Summary:
Future AU. After a seeing-stone washes up on the shores of Ealdor, the last Island left after the great floods and rising Ocean, Merlin sees their salvation - a Sky City named Camelot. When he wakes up on the shores of the Sky City, Merlin starts to realise the New World is nothing as it was fabled. It is then that Merlin begins his journey to meet the 'dragon' that called him there, realising that nothing in Camelot is what it seems. Together they begin a revolution against a blind king and the foundations the New World was built on, uncovering even deeper secrets that were thought to be buried with the Old World when the land sunk.
Word Count:
~140,000
Pairings:
Arthur/Merlin (with Balinor/Hunith and Uther/Ygraine)
Warnings:
Character death (mostly minor, but includes a known character who dies in canon and a child), torture, flooded-world scenario (&associated issues e.g. refugee camps, starvation etc.), sort-of-slavery, intoxication (leading to what some might consider dub-con, though it's not intended as such)
Rating
NC-17
Thank you:
To moonilicious for cheerleading, theywerecones for the art (link on profile), cutsycat for the beta, crazy purplesage and disgruntled minion for listening to my every single whine. Without you, there would be no story!
Part One: The Islands.
Ealdor.
April, 3500.
"Where are you?" he rushed out, moving forwards until he was resting on his hands and knees, desperation clouding his voice. "Where is this garden, in the real world?"
The dragon tilted its head, fixing Merlin a look.
"You really don't know?" it asked.
Merlin shook his head.
"The garden's located at the base of the Tower, down by the caves." Merlin needed to know where this Tower was, hoping it wasn't just a dream now, desperately clinging to Will's hope and allowing himself, just this once, to believe.
"Where?" he breathed, heart drumming wildly.
"Camelot. The Sky City of Camelot," the dragon said, a curl of smoke escaping its jaw as it returned to the broken throne, curling its body around, almost protectively.
Merlin's heart soared in his chest. Will was right! There was hope for them all, hope for salvation and an escape from the waters. They'd be able to be free, to live in happiness, free from the tides and floods.
At last, there was hope.
And just as that thought blossomed, the darkness shattered and Merlin fell back, landing sprawled out on his bedroom floor, the shutters over his window rattling as he wind pounded against them. He stared at the ceiling for a beat before leaping up, swearing as he moved over to the stone – the Obsidian – on his bed, wrapping both hands around it firmly.
"Take me back," he hissed at it, eyes searching the inky black furiously. "Take back now!"
The stone was unyielding, dark and cold. There was no hint of power – of magic – curling outwards towards Merlin and he wondered if it had all been a dream. It couldn't exist, could it? It was just a product of his imagination and the words Will had planted there earlier.
Will was a realist. He knew they were likely to die sooner rather than later and so had done the realistic thing – look for an option. What he'd placed his hopes in, though, was a myth.
But, a voice whispered, if Will the realist could place his hopes in the Sky Cities, then why shouldn't Merlin?
He shook his head. Dragons didn't exist, magic was for stories and there was no hope or salvation. If there had been Sky Cities, why hadn't they come for them? If they truly existed, Merlin didn't want the answer to that question. Sure they might be their only hope (if they existed), but what hope was it to place trust in people who had left you and so many others to the fates of the Ocean?
Merlin let the stone fall from his hands and it rolled under the bed. He flopped onto the mattress, burrowing his face into his pillows as a storm raged up outside. This was his life and there was no escaping it. He'd spent his childhood with his head in the clouds, spinning tales and stories, but people of the Oceans had to grow up some time.
With a heavy heart, Merlin knew it was his time to finally let go of hopes and dreams and acknowledge the Ocean was all they had. No dragons, no magic, no salvation. Just the slowly rising waters and the people he loved, sitting on a ticking time bomb of an Island, simply waiting.
.
Weeks passed before Merlin thought back to the events in the Obsidian properly. He'd thought about it in snatches – how could he not have? – in the moments between waking and sleep, but once on his feet and up, there was too much to do to think about ridiculous notions such as magic and salvation.
The truth was, Merlin couldn't hedge his bets when all he had for proof was a vision (from a stone and a dragon, possibly the most unlikely thing that could happen aside from the sea receding) and old newspaper cuttings. Maybe they had existed once, these sky cities, but who was to say they still stood, towering above the earth when the rest of the world had been laid to ruin by the sea?
There was also something else that prevented Merlin from thinking too hard about what had happened. A few houses had been swallowed by the tide and the villagers had moved into the central part of the town. It was a natural thing, but that didn't make it any nicer.
That alone, though, wasn't enough. It was life of Islanders, a cold, hard fact, and they always pulled through. No, there was a second issue that pushed through, an elderly woman sobbing on the shores of Ealdor surrounded by the wreckage of a small boat.
One of the village girls had tried to coax her into the hall, safe from the beginnings of another storm, but it had taken five men to forcibly drag her inside once the storm hit with fury. She had clutched a bag to her chest, thrashing in their grip as she screamed for a son lost to the ocean.
