Chapter 6

"Merlin, where's my sword?" Arthur asked abruptly later that evening. The thought had suddenly crept up on him and he stared at his manservant as he awaited an answer.

It was dark in the forest, the sounds of the birds and animals considerably lessened after the day had passed into night. Everything else seemed muted; the quiet crackling of the fire that cast long shadows over the group, Gwaine's soft snores from where he had fallen asleep against the tree, and the soft words of the murmured conversation between the other three knights.

Merlin had been fidgeting more and more as the darkness grew, but his eyes had rarely left the fire, only looking up when someone called his name, as Arthur had just done. His wide eyes turned to stare at Arthur in confusion. "What?" he asked, almost as if he hadn't heard what his King had said.

"Where is my sword?" Arthur repeated slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. His gaze never left Merlin's face, though his expression became even more stern. He didn't like repeating himself.

"Your sword?" Merlin asked haltingly, before pointing to the sword strapped to Arthur's belt, the hilt glistening in the firelight. "It's … right there, isn't it?" There was a note of uncertainty in his reply, as though he wondered if this was some kind of trick question.

The King looked down at his sword and then levelled a glare at his manservant; he thought perhaps Merlin was playing some kind of joke. Merlin was always playing jokes at Arthur's expense, almost as if to point out to everyone that the servant wasn't as dumb as he appeared.

"Yes, it is," Arthur agreed, still speaking slowly. He feared that he would lose his temper if he didn't. "But I have two swords, remember? And I gave you one of them before you left with Percival. Where is it?" He pressed, his voice taking on a hard edge.

Merlin blinked at Arthur as though he had no idea what he was talking about, when in reality he was scrambling to find a reply that wouldn't result in him being murdered. "Oh. Well. I … suppose I must have dropped it somewhere along the way." He mumbled, turning his gaze away as he realised that Arthur was starting to get suspicious of him now.

"Really? You dropped it?" Arthur didn't believe the younger man, but there wasn't much he could do about the idiot. Instead, he carried on to say, "You can go and find it then, as soon as day breaks tomorrow. You'll take the last watch."

Merlin narrowed his eyes, but dipped his head slightly. "Yes Sire," he replied. He returned his gaze towards the fire once more. "Simple fool," he muttered, keeping his voice soft so as to not be overheard.

"What was that?" Arthur turned a sharp glare to his servant as he settled by the fire.

"Um, I said 'It's a useful tool' – the sword, I mean," Merlin nodded affirmatively, smiling brightly at the King. Arthur stared at him for a moment longer, but accepted the lie without argument and turned away from the younger man again. That was too close, Merlin thought, staring into the depths of the flaming embers of the fire.

~#~

Bent over the small, circular platter in his hands, Merlin glanced around himself to be sure he hadn't been followed. It had been several long hours since his talk with Arthur and was so early in the morning that it wasn't quite sunrise yet. The forest was quiet around him as he sat cross-legged in the small gap between the trees well away from the camp. He was, in fact, sat near to the place where Percival had caught the deer for supper. As far as he knew, everyone else was blissfully unaware of his absence from the camp, seeing as it was supposed to be his watch and Elyan had long since fallen to sleep after the end of said knight's own watch.

Sure that he was alone, Merlin looked back to the platter held in his hands. It was small, barely larger than the full span of his hand, and made of polished silver, reinforced by magic and the runes of the Ancient language engraved into the smooth surface all around its edge. A few whispered words and a flash of gold later, and the reflected image of Merlin's face rippled liked water before falling still and turning pitch black.

"Tamara," Merlin called softly, speaking to the image before him.

For a moment, nothing stirred in the darkness, until a soft glow appeared, spreading across the image from one side to the other to show the inside of a cave. The face of a young woman quickly followed, blinking up at Merlin, before smiling, tucking her dark hair behind her ears as she leaned over the scrying medium that the platter had connected itself to.

"Damien," she greeted jovially. "That guise doesn't suit you in the slightest, you know." The amused smirk that slid into place on her face only served to irritate the young man on the other side of the two-way scrying window. And a window it was, as the breeze from the forest blew gently through the connection to ruffle the woman's hair and cause a few locks to fall back into her face.

Merlin smirked in reply and said another quick word under his breath, his eyes turning gold for a second time as his figure blurred at the edges, and Merlin practically melted away to nothing, leaving another man sat in his place. The young warlock's black hair, blue eyes and angular features were replaced by long, blond hair that could rival Gwaine's own generous head of hair. Shockingly green eyes and the soft features of a man that was still years from his coming of age further replaced the manservant's appearance. He was slightly taller now, as well, the scruffy servant's attire replaced by well-worn clothes whose quality rivalled the King's own wardrobe.

