Hey, lookie, it's chapter three! I told you guys we weren't dead. Ok, ok, it took longer than a couple weeks to write this thing, but it will be very much worth it.
Warning #1: VERY long. Go to the bathroom, get something to eat/drink, tell the parental units you'll be busy for a while. This thing is long and will take you a while to read. We hope you enjoy it.
Warning #2: Gore in the middle somewhere. Nothing past the CSI level, but it's there.
Get out your history books, folks, this is where it starts to kick in!
Thanks from MerlinStar and Isis the Sphinx to MagicbyMerlin for beta-ing this chapter. Will you do chapter 4?
Disclaimer: I, (Isis the Sphinx) and MerlinStar do not own Merlin or Linkin Park's New Divide. Please don't sue.
Chapter Three
The year is 1067. Five hundred years have passed, and Camelot is barely a flicker on the bleak horizon of Albion's past. Albion - now named England - once so strong, such a mighty fortress and great stronghold in the world, was now just a large heap of charred remains in comparison to its former glory. The fall of the Roman Empire still casts its ugly shadow on the rest of Europe. The Dark Ages. Those with direct roman lineage or large amounts of land and wealth quickly became powerful in the vacuum that Rome left. They ruled their people with an iron fist; they levied high taxes on the people, dropping them into poverty, fighting over the last scraps of food. Education disappeared, only the clergy knew how to read and write. Not even the nobility knew how to any more.
Even with such darkness and despair lingering in every corner, there were still places of peace. Places where the sun would rise strong and bright. The wind would blow and bring with it sounds and memories of better times. People still whispered about the great kingdom, a legend where the food was bountiful and the royalty listened to its people: of a red standard and a golden dragon flapping in the wind.
The wind blew, and a willow's branches moved in the breeze. This was the largest willow one would ever see. Three feet across and seven feet high was the trunk: it was a monster, looming over any man that came near it. Light green leaves rubbed together, sounding like rain. On one side of the large trunk, was the outline of a hollow. It was closed up, so any man that came across it thought that the tree had just grown over it. The hollow faced the East, and the bark on that side was lighter than any other side.
Inside, the occupant that had been sleeping for five hundred years stirred. His magic reacted again with that of the tree, bringing him out of an induced sleep, and easing him into a natural one. He turned onto his side, mumbled, and relaxed.
Merlin slept for another whole day.
The next day, a woman came up to the tree at dawn. She went up and touched the tree where the top of the hollow would be. A silver sheen came up, flashed brightly, and faded away slowly. Where the closed over hollow was, now was a true hollow, with Merlin sleeping soundly inside. Caoimhe smiled, and reached to shake his shoulder.
"Merlin, it's time to wake up now."
He mumbled back in response, "Five more minutes, Gaius. Leave me 'lone."
Caoimhe narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips at this. So he was going to be difficult? So be it.
"Merlin, if you don't get up this second I will close this hollow up and leave you in there for all eternity!!" she screeched.
Merlin sat up immediately.
"I'm up, I'm up, no need to shout Gai...Caoimhe?"
The sun was rising, and was right behind Caoimhe, shining straight into Merlin's face. He had a hard time seeing her; he had a hard time seeing anything for that matter. Then he slumped.
"I was hoping it had all been a dream. A really bad dream, and that when I woke up it would be to Gaius or Arthur banging on my door, telling me to get up."
"I am sorry, Merlin, but it's not. Much time has passed."
"And Camelot? Is Camelot still standing? Is Arthur still king?"
Caoimhe bowed her head, and turned away from the hollow, forcing Merlin to follow her. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, but soon got over it.
"Caoimhe? Where is Camelot?" He was looking to the North, where in the distance he remembered Camelot to be. On this hill he had been able to see the very tops of the battlements and the proud flags flapping. Not now. Now there was nothing but trees in that direction. Caoimhe turned to face him, tears streaming down her face.
"It fell, Merlin. It fell so long ago."
He stood stock still, unable to believe it. Camelot, gone? The blood drained from his already pale face.
"…And Arthur?"
"Gone."
Merlin fell to his knees and screamed. This scream was exactly like Arthur's when Uther had died. Merlin had lost it all. Gaius had died, his mother, Hunith had died, Will had died, and his last pillar was Arthur. And Arthur was dead. He had promised he would be there for him. The other side of the coin.
"How?"
"Mordred drove Excalibur through his stomach."
Sorrow turned into rage and self-hate inside Merlin. Mordred?! That shy little boy that they, Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, and he had saved? But he was so innocent. And Arthur had saved his life! He owed Arthur his life!
But hadn't the Dragon told him that Mordred would destroy Camelot? Didn't he tell him to let Mordred die by Uther's hand? They said hindsight gave one perfect vision. Dammit! He should have listened to the Dragon, as annoying as he was.
"Arrh!" he yelled. "How did it all fall apart? How did it all disappear like dust in the wind?" He rounded on Caoimhe. "This is your entire fault, Caoimhe. You didn't let me stay at Camelot! I could have saved him. I could have saved it all!"
Caoimhe was shaking.
"I'm sorry, Merlin, but I had to. I had no choice. You know this!"
Merlin narrowed his eyes.
"How did it start?"
Caoimhe's voice was barely louder than the wind blowing through the branches of the willow.
"Arthur spent two years searching for you. The first year the whole kingdom was like a disturbed anthill, spreading out everywhere to find you. He put out proclamations; any information to your location had its reward. And if anyone had captured you – or worse – harmed you, they were as good as dead.
"The second year searches died down, trickling smaller and smaller until it was just him and a few knights. He would call them 'Hunting trips,' running around all over Camelot, and a little way outside its borders looking for you. Morgana had to eventually convince him to stop. And that took an argument larger and more heated than any she had against Uther. Nothing said in that argument was secret. And both Arthur and Morgana said a couple things they regretted.
"Morgana left six months later. Where she went, no one in Camelot knew.
