Chapter IV: Guiding Light

Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot, was having a very bad week.

First his useless idiot manservant had gone and gotten himself poisoned. Then his father had pretty much rekindled a costly and unpopular war by throwing the poisoner into prison. Then his father had forbidden him from saving the aforementioned idiot, except that wasn't right because that poison had been meant for him and Merlin had known it and he'd drunk it anyways to save his prince, and Arthur was not going to reward that loyal selflessness with death no matter how incredibly stupid it was. So he'd disobeyed his father and king, which was technically treason, sneaking out of his own citadel and journeying to a smelly cave that might or might not be haunted and was certainly infested with enormous, demonic spiders.

Yes, spiders. He didn't know if the sorceress had conjured them up or enlarged them or if they'd been here all along just waiting for their next meal, but he was currently hanging over a yawning gap listening as spiders the size of his head skittered towards him to feast upon his princely flesh. He couldn't even see the awful things—he'd dropped his torch while trying not to plummet to his death, and the witch had taken her light with her. He was so far into the cave that no sunlight could reach him, and his torch had either gone out when he dropped it or was so far beneath him that he couldn't see the fire.

Arthur had never experienced pitch blackness before. He'd had fire or moonlight or a combination of the two even in the dead of night. Now, it was as though he'd gone blind. Everything was black.

As if to compensate for his loss of sight, his hearing went into overdrive. Arthur wished that it hadn't. He could hear the spiders' soft footsteps as they climbed towards him, hear his body straining to lift himself out of their way. His breath, his heartbeat, the blood swooshing in his veins—every last sound echoed in his ears, underscoring the chitter-chitter of the spiders' mandibles.

Were those things venomous? He'd only seen one before losing his light, and it had certainly looked venomous. Even if the creatures didn't have venom, they were big enough to do a lot of damage, and they were not at all inconvenienced by the darkness around them. If those mandibles got to his neck….

If only he could see! There were handholds above him, there had to be handholds above him, but he couldn't feel them through his armored hands and could hardly pull off his gloves while hanging from his fingertips over a who-knows-how-long drop. But he couldn't see, so he'd just have to fight off the spiders long enough to find a handhold, then another, then a third and fourth until he was out of the cavern. He'd have to regroup, leave the cave, get a torch, but once he had light he could come back and get the antidote for Merlin. He could do this. He just needed light.

And then there was light.

It appeared with no warning, no explanation, blossoming out of the very air like some supernatural flower. The silver-blue tendrils of luminescence spiraled out from their origin, curving into a perfect sphere about a foot across. Pale bluish lines flowed around the white globe's surface. The misty, semi-transparent orb floated beside the stunned prince, dispelling the darkness.

Arthur gawked at the blatantly magical sphere for a long moment. Then something hairy touched his neck. He glanced down, saw (saw! He could see again! He'd never appreciated just how wonderful sight could be) a dark arachnid climbing onto him.

The light brightened. Gold veins joined its blue highlights as it flew up through Arthur's shoulder. The orb engulfed the spider, white and yellow and cerulean swallowing the spot of darkness. Though the light had not hurt Arthur, it proved deadly to the arachnid. The creature squealed, shriveled. Its limp form tumbled off the stunned prince's shoulder, fell into the black depths below.

The other spiders, wary from the death of their comrade, slowed their ascent. Pincers clicked malevolently as the beady red eyes took in the new threat. The sphere pulsed in response, hovered protectively near the prince.

Arthur snapped out of his shock. He would have time to think about this later. For now, he had a flower to pick.

Teeth gritted, muscles straining, the prince forced his aching fingers into another handhold, then another, then another. The tiny orange mortaeus flower was five feet away… three… two….

Arthur's hand wrapped around the plant. He pulled.

The light had dropped below him. He spared it a brief glance, saw that it was hovering between him and the spiders. Whenever one of the creatures tried to advance, the orb would swallow it whole. Then the monster would squeal and die and fall, and the light would return to its former place beneath Arthur's feet.

Arthur searched for some way to get to the ground. His arms were killing him; he wouldn't be able to hold himself up much longer. He had to stand or he'd lose his grip and fall. Blue eyes landed on a ledge to his right and slightly above him. It was narrow, but he'd still be able to stand on it, rest his screaming arms.

Sweat dripped into his eyes. His shoulders were on fire, his fingers losing strength. Just another couple of feet, that was all he needed, just another couple of feet and then he could rest….

