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)
Part Two: The New World.
Wasteland
August 3500
The first thing Merlin noticed when he woke was the pain all over his body. He ached everywhere, not a single cell in his body left untouched by the splitting pain. Moving was out of the question, even though water lapped around his hips, chilling his legs and sending shivers wracking through his body.
He opened an eye slowly, wincing as the movement caused more pain and left a graze down the side of his cheek. Merlin could see that he lay on a stony shore, grit and dirt surrounding him.
Wondering where he was, he couldn't remember any part of Ealdor being like this, Merlin eased his hands under his body, pushing up slowly. The movement hurt, but his thoughts were returning now and he knew he had to move, to get out of the water.
Still slightly dazed, Merlin looked around himself, half-pulled out of the water. Waves lazily ran over his calves, as if trying to soothe him. The shore he lay on jutted out from a mass of rocks and debris and stood alone, spiked out from the remainder of the Island. Had Ealdor suffered under the Ocean's hand again? If so... how did that explain the heap of scrap debris, full of rusted metals and rocks?
Merlin looked down at himself. He was soaked through and through, sea water drying thickly on his skin. His clothes were torn in areas, but how they had become torn still eluded him, hazed on the edge of his mind.
The suddenly, as the tide pulled back from his body, Merlin knew what had happened. He stood jerkily, head snapping to look around, desperate to see anything, anyone, something that might have survived with him.
Aside from old scraps of junk, the shoreline was empty. Merlin stumbled along for a few paces, desperate to find someone, but he fell down, hitting the ground hard with his knees, gravel digging into his skin.
How had he survived? He was sure he'd been drowning. They'd been flipped over in the storm and he'd been drowning, of course he had. He couldn't swim, so how had he ended up here?
Despair flooded through Merlin's body as he crumpled down, forehead hitting the ground as bile rose in his throat. Everything was gone. While it had always been a possibility they'd not all make it to the New World, Merlin had never, not even in his worst nightmares, thought that he'd be alone.
There were no signs of the wreckage though, so perhaps they were still out there, stranded somewhere else on this island. If Merlin had made it here in one piece then surely the others had as well. It couldn't have been too far from where their boat was wrecked and there had to be at least one person, somebody.
Grit entered his eye as he rubbed the backs of his hands against them, but Merlin ignored the pain, as with the rest of his body, in favour of trying to find someone.
As he stood shakily, every muscle screaming at him, Merlin looked around him. Though the large piles of scrapheap took up huge quantities of the shoreline, but beyond that... Merlin's breath caught in his throat.
Further away, a huge column rose from the ground, the grounding layer a line of tunnel-like structures, emerging from the tower like roots of a tree. The tower itself rose high into the clouds, thickening with every mile it stretched higher, the full effect of the structure lost in the mass of grey and rain surrounding it.
Shaking his head, Merlin stepped away from the water, unable to believe that he'd simply landed on the shores of one of the New Worlds. How had it been so easy? How had he simply drifted ashore?
The scrapheap served more of a purpose than piles of rubbish. As Merlin walked closer to them, slowly, even though he desperately wanted to run, he noticed they hid a thick fence, barbed wire reaching upwards, far higher than anyone could hope to climb.
It wasn't what Merlin had been expecting, but then again he hadn't thought he'd be washed up and alone. This had to be the back of the isle then, if there was such a fence, there perhaps to regulate the refugees or stop people wandering out too far.
He followed the fence, walking onwards even as rain picked up, wind hurling grit and water into his eyes. It felt hopeless, a desperate wish the only thing keeping him walking. There had to be someone, anyone, who had survived that storm, and Merlin was going to find them, even if he died trying.
Something dug into the side of Merlin's leg and his fingers fumbled against sweat and sea-salt stiffened clothes. His hand then slid inside his pocket, digging down until he closed around the Obsidian, pulling it out and leaning against the fence.
Out of all the things to be saved with him, it had to be the Obsidian. A stone that had shown him a dead garden, a mythical beast and fed him lies of how he was to save them all.
The stone couldn't be controlled, unlike Merlin had wanted to believe. Even if he did contain a great power, there was no way he'd been able to manipulate the stone and what he'd seen. It was the stone that had chosen what Merlin had seen and it was the stone that had caused this.
By all means, Merlin should throw it into the sea, let it float along until it found someone else. He should simply wrench his arm back, shuffle over to the coast and throw it as far as he can. It wouldn't let him find his mother or Will and it certainly wouldn't take him back to Ealdor and a time when he hadn't made a terrible, horrific mistake.
He had just begun to move away from the fence, slowly, painfully, when a flash of movement caught Merlin's eye. He turned sharply, clutching the stone tightly in his hand. Could it be used as a bargaining chip perhaps?
Taking a few more steps forward, Merlin kept his eyes focused on the point where he'd seen the movement. It had come from a small heap of junk, a few paces away from where he stood. The shadow that had moved had been darting towards the fence, to one of the main structural posts, a thick metal cylinder.
As he moved closer to where he had seen the movement, Merlin could hear the sound of someone (something?) shuffling through abandoned scrap. He tried not to think about how much the discarded metal here would have been valued on Ealdor, instead focusing all his thoughts on finding out what was out here with him.
