, I have magic.

- GUARDS!

2

- Arthur, can I talk to you?

- What is it?

- It's rather … embarrassing.

- Go on, then. Tell me!

- Promise not to kill me?

- Why would I kill you? What have you done?

- Promise?

- No.

…

3

- Arthur, can I ask you something?

- What is it?

- Suppose you found out that a very good friend of yours happened to have magic. What would you do?

- Take him to my father.

- Oh, is that the time? Gosh, I need to muck out the stables...

Merlin couldn't count the times he had run through all sorts of scenarios of telling Arthur about his magic; and they all ended badly.

The young sorcerer was polishing his master's boots while the prince was off to train. For once, he hadn't asked his manservant to come with him, so this time Merlin wouldn't return home with a battered back and black and blue arms. Still, the injuries he usually suffered during such practice wouldn't compare to what Uther and perhaps also Arthur would do to him if they knew he had magic. Dungeons and torture, followed by the pyre were a distinct possibility. Merlin sighed. The issue was not as simple as Phyllida – or his future self, apparently, would like to believe. Yet, according to the girl's story, not telling Arthur would one day, in the future, cost him his life. Why was that? Why was it so important that the prince know about his powers? He had always thought that the blissful ignorance of Arthur would be what protected him. What would happen to change that hypothesis?

Merlin put down the boots and gazed out the window, trying on another scenario in his thoughts:

- Arthur, do you know who have been saving your royal backside all these times? Have you ever wondered why you lead such a charmed life?

- I'm an excellent warrior?

- No, you dollophead – because I have been there fore you – each and every time rescued your bottom by using magic. Did you... Arthur? Arthur! Stop laughing, Arthur!

Merlin sighed even more deeply this time.

No, it certainly wasn't simple.

x

When Merlin returned to Gaius' quarters that day, he found Phyllida buried in a book that Gaius had lent her. As he had instructed, she was in his room and hadn't opened the door for anyone. Round her lay numerous sheets of paper with endless notes and references – and cups of water. She noticed his glance.

"Can't seem to stop drinking water," she murmured and bottomed up another cup. Merlin didn't blame her; somehow it seemed like a natural reaction to being roasted alive.

"Has Gaius talked to you about an alias?"

She nodded, "he thought it would be enough to introduce me as your distant cousin – and don a dress."

"Yes, I agree – so I dug up this for you." The young boy presented the dress with a flourish. He had nicked it from one of the serving girls, not making the same mistake he had with Morgana's dress and Freya. Phyllida eyed it critically. "Hmmm – okay, I suppose. 'Ere – let me see it."

He handed her the forest green dress, which she turned in her hands, carefully examining it when she suddenly grabbed a knife that lay on the table and started slicing it up.

"What are you doing?" Merlin said in horror.

"Taking out the corset. There is no way I'm wearing that."

"But … but … all the other girls..."

"I bet they do," she interrupted him, "and that's why their skin is so sallow A corset will push your ribs into the liver and give you jaundice!"

"It... it will?"

"Not to mention the fact that my broken ribs have only just mended … there. Perfect!"

She held up the dress that looked like itself, except without the stiff bodice. "Right," she said, "can you help me put it on?"

She was fumbling the hooks when it occurred to her that she was getting no answer, so she looked up to find a very red eared young man, who was looking anywhere than at her. Oh, dear me, she thought, it's another time and era, Phyllida, she berated herself.

"Tell you what," she said kindly, "you turn round, I put it one and when I say when, you turn to do my back. Deal?"

Merlin nodded gratefully and sheepishly. That, he could do.

The both of them were deeply engrossed in hooking up the now flaccid bodice when they suddenly sensed that someone was watching them and consequently looked up.

It was Arthur. With a smug grin.

"Well, well, Merlin. I couldn't quite understand why you didn't return, but now everything becomes clear. Are you going to introduce me to this pretty girl whose dress you are fingering? Or do I have to draw my own conclusions?"

If the young warlock was blushing before, he was positively red as a tomato now. Phyllida, on the other hand, smiled widely and stuck out her hand.

"Phyllida. Merlin's cousin. Pleased to meet you."

Prince Arthur, somewhat taken aback at her straightforwardness, took her hand and gallantly bowed over it (to Phyllida's slight surprise).

