999 NE, Autumn - 1000 NE, Summer
It had been a year since he last saw Arthur, six months since he saw Mordred. He had first headed for Fal Dara to join the fight against the Shadow, and found the top-knotted men there handily wielding their weapons. He'd struggled in training at first. When he'd found himself no longer in danger of cutting his own foot off, he picked up a sword to join the men.
Merlin had quickly found himself out of his depth, not strong enough to parry hard blows nor skilled enough to even stay alive for an hour should he have to fight a Trolloc. The rough comments had been friendly, but they'd not been welcoming. It wasn't until one of the soldiers told him that they had to rely on each other to keep alive, as well as one's own skill, that he realised that he would have been a liability. Any place he took would be where a skilled man could have been, and that man could have kept someone else alive.
For a while he spent time mending armour and weaponry, then shifted to tending the supply carts between Shienar and Arafel. The supply master was thankful for his aid, leaving him with the small responsibility of textile trade between the two countries until he'd proven himself with a few uneventful trips.
The road was quiet and deserted for the most part, with a few homesteads here and there on the long-abandoned stretches of land where nations once stood. Merlin had come up to the Borderlands past Tar Valon, heading north-west to Kandor, but had spent most of it trying to find food and shelter to pay much attention to what was on the road. He often sorted through rotting vegetables in the carts he travelled in as payment for the trip. One of the merchant who had done the route previously had told him of strange abandoned fortifications, grasses and weeds growing up through the tumbled stones, and he saw these with his own eyes, touching the remains of things wrought when male Aes Sedai roamed the world.
Sometimes he would stop along the quiet, bumpy gravel road that and try to use saidin. If anyone wondered why he stopped he'd have blamed it on a loose axle, but he had never need of the excuse. There was always a chance of a Trolloc raid along the Borderlands, and he wanted to use what rudimentary skills he had to save himself, if he could. Merlin would go mad and die from saidin, but not one day earlier than he needed to.
After a couple of months he was starting to see a web, a weaving of something. He didn't quite know how each web differed, but he noticed saidin weaves felt differently depending on what he wanted to do. Early on he figured how to use the one suggestive of heat to blow up rocks: Merlin figured exploding creatures would kill them from afar, and fires were always a good way of hiding evidence, especially when channelling. He became good at exploding the earth, too, although he kept this to a minimum. The road was mostly deserted but unnatural formations alongside it would be commented on eventually, and if anyone thought it was channelling rather than one of those strangenesses so close to the Blight, Tar Valon could come investigate. Merlin had avoided any Aes Sedai so far, although there were one or two in Fal Dara, but he wouldn't be surprised if they had some means to discover male channellers.
Merlin was careful about what he was doing, the thought of Arthur dying because of a mistake was an unpleasant one. He knew of Warder bonds, now, and would do his best to avoid any mistake resulting in their deaths. He had returned from his third trip, on the same route for a few months ferrying fabric, when he was called into see the head army supply merchant.
"You've done a good job with the supplies from Arafel," said the army merchant. "Isoyer is standing down from the route to Andor. The man won't go near the Black Tower, not that I can blame him. If you would take it, the route is yours."
"Black Tower?" Merlin had heard rumour of something like that, but found it hard to believe the White Tower would allow a group of men channelling anywhere without gentling them all. "You mean it exists?"
"Yes." The merchant shot him a sharp look. "You're not going to raise objections to going, are you? We need their grain."
"No, no. Just ... surprised the White Tower, the Amyrlin, allows it."
"It's not for the likes of us to question Aes Sedai. We've to feed those who fight at Tarwin Gap, and if the Dragon Reborn decides he wants to collect madmen around him, well, they're not in the Borderlands." The merchant looked at the door and lowered his voice. "The Lord Dragon was a guest of Lord Agelmar, when the Amyrlin was here. The Amyrlin and the young lord left at the same time. The Aes Sedai have him in hand, Emrys. Just you pay attention to your route, and to the letter-of-rights, and come back with the supplies."
"Of course."