"Hello?" Merlin called, hoping that whatever it was could understand him.
There was a flurry of movement behind the heap before a figure darted away, running for one of the fence cylinders. It looked as if it was a child, but that was a ridiculous thought, right? No parent in their right mind would allow their child to play out in a scrap heap alone and unsupervised. Unless, of course… but Merlin didn't want to think about that possibility. These children could be orphans, but if Merlin had to face that hurdle and think about the fact that they had lost their parents, he'd need to think about Hunith and the fact that she most likely hadn't survived the Ocean.
But maybe, maybe these children knew how to get to the main camp. And if they knew that, then Merlin was sure he'd find someone.
He inched closer, edging around the side of the pile until he saw the small cluster of children, rifling through a small pile of rubble. They were tittering to each other, just little sounds and hand gestures, but it appeared to be a language they all shared and understood.
As Merlin shifted closer, his boot scuffed a tin can, sending it rattling over. The children scattered at once, a few freezing in place as the others ran off for the safety of the cylinder. Of the three children who stayed, only one remained upright, the other two crouching low and tucked together.
"I'm Merlin," Merlin said, pointing to himself. His voice was hoarse from lack of use and what he'd been through, but the children seemed to understand, the two scared ones perking up a little.
They grunted something, looking to the boy in the middle. He looked down at the other children, eyes wide, and they scuttled off, backing away from Merlin before they ran, bare feet slapping against stones and gravel.
"Is this Camelot?" It had to be Camelot. If there was a point to all of this, he had to have landed in Camelot at least. He had to see the dragon and get the dragon to save him, tell him where the others from Ealdor were.
The boy looked down to Merlin's pocket and where he'd shoved the stone back before settling his blue eyes back onto Merlin's.
"Can you even talk?" Merlin snapped, crouching down until he was level with the boy. He was tired, aching all over and had lost everything.
All he wanted was someone to show him that it hadn't all been a loss, that he'd ended up by Camelot, a place where there was a dragon. Dragons were creatures of myth and magic, surely this one could make everything okay again? The dragon would be able to tell him where his family were. He'd be able to tell him that Hunith and Will and everyone else were stranded somewhere else. He'd be able to take him to them, because the only alternative was to give up and accept that they were gone.
The boy returned to digging through the pile of abandoned metal, ignoring Merlin. Merlin waited for a few moments before he sighed, turning his attention away from the child and looking around, hoping there was another one to help him instead.
"Trust me to pick the only kid that doesn't want to talk," Merlin muttered, still making no move away though. It didn't matter if this child was deaf and dumb, it was better than being alone.
A low humming sound picked up and began to buzz louder. Merlin shot upwards, trying to see the source of the noise as it drew closer. The tip of a large boat could be seen between large piles of metal, cutting across the water with enviable ease, moving until it revealed a wide boat, black and white painted and unlike anything Merlin had ever seen. It looked motorised, a rare commodity for any appliance, let alone a boat.
There were printed letters on the side of the boat and it took all of Merlin's concentration to pick them out. POLICE was emblazoned in dark letters, burning into Merlin's eyes as hope grew, blossoming. The police hadn't existed on Ealdor for centuries, but it didn't mean that Merlin didn't know who they were. If there was anyone that could help him, it would be the police.
Taking a step forward, Merlin jerked as something grabbed his trouser leg, tugging him back wildly. The boy had turned his full attention to Merlin now, shaking his head with wide eyes, hands clutching desperately to Merlin's leg.
"No, they can help," Merlin explained, reaching down to try and prise the small fingers away. The only thing it seemed to do, though, was cause the child to cling harder, hands trying to pull Merlin down.
"You need to let go!" Merlin tried to pull away, but his foot caught on a piece of junk and he tumbled over, catching his elbow on the floor. He hissed in pain and was about to stand back up when the boy held a finger to his own lips, nodding furiously towards the boat.
Cradling his elbow, Merlin narrowed his eyes, peering through the rain to where the police boat floated on the water. The engines had been flicked off and the hum the boat had brought had gone. A child was out on the gravel shores, curiously trying to pick their way around a pile of scrap, not having noticed the boat was there, or maybe not caring.
There was a flurry of activity on the boat and Merlin glanced to the boy still holding onto him in confusion. Surely the police were just going to help the child, take him back to his family?
There was a dreadful crack, ear-splitting almost, and Merlin ducked down instinctively. A few more sharp cracks sounded until they faded away, leaving the rain the only sound, muffling even the waves.
Risking a glance, Merlin saw the police boat turn away, the engines suddenly roaring once more. They hadn't even stepped out from the boat and, as they pulled away, effortlessly sliding though the water, a tinge of fear crept into Merlin. It couldn't be though, not when this was a place of refuge against the war nature had waged.
The boy didn't relax his grip until the sounds of the boat had faded and it was only then that Merlin dared look over their heap to where the other child had been shifting through scrap. They were still there, slumped over on the ground, and Merlin's breath caught in his throat.
Now he understood why the boy had stopped him running out there. He understood why the urchin children (there was no other name for them) had run when they'd seen him, why fear was so clear in their eyes. They were hunted by people who, once – maybe not anymore for Merlin knew nothing of this place – had taken oaths to protect the vulnerable.