"Charmed," he said, "Arthur, Prince of Camelot."

"Oh," she cried, quelling a nervous twitch, "I've heard of you."

He flashed her a devastating smile. "I bet you have."

Then he turned to his manservant. "Stop gawking, Merlin – you look like an idiot. And don't let me catch you dwadling. You still have armour to polish and laundry to do."

Merlin, who was still busy picking up his jaw from the floor where it was a hazard to mice and dust bunnies, finally regained his ability to talk.

"Erm … Phyllida's from Eowyn – a neighbouring village to Ealdor. She's … she's here to stay with me for a while."

"Cousin, eh?" Arthur smirked, "well, she's welcome – just don't let her visit here delay you more than usual – which is already too much."

"Of course, Sire." Merlin nodded.

The prince bid them both farewell and left their quarters.

"So that's the Prince Arthur you're so afraid of telling your secret of magic," Phyllida concluded "he seems an arrogant bastard – calling you an idiot and all."

Merlin grinned. "It's not so bad. I get to call him a dollophead and clotpole."

"A do …? No shit," Phyllida murmured, cocking her head, regarding the warlock, "and still you fear his reaction?"

"Yes. With good reason, too," Merlin pointed out, "after all – his father, the king, is very vigilant in eliminating every scrap of magic he can find."

"I have understood that much," the young girl said, shivering as she always did when reminded of her near escape from the pyre. "However," she continued, "if he allows you to call him a ... clotpole, he can't be that rigid after all."

"Perhaps not," Merlin granted her, "but what if he is just like his father on that particular issue?"

"That would be unfortunate," Phyllida admitted. "Indeed," came the young sorcerer's acquiescence.

The time traveller leaned forward and tapped her host's arm with her index finger. "However ... with your vast knowledge of him, accumulated through these past few years you have been working for him, is it, then, really plausible that he would turn you over to his father?"

Merlin looked down, answering with a voice she could scarcely hear: "I can't say for sure."

"Well, that's life, mate. You never can tell with life."

Merlin shrugged. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Well, maybe I can help you there," she smiled at him, "how about you pretend that I'm your boss ... master, and you tell me/Arthur that you have magic. This way you can practice your great reveal in a safe environment."

Merlin smiled softly. "Why not. At least, it won't do any harm."

Phyllida smiled back at him, eyeing some hope. Perhaps this make-believe would give the boy some confidence and he might actually take the big step?

Merlin cleared his voice. "Right. So how do we go about it?" Phyllida grinned openly. "Wait ... I'll don this and make it more believable for you." She extended an arm and grabbed a blue cape that lay over the back of a chair and flung it over her shoulders. Squaring her shoulders and popping out her chest, she threw back her head and attained an attitude of self-importance.

"Ahem ..." she started, "yes, what is it? Have you mucked out the stables and polished my armoury?"

Merlin couldn't help it, he laughed out loud, but Phyllida stiffened and said, staying in character: "How dare you! Go out and come in again once you have collected yourself."

"Sorry," Merlin giggled like a girl, "but that's spot on!"

Taking a couple of minutes, Merlin strangled his grin and knocked on the table.

"Come in," cried Phyllida/Arthur. Merlin approached. "Sire ... can I talk to you in confidence?"

Phyllida cocked an eyebrow, "What is it, Merlin? I have practice to attend to!"

That, Merlin thought, was actually completely believable.

"It will not take long, Sire."

"Very well, then. Snap to it."

The cat suddenly caught Merlin's tongue. He knew it was merely Phyllida that he was standing before, yet still he became very, very nervous as he was about to divulge his life's secret to this Arthur substitute.

"I ... you ... for a very long time..."

"Come on, come on. I haven't got all day, you oaf!"

Merlin let out a frustrated sigh. "Yes, that's probably what he would say."

Phyllida reached out a hand and tugged his sleeve. "It's all right. That's why we are practising this. Try again."

Merlin shook his shoulders, cleared his throat and started again. "It won't take long, Sire."

"Then out with it."

"Have you ever wondered, Arthur, how it is that you lead such a charmed life?"

"What do you mean, Merlin?"

"All those years ... every time you were in trouble and about to die ... something odd happened to bail you out in the last nick of moment?"