With a final heave, Arthur pulled himself onto the ledge. He stood, back pressed against the wall, and surveyed his situation.

The light was keeping the spiders at bay. They could get past it if they all charged at once, but, fortunately for Arthur, these arachnids didn't seem any smarter than their tiny counterparts. They hadn't swarmed it yet and probably weren't going to. So he had light, he had protection, and he had the mortaeus flower. Now all he needed was a way out of here.

Well, that was easy enough. Arthur crouched and jumped.

He flew across the gap, landing heavily on the other side. The prince staggered and fell. For a moment he just lay there, gasping and panting, then he pushed himself to his feet. The friendly orb floated over to him, danced about his shoulders, then floated over his head into the tunnel. It stopped there, hovering near the ceiling. Arthur could almost imagine it asking (in a voice that sounded remarkably like Merlin's) what he was waiting for.

The thought made him laugh. It was a weak chuckle, breathless and harsh, but it made the light bob and brighten before swooping back to his face. The prince imagined that the orb was laughing with him. It hovered there, pulsing merrily, then darted away.

"Who sent you?" Arthur asked softly, but the light didn't respond. It simply waited.

The misty orb moved as he did, guiding him through the twisting, turning cave. Once, when Arthur tried to turn left instead of right (he was fairly certain that he'd come that way), the globe swirled around him before returning to the right-hand path. "All right, all right," the prince grumbled.

As he followed his magical guide, Arthur let his thoughts wander. Any idiot could see that the light was supernatural in nature, that a sorcerer had sent it. But who had saved him and why? It certainly wasn't the witch who had led him to the spiders. She had been quite clear that she expected him to die, that she wanted him dead even if he couldn't die by her hand (whatever that meant). This light was benevolent, friendly, even. It had saved him from the spiders, from the darkness, from being lost forever in the labyrinthine tunnels. Even now it was bringing him through the caves.

He supposed that it could be a trap. The light could, in theory, be leading him to a crazy sorcerer who wanted to kill Uther Pendragon's son with his own bare hands. It seemed like an awful lot of unnecessary busywork to the prince, but he supposed that luring him into a spider-infested cave by poisoning his manservant was also impracticably complicated. His father was always telling him how sorcery warped minds and souls; maybe convoluted death traps were symptomatic of sorcerers' magical madness.

But something told him that this beautiful shining light, this beacon that banished the gloom, was different. It wasn't just that the misty orb had saved him. It was the way it stayed close to him even after the spiders were gone, the playfulness with which it had flown around his head. It was the strange, inexplicable sense of familiarity, the instinct of trust, his complete lack of fear when it had appeared. He should have been terrified to see such blatant unnaturalness appearing from nowhere, but he'd only felt wonder and shock and relief.

No. Whoever had sent the light was on his side. He could feel it in his bones.

But why?

All his life, he'd been taught that sorcery was evil, that magic corrupted and destroyed. Once a sorcerer got a taste of power, he was an addict, giving away more and more of his soul in exchange for magical strength. That was why even magical healers had to die—perhaps they had started out with good intentions, but they would inevitably be corrupted by a force that no human being should ever touch.

So, Arthur concluded, the sorcerer (or sorceress, he supposed) who had saved his life must be a relatively inexperienced magic user. His father would say that it would be a mercy to kill him now, before the corruption took root. And yet… and yet….

The light was beautiful. Arthur was well aware that something being beautiful didn't necessarily make it good, but he couldn't believe that the light had been conjured by something purely evil. It was just so… it was so pure, so remarkable. He couldn't quite convince himself that its maker should be destroyed. The thought was treason, but he just couldn't.

He'd never seen beautiful magic before.

Arthur already knew he wasn't going to tell his father about this. How could he? He loved and respected his father more than anyone else, but he knew that Uther wouldn't understand. The king would send witchfinders and bounty hunters to hunt down this sorcerer, and that seemed a poor way to repay someone for saving his life.

Wait. Arthur squinted, picked up his pace. Was that sunlight?

It was! He could see the end of the cave, see the outside world. Grinning widely, the prince ran towards freedom. The magical orb zoomed alongside him.

The witch hadn't killed or taken his horse. The stallion was munching on some grass, completely unconcerned that his master had nearly been eaten by giant spider monsters. He looked up as Arthur entered the clearing, gave a low nicker of greeting.