"The crops started failing after that. But it was slow. The summers weren't as warm or sunny as they needed to be. Too many clouds. The yields just dropped. And then the blight came. The wheat harvest failed miserably. People starved, but not many died from the famine. True to his word, Arthur kept his people alive with food from the royal stores. It weakened the kingdom, but everyone survived. Border raids increased, treaties weakened, everything that could've been a nightmare for a kingdom without outright war, it happened.
And it wasn't just outside the castle that things were falling apart. You know that Arthur was madly in love with Gwen, right?"
Merlin nodded. The whole kingdom knew. He was crazy about her.
"...Gwen wasn't so much in love with him. One day, just out of the blue, Gwen was gone. There was a note in her chambers. She eloped with Lancelot. Sir Lancelot, the one who had sworn his life to Arthur, ran away with Arthur's life, his very heart."
Caoimhe shrugged.
"After that, Arthur just collapsed within himself. Well, he continued to rule his kingdom justly – better than most – but the energy was gone. He was going through the motions. And then some small kingdom across the channel attacked Camelot. Arthur beat them back, but Camelot was weakened even more. It was ready to fall. A beaten king, hungry people, and a shattered army. Camelot was finished. And Mordred came and took it. He just…walked right in. The battle was right there in the castle. No one was ready for it. Blood…and screams…someone set fire in the kitchens. It spread so quickly. Those who weren't killed by the sword died in the fire.
"Mordred died that night, though. He didn't have a chance to rule the kingdom he took. Arthur was evacuated that same night. He commanded his remaining knights and soldiers to take him beyond the White Mountains."
"The Blessed Isle? Why?"
"Because I went to him and told him to. I told him to throw Excalibur into the lake before he died."
"Why?" Merlin was becoming suspicious. Should he have listened to her in the first place?
"He is the Once and Future King. He had to survive to the right time, when he could truly unite the land. He threw the sword into the water, supported by two men."
Caoimhe paused to regain her breath and collect her thoughts.
"You remember that small boat at the edge of the dock? I replaced it with a barge. Morgana was there. She is one of my ladies, a lower level Priestess of the Old Magic."
"But...she left."
"And came to me. She saw that she had to leave, and she knew what would happen. Arthur is in a kind of sleep, but much deeper than you ever were."
Merlin blinked.
"Will he ever wake up?"
"He will."
"When?"
"When the time is right."
Merlin grumped.
"Y'know that is one of the most annoying phrases in the entire world. I mean, when is the right time? It's just not specific. A few hours from now? Days? Weeks? Years? When the last leaf on that tree falls off for the year?" His shoulders were slumped.
"It will be a very long time, Merlin." Caoimhe waved her hand in front of her face like she was shooing away a fly. "But you will be too busy to worry about that. The first part of your mission is to start today."
"What is it?" He was curious, he did have to admit. If the gods went through all this effort to get him here, it must be something big. Was there some sort of magical monster he had to fight off? Usually, he didn't do the fighting, exactly – that was Arthur's job. He just made the weapons that would render Arthur able to kill the monsters. Then he stood back and watched and made sure that Arthur didn't get himself killed in the process. When that did happen – and happened it did every now and then – he was there to save Arthur's skin.
But he would fight the monsters by himself for now, if the gods wanted it.
"Your mission is to live."
"I'm sorry, what?" Wait, what? That made no sense. Wasn't he living now?
"You are to live. There is a rather large historical landmark going on right now, and the best way to learn it is to live it."
Merlin's eyes narrowed. Caoimhe took that as to mean to go on.
"Here's the information I can give you. The year is 1067. Albion has –"
"1067! I've been asleep for 500 years?"
"Yes, Merlin, you've been asleep for 500 years. Get used to it. Now, Albion has been renamed Britain. You would do well to remember this, or people will look at you oddly. The Holy Roman Catholic Church has taken a stronghold on the western world, including here. Although the old ways have not been completely forgotten, the Catholic Church is working on it. And they are doing a good job. You have to be careful with your magic. I cannot even go into town because of my wings. Unless I want to paint them white and call myself an angel. Anyway, be careful. A powerful man from Normandy – which is across the channel – called William the First, has taken power in London. While southern Britain has bowed to his rule – which had support from the Pope – northern Britain, Scotland, Wales and Ireland have been rebelling ever since last year. They want their ruler upon the throne once more. You are to go North into Scotland and live out some of your life there."
"Anything specific that I am supposed to do?"
"Lodge with a family? The gods weren't too specific. Unfortunately. It seems they delight in being vague. A week's walk should get you to where you need to be. There are supplies in the bag next to the tree. Avoid the soldiers on your way North and you should be fine."
Merlin turned to go.
"On last thing, before you go." He looked at her. "Be back here in ten years. That is the amount of time the gods have given you for now."
Merlin nodded, turned, and started walking North.
A day of walking had past when a thought occurred to Merlin. Where was his spell book? He blinked, sat down next to a moderately sized maple, and dumped the entire contents of his bag onto the ground. Food, extra clothes that looked like they would fit, a few hard-to-find medicinal herbs, and a couple of daggers Merlin had never seen before tumbled out. There was still weight in the bag. He peered in, and there, at the bottom of the bag, was his book.
"Yes! Thank you, Caoimhe!"
Wildlife scurried away at his loud exclamation. He began to put things away after this. He knew that which was in his spell book, and it was safe there. He picked up the two daggers and examined them. Dark leather sheaths protected him from eight-inch long blades. The ivory hilts had the Pendragon crest carved in on one side and two different birds on the other. One, he could tell, was a phoenix. The other he had no idea what it was exactly, but it looked like a small hawk of some sort. The edge of the hilt had tiny, almost miniscule rubies and garnets embedded in the metal surrounding the ivory. In all, the two daggers were beautiful pieces of work, without even having to unsheathe them.
Around the sheath of one of the daggers was a note:
Merlin,
The times ahead of you will not be easy. Danger lies ahead. These were commissioned specifically for you, before Camelot fell. Arthur had been planning to give them to you on your birthday, but never got the chance. I give them to you now, in the hopes that they aid you, and keep you safe.
They were made to blend with your magic, and the gems can store pure magical strength.
I suggest you learn to use them soon.