Turning his head away from the body, Merlin sat on the ground, exhausted. So much had happened in such a short time that he wasn't sure he could deal with it anymore. Should he just wade back out and let the sea take him again? It seemed as though it would be the more merciful option than trying to live, but what would the point be?
The dragon had wanted him in Camelot for a reason. It had told him to seek it out and there was no way that Merlin was just going to let it slip now. It meant, though, that he had to do something other than sit here.
"Camelot," Merlin said firmly, gripping the boy by his shoulders so he faced him directly. "Is this Camelot?" he repeated, accentuating every single word he could.
The stare he got in reply was blank and the boy shrugged his shoulders free, picking himself up off of the floor and moving away towards the metal cylinders, stopping when he was a few steps away to look back at Merlin.
Looking over his shoulder, catching a sight of the sea, building itself up for a storm, and the sorry body left out in the rain, Merlin knew he had nothing to lose. This child most likely knew how to navigate the island and he had nothing to lose, but so much to gain.
As they walked along the fence-line, Merlin tried not to think too much about anything. He focused instead on placing one foot in front of the other and staying upright, ignoring the swell of emotions that caught at the back of his throat (where was Hunith, Will, what was he doing, why had he done it, the questions were endless) and ignoring the jolting pain he felt.
They walked for what seemed like hours, the storm worsening and jagged lightning crossing the skies angrily. Merlin had never seen a storm like this in the open, without a pane of glass or storm shutters between him and the elements. He'd been caught out in storms before, but nothing of this scale, with roaring thunder and lightning ripping the skies apart.
Was this all the New World was? A harsher replica of the life he'd left behind? Merlin didn't want to dwell on that too much.
The path they trekked had wound them around in a slight circle, encompassing the isle. Merlin's earlier thought that this was the 'back' of the island looked to be true for, ahead and far away, a mass of writhing figures and colours rose up, stretching from the fence to the shore line (which pushed out further than it had on the side Merlin had been on) and as far back as the eye could see.
Noticing that Merlin had stopped, the urchin boy tugged at his hand, seemingly desperate to get Merlin to keep going. They had already travelled a long way; the base of the Tower was large and Merlin knew it wasn't the only one. From this side of the island, it was easy to see the four other structural bases for the Sky City, five points that merged into one huge column, the thickest of the bases the central one.
If this was Camelot, did the Queen's garden reside in the central base? That is, if the gardens weren't just a projection conjured by the dragon and they really did exist.
Seeing all of this though just reinforced the enormity of the situation. How was Merlin supposed to get inside to find the dragon when it was clear so many more people were queued up at the gates?
But maybe he could find people he knew. Maybe everyone from Ealdor was there already, simply waiting for Merlin. It wasn't such a far-fetched thought, especially as Merlin himself had escaped the wreckage the storm had brought on amazingly unscathed.
"Do you know anything about the Islands?" Merlin asked the boy, desperate to keep his thoughts from building up expectations.
With a group that large, Merlin had no idea if he'd even find Hunith or Will before they were allowed into the city and so he couldn't build up too much hope. He had to consider that the dragon was his only option for finding them and if he was reunited in the mass outside then that was an unforeseen joy. That meant, though, that Merlin needed to keep his mind away from building up hopes and so he chose to talk to the boy. It didn't matter that he'd never receive a reply; he just needed to talk to someone.
"There used to be trees and flowers of every colour, once," Merlin began, a soft smile creeping onto his lips. "I've never seen them aside from old photos, but they looked beautiful."
The boy didn't even turn back, but that didn't bother Merlin.
"Animals too, most of them died out. We had birds and things and livestock, but you hear stories about massive animals that lived under sun-scorched plains and… well I can't imagine it." He craned his head up to look at the structure towering above them. "I wonder if they saved any of the animals," he said quietly, remembering pictures of savannah life he'd seen in books.
That was all that was left of the world now. Books and photographs, and even then they were scarce. Did Camelot have archives of the world it towered above? Did they teach their children the reason they'd had to leave, from pollution and the great ice caps melting and the Great Disaster that had followed it all?
"The Great Disaster," Merlin said, scuffing the toe of his shoes on the ground. There were hundreds of little rocks around, sharp edged and broken up by gravel. It wasn't a place you'd want to fall, that was for sure, and Merlin gave his all to pick his feet up a little.
"No one remembers what the disaster was," he continued and the boy looked at him for a moment, picking his own way across the land. They had come to an area that was sheltered from the rain, passing under the metal structure of the tower though they could both see the storm raging around them.
"I've seen old news clippings though, talking about what was going on. Resources had been drained, they said, the world was destroying itself and the Flood, when it started, was hailed by thousands to be a miracle purge sent by a God." Merlin couldn't help the bitterness from his voice.
His hands had shaken as he'd read that article, a column of words on yellowed newspaper, almost crumbling to the touch. People had said it was their God's way of purging them or punishing them for their sins. To start the world afresh, they'd rejoiced, to wash away the evils of the earth and begin again.
Except no one began again. The Floods hadn't stopped and the tides had simply risen. The Great Disaster – whatever it was – had been the straw to break the camel's back and pushed the Floods past all intervention they'd put up. It had been this surge of the Flood that had broken Ealdor away from the remainder of its country and that had flooded almost the entire world in a few hours.