Her name was Mary Collins, she said once she'd calmed down a little; though perhaps calmed was the wrong word to use, shocked would be more appropriate. She and her son had been the last two survivors on a scrap of land that had once been the island of Helen, a smaller isle than Ealdor and lying almost directly south. They'd all thought the island completely lost years ago, but here was a woman, clinging onto life.
She'd built a boat with her son, fleeing the last of the land just before the floods had swelled over their banks. They'd been so hopeful that they could make it to Ealdor, anywhere safe really, but then the waves had raged and Mary's son had been thrown overboard, the boat falling apart against the shores of Ealdor shortly after.
Somehow, even knowing deep inside as they all did that her son was dead, Mary still asked each and every one of the villagers whether they'd seen her son. When she'd asked Merlin, he'd simply shaken his head, turning away like countless other people had. What could he say? Confirm her nightmares and drive her into madness?
He didn't have to be the driving force. As soon as she'd spoken to as many people as she could, Mary drew in on herself, moving to a corner of the hall and sitting on the ground, face blank and wrinkled skin pale. Old Man Simmons shook his head, a clear sign to leave her, and that was exactly what they did.
Gossip spread as she refused to eat, refused to sleep, screamed when she believed no one to be around, the howls of her pain echoing around the village like ghosts. Spirits, people began to whisper, drawing away from her when once they had approached with good intentions and curiosity.
If there was one thing the people of the Lands feared more than the Ocean, it was the spirits. They came from the lost souls it was said, from the people who had died in the waves and never been put to rest. They invaded the soul, stripped away your humanity into sorrow and pain, and took every inch of what made you human and good before killing you.
The whispers grew until it was a fact, not a suspicion, that Mary had been invaded by the Ocean Spirits. And of course, with a fact like that, people drew back and away, muttering behind hands about how she was cursed and lost to them all. People shared glances that drew strength from unsaid words, condemning a grieving woman.
Merlin didn't know how the village reached the conclusion, but the older women of the village gathered in groups one morning, weak rain pattering down from storm-ridden clouds. It was a quiet day and the ocean was eerily steady, waves smoothing across the shores as opposed to pounding against Ealdor; beating it to submission.
"They've gone to collect her now," Merlin overheard one of the women say, drawing the rest of the gathered to shake their heads.
"It's a pity really," someone else said, voice grave.
By Merlin's side, Hunith moved to clutch his arm. Merlin looked to her and noticed her pale face, matching so many others out in the rain.
"Mum?" he asked softly, wondering what was wrong. Something was obviously happening and someone had mentioned they were collecting someone… had Mary Collins died?
They were out in the main square, having come to collect supplies while the weather had let up. No shops were open, but the square was bustling, with almost everyone in the village gathered, the only space completely devoid of villagers the centre.
Merlin watched as the crowd began to part at one end of the square, Old Man Simmons leading a procession of men, half-dragging Mary into the centre. Someone set down a wooden chair, laid it out wonky on the cobblestones before Mary was pushed down into it, her arms and legs then bound to the wooden frame.
Watching this woman, Merlin suddenly knew what was going to happen. Fear cultivated on small island communities and in a place that simply had to pick itself up and carry on. Grief had a time limit. This woman had mourned for too long and now superstition governed she was consumed by spirits of the ocean, that sea-devils had invaded her body when she'd fallen victim to the waves.
"My son!" The sob that wrenched from the woman's chest was heart breaking and Merlin noticed Hunith turn away, looking to the ground. No one would meet Mary's eyes, preferring to look away as she was strapped to the chair.
Merlin knew why that was. They felt guilty for being alive. It was a ridiculous notion, but nonetheless a true one. Every Islander that survived carried the weight of the dead around their ankles, holding them back and chaining them to the Ocean. Why did they get to live when so many (so, so many) had perished easily?
Was it some great plan of the Ocean spirits? Were they laughing at the pitiful humans as they clung to their scraps of earth, soon to be swallowed up or driven to madness?
The woman was still sobbing, her creased face wracked with misery as the men stepped back, their handiwork finished. She could barely move her hands and feet, wrists and ankles bound tight. Old Man Simmons stood before her, leading the proceedings, while a few of the other Island men ushered the crowd back and away.
It was harsh, cruel and disgusting, but it was all the Ocean had taught them. To be weak was to admit defeat and the woman here hadn't been able to pull herself from her misery. It would be kinder, Merlin had heard whispered, to throw her back to the sea, give back the demons that had infested her in her grief and sorrow.
They were to perform an exorcism, drive the demons from her body and set the woman's tortured mind free. It was said that these practices dated back centuries, but it had always been too barbaric for Hunith and so for Merlin too, that he didn't know exactly what these 'exorcisms' contained.
Some people stayed, firm faced as they watched the woman's blood taken from her, leeches set along her bare skin. They were to purify her body, draw out the infected blood that the spirits had claimed, sucking the very essence of the ocean from her.