The female Arthur in front of him shrugged. "Charm and good luck, I suppose," she said, trying to emulate Arthur's smug grin. "What's your point?" she added.

Merlin sighed. Why was it so difficult for him even in this feigned situation?

"C'mon," Arthur said, acting impatience, "out with it!"

"I ... I have been protecting you all these years, you know."

A supercilious, incredulous smirk met him. "You?"

MERLIN!

Both Phyllida and the young warlock jumped. This was the real prince yelling his impatience through the corridor.

"His master's voice," Phyllida said, her smirk still in place, "you better run to his rescue."

Merlin sighed. "Yeah. Thanks, Phyllida. We should probably address this later."

The second Merlin stepped over the threshold to the prince's chambers, Arthur shoved a heap of more laundry into his skinny arms. "Finally! Here's the rest of the laundry and you know where the armoury is."

Merlin received the heap with a strained smile that more than indicated that he would love telling the prince where to put it. Of course ... he did not. But one could dream, right?

"Straight away, Sire," he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Excellent," Arthur smiled. "Come to the training arena when you're done!"

Oh no! Fighting training!

It suddenly occurred to him that he could stop all this demeaning treatment by engaging in the conversation that his future self had recommended.

Merlin inhaled and spread his legs to gain better foothold. Was this it? Was it now that he revealed his secret to Arthur?

"Arthur," he began.

"Hurry up, Merlin! Giddyap, giddyap!" The prince had already turned his back to his manservant.

Growling, Merlin turned and left the room a little faster than he had intended. That insufferable, supercilious, arrogant PRAT!

Fuming, on his way back through the corridor, Merlin hardly noticed that he almost collided with the Lady Morgana, who was coming out of her chamber, heavy lidded and yawning. The warlock murmured a slurred apology that she didn't even acknowledge, and it wasn't until he had rounded the corner that he stopped and leaned back to have another look at the seemingly exhausted lady. Yup. She was tired all right. Having been out all night again? The thought made him uneasy. Whatever Morgana was up to, one could be sure that her evil sister, Morgause would be part of it. Merlin bit his lip. If Arthur knew about this, they could both shadow Morgana and watch each others' backs. Merlin's lip almost started to bleed. But Arthur didn't know and he couldn't tell him; regardless of what his future self might be telling him.

If there was any stalking to be done, he would still have to do it alone.

x

"What? You haven't told him?"

Phyllida E. Dewhurst looked at the young sorcerer in disbelief. Merlin had returned before Gaius and had immediately been attacked by a wave of questions.

"Why the hell not?"

Merlin was shaking his head, his young, sensitive features displaying distress.

"I ... couldn't. And he wasn't about to let me tell him anything."

Phyllida threw her hands into the air. "Merlin! You should take your own bloody future advice seriously!"

Merlin shook his head even more vehemently, "what's the difference, really? That I die some time in the future or I'm burned on the pyre now."

"But you won't be," she said urgently, "that's the whole point! With your powers, you can always escape!"

"No, you are missing the point," he cried back at her, "if Arthur shuns me and turns me in, I will have to leave Camelot and Albion will never be! That is my destiny – my responsibility."

The archaeologist looked at him in surprise. "Could you, perhaps, elaborate on that?"

Merlin's shoulders fell as he exhaled deeply. Of course. She didn't know.

"It is written. It is my destiny to help Arthur unite the country and create Albion."

Phyllida blinked. This didn't make sense. "But there is no united country. In my time – the future – Eng... Albion consists of numerous smaller countries – like now."

Merlin turned to look at her, his eyes conveying nothing but intense shock. "I ... that's not right."

Phyllida nodded. "Yeah – it is. It's never been a united country."

Merlin staggered backwards, the enormity of the truth hitting him like a falling dolmen. "The ... country ... was never united?"

Phyllida suddenly became worried that the young man might faint on the spot. She reached out and grabbed his arm, piloting him carefully to a nearby chair. Once seated, he began to hyperventilate, his face paler than the bed linen.

"I ... have failed."

"Not yet," she pointed out, "you have given yourself a unique opportunity to change what has happened .. will happen – and ensure the creation of Albion. Grab it! For the love of god!"

The boy didn't answer, but sat silently on the chair, fighting for control. Phyllida looked at him in sympathy and decided to show him mercy and change the subject.