The light vanished. Arthur was surprised by the pang of loneliness its absence inspired in him. Then the prince shook his head, told himself not to be ridiculous.

Yet though the light was gone, he couldn't get it out of his mind as he rode back to Camelot. It was just so strange and impossible and oddly wonderful, even though it really shouldn't be, because it meant that somewhere, for some reason he couldn't fathom, a sorcerer had deliberately, knowingly chosen to save the son of Uther Pendragon.

Arthur wondered if he would ever meet his mysterious benefactor. He wondered what he would do if he did.

He had to stop and camp for the night, but around noon the next day he passed through the gates of Camelot, tired, wan, and triumphant.

That triumph faded rather quickly after Uther had him thrown into the dungeons.

"Why are you doing this?" Arthur yelled, glaring at his father through the bars.

"Because you disobeyed me when the king and prince must present a united front," Uther snapped.

"I did it to save a boy's life!"

Uther turned.

"Wait!" Arthur cried. "At least give Merlin the antidote!"

Uther walked away.

Arthur stared in slack-jawed disbelief at his father. He couldn't… was his father really going to let Merlin die just to prove some stupid point? Sure, Merlin could be infuriating at times and Arthur had occasionally wanted to throttle him, but he'd knowingly drunk poison to save his master and he was dying for it and now Arthur had his only hope for survival and Uther wouldn't let the prince give it to him. The knight just couldn't understand. He couldn't understand why his father, his king, would let an innocent boy die when the cure is right here.

He had to escape. He had to find some way of getting the flower to Merlin before his servant died.

Or he could tell the guards to save Merlin. He did just that, but the guards refused. Neither wanted to face Uther's punishment, especially when he was in such a foul mood.

Arthur could have screamed. Did no one in Camelot care about honor anymore?

"Food for the prince," a woman's voice announced. The guards stepped aside for her. Arthur absently identified her as Guinevere, Morgana's maid. She came to him carrying a tray of cold-cut meat and bread. "My apologies for the low quality, Sire," she murmured demurely, "but your father…." She handed him the plate. Dark eyes bored into blue. In a whisper, Guinevere begged, "Give me the flower."

Arthur smiled. His hand slipped into his armor, came out clutching a withered orange plant. As Guinevere passed him some bread, he slipped the blossom to her.

The maid beamed, her entire face lighting up. Arthur blinked in surprise. He'd never realized quite how beautiful she was.

Guinevere passed him the last of his food, turned around, and walked away, completely composed. Looking at her, he would never have guessed that she was skirting on treason.

Arthur smiled and settled down to eat.

He managed to remain still through the course of his cold, dry meal, but found that he couldn't stay still once his food was gone. Then his thoughts swarmed like bees in his brain, and he had to pace back and forth, back and forth to relieve his tension. He felt like a caged animal and probably looked like one too, but he just couldn't sit around while Merlin might be dying.

That was when he realized just how deep his concern for the lanky manservant was. It was completely irrational. Merlin was lazy and incompetent and mouthy and not particularly bright; he didn't understand the concept of station, despised hunting, and felt no qualms about disobeying his master. By all rights, Arthur should hate him.

The prince, being a man and a knight, was not overly inclined to analyzing his emotions. However, he was locked in a cell for the foreseeable future and really had nothing better to do, not to mention that he couldn't get Merlin's pale face and boneless slump out of his head. Arthur examined his concern, delved deep into it, and came to the conclusion that he only wanted Merlin alive so that he could yell at him for being stupid enough to drink poison. That was it. He definitely wasn't growing fond of the pea-brained nitwit.

Or at least, that's what Arthur spent the remainder of his confinement trying to convince himself.

Finally, finally, after hours that felt like years, the guards released him. Arthur was proud to say that he did not rush straight to his idiot manservant; he stopped by the kitchens to grab a plate of food before making his way to the physician's chambers.

Merlin was alive. He was pale and scrawny and wild-haired and looked so small in his too-big sleeping shirt. His face was still creased with exhaustion, his eyes half-lidded. He was only sitting because Gaius or Guinevere had positioned pillows beneath him to hold him up. But he was alive and smiling as he talked with his guardian, his eyes bright.

"You know, Merlin," Arthur drawled, "most people rise in the presence of their prince."

The insolent sod grinned at him, his eyes going all big and innocent. "But, Arthur, I thought we'd gotten past that point in our relationship after you went through so much trouble just to get me a flower!"