And when the leeches had bled their amount, Old Man Simmons took out a set of thin needles, similar in a way to the acupuncture tools of old, except these had been blessed by the ocean, soaked in its water. They were said to draw the spirits out, attracting them to the source from which they came.
The needles were placed in the centre of the leech marks, pushed in deeply to the skin. While Mary hadn't uttered anything but 'my son' over and over during the bleeding process, her gasps and pained sobs could be heard clearly around the now-silent square, some people covering their eyes and ducking their head.
Nobody left though. People clutched at each other, what seemed like the entire village leaning on each other for support, but no one dared to leave.
When you were trapped on an island with outsiders rarely coming to your shores, you drew in on old tales, twisting them until they became the truth. In the case of the Ocean Spirits, stories had been whipped up that the Spirits could take to the air and so when being drawn out into the needles they could enter the surrounding people.
You couldn't get people to stay away from an exorcism. It was gruesome yet entertaining in a sick, twisted way. It was like the days of old, when people gathered to watch an execution. Humans, no matter what age, what history, were fascinated by violence and death.
A few minutes later, the needles were taken out slowly, blood dribbling from the wounds. Mary's head was tilted back in the chair, eyes rolled upwards as she gasped in pain, trying to struggle free from the ties. She was unsuccessful, of course she was, Old Man Simmons had been leading exorcisms since he was young, well over fifty years ago and then men who had tied her had been tutored in this practice for years too, honing it over countless washed up, scared people.
Another of then men held out a dark pot, setting it on a stand one of the others had quickly assembled. The pot looked heavy, cast in grey stone, and the man holding it wore thick gloves to protect himself.
Old Man Simmons had finished with the needles, setting them down onto cloth someone held out, tying it and setting it on the floor. The needles would be cast out into the ocean later, back where the spirits belonged. The only thing left to do now was to seal the woman's wounds and that was where the black pot came in.
Merlin watched as Simmons took the lid off the pot, putting on a pair of gloves before pulling what looked like a metal rod out. It was tinted red at one end and Merlin realised what the pot contained, why the need for the gloves. Inside were coals that had been heating the whole day through, coals that kept the rod pure and connected to the earth.
To stop the spirits re-entering the wounds, they were to cauterise them with the land and heat; two elements the ocean would never be.
Mary screamed as the hot iron hit her skin, burning over the flesh wounds, sealing her up with pain and terror. Old Man Simmons moved up her arms, dipping the rod back into the pot and pulling out another every now and again, making sure each and every needle-wound was covered. He then turned his attention to her hands, feet, legs; anywhere they'd touched.
And suddenly, amongst the wails of pain, they were done. The men gathered began to pack away things, shifting the coals away, taking the wrapped needles, moving the leeches in their jars, until it was only Simmons and Mary who was still strapped to her chair and slumped in misery.
Hunith was clutching at Merlin, tears in her eyes. A quick look around the square showed many others in the same condition, some shaking their heads or turned away, others with handkerchiefs to their eyes and some with glistening tears on their cheeks.
Simmons was looking around the group now, his eyes raking over them all, scanning as if he was searching for someone in particular.
"You, boy!" Old Man Simmons called, his finger pointing shakily at Merlin. Hunith's grip tightened on his bicep, her head jerking to the side slightly as her eyes widened.
"Now!" Simmons called again, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and looking through the crowd. Merlin had no choice but to obey and so he wrenched his arm from Hunith's grip, looking back at her apologetically.
Heart beating wildly in his chest, Merlin came up to stand before the oldest man in the village, staring at him blankly. Whatever he wanted, Merlin would oblige, but he didn't have to be polite about it. What he'd just done, what they'd all just witnessed, was barbaric, even if these spirits had been driven away.
Merlin had never been raised on stories of the Ocean Spirits. He'd been raised on old stories, lost stories now, and Hunith had never let him see an exorcism before. Now he'd seen it, he wished that he hadn't, but wasn't that the way with all terrible things?
"Untie her and take her back to the hall. Give her purified water and nothing else," Simmons barked before he turned, ushering people away with his arms spread wide. "The deed has been done; we must leave her to heal. If her soul is untainted by the Spirits then she will live."
Resisting the urge to say something, Merlin turned to the slumped woman, shakily moving to untie the knots. He could feel a few people watching him, but Simmons' words had worked wonders and the majority of the crowd were moving away, crossing their fingers that Mary's soul was pure and untouched by the Ocean.
Loosening the ties on her ankles first, Merlin moved to the side a little, expecting her to lash out. Instead her feet slumped along the ground and she groaned, eyes opening just a slit to see what was happening.
"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered, bending down to work on her wrist ties. "For what they did, I'm so sorry."
Her hands fell into her lap as he released her arms and Mary tried to open her eyes again. Her arms and legs, the parts that were still open to the world at least, were beginning to crust with her blood, dark pink and pale in equal measure, patches covering her whole body.