Merlin had grown up with these stories whispered around him, hidden until he was old enough to 'understand'. It felt strange telling someone who most likely didn't have a faintest idea of how their past had shaped their lives now, someone who probably didn't care.
It was as though he had a huge legacy resting on his shoulders, one of the last Islanders and one of the very few to have made it to the New World. It didn't matter though; who was there to care? The kid leading him didn't care, probably didn't even understand anything he'd said, and there looked as if there were a lot of people outside the gates and none of them would care, too wrapped up in their own stories and lives.
Why should anyone care about Merlin Emrys of Ealdor?
Except a dragon had. The Obsidian stone had thrown him into Camelot and he'd been face-to-face with a creature that had said he was meant for something, brought his dormant magic out and showed him it was there for a reason…
Merlin had been so ready to believe the dragon he'd hardly thought of the consequences. He was separated (that's all because they couldn't have died) from his family, alone for the first time in his life. He closed his eyes, standing still for a moment before the child returned to his side, tugging at his clothes.
"We were one of the last Islands left," Merlin said, smiling grimly down at the boy. He'd started a story and he might as well finish it. For his part, the boy nodded, most likely enjoying the company more than anything.
"I was part of the reason so many people decided to leave. If I hadn't said anything about Camelot or what I'd seen then my mum…" Merlin broke off, blinking back tears. He suddenly didn't want to talk much, just wanted instead to focus his attention on where they were going.
The boy didn't seem to mind, leading Merlin onwards. The journey was long, despite being able to see the camp, and it was at least an hour before he could pick out better details.
It was, simply put, a mass of bodies and scavenged homes. There was nothing glorious or beautiful about it. Amongst a wreck of discarded boats and other waste, people mingled, clumped in groups with the area around each personalised somehow, some with cloths draping their small patch and others with stacks of wood or other materials that had no real use. They were homey touches, trinkets from their past lives, but they also meant much more for Merlin.
If these people had built these little segments, camps, then how long had they been there? How long were they planning to stay there?
The urchin boy stopped when the camp was in clear sight and Merlin could just pick out individual faces. Already he'd started looking for familiar ones, but was drawn away by the boy.
"You can stay with me," Merlin offered, though part of him knew the boy wouldn't. He would have been glad of the company, but Merlin wasn't about to force anyone else to do something they didn't want to.
Still, he held onto a shred of hope that the boy would tag along with him and, for a brief moment, Merlin thought that he would. His hopes were dashed a moment later though, for the boy took off running to the fence, not even sparing a glance over his shoulder to look back at Merlin. But who could blame the kid? Merlin had just foisted himself on him, tagged along when he was almost certainly not wanted.
Urchin children aside, Merlin had a mission now. He needed to get inside the tower somehow and make his way to the dragon, though how he would find the exact location was a plan that would have to be thought up later. Baby steps, that was all Merlin had to take, little steps at a time.
The first thing Merlin noticed about the camp as he drew closer was the stench. Human waste and the scent of decay wafted from the area, despite there still being a large distance between him and the camp and the amount of rain falling. While it wasn't the heaviest rainfall, it was substantial enough to soak Merlin through and wash the camp out. He didn't want to think of how much waste there might be around if he could smell if so clearly already.
As he walked on, Merlin noticed that part of the camp was moving, swaying in time with the sea. The reason behind this wasn't quite clear until he was much closer, a few hundred paces (at most) from entering the camp.
Half (perhaps more) of the area was built on the water. Boats were fixed together and moored to the ground, people slumped over sleeping in them of huddled together in the very ships that had brought them here. Wooden platforms stretched across some boats creating walkways, though the inhabitants of these boats looked even more sour-faced than the rest and Merlin noticed one cloaked woman smack out at someone walking across her boat with the back of her hand.
Even in the little section Merlin could see, there were so many people, all of them crushed tightly together, clinging to the possessions they had left. They looked world-weary, not just tired, but truly sick of living.
Was this the glory of the New World? Where were the wide gates to welcome them all, the people of the skies offering their hand to help them? Did they even know so many people were camped out on their doorstep?
"Oi!" A voice shouted as Merlin hovered on the edge of the camp. "Clear off and get your own space!"
The voice belonged to a woman, grimy with weeks of sea-grime and refugee living. This wasn't the world he'd dreamt of and it certainly wasn't the world he'd thought he'd be coming to when he'd left Ealdor.
"Sorry, I-" Merlin began, but the woman cut him off quickly.
"Go on, get!" she lunged towards him, rocking the boat she was on and drawing alarmed calls from the other occupants. They all turned on Merlin then as well, waving him away and shaking their heads.
It took Merlin a while before he found a boat willing to let him cross over and even more time for him to find a scrap of land to set his feet on. And even then there was nothing but squabbling around him, pushing at him and testing his boundaries.
Merlin was quickly learning that to survive in this New World, he had to be prepared to stand up against others, people who might have suffered greater than him. He couldn't stop to think about the group of young children huddled against older children, he couldn't pause to offer a hand to the man trying to build his own little home on a patch no bigger than their shoulders.