Merlin was tense the first time he grew close to Tar Valon, going past those the very women who would gentle him, staring into the faces of every woman who went by the docks. He never saw the ageless face of Aes Sedai, but he never lost that tenseness. There were guards and sailors on the route to Andor; he had few moments to practice what little he'd learned to handle of the One Power, not that he was tempted much to do so with the proximity to Tar Valon.
He spent a few weeks on the road once he'd arrived in Andor, between the docks at Aringill and the capital at Caemlyn. The starving along the road began raiding the cart even though the sacks were more full of weevils than grain, and any dried meats were a mass of green mould within days. None could explain it, although he heard it was happening everywhere. The hungry grew more numerous, and weaker, more desperate in their attempts to cajole, and then force, food from the wagon. He turned away when the guards killed the insistent, uncomfortably aware of having been hungry himself. When they weren't looking he slipped hollow-eyed mothers a bit of food here and there, knowing that any food brought back to Fal Dara would be half spoiled anyway.
Merlin found himself wandering the lower city of Caemlyn one day, seeing some of the capital of Andor before meeting with the grain merchant. She was a stickler for punctuality so he had a few hours to wait; he was tired of the ship and the same stories from the guards, so he struck out on his own.
There was a hubbub in the streets, masses of people were filling into small alleys while others poked their heads out of shop windows. People from storeys above looked on down into the confusion and he pressed himself up against a wall to escape it.
"What is it?" he asked a fruit-seller next to him, shielding her wares from the excited melee.
"The Aiel Maidens," she said, bored. "The Lord Dragon goes to the Black Tower almost every day, it seems! You'd think everyone would have enough of it!" Her stare at the crowd was flat-eyed, then she stuck her foot out and tripped a man going past. She swiftly retrieved a shrivelled orange rolling from his hand and pushed through and away.
He followed the disrupted crowd with his eyes, and, with a quick, sharp breath, set his shoulders and followed. He put the meeting with the merchant from his mind and kept his gaze on the indistinct figure before him, and moved through the throng.
The Black Tower was something of a disappointment, once he grew close enough to see what it was: an old building, like something he would see on a farm, rather than the magnificence of the White Tower. From the name he'd expected an estate, or a castle, rather than the grey stone of workmanship origins, with smaller houses in various state of building on the outskirts of the grounds, some men stood staring at stones wobbling higher in the air as they were carefully placed on the growing walls.
Merlin looked away from this display, stomach churning in nervousness. It was unnatural to see such open channelling, even knowing that the Dragon Reborn was there. He could feel the One Power being wrought ahead of him, not from just one way but all over. The few other times he'd come to Caemlyn he'd not had the time to even think of the Black Tower, and it was now before him. He stared at it from the middle of the gravelly road, giddy with relief. There was an amnesty here for men who could channel, a haven for him.
He started on the way down the rest of the road.
"Hey, you!" A swaggering, black-coated man stopped him. "Come to join us, eh? Want to channel and go mad like the rest of us?" He laughed. "Ah, you'll be sent on your way right enough. You've little chance of channelling, boy. May as well leave now."
"I thought I'd give it a try," Merlin said.
"M'hael doesn't like rabble like you coming off the streets. Following the Dragon Reborn, were you? Think you'll be another like him?" He loomed rather threateningly, and Merlin could feel the One Power flowing through him, a suggestion of a weave.
Merlin took a step forward and took hold of the Source, making the dirt in front of the man puff up in a small, controlled explosion. He had gotten very good at that along the long, solitary road.
The man jumped back quickly, windmilling his arms. He quickly took hold of himself and stepped forwards, face darkening, bringing his hand up in a practised way.
"Merlin! Soldier Hadram, release." The voice was familiar.
The man threatening him stood back, letting go of the One Power. He swung around to face the newcomer, fists clenched at his sides.
"Merlin, I didn't expect to see you again. Life not exciting enough in the Borderlands?" Mordred came up alongside Hadram. "You, go find Asha'man Rochaid. The M'hael will be naming the new Dedicated within the hour."
"Asha'man," said Hadram, thumping a fist to his chest, and strode back to the grey stone building.