It was no wonder that Hunith had never let him go to one of these before. For a household that didn't believe in Spirits, this was just torture on another person. Merlin couldn't see how this would help anyone and it was no surprise that not many people survived the process. It wasn't about the strength of their spirit, but the amount an already grieving person could take before they shut down.
Mary muttered something quietly, too quietly for Merlin to hear. She obviously couldn't walk, so he moved an arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, hoisting her up into his arms. She was surprisingly light, just skin and bones, and Merlin was able to carry her through the rain easily.
"You can't clean her," Hunith whispered in his ear, Merlin pausing by her. She was one of the last people left in the square, the last mingling villagers looking at Merlin with a shared sentiment of sorrow.
"Simmons will want to check she's clean tomorrow and they need to see the colour of the blood. She has to stay dirty."
Merlin nodded to the words, silent in fury. Mary was unlikely to last the night and he couldn't even give her comfort of new clothes and a warm bath. She had to die in the cold depths of her grief, alone and un-human.
Because that was what this process was. It wasn't to purify her soul or cleanse her of demons; it was to make her inhuman. To cause her pain and humiliation when all she'd done was lose her son; the only person she'd had left.
The Ocean had turned them to this. Living alone and isolated, the only people left in the entire world as far as they all knew, had turned them sour. Where they should have welcomed this sad, afraid woman, they'd cast her out; made her grief something they couldn't relate to; belittled and dehumanised her.
And what had Merlin done? He'd stood there and watched, just like the rest of them.
The door to the village hall was opened already and Merlin was able to kick it shut. Most likely everyone had shut themselves away, hiding from the rain as it worsened, but he didn't want to take any chances. Old Man Simmons had done enough damage and there was no telling how Mary would react if she saw him, and Merlin didn't want to cause her any more harm.
"I'm going to put you down on the ground for a moment okay?" Mary didn't say anything, staring blankly away, eyes filmed over and unresponsive. She was still breathing, but Merlin knew that she didn't have much longer. Why stay gripping to a world that had caused you so much pain?
At the back of the hall, there was another room joined to a kitchen. In there Merlin found some ratty blankets, tucked at the back of a cupboard, but they would do. Just a little something to warm her, something to soften the ground.
"I'm going to stay with you, alright?" It was the least he could do. He couldn't leave her alone, not after all she'd been through. She didn't respond, but Merlin doubted she would again, too lost in memories as she was.
Shifting the blankets around, Merlin laid two on the ground before picking Mary back up, placing her against the wall and on top of the blankets. He could hear the rain beating against the walls outside, but Merlin simply placed the remaining blankets over them, sitting by her side and offering what contact he could. It was going to be a long night, but he could sacrifice it for her.
What seemed like hours later and could have easily been minutes, Mary moved her hand shakily, clutching at Merlin's wrist. Her head turned slowly to him, her breath rasping out between her lips, giving him an indication of how much effort these simple movements caused her.
"You…" she swallowed thickly, her eyes fluttering closed. "Power… you need…" Her hand gripped tighter and Merlin moved towards her.
"Don't try to talk, it's okay, I'll stay here," he said, his other hand coming to settle over hers, stroking the fragile skin.
"No, you…" her jaw tightened at the words, too much effort by now. Her other hand rose shakily until it pressed against Merlin's face, her palm covering his eye.
'Forgive me for the intrusion,' a voice whispered, one he'd only ever heard wracked with pain and screams. He tried to pull back, dropping her other hand quickly.
"How are you doing that? What are you doing?" Merlin still had her fingers pressed to his forehead and so heard her reply.
'It's easier for me to use up my power than physically talk. Please Emrys, listen to me.' Her voice was fading so Merlin listened, heart pounding in his ears.
'Your only hope lies with the sky cities. My son and I… we'd planned for Camelot, but we didn't have time to…' she trailed off, words lost. It didn't matter what they'd planned, no one ever had time for their plans anymore.
'They are real,' she persisted, eyes wide and clear, strong despite her frail body. 'You must save them all; you're the only one who can.'
Her hand slipped down until it rested on her cheek, Merlin's hand stopping its fall.
'Thank you for being with me. Not many people would have and that's why I know…'
Merlin's eyes widened as her fingers relaxed, curling on themselves. It was too late to find out what she'd meant, but the words… oh the words. So terrible and yet so full of hope. Just three words- sky, cities, Camelot - but they meant so much more.
Camelot was real, not just a product of his mind. Mary had sped up her death by using her power – no, not power, her magic, because it had to be magic – to tell him things that no one else would be able to, to give Merlin the chance to save so many people.
She wanted him to save the people who had caused her death. Not many people would be willing to do such a thing but Mary Collins...
He looked down to her face, eyes closed and at peace for the first time since she'd come to Ealdor. She was so small, frail and lonely, just how they all were in the end when the ocean had finally beaten them into submission. They all died alone, taunted by the spirits that had plagued their whole lives.