Caoimhe
The pain of everything came through again, harder with this reminder. Still, he was happy that something of Camelot had survived. Something that Arthur had meant to give to him.
Though he was glad to be awake again and out of the tree, Merlin didn't enjoy the journey North. Perhaps it was just his shock at Camelot's fall, but he felt a deep sense of dread and foreboding. His family and friends were gone, his home ruined, and his whole life torn apart. And now he was forced to go out into this cruel, alien world and start a new life. What had he done to deserve this?
The soldiers scattered about the countryside, as Caoimhe had warned, posed a problem. Being a stranger to this new Albion, this Britain, Merlin felt obliged to avoid contact for the time being. What would he tell them if they asked where he came from? What he was doing there? Best to keep to the shadows of reality while he still could.
Although he passed many small villages on his journey, Merlin entered only a few, and only briefly, to collect supplies. Something – maybe his magic, or maybe just instinct – told him that they were not the right place to stay, that the people would not welcome his kind there. And so onwards he travelled.
One village had a travelling holy man staying in the inn's best room. He was bargaining for a lower price on travelling bread and dried beef when he heard it.
"...heard he's here to save our souls..."
"More like take out money..."
"...search out the devil's worshippers..."
"…Evil magic doers at the stake...."
"...repent..."
Merlin knew then and there that he had to go. He immediately agreed to whatever overpriced cost the stall keeper wanted, and ran out of the village as fast as his feet could take him. He got a few stares, and someone began to point, but he was gone and in the forest before anyone could come after him.
If this is what the future was coming to, it was bleak indeed.
*
A week later, on a warm autumn evening, as the daylight was fading, Merlin found himself on the outskirts of a small village, tucked away among the Scottish Mooreland. Drawing closer, he saw small children running about, making the most of the daylight that was constantly trickling away, and he smiled. This was it, he was sure of it. His new home, the beginnings of his strange new life. His magic tingled in his chest warmly, cementing that he should be here, instead of anywhere else.
As he wandered through the village, he earned himself glances from several adults, though thankfully most were just curious and not oppressive or threatening. There was a main thoroughfare, where the market stalls and council hall were. Around this were small homes, two inns, and the blacksmith's forge. Off to one end was a tanner's. Further back were farming fields, with a couple of small houses in the distance.
To his right he spotted a small family, all five of them watching him with inquisitive friendliness. A woman, a little younger than himself, pretty, with long brown hair flowing down her back. He was reminded a little of Morgana, though this woman's hair was much lighter, and her features gentler. She smiled.
Next to her stood a short, cheerful-looking man with short, strikingly ginger hair. He looked in his late forties, Merlin guessed, and was tanned and a little muscular.
Around their feet raced three children: two boys – twins, he guessed – and a girl. Like their father, they all had vivid reddish-brown hair. Merlin turned toward this family. Maybe he'd say hi, see where that got him.
The man stepped forward and held out his hand.
"Name's Murdo, nice to meet you," he said.
"I'm Merlin," the warlock replied, shaking Murdo's hand. "I'm a traveller, come North in the hope of finding work, and a new, better life. I was wondering if you knew of anywhere I could stay…?"
"You'd be welcome to stay with us, lad. We've a little space in our cottage. I'm a blacksmith, and in need of an extra pair of hands to help me. Rhona – that's my wife," he gestured towards the woman with long hair, "Rhona used to help, but the harvest's been poor this year, and the work in the fields much harder. I'm afraid I can't pay very much, but if you're interested you're welcome to lodge with us."
"No, that'd be great! Any jobs I can find would be brilliant! Really, just a roof over my head and a little food would be fine," Merlin exclaimed.
"Right then, I'd better introduce you to my family. This is my wife Rhona, my sons Octa and Osric, and my daughter, Maud. Rhoda, this is Merlin. He's travelled from down South in search of a job, and has offered to help out in the smithy."
Rhona smiled and led Merlin inside, into his new home.
*
Working in Murdo's smithy brought back memories for Merlin of his time in Camelot. As he worked in the forge, helping sweep and tidy up, and gradually learning the trade itself from Murdo, his mind wandered back to Gwen. Gwen – sweet, innocent Gwen. She'd just been a lowly servant when he'd arrived in Camelot, but had eventually come to be Arthur's wife, his queen, and the most respected woman in the whole of Camelot. And she had betrayed him! She'd eloped with Lancelot, and left Arthur broken-hearted. His joy, his love, his life was wrecked. She had only added to Arthur's pressure of running the kingdom, to his worries about looking after Camelot. How could she have done it? How could she have changed so much?
As well as working in the smithy, Merlin helped in the fields and, in spare moments of relaxation, playing with and talked to the children. He grew very close to the family and, only when alone and unoccupied, noticed the vague sense he had of oncoming danger, and trouble. What could go wrong here, anyway? He was in safe hands, and away from any violence that might be brewing in the larger cities around Britain. He was safe, or so it seemed, anyway.
Maud was smart for a young girl at the age of ten. While soft-spoken, she wasn't shy, and made sure that her friends were taken care of. Often her friends would come running to her instead of their parents when they got a scraped knee or banged their heads. Rhona had taught Maud a little herb-lore, and she loved the subject. Merlin noticed this and wanted to teach her what he knew. He intended to bring it up with her parents soon.
Octa and Osric were two years younger than their sister, at eight, but that didn't mean they weren't a bundle of trouble. They were identical, and would drive their mother up a tree when they switched names. It didn't help that their names both started with 'o'. Even though they were considered the village troublemakers, that was only when they were together. Osric took an interest in his father's work, always hanging around the forge, helping out whenever Murdo or Merlin needed another set of hands, or when an odd job needed to be done.
Octa had a thing for numbers, and when he went with his mother to market, he helped her to get the best bargains on goods. The stallholders had finally decided to give up whenever they saw Rhona and Octa coming their way.
Rhona was the third child of four; the other three were her brothers, who had also married in the village. While calm and compassionate, Rhona was a force of nature when she wanted to be. Both Merlin and Murdo found themselves cowering under her glare at times when they had displeased her. It came from having to deal with three brothers. Rhona did all the things any housewife would have to do, but her hobby was gardening. She had a small herb garden in the back of the house, fenced in to keep deer and over-enthusiastic children out.