Damien sighed and ran a hand through his hair, as if reassuring himself that it was all there as it should be. "It's rather uncomfortable, looking like that," he commented lightly, his voice an octave or two higher than it had been a moment ago.

"Well, you better get used to it. You're going to be there for a while and they must not find out that their friend is no longer with them," Tamara told him firmly, a small smile still playing on her lips.

"I still don't like this, Tamara, it's too risky. The King has already started to suspect me because you-" Damien started, full of frustration and ready to lay the blame on someone other than himself, though he was mindful enough to stay quiet.

However, Tamara did not appreciate her companion's lack of respect for her authority and cut him off when she realised he was about to accuse her for their untimely kidnapping of the King's manservant. "You will not blame this on me, Damien," she snapped, rewarding her with an alarmed look from the blond boy. "It was up to you to observe his mannerisms and how he spoke and you had plenty of time in which to do that. So you will not blame me if you are stupid enough to be caught."

"...I apologise, my Lady," Damien dipped his head in subservient respect and acknowledgement of her words. "But alas, this is not why I contacted you so early on."

"Oh? So why did you, then?" Tamara leaned a little closer, curious. The pale and unobtrusive light followed her until Damien caught a glimpse of the were-light hovering just above and behind her. The light was small, the size of the silver ring Damien wore on his left hand, and it cast the same soft glow that a candle would, minus the flickering.

"I need the sword that he was carrying. I had not realised until after you had left that I did not have it, and Arthur has already noticed its absence," Damien explained. There was no need for elaboration. The Lady knew who he was referring to, and therefore knew the sword to which he was referring.

For a moment, he feared that Tamara would scold him, tell him that he would have to simply face the wrath of Arthur Pendragon when he returned to the camp without the sword and that she would not help him fix any mess he found himself in thereon in.

Eventually his fears were allayed as she sighed and nodded.

"I'll fetch it you," she simply said, disappearing out of sight with a twirl of her dress.

The light of dawn was starting to filter through the trees as Damien leaned back against the trunk just behind him. If the knights woke up and came after him now then he would be up the creek without a paddle and with his boat about to be set on fire. Fortunately the light was little more than he could see by and wouldn't rouse the knights for another hour, yet, meaning he had the chance to relax as himself for a short while.

"Here," Tamara returned in less time than Damien had thought she would, holding a sword in both hands, sheath and sword-belt also attached.

"Thank you, Tamara," Damien smiled, waiting until the hilt of the sword had been passed through the window to him before he took hold of it in one hand and carefully pulled it the rest of the way through. It was odd for him to be holding a sword, as he did so very rarely. The gold-cast and leather-bound hilt was cool in his hand but not entirely uncomfortable, and he looked over the decoration on the hilt – the Pendragon crest glittering in the dappled sunlight falling through the canopy of leaves over head.

"I shall see you again soon, Damien. Do not let me down, please, or my father will be very upset with the both of us," the young woman stressed her words slightly, emphasising them just enough so that the boy understood that she would be very angry if he failed and got her in trouble.

"Of course," the blond dipped his head again, not happy with the conspicuous threat she had just made towards him. Keeping his opinions to himself was the best option at that moment, though, and he knew this well. Making any remarks over the fact he couldn't be threatened so easily would only make her unnecessarily angry. An angry Tamara was not a merciful Tamara and if Damien didn't incur her wrath, then the warlock she was looking after certainly would.

It was with that thought that Damien spoke the spell to close the scrying window. The silver platter was quickly tucked back into his jacket and he simply enjoyed the brightening light of the morning sun. He sat listening to the sounds all around him; sounds that told all those that would listen that the day was dawning and the forest would soon be full of life again. He would don his disguise shortly, but for now he wanted to enjoy his last vestiges of freedom in his own form.

The soft trample of boots not an hour later alerted Damien to the presence of the two Knights a second before Gwaine and Leon came into view of where Damien was now crouched. He looked up in alarm, but smiled at the sight of them, glad he'd had the foresight to disguise himself not too long ago. The pair merely found their friend, Merlin, looking slightly dishevelled and shifty as he crouched in the dirt.

"Come on, Merlin, what are you doing out here? We're almost ready to break camp," Leon sighed, finding himself only slightly suspicious of what Damien, or rather Merlin, had been doing. He was relieved to have found the man, however. Whenever Merlin disappeared, a tension formed between his friends and even Arthur became worried, so of course when they woke late to find Merlin gone, Arthur had immediately ordered them to pack up while two were sent to track down the idiot servant.