There was a way out now though; an escape for the last people of the lands, a future. The future before had always just been the next day, the next hour in the worst of storms. You couldn't get used to safety on the Islands, knowing the cruelty of the sea.
"Thank you," Merlin whispered as he cradled Mary's head, setting her gently down on the ground.
He wished he could do more for her, but he knew Old Man Simmons wouldn't have allowed him this time, let alone being there while she had died. Knowing the man he'd say that Merlin too was possessed by spirits and put him through the exorcism, something Merlin never wanted to see again, let alone experience for himself.
Even though he didn't believe in the gods of the past Merlin hoped that Mary had found her peace and been reunited with her son. No one wanted to think they had to be alone for the rest of eternity, left alone as a rotting corpse as your life amounted to nothing.
Rain was beating down heavily outside, lightning forking across the sky. As Merlin ran from the hall, his feet slipped over wet cobblestones, his knees cracking as they hit the ground. He hissed in pain, hair plastered to his face as he struggled up again, heading for the road home. While it wasn't a particularly long journey, the pathways had gathered streams of water, turning them into small, fast-flowing channels. It was hard work, especially when the rain didn't let up against you, beating against every inch it could.
Hunith was waiting by the door as he drew closer, waving him in frantically. She was dressed in a long coat, a sign that she'd been waiting for him a while now, and she pulled him inside as soon as she could, wrapping her arms around him and bolting the door.
"Oh sweetheart," she said, taking in his face as she pulled back. She pressed a kiss to his forehead before passing him a towel she'd hung on the banister. "Go get changed and I'll make you some tea. If you'd like to talk about it we can or you can go to sleep, it's up to you."
There were times when Merlin hated Hunith, as any child could hate their mother, but she'd made it so hard to even dislike her that the times were few, even counting early puberty. She could read Merlin like a book, know how he was feeling (like tonight) with a simple hug and a look. It was her job, she said, but even so Merlin didn't know anyone else he'd rather get comfort from or who understood him as deeply as she did.
Merlin moved upstairs with a mission. He changed quickly, throwing his wet clothing into a pile on the floor, discarding them for thick pyjamas. That done, he reached under the bed, feeling around for the stone he hadn't touched for weeks.
It was as dark as he could remember, mysterious and compelling all at the same time. Looking into the surface, Merlin wished as hard as he could, trying to recall what the gardens he'd landed in before looked like, what they'd felt like, what the dragon had said even, simply clutching at anything he could.
The stone remained just a stone though and Merlin sighed, dropping it on to his pillow and running his hands through his hair. Despite what Mary had said maybe he wasn't meant to save them all. Maybe he was just an average boy from Ealdor that she'd been confused about because of what she'd been through. He'd been the only one to be kind to her after all and surely she must have been confused after all she'd been through.
Merlin then remembered the pull that had caused him to go into the stone in the first place. The pull had come from him, he knew that much, and he'd felt it in a very small amount when Mary had pressed her fingers to his temple. That pull, that whisper of magic, might be the key to getting into the other-world.
Picking the stone up once again and sitting cross-legged on the bed, Merlin looked into the stone again. He couldn't feel anything so he closed his eyes, gripping the stone tightly as he searched inside himself, looking for any sign that he contained a hint of magic. Surely it had to feel different to the rest of him, have a label or a sign on or something just to show it was there. No matter how far he dug, or whatever he thought, though, Merlin couldn't find anything.
Flopping back on the bed so that his feet rested on his pillow, Merlin set the stone on his stomach. He sighed, closing his eyes again, and letting his thoughts drift.
He felt it. There, in the space between his rib cage and heart, curled into a ball and shining. It wasn't a large ball, but it was warm and inviting, as if it was a safe haven he'd returned to time and time again. Strangely it didn't send Merlin clutching at the stone, trying to get back into Camelot, but he took time to feel the magic, understand it and allow it to move out from a ball.
He didn't know where it could have come from, whether it was a mutation or genetic, but that didn't matter. It didn't matter where the magic came from, but what he used if for. He was going to use it to free them all and that was all that mattered. He was going to use it to pave their way to Camelot; to save everyone on this wretched little island no matter the cost.
Of course, when Merlin opened his eyes to go and talk to his mother, he opened them to a dark, ruined garden, a few paces away from the broken throne and the dragon from before. Like before it was coiled around the throne, eyes staring unblinkingly at Merlin.
"Um… hello?" he began, wondering if the dragon remembered him. It lifted its head, sliding off of the back of the throne and onto the seat, eyes scanning over Merlin's body.
"You came back then," it said matter-of-factly, almost as if Merlin's return was to be expected.
He nodded at the dragon, moving to sit on the floor. He needed answers before the connection ran out and he wasn't going to be distracted by an overgrown lizard repeating itself over his family name.
"I need your help," he said to the dragon, drawing a wide-eyed look in return.