He spent three days picking his way through the refugee camp, scrounging scraps of food from do-gooders, sympathetics who ushered him over. He'd already lost a lot of weight and the fact that he hadn't quite been covered in as much dirt as the remainder of the camp made him look pastier, sicker.
On the third day, Merlin had stumbled through the heart of the camp and onto the outskirts. It was here that he newer refugees came to, hustling against each other for the best space to integrate, pushing and testing the waters around them. Their boats were latched together tightly, too green and scared to even think of leaving the people they knew.
As Merlin walked over, they looked up in hope, as if Merlin was some great Sky-dweller who would choose for them to pass into their haven first. Then as they realised he was just another one of them, squandering in their space, hope turned to distrust and they drew away, turning their backs.
That was fine though. Merlin wasn't here to make friends with them. He was here looking for people he knew, for friends and family. There was a chance he could find them before he had no other option but to find the dragon, but it was a slim and pitiful one. It would be better just to hope and find them after, fall back on that plan rather than waste valuable time seeking them out when there was nothing he could do right now.
"Excuse me," Merlin began, again and again, repeating the same words tiredly. He usually only got those two words out before he was waved off, sent packing with usually only dirty looks, but a few people had handed him morsels of food, blessing him with old prayers and well-wishes.
Even in a place full of such despair and grief, there was still a sense of community and family. Strangers passed on good luck, praying to their gods on a boy they knew nothing about. It wasn't hard to smile when he passed those people and Merlin bowed his head in return, hand slipping over the Obsidian in his pocket, wishing he had something to give back.
It took almost two more days of constant walking before Merlin reached the central part of the camp. He'd hoped… well, he wasn't sure what he'd hoped for aside from a familiar face, but he still hadn't found it. He'd found the boarder of the water now and had one foot on land (it was strange to not feel the sway of the sea after so long walking on the water), the other left on a boat.
"Get a move on then, boy," someone hissed, trying to shoo Merlin away while another- younger – voice protested.
"No! You can't go!" The scrubby face of a child looked up, hair matted and eyes wide. She wasn't an orphan, but Merlin had learnt her father had left a week or so ago to try and find food while her mother looked after her, lost in grief after losing her son.
Like so many of these pitiful people.
Merlin knew the only reason the girl didn't want him to leave was because he had given her a morsel of food. Just a scrap of bread, but her mother had thanked him graciously, given him a cloak in return before withdrawing into their little world again.
About to explain why he had to go, Merlin frowned as a low humming sounded over the camp and, as if a shock had been passed through the camp, a flurry of activity shot up.
Small police boats were manoeuvring where they could through the water-logged part of the camp, pushing small boats out of the way if they had to. A few of the officers on board climbed down onto the boat walk-ways, looking around for something.
A hand rose in the air and one of the officers, clad head to toe in black, helmet covering any noticeable features, grabbed a young boy on the boat, marching him towards the waiting Police boats. The people he had left behind moved together, clutching at each other and the wails of a mother torn from her child filled the air.
Whispers ran wild around Merlin as people realised they were 'picking' and families reacted in two different ways.
"Take him! Take my son!" a man called out, standing up in his boat and pushing his child forwards. The police stepped up to the boat, placed a hand on the man's shoulder and pushed him back down, ignoring the child completely.
The other reaction was to squirrel the young away, hide them from whatever was going on. Merlin watched, perplexed, at the reactions, the police ignoring all of them and taking the children they wanted, as if they had some agenda.
"What's going on?" he asked a nearby refugee, refusing to take his eyes away from the scene.
"They've come for the Pickings. Take the children they want into the Sky City, for a better future, or so the rumour says." Merlin saw three more children selected and frog-marched to the boats, loaded up easily. "Some people believe it, others don't. Some hope for a better life for their kids, others just want to stay together."
The Pickings lasted for another few minutes before the roar of boats sounded again and the police negotiated the waters, manoeuvring backwards until they were out on the open sea. The small fleet moved as one, until Merlin couldn't see them anymore over the mass of people between him and the sea, the holes in the network made by the police boats filling again.
"Where do they take them?" Merlin asked, wondering whether they were taken over to the central tower or if there was a way to get to Camelot from this tower.
"To the Western gate. From then on, no one knows," was the reply before Merlin was shunted again, the camp simmering down again.
Merlin had a goal now. He had to make it to the gate if he wanted to get into Camelot, which meant he had to push on through the camp until he found the gate. And when he found the gate, he'd be one step closer to finding his dragon.
Did he fit the criteria laid down for entering the city? The police had been quite specific about what they'd selected, taking only hardy looking children, avoiding the ill and the frail. Had they chosen these children simply because they were the most likely to survive or for another reason? Not that it really mattered, it wasn't as if Merlin could change himself at all to fit what the police wanted.
Merlin passed under the tower structure, the rain that had been pouring dimming down until it was dry. The people in this part of the camp were more settled than those out in the full elements, but Merlin was met with more hostility and unable to beg for scraps of food.
For hours, all Merlin could allow himself to think about was placing one foot in front of the other, making his way through the camp. He was hungry, but not starving, so he could continue on, ignoring the churning in his belly, the saliva that filled his mouth whenever his eyes caught site of someone eating.
