Chapter XXVI: Winter in Camelot

Merlin woke to a throbbing head and the taste of blood on his tongue. He lay motionless for a few long minutes, trying to figure out how he'd gotten into this (it was probably Arthur's fault, he reflected sourly) and what, exactly, 'this' was. Only when memory returned did he groan and open his eyes.

"Hello, young warlock," drawled a blessedly familiar voice. "Would you care to explain why you have possession of a highly powerful magical artifact that can be extremely dangerous for untrained novices to use?"

Merlin groaned again. He tried to tell his friend that it was a long story, but he slurred so badly that it came out like "ishalonstoree."

"I beg your pardon?"

The dragon sounded so prim that the warlock cracked a grin. Somehow, that made his head feel a little better. Still, he swallowed several times before repeating, "It's a long story."

"Stories are meant to be told."

"Ihavva headache," Merlin moaned. Slowly and carefully, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position. The effort left him a bit dizzy, but it was worth it, for his head was already beginning to clear.

It took him awhile to explain why, exactly, he had absconded with the Crystal of Neahtid (which, he noticed with some relief, Kilgharrah had cradled protectively between his clawed forelegs) and the other contents of Uther's treasure vault. Much to his surprise, the story made Kilgharrah smile.

"The druid is a good influence," he proclaimed.

"You think so?" Merlin arched a brow. "I thought you'd still be lecturing me."

"Why should I?" the dragon asked. "You asked for a second opinion before going through with your reckless but ultimately intelligent plan, and rather than spoon-feeding you the answers you sought, Blaise made you reason your own way out. Iseldir chose wisely when he made Blaise your mentor."

"Well," Merlin said, still a bit bemused, "I thought you'd lecture me about the plan itself and how stupid I was to grab something so powerful on my first go."

"Do you want to be lectured?" Kilgharrah queried, amusement dancing in his amber eyes.

"No!" Merlin shook his head too vigorously. The ache between his temples spiked. Wincing, he rubbed the places above his ears.

"It is not your fault that the druid's wards could not contain the Crystal," Kilgharrah informed him. "You ought to make your own warded box, but it is extremely easy to misjudge the relative strengths of two artifacts that have never interacted with each other." He shrugged. "Have you learned from your mistake?"

"Well, yes…."

Kilgharrah nodded as though that settled the matter. "If you make this same mistake again, young warlock, then I will give you that lecture you desire. Since it arose from incorrect knowledge, though, I will overlook your error in favor of asking what you want me to do with the Crystal and the other artifacts."

Merlin decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. "I originally thought that we could maybe store them in the cave, but then I thought that someone might find them there. I mean, it's not exactly likely. They still haven't noticed that you're gone, and you're a lot bigger than anything in Uther's treasure vault. But if they ever did notice you're missing, Uther will probably order a thorough search of the entire cave. Then they'd definitely find the magical artifacts and I'd be right back where I started, except Uther would up security, I'd have to find another hiding place, and there would probably be another witch hunt like the one that brought in Aredian. And Kilgharrah? Witch hunts are bad, so it's not appropriate to smile like that."

The dragon's smile didn't fade at all. If anything, it grew. "I am not pleased at the thought of a witch hunt, Merlin, but I am pleased with you."

The warlock frowned, confused. "But why?"

Kilgharrah chuckled softly. "I am certain that if you think about it, you can figure it out. For now, though, I believe that I shall bring these artifacts to my own abode. There are many hidden nooks and crannies in the place I make my home, and it is difficult for humans to reach. Unless, of course, you had another idea?"

"Actually, I was sort of hoping that you'd volunteer to do exactly what you just volunteered to do. Thank you, by the way."

Kilgharrah extended his neck until his face was only a foot away from Merlin's. "Do not thank me. I am glad to help you. If anything, I should thank you."

Merlin flushed. "Well, you're welcome, I guess," he mumbled. "Do you think that, since you're here right now, we could maybe make a schedule? I was thinking that I could do my break-ins on Tuesday nights, stash the artifacts in the cave, and give them to you with your weekly sheep. You're smiling again, by the way."

"Why should I not smile?"

"I have a headache, you know," Merlin grumbled. "Would it kill you to have mercy on the guy with the headache and speak plainly for once?"

"No," the dragon chuckled, "but it would make my life rather less enjoyable."

Merlin, like the wise and powerful warlock he was, stuck out his tongue.

Kilgharrah flung back his head and laughed.

Gaius's lecture about how reckless Merlin had been more than made up from the lack of rebuke from his scaly friend. It also kept him up later than he wanted, so he spent the next day in an exhausted fugue. The next day wasn't much better, but he got through it, and the next day, and the day after that, recovering a bit more each time he crawled into his bed.