Gaius choked. Guinevere erupted into a very fake coughing fit that did nothing whatsoever to cover her laughter.

Arthur just threw a roll at Merlin's head. "Shut up, you." But he, too, was smiling. "And just so you know, I only got you that blasted flower because you were stupid enough to drink poison. What the hell did you do that for, you bloody idiot?"

Merlin's face sobered. "Was I supposed to let you drink it?"

"You weren't supposed to drink it yourself!" Arthur pulled up a chair by his servant's bedside. "Most people wouldn't need me to explain that to them."

"I'm special."

Arthur snorted. "Yes, I suppose that's one word for it."

Merlin looked hopefully at the tray of food in Arthur's hands. "Is that for me?"

"It's for me, actually, but I suppose I could let you have the leftovers." Merlin grabbed a drumstick. "Hey! That's not a leftover!"

Merlin swallowed. "You just don't want to admit that you got me dinner and a flower," he teased.

"Yes," Arthur grumbled, "that's it exactly." And he dumped a gobletful of water onto Merlin's head.

Merlin leaned back into his pillows with a sigh of contentment. He didn't think he'd had a day off since arriving in Camelot, so it was nice to just sit back and read his spell book and relax. Arthur was safe, Uther had somehow called off the war with Bayard, and life was good.

Well, okay, it wasn't entirely good. Gaius believed that Cara, the girl who had warned him about the poison, was really the sorceress who had created the afanc, and that she had been after him instead of Arthur. Not that the old man was telling him anything else, like who she was or why, exactly, she wanted Camelot destroyed (though that bit, at least, didn't require a whole lot of thought to figure out). He said that he didn't want Merlin going after her, which Merlin thought was a bit ridiculous when the alternative was letting her choose when to try to kill him. But when he'd tried explaining this to Gaius, the physician had still refused to give him any information.

He complained to himself for a while about just how unfair that was, read through a few spells, and took a short nap. Then he was bored. Huffing, Merlin wracked his brains for something to do.

Oh. Oops. He'd forgotten what day it was. Wincing, hoping he wasn't too late, the warlock dragged himself out of bed. After slipping on his boots, he stumbled through Gaius's chambers. The physician wasn't there, much to Merlin's relief. If he wasn't there, he couldn't stop his ward from traipsing through the castle, climbing down several flights of stairs, and entering Kilgharrah's old cave.

Fortunately, the warlock wasn't too late. A fat sheep was wandering through the caverns. Merlin smiled.

When he'd released Kilgharrah, he hadn't anticipated having to hex a sheep every week. Then Gaius had pointed out that someone fed the dragon, and that that someone would notice if the dragon's ovine meals survived. That would lead to the discovery that Kilgharrah was free, which would lead to dragon hunts and probably a witch-burning hysteria and other things that Merlin really didn't want to deal with. So he and his scaly friend had made arrangements to smuggle sheep away from the citadel so no one would notice they were still alive.

Every Wednesday, Merlin would sneak into the dragon's old cave and put the animal he found under a sleep spell. The beast would remain unconscious until the middle of the night, when Merlin would return, lead the sheep outside, and recast the sleep spell before Kilgharrah arrived. They usually enjoyed a nice chat before Kilgharrah took the unconscious beast and flew it to Ealdor.

His last letter from Mother had mentioned that the village was accumulating quite a respectable flock.

"Swefe nu," the warlock incanted. The sheep staggered and fell.

It was still unconscious when Merlin returned late that night. The warlock recited the counter spell, then led the beast out of the cave. It struggled when they approached the opening, but Merlin extended a tendril of calming magic, promising that it was safe, that he wouldn't let the big scary dragon hurt it. The animal calmed.

"Greetings, young warlock," Kilgharrah intoned. The night was cloudy, blocking out the moon and stars, but Merlin clutched a fireball that lit up the dragon's bronze scales. The dragon's eyes seemed to glow in the flickering flames.

Merlin smiled. "Greetings, Kilgharrah." He patted the sheep on its head, murmured the sleep spell, and made his way over to the dragon. The human took up his usual position against Kilgharrah's hind leg. He had made it his mission to touch the dragon as much as possible, as Kilgharrah hadn't had any friendly contact for twenty years. He was starved for touch, though he'd never admit it, and Merlin wanted so badly to help him.