Damien held up the sword and the attached belt (which he had broken so as to give him an excuse for appearing to have lost it in the first place), grinning that dopy, lop-sided grin that Merlin favoured so much. "I was getting Arthur's sword. The belt must have broken when I fell on the way back," he explained.

Gwaine chuckled and shook his head, holding out the hand of his good arm to help Damien to his feet. "Only you, Merlin," he grinned, clapping Damien on the back and leaving his arm around the man's shoulders for a few moments longer than Damien thought was necessary.

"You look better, Gwaine, how's your shoulder?" Damien asked, concern lacing his voice now as he slipped out of Gwaine's grasp and turning towards him properly to inspect the wounded man's shoulder.

"It's fine, it doesn't hurt as much anymore," Gwaine gave him a disarming smile and brushed him off, indicating with a jerk of his head that they should get back to the camp already.

Damien gave him a disbelieving look but dropped the subject. He would redress the wound before they left. He was surprised that Arthur had even let Gwaine come and find him, though he supposed he wasn't much good for anything else and would only have driven the rest of the mad with his endless chatter whilst getting in the way of everyone trying to pack up the camp. He was actually much like Merlin in that respect. Neither man was your typical knight or servant, but they were both good at their jobs (in their own ways) and both were often infuriatingly happy for no apparent reason.

With Leon bringing up the rear, the trio made their way back to the others. Arthur was a little distraught that the belt had been broken ("But I've only had that belt a month! How could it have become so worn already?") but accepted the lie without any further objections. They'd also agreed that Gwaine should let Damien redress the wound before they left, none noticing that he was more hesitant and haphazard than he should have been.

Only once they were all saddled up and on their way again did Damien let the goofy smile fall, his shoulders slumping just a fraction. He'd made sure that they weren't paying much attention to him, and he was making the odd jibe towards Arthur and Gwaine, and even Percival at once point, but the smile didn't reappear unless he caught Arthur watching him. How Merlin maintained that smile, Damien would never understand. His face already ached from being so outwardly happy and at one point Elyan had remarked on how well-balanced and therefore how un-Merlin-like he had been whilst packing up, causing Damien to purposefully trip and make a fool of himself.

He wasn't sure how long he could put up with their taunts and the demeaning way he was being forced to put aside his pride. Tamara had better hurry up, otherwise he may just go ahead with Plan B and give himself away just to shut these arrogant men up.

~#~~#~

Merlin stayed down for now. He was winded and his shoulders and the back of his head hurt where they had hit the roof of the cave before the rest of his body, taking the brunt of the impact. Falling hadn't been much fun, either, but it had only served to further drive the breath from his lungs and possibly worsen any concussion he might have. The warlock mildly wondered if there was any permanent damage. Everything was certainly spinning fast enough, his head pounding ruthlessly as the pressure built somewhere behind his eyes.

He groaned and screwed his eyes shut tight, hoping that that would stop the spinning. He tentatively reached up to grope at the back of his head, wincing at the contact. Luckily, his hand was clear of blood when he pulled it back down in front of his face and inspected his fingers closely. He repeated the action with his forehead, and this time there was a small amount of blood where a rock had caught him, but the wound was small and shallow and he couldn't find it in himself to worry over it.

"What do you want?" he asked as he lifted his torso off the ground, hanging his head slightly. The spinning had mostly stopped, but his headache became even worse. His arms were shaking beneath him and the nausea that lifting his head had caused was making him regret moving just yet.

"It's not so much a question of what I want, but what you are going to want, Myrddin," the woman told him. Her voice was melodic but sharp and brokered no argument.

Merlin's head came up sharply, but he winced and dropped his head forward again. Slowly at first, he shuffled around until he was kneeling, holding his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes and temples to ease the growing headache. Carefully straightening his back, Merlin rolled his shoulders, glad to find that although they hurt, nothing was too badly damaged.

Happy that he wasn't suffering any long-lasting injuries, Merlin raised his head to look at his kidnapper. (If it really was this woman that had taken him from his friends, and not someone else that was after his powers or wanting to use him as bait for Arthur). A fact that wasn't going to be dismissed lightly now that he knew she had magic. And strong magic it must be, for her to propel him through the air with no incantation, only the intent of her will.

"Myrddin?"

What Merlin had meant to ask was "Who are you?" but that would work too. As long as he got some answers to his questions.

The woman smirked and looked over the man sat before her. "Myrddin Emrys. That is your name, right? Merlin, son of Balinor, the last Dragon Lord and Warlock of prophesy, servant to The Once and Future King. That is you, is it not?"

Staring at her for almost a full minute, Merlin tried not to let his jaw drop in shock. This woman knew his name, knew that he was Emrys and that he was a Dragon Lord. She even knew of his father!