He was tired, wet and hungry. All he had were his familiar clothes, too ruined now to say that he could keep them once he found something new to wear, and his cloak, made of thin and dirtied material. He couldn't say what colour it had once been, but Merlin couldn't bring himself to care. There was an ache in his chest he couldn't shake either and it beat in time with his heart, reminding him of all he'd lost, all he'd thrown away on a stone.
And, of course, he still had the Obsidian. For a while Merlin had considered trading it with someone for something, anything, and the thought hadn't been fully shaken. Realistically though, Merlin knew he needed the stone, needed to save it for when he entered Camelot. The Obsidians held importance in Camelot, or at least they used to. It would get Merlin noticed if he used it at the right moment and could probably fetch him a good price.
He reached the westernmost point of the camp a few days later, after squabbling for scraps of food and, after much mental debate, sacrificing his shoes. They'd fetched a good price, a week of supplies if Merlin stretched himself, and the pain of stumbling through the camp was worth it when he could take an edge off of the clawing hunger.
It was no different to the rest of the camp. Merlin stood on the edge, surrounded by people from so many places with the sea on his left, fence to his right and his bare feet hovering over the edge of a thin boat, toes just brushing the large channel of sea water that ran from the ocean up through the gate and, presumably, to the Tower. The gate that had been mentioned was a small thing, just large enough to accommodate one of the police boats at a time, a little wider than the columns that ran around the fence.
People milled around, even up to the gate. No one stood directly in the channel, but Merlin could tell some were judging it, trying to catch the attention of anyone who might be watching from within.
It was then that Merlin's eyes caught movement from the other side of the channel, to where a group of children were playing up near the fence. It didn't take a genius to work out that they didn't belong to the camp and were, instead, the urchin children, taking turns to push each other up near the gate.
A shattering noise erupted as the urchins got too close, sending them scattering as someone fired their gun, the bullets hitting the water in a means just to scare them away. Even so, it was clear that anyone who wasn't welcome would be sent away in fear or simply dealt with using a bullet to the back of their head and their body dumped into the water.
The boat he was on rocked as it was buffered by the wind. The ocean had been churning violently lately, driven by the rain and the wind, and now the effect was turning to the shore. People began hunkering down, holding onto each other, muttering about staying together against the storms.
About to turn away and give in, Merlin felt a jolt in his chest. It was almost as if a memory had returned full force, but stronger, the thrill wracking through his entire body. Every nerve tingled as if telling him to push on, the first sign of his magic since leaving Ealdor.
Merlin swayed on his feet, the boat surging up as a wave passed through the water-borne part of the camp, several cries of alarm ringing out. The tingle of magic continued through Merlin, as if trying to force its way out, and Merlin doubled over, gritting his jaw at the uncomfortable feeling.
The boat rocked again and Merlin saw it happen as if in slow motion. His foot lost its hold on the boat and he fell forwards, arms stretching out as he plunged into the water.
It was freezing and dirty. Water rushed to fill Merlin's ears and mouth as he gasped for air, having lost whatever breath he'd had when the cold water had hit him. The cloak wrapped around his body instantly, comforting almost as the ends floated towards the surface, the only thing Merlin could make out from the murky world around him.
His magic tingled again, jerking through Merlin's body, before something grabbed at the back of his neck. It hurt, jarring against his magic and his numb limbs, but something kept hauling him up, pulling him firmly.
Spluttering, Merlin lay limp as he was dragged through the water, blinking through sea salt and the scum that had lay on top of the water as urchin children surrounded him. Their hands petted down his cloak, little fingers running over his body as they searched for something, a small cry of triumph sounding when they found the pouch of food Merlin had tied around his waist.
Though the food was sodden through, the urchins were happy to take it away, nodding at each other and grunting. They squabbled like animals, fighting each other for the scraps, and Merlin watched them while his heart slowed down, eyes darting over to the other side of the channel, back to the refugee camp. No one was looking in his direction, no one had been prepared to leap down to save him, but these urchins had.
His magic still tingled, but it was subdued now, as if it was content that Merlin was here. Even so, what was he to do now? He still had the same problem crossing the fence line and now he was stuck on the wrong side of the camp.
It was then he noticed the boy beside him, plucking at threads on Merlin's cloak. He looked a little dirtier, hair scruffed up in a ridiculous manner, but he was still the same child that had led Merlin to the camp in the first place.
"How did you get here?" Merlin asked quickly, eyes raking around the area, determined to find where the child could have come from. He hadn't been through the camp, not when he'd refused to set foot there before, and there hadn't been enough time for him to go around the other way on the island.
The boy looked up, eyes wide and unafraid. He stood and took the end of Merlin's cloak with him, tugging as he walked. It left Merlin with little choice but to follow, damp and barefooted over the stony ground of the island.
"Where are we going?" he asked, even though he knew he wasn't going to get an answer. The boy simply kept walking, dragging Merlin away from people he could have talked to, could have forged a new life with.
But would it have been a life? No. Would he have been happy? Never. He had to find a dragon and maybe, just maybe, this child could help.