"On a different note," she said gently, "have you thought about a way to return me to the future?"

The devastated warlock shook his head pathetically. She sighed. "I have, but the book Gaius gave me didn't really offer a viable solution."

"Usually one shouldn't mess with time," Merlin murmured, "it takes great power and only ..." He stopped.

Phyllida looked at him intently and waited patiently. "Yes?" she finally urged. Then Merlin's expression changed rapidly and suddenly from one of gloom to one of elation.

"Of course," he emphasised, "I know somebody who can help us! Somebody old and wise!"

"Gaius?"

"Nono – older – and wiser!"

x

Ah, drakan, καλέω, δεῦτε!

Phyllida shook violently, cold to the bone, as her new friend shouted his quaint command into the chilly wind. She recognised the Homeric Greek language, but really didn't make any sense from the words. The night was black and the stars and moon clear on the sky. Nothing happened for a while and Phyllida was about to presume that the young sorcerer's spell for once had failed when she heard a strange flapping sound – almost like someone shaking their sheets in the wind, only a lot more powerful. Merlin handed her the torch and took two steps forward into the darkness, peering in front of him where something huge and heavy landed on the ground, making it shake in the impact. The warlock bowed.

"Hello, old friend."

"Good evening, young warlock. Who is your friend?"

What the ...? Phyllida held out the torch to get a better look and saw ...

"A DINOSAUR!"

The archaeologist stumbled backwards with a high pitched squeal and fell, losing the torch.

"I am not a dinosaur," Kilgharrah said, miffed.

Merlin stooped to retrieve the torch and helped Phyllida up from the ground with his other hand.

"This is Kilgharrah," he grinned at her, "he's a dragon."

"Di ...dinosaur," Phyllida insisted stubbornly, "a Tyrannosaurus rex!"

The great dragon growled and emitted steam of smoke through both nostrils. Merlin hastened to explain.

"This is Phyllida. It appears that I have sent her here from the future to give me a message."

Kilgharrah looked at Merlin in surprise.

"Indeed? What message was that?"

"That I should tell Arthur about myself. Apparently that would save me from being encapsulated in a crystal for thousands of years."

The dragon cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps it will."

"However, I summoned you, first and foremost, to ask if you know how to return this woman to her time? Our future?"

Kilgharrah squinted and eyed Phyllida very closely. The archaeologist averted her eyes, feeling very must exposed to this great creature's sharp glance. Then he rumbled an answer.

"Time is, indeed, a most volatile subject to meddle with ... and most unstable. Once disturbed, it can alter an entire era and not always for the good." Then he turned to Merlin.

"However, young warlock, if this was your future self sending you this woman to warn you, you must pay heed. I am certain you had ... will have ... a good reason."

"In her future, Albion hadn't happened. Not that I knew that, apparently."

"That is certainly reason enough. And you may have known it, too." The dragon turned its massive head to fix his eyes at Phyllida again, its reptilian pupils blinking vertically. The time traveller noticed the peculiar shine to its scales and its needle sharp teeth as it continued to speak:

"The only way to return to one's own time is if the spell that sent you here comprised the return words as well. Do you remember what Merlin said before you got here?"

"N.. no," Phyllida stammered, still not comfortable with being eyed by a 20 yards tall dinosaur with teeth the size of tree trunks.

"When will she know if those words were included?" Merlin asked on behalf of Phyllida, who clearly had issues with his friend's appearances.

"Once the problem she was sent here to communicate has been resolved, she will automatically be hauled back to her own time – if the return was included, that is."

Merlin nodded. This meant, of course, that unless he actually told Arthur, she wouldn't be going home. Oh, swell. Another responsibility.

Kilgharrah twisted his agile body into the air and took off, disappearing into the darkness with his large wings flapping loudly. Phyllida was still shaking even when they could no longer see him and Merlin had to forcibly drag her away.

"A surprise, eh?" he commented with a grin.

"You can say that again," she said, her teeth clattering, "we don't have that many dinosaurs in the future!"

xxx

Oyoy – so close and no cigar.

Will Phyllida persuade Merlin to tell Arthur, I wonder? ;)

And will Phyllida return to her own time. If she does, what will her time look like?