Mordred watched him go, then turned back to Merlin. "You can channel the One Power? Now there's an unexpected development," he said. "I had the spark, the M'Hael said, and would have begun to do so anyway. Join us, and you'll learn what he has to teach you. Learn to fight with the One Power! It's beyond anything you could have dreamed. Forget the Horn--we can earn glory here for ourselves," said Mordred, eyes gleaming. He appeared to collect himself, and peered at Merlin a bit more closely. "Where did you go? You won't hold that bit of unpleasantness in Kandor against me--it was all her fault, anyway."
Merlin remembered differently. Her scared eyes were still with him. Mordred had followed a story to an old woman's house, rumours of a golden horn held in the family for years and stored in her attic. He'd torn the house apart while Merlin watched over the woman as she shivered, shawl pressed up against the soft folds of skin under her chin. They'd found nothing, but the man had sworn he'd seen it with his very own eyes, and Mordred had come so close so many times. Merlin had pulled him away, but Mordred had shouted, grabbed the old woman and shook her.
She was found the next morning, dead, still in the seat where they'd left her. The man had told his cousin he'd sent them her way, and they'd run out of village with pitchfork-wielding men not long behind them. Merlin had slipped away at the next town and started on the road to Fal Dara.
Mordred was still waiting on his answer, and he nodded slowly, warily.
"Good. Come, meet Rochaid. From that scene with Hadram I take it you can channel." Mordred's mouth twisted. "Did you always?"
"Yes." Merlin set up stride next to him down toward the main building. Mordred stared at him with a fierce expression.
"I'll be as strong as Taim when I've reached my full potential. Even if you only grow to half that you'll do well as a soldier," said Mordred, looking at the men and the lifting stones. "If you meet the potential of that lot you can help with the building, at least."
The Maidens were waiting attentively outside the main building. A couple were watching him and Mordred, on their toes, even when the Dragon Reborn came stalking out and said a few words to a scarred woman. Merlin had a brief glimpse of the Lord Dragon's face, young and hard, a grim set to his mouth, and then he was gone.
Merlin's first days were spent in the outer compound, amongst the other soldiers learning how to use the One Power as a weapon. He saw little of Mordred, whom he quickly found was one of the few taking private lessons from the M'Hael, living up in the main building. He stayed in the partially-built barracks with the single men and those whose wives had left them upon finding out they could channel. Merlin spent only an hour exploding earth and setting things aflame before Mazrim Taim, the M'Hael, appeared. His name was a curse in the Borderlands, the false Dragon who got away, he who now served the Dragon Reborn.
"You've come along quickly, Soldier Emrys," Taim said. "Mordred tells me you travelled together in Kandor."
"Yes, M'Hael," Merlin said. "We swore the oath as Hunters for the Horn."
Taim waved it away. "The Horn! Heroes a thousand years dead. They'll be of little help when the time comes. Come to the building. Torval will show you some things, if you are able." The man beside Taim looked Merlin over and sneered at him.
The lessons were different, and he learned quickly after Torval knocked him down many times. They were more on how to capture people, to sever access to the One Power, to knock them down and cause the most harm. Where the outside lessons concentrated on brute force, the most damage you could do with the least amount of weaving, on the inside they learned Travelling, Skimming, delicate nets of power to set off a trap.
Little things began to niggle at him. Mordred was cool with him at most times, after his ability started to grow. He was one of the core group under Taim's leadership, which would disappear for days a time on quiet missions. They were gone for periods of time ranging from days to over a month, with no mention of where or what they were doing. When Merlin entered a room with any of the more favoured of Taim's students in it, they would fall silent, Mordred among them. Every so often he heard a sneered word against the Lord Dragon and a prickle of unease rose in him.
Gedwyn, one of the inner circle, would ask him apparently idle questions of how he felt about the Dragon Reborn, of Tarmon Gai'don. He hung back from answering, non-committal.
Mordred spoke to him less and less, growing more commandeering as one of Taim's favoured Asha'man. When he did speak to Merlin, he was disdainful of the Dragon Reborn's commands and reeked of superiority over the Soldiers. He would watch them with a slyness, and tacked up a list on the Traitor's Tree, names of men Merlin would have sworn were no Darkfriends.