Surprisingly, it was the new name she was calling him that disturbed him most. He found himself contemplating the nine years in which Merlin had spent in Arthur's service. They had been hard to the prince, forcing him into situations that made him question his beliefs. The last two years were notable in that Arthur had come to a turning point in his relationship with magic. They may have been two long, quiet years, but they were far from uneventful, besides.

Arthur had never held his father's views on magic as viciously as Uther had, and despite all the times magic had failed him, had betrayed him and taken his family from him, the King had soon realised that despite his grief, he couldn't ignore the good he knew magic had done in his life time.

He'd spoken to Merlin about his beliefs once, a lengthy conversation that had come about due to Arthur's curiosity over what Merlin's beliefs of magic had been before he came to Camelot. According to his friend, the thought had just somehow popped into his head, random and without prompt, but Merlin had seen the way Arthur had been distracted since they had retaken the realm from Morgana. So he'd obliged and told Arthur, in a round-a-bout way, of his beliefs and those of the people living in Ealdor. In return, Arthur had confessed of the things that had been troubling him.

"Is all magic really evil, Merlin?" Arthur had asked. "It pains me to even think that my father was wrong in such a manner, but I can't just deny the things I've seen. Nothing has ever been that black and white, so why would magic be the exception?"

He had confessed that the first good thing he'd ever witnessed where magic was concerned was the blue orb of light that had protected and guided him on his quest to find the mortaeus flower so Gaius could cure Merlin. He'd been sure that someone, somewhere had been looking out for him, for there had not been even the slightest doubt in his mind of that light being there for his benefit, or rather, for Merlin's benefit. Either way, it had saved him and while in its presence, Arthur had actually felt safe.

Then there had been the druids and the old man, Dragoon. The druids had only ever been peaceful people, and Arthur had promised to allow them to live within Camelot's borders, so long as they did not practise their magic where anyone could see and did not bring harm to any of his citizens. Of course, he hadn't pronounced this to Camelot as a whole, but had met in secret with the one druid leader he knew and partially trusted, seeing as Iseldir had allowed him to take the Cup of Life without argument. Not to mention the way they had saved Leon's life from the brink of death.

Dragoon was a complicated matter, however, and one that did not bear much thought. Arthur was confused by the man and didn't know whether to trust his instincts and believe that he had, in fact, intended to heal Uther, or believe his eyes and condemn the sarcastic sorcerer for taking his father's life. What had troubled Arthur the most about the old man was the way his gut twisted anxiously whenever they met. He was positive that they had met before, outside of the few encounters around the castle, but Arthur couldn't remember where and Dragoon had made it clear he wasn't going to offer up any solutions to that predicament.

"That is me," Merlin nodded haltingly. "But I have never been called Myrddin before."

"Oh? Maybe it was just my mistake, then. The druids prophecies have apparently become a little skewed among the people," the woman smiled pleasantly. Except Merlin didn't believe her. There was something going on in her mind and he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to know. The young warlock had a feeling that those eyes of hers were seeing things in an entirely different light to him, making connections that he didn't even knew could exist.

"Yes, well..." he trailed off and looked about himself for the first time. A bowl of water sat on the far side of the cave, a little behind the woman and to Merlin's left. Two packs were leant against the wall beside the bowl, sat on top of two folded travelling cloaks, but other than those few things, the cave was deserted. There wasn't even the remains of a camp fire. "So who are you?" he finally asked.

The woman looked relieved, as though she'd thought he'd never ask. Then she curtsied and bowed her head a little in respect. "My name is Tamara," she replied, standing straight before carrying on. "But you may know me as the Queen of Tam's Kingdom, Dauth."

Word count: 3,897

A/N:

Just in case people are confused, Were-light's are those lights that seem to hover and have no origin. E.G. the blue and white orb that helped Arthur could be called a were-light.

This was never supposed to be more than a week late, but as painful as it had been to write the first time around, my computer decided that it didn't like me writing instead of studying and deleted all of my files for fanfiction DOT net, meaning I had to rewrite this. Not to mention real life has been a kick in the teeth the past couple of months.

I don't particularly like this chapter and the next two will take another couple of weeks because I've scrapped my original plans, but I hope you like it and please review. I've finally come to understand why people practically beg for reviews – you only need to write a few words but they really make my day and actually make me want to write faster.

A question though, for all of those that would take a few second to click the big blue button:

Do you, A, want this to be a bit shorter than I'd planned and have Damien discovered pretty early on. Or B, shall I just carry on writing and let everything unfold and leave the knights in the dark about Damien for now ? It's up to you, but thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it! Thank you once again to my wonderful Beta, TheImpossiblePen! It's thanks to her you haven't had to wait another month for this :)

AWA x