The dragon lay down, twisting his neck and body so that his head was facing Merlin. The sorcerer smiled, snuggled closer to the dragon's leg. His friend was pleasantly warm in the brisk evening, and dragon scales were surprisingly comfortable against his back. "Do you remember the sorceress who summoned the afanc?"

"Yes."

"She came back." Merlin told Kilgharrah about the poison, about Gaius's cryptic statements, and about the strange, vivid dream he'd had while dying, a dream about spiders and desperation and light. Arthur hadn't said anything about the ball of light Merlin had dreamt, but he had talked about giant spiders coming for him as he clung to the wall of the cave.

The dragon listened intently, occasionally asking for clarification but mostly intent on hearing the warlock out. When Merlin was finished, Kilgharrah said, "I believe that your dream was a true vision, young warlock. You knew that the prince had quested into a cave in search of a cure before anyone told you what he had done. Even if you heard Gaius and Guinevere discussing the Cave of Balor while you slept, you could not have known about the spiders unless your mind had truly left your body."

Merlin could have slapped himself for missing such an obvious deduction. "Oh."

The dragon's mouth curled into a smile. His exposed fangs glinted in the light of Merlin's floating fireball, but the warlock didn't even think about being afraid. "Do not be so hard on yourself. You are weak still from your ordeal, and the mind rarely functions well when the body is weary. You ought to return to your bed and sleep. Later, I will teach you to mind-walk voluntarily."

"Thank you," Merlin replied quietly, "but can I ask you something before I go?"

"Of course."

Merlin met Kilgharrah's eyes. "This is the second time this sorceress has attacked. Gaius knows who she is, but he won't tell me. Who is she, Kilgharrah?"

The dragon shifted slightly. "For once," he confessed, "I agree with the physician."

"What? But—"

"She is powerful and dangerous, and though you to have great power, you lack her experience. I do not want you to seek her."

"So I'm supposed to wait for her to come and kill me?"

"Of course not." Kilgharrah looked offended by the very thought. "I will seek her out."

Merlin pulled up short. "You'd do that for me?"

"For you and for Albion," the dragon replied.

"Right. Albion." Merlin frowned. "If you find her, what will you do?"

"I will speak with her, explain who you are and who Arthur is. This sorceress is a high priestess of the Old Religion. She will know of the prophecies."

"But what if she doesn't believe you?"

"She will." Kilgharrah's lips pulled back, revealing more of his sharp ivory fangs. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be."

Merlin laughed.

Kilgharrah stood, stretched. Merlin climbed to his feet, already missing the dragon's warmth at his back. It might be summer, but the night was unusually cold. "Thank you. This is the best news I've had since the afanc died." On impulse, he darted towards the startled dragon and wrapped his arms around the scaly neck. Kilgharrah went rigid before relaxing, laying his great head on Merlin's shoulder.

"You are very welcome, Merlin." He pulled away from the boy's embrace. "Now off to bed with you."

Just a few notes on the light: It's very common cross-culturally for magic users to be able to leave their bodies. The mulukwausi of the Trobriands, the sorcerers of the Azande, and the Friulian benandanti and malandanti are just a couple of examples. Mulukwausi and Zande sorcerers even appear in the form of light when they're wandering around without their bodies. The tradition extends back to truly ancient times, since shamans often left their bodies in soul flight. It continued on through the Middle Ages, when doctors of the Church argued back and forth about whether witches attended Black Mass physically or if they just flew there in spirit (this is also when the benandanti came into conflict with the Church. For more information about them, read The Night Battles by Carlo Ginzburg). The tradition survives today as astral projection. So yes, Merlin is going to learn to do that, as he should have in the show.

Notes on Kilgharrah: He was essentially in solitary confinement for almost twenty years in the show. According to Wikipedia, solitary confinement for more than a few weeks is considered a form of psychological torture, and people in solitary are highly at risk for developing mental illness. Touch deprivation, a result of Kilgharrah's confinement, is another serious problem that can cause medical and psychological issues. Obviously, this research was done on humans, not dragons, but I think that it's applicable.

Edit 7/22: Robyn S. Mockingbird pointed out that the spiders would be venomous, not poisonous, so I changed 'poison' to 'venom.' Thanks, Robyn!

Next update: July 31. A new POV and a new plot that highlights Gwen and Morgana's friendship. See you then!

Alternate chapter title: "Wherein Merlin Proves Himself a Spider-Slaying Badass Despite Being Unconscious, Poisoned, Dying, and Several Miles Away from the Spiders in Question"

-Antares