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Reunion Tour
16 - 5 Kalends of November
In the forest, she thinks, there are no short trees.
There are only tall ones that tower over her with a disdain for her short-lived existence. Below, in the gloom they create, spindly bushes strive for a morsel of sunlight tossed aside. Their small branches stretch upward, arms reaching, spreading, grasping.
But it's pointless, she thinks. They'll die there, where they started, in the shadows.
Unless one tree were to fall; one rotted through for years. One that would only take a push of magic and then there would be a race for that light.
She picks a fruit pit from the soil and throws it with all her might. It disappears into the ring of trees that surround her. They are the bars of her jail, the sentries at her gate, the unspeaking demons of her long nights.
She hates this unchanging place. It's been weeks, she thinks, since she's been relegated to this secluded, fertile prison of Emrys' making. She has not seen him, nor any other soul. But her powers are returning, and if escape is the game, then she may just win it in the end.
Something shifts in the shadows, one of the trees themselves, and she sits straighter in astonishment as it begins to move into the light. She sees branches that are truly arms, a trunk truly made of long legs, and leaves that form a bundle of hair and beard. It smiles at her and she sees it's teeth of treestumps, sees this is some sort of man or creature, and unable to decide if this is fact or fiction, her mind stumbles and she shrieks when it speaks to her.
That's the first sound she has made all this time, and her hand flies to her throat. It is thick, woolen with disuse, and just another thing she does not recognize.
"What are you?" she asks, the simple phrase catching many times as her voice struggles into use again.
"I am a faerie of this forest," it replies. "You are my companion."
"Companion?" She spits. What is this insanity? Being sold off into slavery is not a fate she would ever willingly abide. If she had wanted to be an heirloom wife, she would have remained fluttering her eyelashes in Uther's court. Venomously, she corrects, "I am a prisoner here."
"Are the fruits not to your liking?" It muses, standing over her and eclipsing the sun. "Do you not enjoy the rain?"
"Yes, perhaps," she says, beginning to realize that this creature may have been watching her all this time. The thought makes her lip curl. She's washed this dress during a storm. "Would you change it for my benefit?"
"Yes, perhaps," it mocks her, grinning that smile that was almost human but frighteningly not so. "Let's go for a walk, little witch."
Morgana's first instinct is to argue. She wants to fight, now that she knows her keeper. Fire always came naturally to her, after all. She can almost see it, the flames at her fingertips, the fear in its eyes. It would be a fitting way for them both to die.
But though she is not one to bow, she has learned to bend, and she'll bend however far she must if it means escape. She will smile whatever false smiles it wishes, heap upon it false praises, and one day she will have the power to ruin it.
Soon, she thinks. In the early days here she had been afraid to think beyond the pain of the pit, but she had learned in increments to live without the support of a wall at her back, without the support of Aithusa, and now she can stand and walk and feels tendrils of true magic in her belly. It no longer goes to healing her frailties, and it is eager to be used for its true purpose.
The thought of revenge on Emrys leaves her heady. He is no longer an enemy to be wary of, but an enemy to destroy. He took her magic which led to her capture, and he continually defends her stupid, intolerant brother, and he is a bane on the freedom for all magic-users. This thing that claims to own her, that is standing in her way, is only a small creature in the way of her true destiny.
She is meant to be a Queen, she knows. Morgause said so.
She looks up into the faerie's withered face and extends a hand. One of its living vines curls about her and raises her to standing.
She smiles coyly.
This creature will only be the first rotted tree she fells.
Leon did his best not to frown. He had no reason to frown, and truly he wasn't upset; he had just been told, by the ever-informal Gwaine, that when he was thinking too hard he looked very stern. Though, maybe that was why he had catapulted to the top of the knight's leadership during Uther's reign.
Nearby Elyan and Percival were having a casual conversation about villages they had lived in during their travels across Albion. Elyan, during his time spent away after his mother's death, and Percival, after his village was ruined by Cenred's army. They were terrible reasons to leave home, but the two knights had left behind that trouble and were currently bonding over a particular tavern-wench they both knew of from Droitwich.
"She was keen on Lancelot," Percival was saying with a wistful smile, "and his honor kept him continually helping her with whatever emergency she thought up."
Leon shifted a bit further to the side, acting like he was consumed with his focus on Camelot's front gates. Honestly the majority of him was—his training kept him intent on his view even from the overlook on the castle's walls.
The small part of him that was free to wax on, however, rolled through the words of his fellow Round Table knights. It was an amusing discussion they had not prevented him from entering, but it was one he could not comment on. Not for the first time, he wondered at the differences in his and the others upbringing, and was almost disappointed he had nothing to offer.
He noticed the frown beginning to hit the edges of his mouth again, and he made a concerted effort to lift its edges to a neutral expression. He had nothing to frown over, as he had already decided. Even if he could not quite relate to the other knights because of his own nobility, they had other commonalities and would always fight side by side. The Banquet Hall was cleared, those that had been attacked were safe and accounted for, and Arthur had admitted to causing and closing the magical threat, though only to the Round Table.