"You need help?" The dragon left the throne, landing on its legs and curling its wings up, moving to sit in front of Merlin. He could almost see every scale, silver-lined and armour-like.
"I need to know how to get to Camelot." The dragon peered into him, eyes narrowed.
"You really live on Ealdor?" it asked, ignoring what Merlin needed yet again.
Silence passed between the two of them for a moment, eerie in the absence of waves, but it somehow felt natural to Merlin, as if he'd been sky-born his whole life. What was it like to live with the roar of the wind in your ears rather than the drum of the sea? Merlin wanted to know, needed to know, if only the dragon could help.
"Yes and I need to know how to get to Camelot so I can save my people."
The dragon looked as if it was struggling with itself for a moment before it moved back slowly, retreating to the throne.
"Your people," it muttered, a strange undertone to its words, "your people need more than saving. One man can't do it alone."
Merlin could feel the connection thinning, his grip on his magic fading.
"What do you mean?" he said, standing.
"I mean that things aren't always as they appear." The dragon looked away, eyes downcast. "Your people need you Emrys and you need to come to Camelot before your time runs out."
Merlin could practically feel the urgency in the words, how the dragon needed him to do this.
"Ask…" the connection was fading now, the Queen's gardens falling into true darkness, the same inky black of the stone. "Find… dragon!"
The connection dropped and Merlin found himself looking up at the ceiling of his home, the sound of waves beating against his skull once again. The stone was in his hand, warm, and he tucked it under his pillow carefully, keeping it safe.
Before Merlin left the room to join Hunith, he knew two things. One; he was magical, had a special power, could do extraordinary things, take whatever definition you liked. Two; he needed to go to Camelot and find the dragon, show him the proof that he'd saved the last of the Islanders.
Though first, he needed to convince them that Camelot was real and that hope wasn't just a myth. Sky cities existed and Merlin was going to take them there, whether they wanted it or not.
.
The storm raged harder and louder outside, lasting well over two weeks. While storms of that length weren't uncommon, they often let up at some point. This one hadn't, battering against Ealdor, and Merlin shared Hunith's fears when she said that perhaps this time it was the end.
Desperate for answers, Merlin had entered Camelot through the stone again, growing with his magic and familiarising himself with the power. If he was correct, then he had been given the magic for a reason. He was to save them all, but how could he when he was stuck inside, the storms already laughing at his efforts. He needed help from Camelot, but upon returning – each and every time – he found it empty.
The dragon had gone, leaving the Queen's gardens barren and dark. He was alone now, left with all this power and nothing to do. It seemed like a fool's task, trying to save so many people, but they all had to try.
If the storm ever let up that was.
In the dark of night, the only sound the creaking of the house and the winds howling outside. Hunith stood in the kitchen, staring at the wall as Merlin sat down at the table, flipping through an old magazine, one of the ones that had been printed almost two millennia ago. It was a rare edition and maybe would have fetched a high price if the floods hadn't come, but it was just a book of pictures now. Nice to look at and good for the memories, but useless otherwise.
"What are we going to do?" Hunith asked quietly, more to herself than Merlin.
He turned in his chair, taking in his mother's tired features and the lines on her face. She'd been through so much in her life. Merlin couldn't let her die, not when he had a means to save her.
"I can get us to the Sky Cities," he said, looking in earnest into Hunith's eyes as she turned her attention to him.
"Merlin, what do you mean?" Her eyebrows drew into a worried furrow and Merlin told her to wait a moment, bounding upstairs to fetch the Obsidian, feet pounding along the floor in time to the wind battering the side of the house.
"This," he replied when he'd returned to the kitchen, setting the stone down on the table and looking back to his mum.
"It's a rock," she said, eyes darting between it and her son.
Merlin nodded, "I know that. But it's not just any old rock… you can see things in it. There's… this power and I know, I know I sound crazy, but it's like magic or something." Merlin swallowed, moving to his chair, crouching on it with his legs tucked beneath him.
"I have the power in me too and there must have been a connection." It felt liberating to be able to talk to someone about his power, to admit there was something different about him. If Mary Collins hadn't spoken to him, proved that this magic was beyond his imagination and a rock, Merlin would never have accepted it.
"Magic?" Hunith asked; her face pale. "A power?"
Merlin nodded again, "I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me. I saw a place that had no ocean. There weren't any storms or waves or fear… I went to Camelot, one of the Sky Cities." Merlin looked down at the Obsidian and didn't hear the sharp intake of breath Hunith drew. "There was a dragon there and he told me that I needed to save my people."
"Your people?" Hunith parroted, hands gripping the kitchen counter.
"The people of Ealdor. I know they're not mine, but if I can save them then I will. It's why I was born with this power, it's the reason I have this magic." Merlin took the stone in his hands, holding it out to Hunith.
"Look at it. It doesn't cast a reflection so you can't say it's an ordinary stone. Magic exists, but the more important thing is-"
"I know it exists," Hunith said quietly, not moving from her post and refusing to touch the stone.