The days settled into an easy routine: wake Arthur, complete his ridiculous list of chores, spend the afternoon in the forest with Blaise, get Arthur through supper (and usually receive even more chores, because the princely prat just loved making things difficult for him), spend a few hours doing those chores, and finally learn about healing from Gaius until it was time for him to sleep. Oh, his routine varied a bit according to the day of the week, as he had to dispose of Kilgharrah's sheep, break into the vault, and take magical theory lessons with Leon and Arthur, and sometimes Arthur dragged him on yet another hunting trip, and sometimes Uther would send the both of them on completely unsuccessful raids, but overall, the routine varied very little.

Then the leaves fell and frost dusted the ground. Fortunately the harvest was in by then, and thanks to Blaise, Merlin and Gaius had a good-sized stock of herbs. The weather freed up quite a bit of Merlin's time—or it did until Arthur realized that he could get more work out of his manservant.

In Camelot, starting in the summer but continuing through the winter, he learned to multitask and prioritize, things he'd never had to do on the farm. Back in Ealdor, he'd only really had to work out in the fields. It was hard work, to be sure, but very monotonous and not exactly mentally draining. In Camelot, though, he had to make the most of each minute. He started bringing Gaius-approved books with him to Arthur's room, where he could sneak in a page or two before being reassigned. He would polish Arthur's possessions (mostly armor and weapons, but occasionally buttons or boots or some other random item) in the physician's chambers, listening to Gaius talk about healing and herbs. And yes, he would use magic to speed up some of his smellier jobs—but only after double-checking that no one was nearby.

Blaise's tutoring changed. Before, Merlin had met him almost daily on herb-gathering expeditions. Now, though, it was too cold for that, so they needed another excuse to meet. Blaise eventually solved the problem by making fortnightly trips into Camelot. He would pose as one of Gaius's patients, a farmer from an outlying village who needed medicine that only the court physician was skilled enough to make. He would spend the night in the castle, going with Merlin into Kilgharrah's old cave to practice sorcery without the risk of anyone seeing them. Then he would quiz his pupil on that fortnight's assigned readings and assign new material for their next class.

But as the weeks turned into months, Merlin found himself getting faster at everything. It had taken him awhile, probably due to the sheer volume of information being dumped into his head (Latin, Greek, spells, magical creatures, how to be a decent servant, how to put up with Arthur, a few of Camelot's laws, history, prophecies, even a bit of druidic culture), but now, things were finally getting easier. He understood every term that came out of Gaius's mouth and no longer had to interrupt him with questions and requests for clarification anywhere near as often.

Much to Merlin's surprise and relief, there was very little trouble in Camelot for most of the winter. He heard absolutely nothing from Nimueh and, in February, broached the topic with Gaius.

"Do you think she's given up?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm sorry?" Gaius looked up from his book. The reading glasses perched on his nose shifted slightly as his eyebrow began its dreaded ascent.

"Nimueh, I mean," Merlin clarified. "Do you think that she's decided to stop attacking Camelot? Because we haven't heard from her in months." He thought back to his last meeting with the sorceress. "In fact, I don't think I've seen her since before I met Father. Do you think she changed her mind?"

Gaius didn't hesitate to shake his head. "I knew Nimueh before the Purge," he said. "Surrender is not in her nature."

"Maybe not surrender," Merlin said, "but maybe she changed her mind about what methods to use. Maybe she's going to do what the druids are doing and publically use magic for good."

"I doubt that very much, Merlin," the old physician sighed. "I wish that I could share your optimism, but unless she has died in some freak accident, she is out there somewhere plotting her next move."

He sounded so certain that his ward deflated. "Oh," the warlock sighed, shoulders slumping. "I guess I'd thought that maybe she…." He sighed. "But I guess not." He swallowed hard, a sudden thought making his heart race. "Gaius. When she does make her next move, it's going to be something really big and public and obviously magical, right?"

"Probably," the physician acquiesced. "It would certainly fit her past behavioral patterns."

It would; that was why Merlin had thought of it. The afanc had affected all of Camelot. The griffin, which Nimueh had helped direct towards the citadel, had devastated an entire village before moving on. Even when she'd poisoned Merlin, she had chosen to act during a highly public peace gathering.

"How badly do you think that Nimueh's next move will affect what the druids are doing?"

Gaius closed his book, his blue eyes going distant as he mulled it over.

The druids had done as Merlin—as Emrys—had asked. Slowly at first, then more and more often, reports trickled into the citadel of druids magically healing the victims of bandit attacks, asking nothing in return but a kind word or two. Others had shown up with missing children or livestock or the occasional village simpleton, not using any magic but with their clothing proudly proclaiming their heritage. A town in Gedref had had problems with vermin; one day, with no explanation, the insects and rodents had just vanished, and local boys had found signs of a camp in the woods nearby. A group of robed women had towed in a ship from a storm using only their voices.