Murdo was a perpetually happy man. He always had a small smile or a large grin on his face, and it was easy to make him laugh.
"Why do you laugh so hard, Daddy?" Osric asked one day.
Murdo laughed lightly and bent down to ruffle his son's hair.
"So I'll live longer. I figure, that if I laugh enough, I'll live to be one hundred, and then I'll get to see my grandchildren have children!" And then Murdo laughed some more, and Merlin smiled, shook his head, and went back to sweeping the floor.
It was when Maud turned twelve; two years later that Merlin thought she should start learning herb-lore. It took a lot of patience and discipline to learn which plant did what, and Merlin thought Maud had it. She was very mature at her age, and she had a good memory.
The children were already in bed and Rhona and Murdo were clearing up the last bits of the day, when Merlin came up to them.
"Murdo, Rhona, can I talk to you for a bit?"
Murdo's eyebrows knitted themselves together at this.
"Is there a problem, Merlin?"
Merlin shook his head.
"I just want to discuss something."
"It's sometin' to do with Maud, isn't it?" Rhona said.
"How'd you guess?" Merlin's eyebrows rose in surprise.
She shrugged.
"You've been talkin' to her a lot and stuff, pointin' out what plants did what."
Merlin smiled and nodded.
"I grew up with a physician, and he taught me his trade. After a while I would help him when there was an overload of people needing aid, and I was able to travel when he wasn't."
He sighed, remembering his times with Gaius. It was on one of these trips to another town when Gaius died. Somehow, Gaius had known it was his time and had sent Merlin off, so he wouldn't be there when it happened.
"The point is: I'd like to teach Maud everything. I know on herb-lore. I know she's squeamish about blood, but that can be overcome, and personally, she'd love it."
"She's always helping her friends when they get into scrapes," Rhona agreed. "And she's bringing injured animals, patching them up, and then sending them on her way. She likes to heal others."
"Well, I guess this means we won't have to travel for days when looking for a healer now." Murdo grinned. "You can teach her, Merlin. Teach her well."
Merlin bowed his head in thanks.
*
Merlin had been with Murdo's family for four years. In that time, he had gotten to know the kind people that took him in very well. He knew that Osric and Octa were not morning people, and that it took the threat of an angry mother or water dumped on their heads to get them out of bed. Rhona would not only mother her own children, but whoever wandered into her sights. Murdo made nails and horseshoes in his spare time. Maud would mutter to herself when she was deep in thought, making Merlin laugh whenever she said something funny under her breath.
However, the family did not know Merlin all that well. He would vaguely answer a question about himself, or avoid it completely when asked about his past life. It was the eve of Beltane, the 30th of April, four years after he had first come to the small village, when that changed.
Maud was putting up wreaths of rowan and hawthorn on the door; Merlin was getting the places that she couldn't reach, when she asked, "What was Beltane like where you lived, Merlin?"
Merlin smiled slowly; remembering the huge feasts Camelot would have, open to the whole city. Everyone brought a meal, which made sure everyone had enough food, and drink was plentiful. After the meal, the nobles in the city would go to the castle courtyard, to the pole that had been raised the night before. Everyone, including Arthur, would grab a ribbon and begin to dance. Merlin always made sure that Gwen's and Arthur's met together at the end. After that was the running between the bonfires. The nobles didn't engage in that unless they really wanted to. Merlin vaguely remembered Arthur doing it a couple of times. But he had been a bit drunk at the time.
"It was a happy time, Maud, much like here. Now, what properties do rowan and hawthorn have?"
Maud's nose scrunched up as she thought of the answer.
That night, just like two years ago when Merlin asked Maud's parents if he could teach her, he was sitting at the main table, trying to build up the courage to tell them his deepest secret. Rhona and Murdo approached him first.
"What's wrong, Merlin?" Rhona sat across from him at the table.
"What do you mean 'what's wrong'? I'm fine."
"No yer not. Ya only sit like that when sometin's on yer mind."
"I-I've got something to say. Only I'm not quite sure how to say it."
"Best spit it out, son. Otherwise it'll just eat you." Murdo settled down next to his wife. "I promise, whatever it is, we won't hate you for it. We've known you for four years, and you're a good person. It can't be that bad."
Merlin sighed, and ran a hand through his raven hair. It had grown a mind of its own lately, and would not lie down for the life of him.
"It's a long story. Let me ask you, does the name Camelot ring a bell?"
"Camelot? Yes, yes it does. Just a bit. Ma was always telling me 'bout that." Rhona had a faraway look to her face as she thought. "A kingdom that everyone loved. Oh, the story's so old. I just thought it was sometin' she made up. I do remember that king Arthur was its ruler, and the best ruler all around. And he had a magician with him, his high advisor. Merlin. Oh...? Are you related to him?" Rhona looked at Merlin with a renewed curiosity.
"Related? That's one way to put it," Merlin snorted quietly.
"What's this about, son?"
"I'm getting there. Just one more question: how do you feel about magic?"
"Well, we've never thought bad about it. You really don't hear about it anymore. There were a couple of priests through here a while ago. They eventually figured they weren't welcome though. We don't want other people telling us what to think. Magic, as long as they don't go tellin' people what to do, I don't care who has it or whatever."
"Same here," Rhona added, agreeing with her partner.
Merlin took a deep breath, and began the tale of Camelot.
"Well, the fall of Camelot started when Arthur's closest advisor, Merlin, left, never to be seen again. Now, Merlin was magic, and it was he who got Arthur to allow magic back into Camelot. Before, Camelot had thrived, but after Merlin's leave, things...deteriorated. Fell apart."
Here Merlin began to stutter. The loss was still fresh, and he hadn't been able to mourn properly.
"Merlin didn't leave voluntarily. Well, at first he left because he had to go find some herbs to replenish his supply from winter. But he was kept away. S-someone locked him away, told him the gods wanted him to stay away. After all the work he had done to keep the king alive, after he had made his life in Camelot! To let it all just go away! To let his friends die, thinking that he had abandoned them."