For his part, Merlin's eyes widened. In the lull of conversation, the wind picked up, howling through the house. A draught passed through the kitchen, sending a chill down Merlin's spine.
"How do you know?" he asked innocently, though he almost feared the answer. It was easy to connect things together and it was obvious Hunith didn't have magic herself.
"Merlin-" she began, but was cut off.
"No, I want to know." He stood, stone gripped tightly in his hand. "I need to know."
For a moment, Hunith looked pained, turning away to face the shuttered window. Merlin was about to question her himself when she looked back, eyes slightly pink, but free of tears.
"Your father wasn't born here." Merlin nodded; that wasn't exactly a secret. He'd heard stories of the place his father had come from, an island that had fallen fate to the sea, but had once held the last forest.
"He…" Hunith looked down, refusing to meet Merlin's eye. "He fled Camelot."
Even the wind seemed to drop at her words, giving way to the closest thing to silence Merlin had ever heard outside of the stone-world. His father, a man it seemed he had never known, had fled the Sky Cities? The very places that would save them?
"Wh…" he couldn't finish the sentence, shaking his head lightly.
"I don't know why," Hunith continued, moving until she sat at the table, next to Merlin's place. "He never told me, but… he'd get a look in his eye, as if he'd seen terrible things Merlin."
Hunith reached for his hand, but Merlin moved his arms down to his side, sinking into his chair again. His eyes were drawn to the table, fixed on a knot of wood in the pattern, determinedly avoiding his mother.
All his life he'd been told lies. His father had died (oh but was he really dead? Maybe he'd just swanned off back to Camelot, seeing as it was his birthplace) when he was young, but Hunith had plied Merlin with stories, wonderful tales of the last human who had seen the forests. Was it all a joke? A big lie? Why not just tell the truth.
Maybe it showed on his face, for Hunith continued, "He couldn't tell anyone, not even I knew until he was sure he could trust me." She tucked her hands in front of her, fingers interlinked and pale where they clutched against each other. "Old Simmons would have rather exorcised him, the man who'd washed up with only a sack of books and the clothes on his back than believe he'd come from Camelot. You know what Simmons is like and…" Hunith drew in a breath.
While Merlin didn't like seeing her like this – it was clear the memories were painful – he needed to know. He wasn't just of the Lands anymore, but of the Sky, of Camelot of all places. Maybe that was why the Obsidian had chosen to show him the only hope they had, knowing he was kin, despite it being in a roundabout way.
"When you were a baby you could move things, do things…" Merlin jerked his head up to stare at her, eyes wide. "I was out of my mind with worry, thinking maybe Old Simmons was right after all and the Ocean Spirits had gotten to you, but Balinor just winked at me. He told me it was okay, that while he hadn't shown his talents so early, it was a good sign."
There weren't any lies in her words this time and it would offer an explanation to the power he had, but it still didn't account for what she'd done.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Rain beat against the window and Hunith reached her hands out again, receiving yet another blunted dismissal.
"Things changed. You didn't use your magic at all after Balinor died and I guess I hoped that that was the end of it, for your sake."
Merlin shook his head. "It's not good enough, though I suppose I should at least thank you for letting me know he's actually dead. At least there was something you didn't lie to me about!"
The words stung his own throat as they came out, but he was unable to stop them. Hunith looked as though she had been slapped across the cheek before she looked down, brows tightening as she clearly fought back tears.
Guilt wracked through Merlin and he reached for her hands.
"Mum," he began softly, leaning forwards. "I'm sorry mum, I didn't mean to get so-"
"It's not your fault." She looked up, unlocking her hands and moving to hold her son's. "You're right; I should have told you, and I'm sorry. I just… I didn't want you hurt. Simmons would have done it even if you were a baby."
Merlin shifted his chair, the bottom of the legs scraping noisily against the floor. He moved until he was next to her and Hunith wrapped an arm around him, holding him tightly and kissing his hair.
"I didn't want to lie, but I thought it was gone. After your father died I just thought…" Merlin tucked his head against her, savouring the moment. Sometimes there wasn't time for closeness in this way and sometimes you just needed to be held by someone who loved you.
"I didn't mean to get so angry," he muttered into her shoulder, but Hunith simply kissed the side of his head again and drew back.
"Let's see that stone then. You said it showed you Camelot?" Merlin pressed the stone into her free hand, the other arm still wrapped around his shoulders.
"Your father mentioned the Seeing Stones. He said they were crafted out of the Old World stone obsidian, but bathed in magic by the High Priestesses and creatures of the Old Religion." She turned the stone in her hand, running a thumb over the smooth surface. "They were said never to reflect, but to show and reveal instead."
Merlin waited patiently, waiting to see if his father had disclosed anything else on the stones.
"He said that most of them had been lost in the Floods, but the last of the stones were preserved even though the Old Religion, along with all the others, had practically died out. The only known Obsidians in existence were placed under royal care." Hunith set the stone on the table.