They were fighting back. After twenty years of persecution, twenty years of hiding and ducking their heads and separating themselves from the wider world, the druids were finally standing up and saying, "Enough. Remember who we are."

And every time they saved a life, every time they cleansed a barn of vermin or fixed a drying well, every time they used magic for good, word of their deeds spread. Slowly at first, quietly, for the people who had encountered druids were afraid that Uther would hurt them just for that brief association. But they whispered the tales to their friends, to their kin, and they murmured it to their friends and kin and friends' friends, and then people were telling it in taverns, names and places safely blurred into anonymity, details fading but the core of the stories remaining as clear and bright as ever: the druids were using magic for good. At the risk of their own lives, they were spiting Uther's decree and helping, healing, saving the people of Camelot and beyond.

The king was furious, of course. He sent his knights to investigate, prepared hunts and raids whenever he heard that the druids had been active. Thus far, though, his attempts at hunting them down and enacting some cruel retaliation had been completely unsuccessful. There were several reasons for this, Uther's councilors pointed out: knights were hardly inconspicuous, druids had had years of experience hiding in the woods, and they had magic. No wonder the hounds kept losing the trail or the knights mysteriously fell asleep.

The councilors did not say that Arthur didn't put his heart into the raids he was supposed to lead, that he gave the sites a thorough examination with a pensive frown on his face, brow wrinkled in thought. They didn't know about that, but Merlin did, and every time he saw Arthur thinking about his father's treatment of the druids, every time he heard the prince ask an open-minded question about magic, he had to fight back a smile.

Gaius sighed heavily, drawing Merlin out of his reverie. "Whatever Nimueh does, it will only harm your efforts. The only thing I don't know is how much."

"Do you think it will be a lot or a little?"

"I don't know," the physician reiterated. "Don't look at me like that. You know I'm not being deliberately difficult. I just don't know what Nimueh will do, so I can't predict the public's response. If, say, she sends another creature like the griffin, I imagine that the repercussions would be fairly severe. But if her next attack is more like the afanc, something that could spring from a non-magical source, then it wouldn't be too bad at all."

Merlin sighed heavily. His good mood had entirely evaporated. "And even if she does something not so blatantly magical, she might not be so obliging next time." His face hardened. "I have to stop her, Gaius."

"Perhaps you should ask Kilgharrah."

"I have. She's been avoiding him."

"Smart of her," Gaius muttered.

"I don't imagine it's very difficult," Merlin said. "For Nimueh, I mean, not Kilgharrah. It's obviously difficult for him. But Nimueh is a lot smaller than him, so she can go into buildings and whatnot. Not to mention that she could see a great bloody dragon pretty easily, and Kilgharrah can only really go out at night." He frowned. "Which makes me wonder if she let him find her that first time."

"It is entirely possible," Gaius admitted. "Wanting to meet her adversary is certainly in keeping with the Nimueh that I knew."

Merlin was silent for a long while. Finally he let loose another sigh, as heavy and bone-rattling as his last. "I hate having to wait for her to make the next move," the warlock confessed. "I wish I was better at scrying, but I can barely even check up on my parents, and even then, the images are still really blurry."

"It's remarkable that you've been able to learn scrying at all," Gaius reminded him. "You'll get better with time and practice, Merlin, the same as you would with any other skill. But speaking of Hunith and Balinor, how are they doing?"

As always, the mention of his parents living together made Merlin smile. "Quite well," he responded. "Their last letter said that even Old Man Simmons had stopped snooping around, so that means that pretty much everyone in Ealdor accepts 'Bael.'"

Hunith and Balinor had, for obvious reasons, needed to invent some sort of origin story for the latter. They eventually decided that they would present Merlin's father to Ealdor as Bael, an escaped slave from Mercia, who had impregnated Hunith on his first disastrous escape attempt. After being recaptured, Bael had been watched like a hawk, but he'd managed, after years and years of hard work, to save enough coin to buy his freedom. Upon discovering that the rest of his family had passed away, Bael had come to Hunith, not knowing about their son, just hoping that she might help him establish himself somewhere for old time's sake. Learning about Merlin, though, and hearing that she was unmarried still, Bael had decided to remain in Ealdor (with occasional trips to Camelot, of course).

More than a few people had been skeptical at first. They had long believed that Merlin was some woodland bandit's rape-spawned get, not the product of tragic, forbidden love. But they'd come around these past few months as they got to know more about 'Bael,' and now quite a few of the village women had elevated their love story to something of a fairytale. The men had taken a bit longer to come around, but Balinor was a hard worker and usually polite to them, with a wry sense of humor that people of both genders appreciated. Not to mention that he was obviously Merlin's father—they could all see the resemblance—and Hunith wouldn't let someone who had raped her live in her home. Old Man Simmons had been the last holdout, and now that even he was convinced, Balinor should be completely safe.