And he did, leading Merlin along the island until they came to one of the columns in the fence. It was slightly rusted, but no less intimidating. Merlin wondered if any of the police were behind it, but the children were calm, gathered at the base and clumped together in small groups.
As they approached the column, Merlin noticed that part of the base was missing. It led directly to the other side of the fence, guarded by the urchins and clearly a treasured part of their lives. So this was how they got around the island and why the children back when Merlin had woken up had run to the columns. They could be opened, the perfect way to get around in secrecy.
"Thank you," Merlin whispered, jaw practically hanging open as a few children slipped out of the column. He was by the fence now, awestruck at how easy it was to get through when there were so many people just crowded by the gates, hoping that they could strike lucky.
He didn't doubt, though, that these secret entrances were guarded to the death by the urchins. Whatever Merlin had done to be placed in the good books with the boy attached to his cloak, he was glad for it.
More and more of the urchin children clumped together, huddling together and turning towards the entrance in the column. The boy with Merlin ignored the wild grunts and hisses that escaped the other children as they walked forwards, pushing past the crowds until they stood near the front. It was only then that the boy sat down, pulling harshly at Merlin's cloak until he too took a seat.
Nothing happened. They sat there for a few minutes, the children silenced completely. For a moment, Merlin wondered whether they had chosen to sacrifice him in a barbaric ritual or something, until he heard a rare whistle.
Immediately the urchins around him sat up a little, straightening with smiles plastered on their dirty faces. Merlin perked up too, wondering who was about to come from the other side of the fence, waiting nervously.
"How many do we have today?" a warm voice called from inside of the column, just before an old man emerged, carrying a large satchel and accompanied by a younger woman.
Instantly, the children began to chatter to themselves, not-quite-sounds spilling from their mouths as they shifted in excitement. Despite their appearances, it seemed that some people did care for them, or at least the basic necessities judging from the way the woman set down her own satchel.
A few of the urchins moved to the front, shuffling excitedly as the old man took out another bag from the satchel, a smaller one full of what looked to be bandages and water.
Without any hesitation, the old man began washing small wounds and scrapes the urchins had, patching them up the best he could, considering they were wild children. His companion stopped digging through her bag and instead began handing out small parcels to the children, ruffling their hair occasionally.
Merlin's urchin clambered to his feet, nodded at Merlin, leading them towards the newcomers. The little parcels looked to be morsels of food, not too lavish, but enough that the children wouldn't starve.
Did they come from the city above? Merlin knew that the refugee camp received some supplies, but they were hardly ever shared fairly and never given to everyone. If these people came from Camelot, they were fairer than anyone who had ever given out rations to the camp.
The woman's smile faded abruptly as she saw Merlin and her eyes widened, hand flying to her chest. A few of the urchins moved forward to tug on the long skirts she wore, gesturing to the satchel at her feet, but she shook her head mutely, turning towards the old man and reaching for him with her other hand.
"What is it my dear?" the man said, not turning his attention from the young boy he was currently cleaning up. When all he received was another scrambled clutch at his arm, the man looked up, eyebrows rising as he laid eyes on Merlin.
The man was about to speak when the little urchin by his side moved forwards, jutting his chin and puffing out his chest. The woman moved back a little, returning to her satchel to continue handing out food, but the man stopped his work, looking Merlin up and down.
"You can't be one of the wild children," he commented, frowning a little. "I've never seen you before and I think we would have noticed you. They keep their elders in command the children do," the man added, almost to himself, as if he was used to speaking his thoughts rather than keeping them in his head.
"Though I fear you have no idea what I'm saying, but you are a fascinating creature." The man moved his head slightly from side to side, as if it would help him to evaluate exactly who Merlin was.
"I'm not a creature," Merlin replied instead, drawing a look of shock from the man. He looked back at the woman who had stopped again, her eyes fearful.
"You can talk?" the man asked and Merlin nodded, frowning.
"The urchins helped me out of the water when I fell into the channel… by the gate?" He hoped they knew what he was referring to and, by the shake of his head, Merlin guessed the man did.
"That horrible thing," he muttered, glancing to the woman. "You came from the refugee camp then?" At Merlin's nod, he continued, giving a brief smile to the boy in front of Merlin. "How long have you been there?"
The questions were justified and perhaps in his old life Merlin might have been annoyed for the intrusion, but he was now simply happy that he had someone to talk to who was interested in him and not just being polite for possible food. The camp was harsh and lonely and Merlin hadn't realised how much he'd missed talking until now.
"A week. Maybe more. I'm not quite sure," he admitted, seeing only kindness and curiosity in the old man's eyes.
While their ages couldn't have been too far apart, this man reminded Merlin nothing of Old Man Simmons. While Simmons had a cold look in his eyes, this man was sincere, kind and curious. Merlin willed the thoughts away, knowing that he couldn't dwell on the past now that he was here. He had to think forward and that meant blocking the people from Ealdor, at least for a short while.
"A week?" The man's eyebrows shot up again. "We didn't get any reports of more people coming… are you sure?"
Somehow he managed to make Merlin feel like a child with a single look. Merlin shuffled uncomfortably where he stood, resting a hand on the urchin's shoulder.
"I came from Ealdor, an Island. The last Island probably," Merlin said in afterthought, looking at the man, hoping that he knew something.