Merlin's own ability with the One Power grew. Merlin realised his ability to figure out weaves, and one day came to an approximation of the weave he'd placed upon Arthur. His throat tightened when he released the bond, and fondness and yearning for Arthur lying in wait. He could feel Arthur's direction like an arrow, directly to the south, still in Tear. He'd had little word of the House of Pendragon, had avoided it, but feeling Arthur's presence had him seek information out. Any news which might have been available was overshadowed by those rebelling against the Lord Dragon,. Those who were neutral or following him quietly weren't deemed newsworthy by the men who passed on through as they failed the test to become Asha'man.
Eventually word trickled to him of High Lord Uther Pendragon's death and of Arthur's raising to High Lord. A thrill of involuntary relief and pride went through him at that; he'd known Arthur was still alive, but The Dragon Reborn had placed him at the head of the armies he was marshalling towards Illian. Merlin was surprised to hear of Lord Brend, whom he'd seen in passing while in Illian, as a Forsaken; but after having found out that another Forsaken had ruled in Andor as he'd passed through a year ago, it seemed that Darkfriends could be anywhere. The Lord Dragon had won another battle, won another land.
The M'Hael gathered all the Soldiers and Dedicated one day. He had news. His favourite five Asha'man stood behind him: Mordred, Torval, Gedwyn, Rochaid, and Kisman, nodding at the words: The Lord Dragon had need of them, and into battle they would go. They were ready to be bloodied. They were to join the battle against the Seanchan.
Fifty black-coated men Travelled to Illian that day, Merlin amongst them. The camp was outside the city, but the land was familiar. He recognised the road even from back then, and saw Mordred look at him when they arrived. His hard manner brooked no familiarity, and there was a suggestion of threat. Mordred regretted having spoken to him of his personal history back then, he guessed, and turned away. Merlin soon had no time to think of Mordred, pressed into finding any Seanchan hidden amongst the trees and hills.
Days were spent scouring the hills, Travelling. They wove saidin endlessly, careful to parry any threat from damane, pushing the Seanchan west. They crossed the range in Altara, driving the Seanchan. Asha'man barely had time to rest, always being pushed by the Dragon Reborn, whom they could see was pushing himself to the edge.
Merlin sat resting, discussing the Seanchan with the Soldier he'd been partnered with. He looked over at the gathering of forces from Illian, and a familiar silhouette had his gut clench. The man was clearly directing his lieutenants, tall and strong in form. Merlin stared at the man who could only be Arthur, and hesitantly, heart racing, released the muffling of the bond. He had to be sure. Arthur--for it was him, it was--snapped away from his lieutenant, mid-word, and stared over in his direction. Merlin hastily muffled it again and jumped to his feet.
"We should continue before Gedwyn finds us sitting here," he said. "He'll have us digging the latrines by hand."
Saidin began to behave strangely a few days later, and then there came warning that the Seanchan were coming. It was chaos, a mad tumult made worse by the Dragon Reborn going mad, using the One Power to bring down the Seanchan, killing Tairens, Cairhienin, and Illian as well. When he was brought to a stop, the killing field ran red with blood, broken bodies flung like dolls along the erupted earth and splintered trees.
Merlin lay coughing, holding his side where he'd fallen as the ground opened beneath him. He could feel Arthur in the distance, grim and focussed. He pushed himself up. Soldiers and Asha'man marshalled together into a group, staggering, bleeding. The Dragon Reborn had men and women around him and Merlin stayed away. That could be him, someday soon, could be any of the Asha'man he'd stood beside these past months. It was a victory, he heard someone say.
Rochaid pointed at him, Dashiva, Narishma, Flinn, and Morr, who'd Healed the Lord Dragon only days earlier, and commanded them to follow the Dragon Reborn. The five were to be at the Lord Dragon's command in Cairhien, and through the strange twisting of saidin, Merlin wove a Gateway, uncertain how long it would hold, and they stepped through into the Sun Palace, leaving behind the dead. Merlin took once last look behind him when he stepped through, seeking one last glimpse of Arthur, and then the bond faded away with distance as the Gateway closed.