A hand fell heavily on his shoulder, and when Leon turned, it was Elyan smiling at him warmly. It was a smile both he and Gwen shared. "Relax, Leon. A war won't break out before a long winter, and Camelot's guards are ever vigilant if I happen to be wrong."
"True, but as captain I should be the last to waver from my responsibility."
Percival grew a small smile, a normal expression for the generally taciturn knight, and Leon gleaned little from it. Elyan, on the other hand, said, "No one can ever say you are not the ideal Captain of the Guard."
Elyan, true to his nature, was not being sarcastic, but Percival's smile flickered in what may have been amusement. Leon didn't miss that Gwaine had made jokes at his expense, the man had a problem with authority in general, and he was certain whatever repercussions of that had shown Percival's hand.
Still, he was not upset. Leon knew that he, personally, was a man who appreciated the rules and the stark contrast between right and wrong. He was a man who always tried to follow the righteous path, and thus being the butt of a joke was unavoidable. If he came across as disingenuous, then so be it. He had been training to be a knight since his childhood, and if the idealisms were ingrained in him now, then it was much too late to change.
A flicker of something caught his subconscious, and he turned back to Camelot's gates, this time forgetting to conceal his frown. Percival asked, "Leon, what do you see?"
That was a good question; he wasn't quite sure what had caught his attention. His eyes skimmed the wide plaza that opened into the Lower Town, and he caught on what had triggered his instincts. A tall female in a faded red dress was strolling purposely through the crowd.
It was too generic a dress to recognize, and too large a city to see her face from this distance, but Leon knew her. He knew her gait, and the strength of her posture. He could imagine the singular focus of her gaze, and the blonde of her hair. "Excuse me," he said to Elyan and Percival, and turned quickly for the exit.
Elyan's mouth opened, likely wondering if there was an order he needed to take, but Leon was a disciplined enough leader that if he were going to tell them to do something, the order would have already been given. The two men watched him go off with slight curiosity, but without a fight.
Leon made his way quickly through the halls of Camelot's castle, and he was walking through the courtyard's archway when he spied her again, a solitary figure in peasant thread striding resolutely up the grand road of the Upper Town.
He met her halfway. "My lady," Leon said with a slight bow. "What brings you to Camelot? You look concerned."
"I told you, I'm not a lady," she replied with a flicker of an eye-roll. This was Forridel, a once-citizen of Camelot who had been forced to flee to a Druid encampment. Now, she lived as a tanner with Iseldir in the Forest of Brecffa to the south. "But I have a request of Arthur, on behalf of Iseldir."
Leon nodded and with a gesture offered to take the pack from her shoulders. It looked to be a few more animal skins prepared for sale, and the usual necessities of a traveler. "Would you like to rest first? I can offer food or water, or a room to sleep in."
She kept a firm grip on her pack, giving him a strange look. She had never liked him doing things for her. "Where?" She said bluntly.
Leon had to think a bit more carefully now, Arthur would assuredly not mind him offering a room in the castle, but Forridel certainly wouldn't accept it. "There would be space in my family home."
She looked at him dubiously. "I think I'll stay in an inn."
He took the rejection in stride. "Then you must let me show you the safer side of town."
She turned about on her heal. "I recall where that is, but if you're coming with me anyways, I can tell you the news instead." She peered back at him, "Does that work out with your knight's code?"
Leon agreed, offering his arm which she laughed off. However, when he had moved slightly ahead to lead the way, he caught her putting her hands into her braided updo, checking the arrangement and trying to tuck stray strands back into place.
Instead of down and back through the Upper Town, he took her on the more scenic route, past the training greens and towards the tournament grounds. "It's just like I remember," she said, surprised.
"You thought it would change?" He remarked.
"So much else has," she replied.
They exchanged a look, and then he put a hand on her elbow to lead her round the base of the arena, and onto the wide road that edged the lower side of the Upper Town and was lined with higher class inns and eateries. "Tell me your news," Leon said.
"It's mostly rumors and guesswork," she said starkly. "With the winter coming up soon, and the camp completely built, Iseldir has been long expecting the last third of the Druids from Essetir's camp."
"They're missing?" Leon guessed.
"The Druid Elders have been arguing for weeks over it. They think the group was accosted at the border. There's no other reason to have gone so long without word."
Certainly not. This near the Kalends of November, all in Camelot were expecting the first frost any day. The Druids would think the same, and there was no reason to risk traveling in the cold by delaying their journey. Surely something had happened.
He cast his mind over scattered reports he'd heard from various patrols, trying to piece together a puzzle. He filtered first for recent stories from the East, where Essetir lay, and then overlay that with the myriad of more casual conversations he had held, since the burning of the witch, concerning unrest in the region.
"There are always bandits in our forests, and there could have been an attack by villagers, but I doubt the strength of either. A Druid group would not be so easily swept through," he added, thinking back to the days he had once spent hunting them. He may not have been proud of them now, but he did know that Druids could be a formidable foe if you were not prepared to attack swiftly and without mercy.
In addition, he surely would have heard of a battle, even if it were over the border. Blood trails were always lain, whether through rumor or river-bourne bodies.