"Good," Gaius declared. He frowned suddenly. "Say, Merlin, when were you supposed to meet Arthur?"

The younger man blanched, which was answer enough. "Bye, Gaius!" he cried, scurrying out the door.

Arthur had already begun preparing for his coming-of-age ceremony. It was scheduled for his twenty-first birthday, which was about three months away, and Merlin was already dreading it. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for Arthur or that he didn't want the man to be officially recognized as Crown Prince of Camelot, it was just that all the work involved with such a momentous occasion would make life among the servants hell.

The prince rolled his eyes when Merlin arrived. "Punctual as ever, I see," he observed dryly.

"I was helping Gaius," Merlin began, but Arthur waved his protests away.

"And now you'll be helping me." He gestured to a pile of papers on his desk. "I need a sigil."

"But doesn't Camelot already have one?" Merlin asked, frowning.

"We do," Arthur confirmed. "The gold dragon on a field of red. But quite a few noblemen have personal sigils as well as the house arms. As official crown prince, I need a sigil for myself, not just for the Pendragons. And before you say anything," he added, seeing his servant open his mouth, "it's not going to be a merlin or any other sort of bird."

The manservant sniffed. "I wasn't going to suggest that, you dolt, and anyways, the falcon would be a terrible representative for you. I was going to ask what Uther's is."

"A lion. He doesn't use it much, though, I think because he was my grandfather's third son. Why would a falcon be a bad choice?"

"Well, think about it. They have keen, clear eyes and see things from above, so they represent clarity of vision. They soar in the heavens, so they're close to the gods. And they're fast, so they represent swiftness, which you most certainly are not. And for some reason, they also are associated with boldness."

"…And why, exactly, does that not describe me?"

"Arthur," Merlin said, "you're hardly the most clear-sighted or… swift person in the world."

"I am extremely clear-sighted," the prince protested. "And I'll have you know that I'm very fast. Haven't you seen me on the battlefield?"

"If you were swift or clear-sighted, you'd know what I'm talking about," Merlin retorted, a grin tugging at his lips.

Eventually, they narrowed it down to a lion like Uther's or a bear. "Go with the bear," Merlin advised. "I mean, they're covered in hair, extremely grouchy when they're awakened, and not quite so swift as us falcons."

"Thank you, Merlin."

"Anytime, sire."

"The bear symbolizes a mighty warrior!"

"If you say so."

"I do say so. So does Geoffrey!"

"Well, I can't argue with Geoffrey. The bear, then?" Merlin asked, hoping very much that Arthur would agree.

After all, lions were Uther's symbol.

"Yes," Arthur decided, "because I worked long and hard to become a good fighter, and I want the enemies of Camelot to know that I'll protect my own."

"That, and all the other things I just mentioned."

"Merlin!"

"Shutting up, Sir Bear."

Arthur just sighed.

Merlin was right, of course, in that things got busier and busier as the ceremony approached. Everything had to be cleaned, then cleaned again, then cleaned a third time and touched up just for good measure. Dignitaries from around the kingdom began pouring in, knights and lords and ladies. The castle was fuller than Merlin had ever seen it, and of course, that many people made a mess. They became so busy that even Morgana, who was in charge of seating and housing arrangements, didn't need sleeping draughts.

The fuss was enough to make Merlin forget about everything. He even forgot Kilgharrah's sheep, though Gaius retained enough presence of mind to remind him, and about Nimueh, who had yet to make her move.

That was a very stupid mistake. After all, Camelot was full of strangers, full of people to see and spread the news. If Merlin had been thinking, he would have realized that the ceremony was too juicy a prize for Nimueh, with her love of theatrics, to resist. But he didn't think of that, didn't think of anything but getting the blasted ritual over with so he could catch up on his sleep.

So he was just as surprised as everyone else when the mounted knight burst through the window.

Alternate chapter title: "Wherein Lectures Are Accepted as Part of the Natural Order of the Universe, and Their Absence, While Appreciated, is Nonetheless Quite Disturbing"

The symbolism stuff is quite true. Falcons really are associated with clarity, boldness, and the heavens, and bears really are symbols of powerful warriors. Arthur is also associated with bears in the myths, and I've read suggestions that the name 'Arthur' means 'Uther's bear,' though I can't remember where I read that, so please take it with a grain of salt. As to the lion... they're respected and glorified, but their real-world behavior is not exactly pleasant. Look up what happens when a new alpha lion moves in if you don't believe me. Plus, they are the Lannister animal, and the vast majority of Lannisters completely suck. (So I guess that Arthur's a Mormont?)

Next update:July 9. Merlin gets his first lesson on how to fight zombies and, if I get that far, a rather terrifying hug that will disturb him for years to come. That's either next chapter or the one after it, and I am looking forward to it a lot more than Merlin. :)

-Antares