Merlin sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself.
"Merlin was to sleep. Let time pass. He didn't know for how long, or when he'd wake up. When he did wake up, Camelot was long gone. Arthur dead. The castle ruins weren't even there anymore. Merlin's world shattered around him. And then the gods tell him that he has to make a life for himself, to observe history."
Merlin took another deep breath, his form shaking. From rage or sorrow, he himself wasn't quite sure.
"Yer... yer, that Merlin. Arthur's advisor, the royal warlock, second only to the king 'imself! I thought ya were only legend!" Rhona gasped, and then her eyes widened when the implications set in. Merlin was lost, abandoned in a place he didn't quite fit in. "Oh, Merlin..." She got up from her place at the table and hugged Merlin for all she was worth.
The warlock's shoulders shook from the force of his sobs.
"I miss them, Rhona."
Murdo had been silent the whole time. He had never known the legend of Camelot, and so Merlin's story seemed a bit outlandish. But Merlin had never lied to them before, and he had done so much for them. Murdo wasn't the sort of person to hate someone simply because of where they came from. And he could understand Merlin's hurt a little bit. His siblings had died young from lung rot, and his parents in another village raid. He wouldn't turn Merlin away. Nothing had changed.
"You're welcome here, Merlin, always."
*
Beltane came, and Merlin felt better for telling Rhona and Murdo the night before. He would tell the others soon enough, in story form. He would tell them of Camelot, of prince Arthur, and when he became king. Of Gwen, how a simple blacksmith's daughter could become a queen. He would ignore her betrayal. Of Lancelot, the most loyal knight to ever exist, Arthur's equal in fighting strength. He would even tell them of Uther, the man who, while afraid of magic, ruled Camelot as justly as he could. He would tell them of Gaius, his father in all but blood. And Will and Hunith: his mother and friend, who saved his life more than once. Of Morgana, king Uther's ward, who had more fire and spirit in her than anyone else he had known. And he would tell them of a boy, who grew into a man, that glued it all together.
Merlin decided that this year's Beltane would be the best this village had ever had. The ale tasted sweeter; there was more food in the stores and from the early crops than expected. Insects stayed away from the food. The day was peaceful, and the night was clear and warm. And at the end of the day, he blessed the village as well as he could, and hoped that it meant something.
*
Arthur stood before him; hand outstretched, and in it laid the jewelled daggers. Phoenix and the hawk versus the dragon, they represented the two sides of a coin, Merlin and Arthur. The warlock and his destiny.
Arthur looked up at him, and spoke for the first time.
"They are yours. Let your magic flow through them, into the gems, and the gems will guide you, and teach you. And Merlin…I'm sorry I couldn't give them to you myself."
Then he was gone. And the warlock woke.
"Oh, Arthur. I miss you. Thank you," he whispered into the night, as the dream twirled and faded away like smoke. He only hoped that he dreamt more dreams like that.
Since the feast of Beltane, Merlin had felt a tantalising bond, a strong passion to be more deeply united with his magic. He wanted to know more; he wanted to know more about how nature connected to magic. He knew many spells, and what he didn't he could look up or make up on the fly. What he wanted to know was how the intrinsic bond between everything worked. It was almost like his destiny had been moulded again. He would start with his need to know how to use the daggers. The daggers. What had Caoimhe said in her note? The gems can store pure magical strength... learn to use them.
He had to find someone to teach him.
On the far border of the village, where the dappled forests began to thicken and the scattered trees came together as one, lived an old man. Though respected greatly by all who lived in the village, he was seldom seen among the people; he was a man of a thousand mysteries, and few cared to linger near his shadowed home. But Merlin needed to seek him out. Perhaps Tom, as he was known, could help.
He went at dusk, when the village was fading away into sleep. The moon – accompanied by a lone star – leant forward to give him a cold, wary look, and then relaxed back into the surreal blueness of the twilight sky. Merlin knocked at the man's door. Tom answered; a tall, still man, with pale skin and a small white beard; eyes of clear grey, and a bitter voice when he spoke.
"You, Merlin. The newcomer."
Merlin was rather annoyed to be called this. Hadn't he been here for four years?
"You have come for my advice, to learn how to use the daggers."
Merlin nodded, and stepped inside.
"The gems on the daggers are normal, but they can hold large amounts of magical power. Release your power into them, and they will obey you. He took one of the daggers from Merlin, and spoke slowly – "Flównessan."
Wait, Tom had magic? It had given the impression that it had disappeared in this day and age.
He seemed to summon up the word from his very soul, and the gemstones beamed vivid amber, then topaz, then a misted gold, and faded. He threw the dagger across the room, then, as it threatened to pierce the wall, he held out his hand, and the dagger stopped.
"Come to me," he commanded. And it came. "Now you try," Tom murmured. As Merlin did this, his magic reacted with that of the gemstones: they shone a deep turquoise, melting into indigo and finally a vivid purple. For many hours he practiced, and in time they were one; the daggers belonged to him, and he knew the gems would protect him always.
The daggers were now his, physically and magically. However, he had no desire to use the daggers on another person, though he knew it would happen one day. That day would soon come, and it would be forever ingrained into his inner being, staining his memory. The soldiers were coming.
*
Summer came, and it was hot, muggy, and miserable. It was worse in the forge where Merlin and Murdo worked. The two knew better than to work during the high point of the day, but they had to keep the fire going, or they would not be able to work at all.
Pumping the bellows and adding wood and coal every now and then was hot and sweaty work, but it was better than working in the fields. Merlin especially avoided doing that: any extended length of time under the strong summer sun turned his skin a very painful, very bright apple red and with no tan afterwards.
Four years in a forge had given Merlin a strength he had never been able to gain while training with Arthur. The bellows that forced air into the forge fire was heavy, and took one set of muscles to push down, and another set of muscles to pull them back up.
"Mer-lin, can't you hold a sword for longer than five minutes? At this rate, you'll be a competent fighter by the time I turn ninety!"
Merlin scrambled for the sword on the ground with one hand and shook out sore knuckles on the other.