"We thought the Islands had been flooded years back," he said, shaking his head sadly. "But it's a blessing that you're here now, you couldn't have had an easy journey."
Merlin acknowledged the man with a nod, bowing his head slightly. The woman moved over to the urchin accompanying Merlin and gave him one of the food packages, ruffling his hair and giving him a heart-warming smile.
"Oh!" the old man suddenly said. "I haven't introduced us yet, have I?" He smiled at the woman, drawing her forwards by taking her hand. "This is Eigyr and I'm Gaius. We're part of the Druids who live in the drowned world through the fence."
Merlin took the hand Gaius offered to him, shaking it gently. He didn't know what the druids were, or what the drowned world was, but he'd found people now he could actually talk to, people who looked as if they could sustain themselves well, considering they were handing out food to the urchin children.
"I'm Merlin, from Ealdor as I said before." He smiled at Gaius before turning to Eigyr, offering his hand awkwardly. She didn't take it, instead taking a minute step back, eyes darting over to Gaius.
Despite her obvious fear of him, there was something familiar about Eigyr, as if he had met her before. It was a ridiculous thought of course, for how could he have met her? Merlin had never left Ealdor and she had clearly never left the New World.
"Are you alone?" Gaius asked, turning away from Merlin as he inspected a child with a cut on his forehead.
"I am now," Merlin answered, dragging his eyes away from Eigyr to watch Gaius tend to the remaining children. The crowd had thinned out now, some darting into the fence and the world beyond while others were walking back out across the wasteland here, chasing each other or crouching down to eat the food they'd been given.
"Now?" Gaius asked absently, nodding to the last child waiting and frowning at the wound on his stomach as the boy lifted up his clothing, little more than scraps of cloth and dirtied material.
"There was a storm," Merlin began, looking away. "I don't know what happened, but we couldn't have been too far from the shore as I washed up perfectly fine."
Finished looking at the urchin's stomach, and after dabbing at it with a cloth that he'd put a potion or something on, Gaius looked up at Merlin with a frown.
"You washed up? Just like that?" His eyebrows were raised and Merlin felt suddenly nervous.
"Yes, on the other side of the island. The boy who brought me here was over there too when the…" Merlin broke off. He had no idea how things in this land worked or who the druids were in connection to the police, but what did he have to lose? "The police opened fire on some other children."
Gaius nodded solemnly, but it was Eigyr who reacted more openly, her breath hitching and a hand reaching for Gaius' shoulder, clutching at the fabric of his clothing. Gaius looked away from Merlin then, turning his back and speaking in a hushed whisper to the frail woman behind him.
Even though he hadn't been there for that long, Merlin could see that she didn't fully belong. Gaius held the same air, but his was diminished, something Merlin didn't take full note of. But Eigyr, she was something else.
When she wasn't slumped slightly, she held herself daintily, back straight and elegant, her eyes fixed on a point far away. He could see the beauty on her face, hidden behind mud and strands of dirty hair that looked as if it could have been blonde once. She hadn't spoken once and Merlin wondered whether that was through choice or if she couldn't.
Like Merlin, she clearly didn't belong in the New World's slums. While he belonged back on his Island, he had no idea where she could have come from, someone with all the regal bearing of a queen and yet to have chosen to stick to the slums?
That didn't count the familiarity he felt either. Merlin felt as if he knew Eigyr, that there was some sort of connection between them, staring at him, right there and yet he was too blind to see it.
"Yes," Gaius said darkly, passing the child he had been seeing to a bundle off food and then beginning to wrap his bandages and potions back up. "It's their form of pest control, when they're not taking their share in the Pickings."
Gaius held out a food bundle to Merlin's urchin, tilting his head down a little to regard the boy with a stern look. "Now, Mordred, are you going to join us or are you still upset about what happened last week?"
The boy took the food, shaking his head, causing Gaius to sigh.
"Very well then, but Alvarr wanted to see you. He didn't say what about, but perhaps you could pop round later hm?" Gaius finished packing the last of his materials and picked the bundle up, nodding to Eigyr. Mordred scampered off then, after a quick glance to Merlin, leaving him torn as to follow or stay.
The choice was taken out of his hands, though, when Gaius spoke up again.
"You're welcome to follow Mordred as there's no doubt he'll come back to us eventually, but am I correct in thinking you'd prefer a roof over your head and some good food?" Eigyr had already wandered through the hole in the fence pillar and Gaius was half-turned towards it too.
Merlin hesitated for a moment, casting a glance to Mordred's disappearing form and then back at the refugee camps. The druids seemed like they knew the layout of the New World well so perhaps one could be able to get him inside, and Merlin did need decent food and some rest. The refugee camp had nothing for him and a life with Mordred seemed bleaker by the second.
And Gaius could speak. Even though they hadn't talked much, Merlin had missed talking, missed forming words and conversing, as stupid as that sounded. It wasn't a hard choice, in the end, and Merlin followed Gaius and Eigyr through the rusted hole in the fence, taking care that he didn't get wet as Gaius called out.
"There's a reason it's called the drowned world!" Gaius said, smiling over his shoulder. "You'll get used to it eventually, hopping from bank to bank, but be prepared to get a bit wet."
.
.