"The last person to take over their care was Queen Ygraine. I think your father knew her a little, perhaps worked for her, but he always spoke fondly of her. She was a just woman, he said, fair and willing to dirty her knees if her people needed it." Hunith's eyes crinkled at the corners, remembering the fond image of a queen.
"She died around the same time your father left Camelot I think. He never said anything, but I managed to piece enough together from his stories." The rain filled in the pauses Hunith left, completing the tale. What was a story that was not surrounded by the Ocean? It wasn't a proper story without the rain or the waves every Islander said.
"I suppose one of them was lost after she died. Unless… where did you get it?" Hunith let her arm drop as she turned; eyes warm.
No matter what lies she had told, what stories she had conjured, Merlin could never hate her. All anger seeped out of him when he thought of what she'd been through, terrified of having her son put through an exorcism. And he'd seen it now so he could imagine what the fear would feel like.
"It was washed up, about a year ago now," Merlin said, trying to think of dates in his head.
Hunith nodded. "It's funny how these things happen. Out of all the places that stone could have ended up and it ended up here."
She rose from her chair, sighing deeply. "Do you think going to Camelot will save us?" she asked softly, catching Merlin's eye.
"Yes," he said, knowing that they had to. They couldn't stay on Ealdor forever, especially with this latest storm.
"Then I'll follow you. Whatever you saw, I trust in your judgement. I love you and your father loved you, but sometimes we have to trust you instead of acting like a parent." Hunith sighed again. "I want you safe, I really do, but I don't even know what safe is anymore. If Camelot can offer us safety then I'll take it, and I know you can take us there."
Responsibility folded itself like a cloak around Merlin, but it wasn't a heavy burden. As Hunith made her way to bed, Merlin began his plans, one hand curled around the Obsidian and the other clenched into a fist. He could save them, he would save them, and he'd return the Emrys family to Camelot.
Maybe the dragon had heard of his family, perhaps there were cousins or grandparents stowed away with the royals and nobility of Camelot. It was a dream, yes, but if his father had come from the Sky City then who was to say there couldn't be more of them? A proper family, free from the horrors of the sea and born only from the Sky, ready to welcome them into Camelot.
He fell asleep at the kitchen table and woke to a quieter world, the rain pattering against the house, almost lovingly. Merlin moved upstairs to change clothes quickly, planning to run into town to pick up supplies. Hunith was still asleep and so he left a brief note, taking hand-woven bags with him, knowing he'd need to pick up quite a few things.
The walk to the main town was calm, just light rain and the waves joining him. The calm was shattered, however, as Merlin moved into the town. People were gathered around the centre and, for a terrible moment, Merlin wondered if there was another exorcism going on, but the crowd shifted and Merlin recognised a familiar face.
"What's going on?" Merlin asked as he slid next to Will, shifting the bags onto one side.
Will turned to him, a serious look on his face. "The whole lower segments of the island have gone," he replied emotionlessly. "They're the only people who managed to get out before…"
He didn't need to say what had happened. Their small population had drawn ever smaller, lives destroyed in a few crushing waves, families and friends lost to the ocean, again.
"Old Man Simmons wants everyone to meet in the hall at midday, no matter the weather." Will looked up to the sky and Merlin followed his gaze. The sky looked as if it would hold out with just a small amount of rain, but it was hard to predict weather, especially after a large storm like the one that had just passed over them.
"Who died and made him king," Merlin muttered under his breath, drawing a smile from Will. They'd never subscribed to the policy that the eldest became the village leader (unofficial, because technically no villager had more power than another – just a crock of bull though really) and had made that point clear to Simmons a few times.
This was different though. If they were drawing a meeting for the whole village then Merlin could seize the chance and discuss travelling to Camelot. What other hope did they have? It was obvious the floods weren't going to lessen and that their time was finally up. What else could they do but seek another home like everyone else who had come to Ealdor had been?
Ealdor was dying and it was time to move on. They either moved on or they died, that much was simple.
Merlin moved away from the sobbing people in the square and collecting supplies. Hunith had breakfast ready by the time he was home and she smiled sadly at the meagre supplies he had collected. He hadn't the heart to tell her that more of Ealdor had been lost, so he waited until after breakfast, announcing it as he would that his hair was brown.
She gave no outward reaction, but Merlin knew how she felt inside. They all felt it, the despair and pain of loss, the hopelessness.
"You have to talk to them," she said as she began washing up the dishes, back to Merlin but words ringing clear.
"I will," Merlin promised, reaching into his trouser pocket and running a hand over the smooth stone of the Obsidian. He had to or else they'd all die, and he couldn't let that happen. Not now he had a purpose and a way to help. What else was his magic for if not to save these people? Even a dragon (or a projection of a dragon, but that was delving into trivialities) had told him his purpose and now was the perfect time to prove he could do it.
Moving to help Hunith clean up, Merlin began forming how he'd brooch the subject.
.