"Yes, Sire."
Arthur had tried to make him a competent sword fighter, but it had failed miserably. But this was before he knew about his magic. Arthur lost about every time afterward.
Merlin was much stronger now than he had been, but not in a bulky way. The muscles lined his arms and upper back like tightly corded wire over a metal frame.
Pull the bellows up, take a breath in, and hold it. Push the bellows down, let the breath out, hold it. Pull, breathe in; push, breathe out. Pull, breathe in; push, breathe out. Some work was more satisfying when done by hand, instead of magic. The darkness of the forge and the basic rhythm of the bellows led to more memories of Camelot.
"I trust Arthur with my life."
William scoffed. "Is that so? Have you told him your secret then?"
*
Merlin almost snatched the goblet out of Arthur's hand. He couldn't die! "Listen to me!"
Arthur was scared – you could see it in his face, even if you couldn't hear it in his voice. "You know me, Merlin." He paused, the fear almost getting to him. "I never listen to you."
*
"Mordred." Arthur circled his opponent, sword drawn, face wary. "You've finally come. I'd heard reports of your forces gathering. You'd kill the one that saved you, all those years ago?"
Mordred sneered, his eyes glowing as he collected his magic inside him. "Oh, yes, I would. You've killed Druids, Pendragon, and now it's time to pay your due. And since I can't get at your pet sorcerer, I'll have to settle for you."
Arthur's eyes darkened at the thought of his dead friend. Mordred laughed, as if sensing his thoughts. Maybe he did.
"Your warlock isn't dead. Just trapped, locked away, and commanded by the old gods themselves. We can't touch him."
"Where?" Arthur demanded, nose flaring as he lunged forward. Mordred chuckled as he parried Excalibur.
"A willow, a day's fast run from here. But you'll never get to see it. You'll really be dead."
And the fight began, swords flashing. Arthur would have had the advantage had the fight only been with swords. But Mordred had magic at his disposal, and made good use of it. Excalibur was Arthur's only safeguard, with its dragon-given blessing. Arthur blocked most of the magic like he would a sword.
"Wait," Merlin said under his breath as he stopped pushing the bellows. "That's after I'd gone…"
The vision was temporarily forgotten as the screams began.
Hoof beats gave a base beat to the chaos that was unfolding. Stalls were being knocked over, homes were already alight with fire, and people were running everywhere. Confusion was rampant.
Most of the villagers were rounded up in the central square, like cattle. Murdo and his family were pushed together, and Merlin squeezed his way to them. Murdo turned to Merlin slightly to whisper to him, "You have your daggers on you, right?" Merlin nodded. "Good. Be ready to take Rhona, Maud and the twins straight into the forest first chance you get. Keep them safe for me, Merlin."
"What?"
But Murdo didn't get a chance to explain.
The people on the horses were soldiers, armour glinting brightly in the late afternoon sun. One pulled out a scroll from a saddlebag and unfurled it. He began to read, "By order of King William the First, the rightful ruler of England, this village of Somerset is to be completely destroyed. Charges are not submitting to the rightful ruler, appointed by God, and aiding and abetting rebel fighters that would kill our rightful king."
The soldiers drew their swords, and it all went straight to hell. Men exploded out from under hay piles, from inside buildings, out of small alleys; any conceivable place that one could hide, a person came out of. The rebels were wielding swords, pitchforks, knives, staves, clubs, and someone even had a broom. They came at the soldiers with unrestrained fury, people with nothing to lose and everything to gain. This gave the gathered villagers time to run.
Murdo pushed Merlin towards his family.
"Go! Run while you can! I'll make sure they don't follow you!"
"But I can help you fight!" Merlin yelled back at him.
But Murdo was already gone, disappearing into the fight.
Merlin grimaced, frustrated and more than a bit afraid for Murdo. He gathered together what remained of his wits and grabbed the other four.
"We have to run, now."
"What?!" Rhona screeched. "But Murdo's out dere! You can help him!"
"He told me to get you to the forest!" Merlin grabbed her hand and got the others to hold tight to each other. "Run!"
They ran. The crowd in the centre of town had immediately thinned as soon as the fight had begun. A couple of soldiers noticed them, but were dealt with when they got close enough. Merlin was angered over the fact that a king would order soldiers to completely destroy a town, that the soldiers would obey this ridiculous order and that in the end he was only one person, and could not save everyone. This anger fuelled his magic giving it power it didn't often have.
One soldier got a little too close to the group, and that gave Merlin the exact excuse he needed to vent a small amount of his anger.
"Chilgwthiaar gerdded!"
Instead of simply falling down a few feet away and dropping his sword, the soldier flew backwards twenty feet in the air and landed on the roof of a burning building.
It was when the group had made it past the town proper and was headed for the tree line, that an arrow embedded itself into Merlin's arm. The impact and shock of it knocked Merlin to the ground, but he was up again in a shot with his arm hanging loose by his side.
"Merlin!" Maud was by his side in an instant, already in healer mode. "Shoot, we've got to get the arrow out…"
"Maud, I'm fine."
"But…" she stammered.
"No, Maud. Get your family to the tree line. I'll take care of this."
Maud flinched back from the tone in his voice. It was quiet, calm, and steady and promised a large world of hurt for not only the archer, but all the soldiers in the village. Maud bit her lip, grabbed her brothers and ran for the trees. Rhona followed with a look over her shoulder. She saw Merlin's eyes shine bright gold, like the eyes of the falcon he was named after.
The warlock turned towards the village with fury just ready to break through and unleash something so nasty the soldiers would rue the day they were born. Merlin saw the archer on a roof taking aim with another arrow in his bow. He was Merlin's first target.
The arrow flew from the archer's bow straight towards Merlin. He stopped it mid-flight and turned it back on its owner. The archer dropped like a stone, the arrow in his throat.
His eyes flashed brighter and for every one step he took, he moved three.
His return to the village was met with carnage. The people were lying in the streets, buildings were on fire, and the little resistance that existed was quickly being cut down by the king's soldiers. They were not kind. Many were lying on the ground with belly wounds, dying slow, painful deaths. Intestines were scattered here and there and the villager's own internal acids were slowly killing them. Others were still alive but bleeding to death, large puddles of blood surrounding them, staining the ground: a rust red. There were some who had died quickly, with thrusts to the heart or a cut to the throat. Those with no discernable injury had been hit on the head. It was up to the gods if they would live or die.
Merlin saw all this in a second and turned his eyes to the soldiers, those who would brutally kill so many and destroy a whole village.
"Ddiddyma 'r danio!" Merlin clenched his hands and all the fires in the town went out. With merely a thought, the daggers that Arthur had given him flew out of their sheaths and shot towards the two nearest soldiers. They died with cuts to their throats, drowning in their own blood.
The other soldiers saw this and for a moment were frozen in fear. Two of their own had just died, seemingly by magic. They then snapped out of it and a large group all rushed the single figure at once.
Merlin's daggers returned to him and he raised them to block a sword coming at his head. He ignored the massive scream of pain that the arrow in his arm was giving him. He would ignore it for now. It would not kill him.
Merlin was fast, light and agile. Everything these soldiers were not. That gave him an advantage. They were expecting to be faced with a sword, not someone who would duck in, get within their guard, attack, and duck back. He moved like he was a phantom, striking and then disappearing, leaving the soon to be dead soldiers to wonder where Merlin went.
The soldiers that had surrounded Merlin were quickly killed. What few soldiers that were left realized that some of their best had just been killed by one man. They ran for their lives, away from this demon that had come straight from hell.
Merlin was covered in blood from head to toe; it covered him like a second skin. His eyes were still glowing bright amber and not their normal blue.
The fight was over. Merlin's magic fell silent for the time being. His eyes returned to their normal sky blue. And he felt empty inside.
*
Looking out over the remains of the village, a feeble sun sighed on the far horizon, its last pitiful rays illuminating the unnatural silence of twilight. Dusk would usually be filled with the cries of children playing, the laughs of adults talking amongst themselves as they savoured the remaining daylight. The village would normally be alive: the magic of the twilight hour, when neither Sun nor Moon cast their gaze upon the world, as it had been when Merlin had first entered it, nearly four years ago. But the silence told all – that this could not be any longer.
Painful though it was, the quietness also brought a whisper of relief to Merlin's distressed being. The fires had faded; the shouts finally echoed into nothingness, yet his hope was feeble as the Sun's final rays upon the Mooreland village.
The cause for his doubt; he had still not found Murdo. The dead lay among the ruins of the houses and farm buildings, fallen thickly as the first snow that winter. But Merlin had searched the blood-reddened ground for hours now, in desperation but without success.
A sobbing broke the silence, followed by a child's yell. They came from the direction of the trees – someone had survived! Merlin had experienced enough battles with Arthur to know that no fight had ever managed to strike down every man; there was always someone waiting, hoping for the future.
He turned and began to walk towards the trees. As he entered the gloom, Merlin heard whisperings – Octa and Osric, Maud and Rhona! Murdo's voice did not come though, so deep and joyful, and the warlock felt a burdening sense that the father was not among them anymore.
Entering a clearing, Merlin found the family gathered at the base of a willow. Memories of Caoimhe reflected themselves in it, though this tree was much smaller, frailer and gentler.
Murdo lay at the base of the tree, a strangely determined emotion on his now pale face. His eyes were closed, and Merlin only now noticed his bare chest. Blood clustered around a small wound that seemed to stain the ghostly flesh. Merlin recognised the wound instantly – a thrust to the heart. Murdo, now looking somewhat at peace, would at least have died quickly, though not without pain.
Catching Rhona's eyes, the warlock saw an alien weakness there, a vulnerability that he had never before associated with her. Turning away, his heart, too, crumbled. He had lost yet another, by another pointless, cruel battle. Innocents lay all about them, scattered and dying, and all this just for the greed of some king.
He needed to be alone, could not and would not face the company of others when such injustice had been done. Murdo had been a wonderful man – caring, compassionate, hardworking, welcoming, always so cheerful…and now the Earth claimed him, too. How many more? When would it stop?
*
They buried Murdo next morning, by the light of the sunrise. No one spoke, but Merlin felt a need to stay and comfort the family. They had done so much for him and he could not abandon them now.
Walking from the grave, Rhona turned and spoke to him for the first time since the battle.
"Merlin." Her voice was weak, but he knew she had something important to ask of him. "I'm sorry…I saw what you did, and I'm very grateful to you, but you can't stay here anymore. Others saw your actions, and may not be as glad of them as I am. You've been a friend, a great help to us, and thank you! Thank you so much! But you cannot stay here, and I cannot continue like this. You know that. Please."
He nodded slowly, wounded but not hugely surprised. How could he continue to live among these people if they thought of him as a traitor, a curse upon the village? He might well be blamed these past incidents, and Rhona was determined to protect him from such accusations.
"I will leave, Rhona, and thank you so much for your hospitality and your constant care. I'm very pleased that I have stayed with you and your family and just…I'm sorry…" He hugged her gently with one arm before turning to the children, who had been listening.
"Octa, Osric, Maud, you know I cannot stay here anymore, and I have to leave soon. Knowing you has been such a bright light in my life…take care and promise me to be good to your mother." His voice had dropped to a whisper. Any louder and it would crack.
The boys nodded, but Maud protested.
"Merlin, I-I don't understand. Why now?"
He sighed. He barely understood it himself. It was like returning to Uther's time.
"This village was charged with aiding those who would kill the king, who was appointed by God. If I, a warlock, were found here, witch-hunters would race across the country looking for me, and kill many other innocents in the search. I will not have that, not again."
Maud took a deep breath, blew it out, narrowed her eyes, and clenched her jaw.
'Uh-oh. I know that look.'
"Then take me with you." It was said with such determination that Merlin had a feeling that she would follow him anyway even if he said no. Not wanting to upset Rhona for saying yes, or upset Maud for saying no, he passed the decision on to Rhona.
Rhona pursed her lips, frustrated with her stubborn child. She wanted to keep Maud here, and she had hoped Maud would want to stay. However, she knew otherwise. Maud had grown into an opinionated young woman, and frankly it was safer for her to leave the village. Another attack like this was all too likely and Maud was the perfect target for a soldier who hadn't felt a woman's touch in months.
A moment passed, and then Rhona slowly nodded.
"Go, Maud. And be safe."
Despite the sad surroundings, Maud jumped to hug her mother.
"Thank you, mama! Thank you!"
Over Maud's shoulder, Rhona glared at Merlin. He knew that glare meant that if anything happened to her daughter, what happened to the village would be a love tap compared to what she would do to him. He nodded to her, and she released her daughter.
*
Maud and Merlin shuffled through the remains of the cottage, looking for supplies to take with them before they left. They were bent over in the ashes and piles of burnt wood when Merlin let out a shout and straightened up.
"My spell book! It survived."
Maud's eyebrows wrinkled together.
"That thing's fireproof?"
"It seems so." Merlin shrugged. "Have you found anything?"
"A couple of sacks and some shirts. They have a couple holes in them, but nothing we can't sew up. Anything else we can get out of the forge. I know that didn't burn down."
She straightened up herself and took Merlin's book from him and placed it in a sack. Merlin's injured arm was in a sling, and pretty much useless.
Maud shook out her auburn hair, and ash fell from it. It looked like darkened snow as it fell down her back. Merlin took the sack from her and slung it around his one good arm onto his back. The book thudded dully.
The two walked the short distance it was from the cottage to the forge and ducked their way in. Merlin went straight to where some extra water skins were kept, but Maud froze by the door, her eyes watering up.
"Da's dead. Da's gone, Merlin. And he's not comin' back." Her voice was quiet; he barely caught it even as he was walking back towards her, water skins in hand.
"I'm sorry, Maud. I'm so sorry."
Maud's lower lip was between her teeth as she fought back tears.
"Let's go."
Together, they left the village at noon, with the sun high and bright in the sky, completely contradicting what it should be – cloudy and overcast.
*
They were camped for the night, a fire between them. They had nibbled on the bread they had brought with them, and Merlin had caught a rabbit. The forest was quiet, a reflection of their dark mood.
"My father died too, protecting me."
Maud looked up, interested in the story but still too sad to say anything.
"There was a dragon attacking Camelot, and Arthur and I were sent to find someone who could stop it. Gaius had told the king – it was Uther at the time – that the last Dragonlord still lived and could bring the dragon down.
We went off into Cendred's kingdom, even though we were at war with them. Who weren't we at war with? Anyway…"
Merlin shook his head.
"Gaius had said that my father's name was Balinor and that he was the last Dragonlord."
"Wait, I thought that Gaius was your father?" Maud said.
"No, but he raised me like he was."
Maud nodded.
"Arthur had been attacked by the dragon earlier and wounded, and so I was a bit worried for him to be travelling so hard when the wound hadn't even closed up. The prat couldn't sit still long enough for anything! He had fallen unconscious to fever before we found Balinor, and I was able to tell him that I was his son while Arthur slept. Couldn't have told him in front of Arthur; he didn't know I had magic for a long while yet."
Merlin sighed and let his shoulders slump.
"We were on our way back to Camelot when we were ambushed by a group of Cendred's men. Arthur and Balinor were fighting, and I could barely use my magic, what with Arthur right there and everything. I was still afraid that he would turn me in. One of the knights cornered me and was about to run me through when my father jumped in front of the sword and was killed instead." Merlin was silent, remembering his father, for what little he knew of him. "I still miss him."
"What happened to Camelot and the dragon?"
Merlin shifted a bit on the forest floor.
"The Dragonlord abilities were passed to me, not that Arthur knew. We rode out with twelve other knights to face Kilgara – the dragon – and the knights were killed in the fire. Arthur was knocked out after spearing him in the leg. I made a deal with the dragon. He was to leave, and never come back, or I would kill him. The dragon left and I told Arthur that he had struck a fatal blow, once he woke up. Don't know why he believed me." Merlin shrugged. "I wonder where Kilgara is now. I wonder if he's still alive."
Maud yawned.
"I think we should get some sleep. Long day of walking tomorrow. Walking, walking, and more walking. G'night, Merlin."
Maud laid down where she was and attempted to make herself comfortable. Merlin looked out into the forest for a bit longer and remembered.
The man's eyes were black, pompous and full of the power to completely destroy everything around him. Cornelius knew he had the upper hand.
"Together we can rule over this land. Arthur will tremble at your voice. He will kneel at your feet!"
Merlin shook his head. "I don't want that."
*
The great hall was decked out in full Camelot colors. Arthur had finally become of age.
"So how does it feel to be servant to the crowned prince of Camelot?" Gwen had this huge smile on her face. So did most of the other people in the room.
"I'm sure washing his royal socks will be even more of a privilege."
"You're proud of him really, even though you complain about him constantly."
"I am not." He pouted a bit for fun.
"You are! I can see it in your face!"
"Those socks are very clean; of course I'm proud of them!"
They shared a laugh and looked towards the front of the hall. The main event was coming.
Merlin shook his head. 'Those times are long gone.' Then, finally, he lay down to sleep too.
*
I remembered black skies, the lightning all around me.
I remembered each flash as time began to blur.
Like a startling sign, that fate had finally found me;
and your voice was all I heard: that I get what I deserve!
So give me reason to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean.
Let the floods cross the distance in your eyes.
Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between.
Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies across this new divide.
There was nothing in sight but memories left abandoned.
There was nowhere to hide, the ashes fell like snow;
and the ground caved in between where we were standing;
and your voice was all I heard: that I get what I deserve!
So give me reason to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean.
Let the floods cross the distance in your eyes, across this new divide.
In every loss, in every lie, in every truth that you'd deny;
and each regret, and each goodbye, was a mistake too great to hide.
And your voice was all I heard: that I get what I deserve.
So give me reason to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean.
Let the floods cross the distance in your eyes.
Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between.
Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies across this new divide.
Across this new divide, across this new divide.
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