"I'll speak with Arthur," he finished, realizing he had been silent for a stretch. "I suspect Lot's army were involved, and Arthur will have to decide how to handle this."
With curiosity she asked, "Do you think he'll actually do anything? I doubt he would risk war over a handful of Druids."
Leon stopped and put a hand on the door of The Mighty Quill, an average inn for this row of businesses, but still a much better choice than the looser pubs the knights usually frequented. He knew the owner well, the father of a brave guard that had died during Morgana's last attack, and because of that he knew Forridel would be safe here. "Arthur will do what is right, it's why we all follow him as our king." He cut her a glance. "He will not turn his back on Iseldir now, not when he's already given his word."
"You're so earnest," Forridel smiled, "but I believe you." Leon pushed the door open and she poked her head in, and immediately leaned back out. "I cannot afford it."
"This is something I won't take a refusal on," he said, keeping the door open with a foot, and then reaching out to block her from retreating further. "You are a guest of Camelot. As Captain of the Guard, I will cover your expenses."
She frowned prettily. "I don't think that's necessary; there are other inns just down the road—"
"As a favor to me," Leon maintained, nudging her inward, "stay. It would malign my honor to not treat you after your selfless journey."
She quirked a brow, but he could tell he had won at least this. "Whatever happened to 'preserve the honor of a woman'? I can take care of myself."
He offered a joke that surely would have rolled the eyes of his fellow knights, "That is an important rule in our code, but 'perseverance to the end of any enterprise begun,' falls higher on the list."
She scoffed, "Oh, so you've 'begun' have you? I'm honored, Sir Knight," then she laughed and curtseyed.
Leon grinned back.
A frown was the furthest thing from his mind.
Arthur returned to the East tower, and to Gaius' chambers. This was a place he had frequented in his youth, every scrape treated by the Court Physician in this chamber smelling of spice and flora. This room had become a place of safety and another measure of his years.
He could remember being so young that his eyes barely passed over the edge of Gaius' worktable, and looking in wonder at the rows of jars filled with mysterious concoctions. He recalled smirking at Brennis after besting him in a fight, and watching his friend pout while they each received a verbal lashing. He would always remember waking on the spare cot after a threat on his life, and recognizing the familiar feel of this place and knowing he was home.
This many years later, Gaius' chambers were very different. His wife was currently sleeping peacefully in the space for patients, and his manservant sat at the main table, lazily polishing pieces of Arthur's armor. These were two people who he could never have imagined fitting so seamlessly into his life, but now he could shut the door to Gaius' chambers behind him, and know again the feeling of coming home.
"What was that about?" Merlin asked, referring to Arthur's absence.
"Part of Iseldir's camp has disappeared." Arthur shook his head, astonished at the juxtaposition of his own thoughts. Seeing his father had been a reminder of everything Uther had warned against, and yet here he was already decided in defending the Druids. "I want to know where they went."
Merlin raised an eyebrow. "You look like you already have a plan."
"That's because I'm a capable leader," Arthur replied smartly.
Merlin shrugged, "As long as it doesn't require going through dangerous caves and covering ourselves with foul-smelling berries, I'm in."
"You were never 'out', Merlin. Someone has to carry my pack."
Merlin rolled his eyes as Arthur plopped himself onto the chair next to Guinevere. He scowled as he brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and wished again that she would wake. He hated that her need for rest meant he had to wait—he yearned to speak with her, and to apologize. "She'll be back to normal soon, Arthur," Merlin piped. "I've checked multiple times and it's just the usual sorts of headaches and dizziness that come with a concussion."
"Thank you, Merlin, especially for bringing her to Gaius immediately." Arthur's scowl deepened as he thought over what had happened because of his own temptations. He sighed in frustration, "Why would he attack her? She took care of him when he was ill. He knew her for years as Morgana's ward."
Merlin answered cautiously. "You know there were always certain things that blinded him."
Arthur's glower lessened as he put his head in his hands. "I know," he agreed eventually. He drifted, and the sounds of Merlin's steady hand scraping against metal filled the room. He watched the rise and fall of Guinevere's chest, and he thought about the wide range of emotions he'd felt when he'd seen his father once again in that graveyard.
"When I was a child, fighting with wooden swords against Morgana, it was my father I wanted to make proud; it wasn't thoughts of the kingdom or honor or duty that made me train harder."
Merlin glanced at him, paying close attention to his words. Arthur's breastplate gleamed from a ray of sunlight, and an old scratch flashed with the angle. "Then as a Prince he made me Captain of the Guard. A part of me thought I was worthy of his praise then, but there was always a skill to improve, or something that I could have handled better. I know he loved me, but he was such a hard man to please."
Merlin stopped his motions, and his eyes shifted back to the armor on the table. He had no comment, for once.
"And then I was Regent," Arthur shrugged, as if it were nothing to focus on. But soon after, quietly, he admitted, "In the back of my mind I thought that if I just did everything right, he would return to normal.
"Now I've been the king of Camelot for a year, I understand many more of the weights that come with this crown, and I've finally realized that I'll never be able to please my father." He stroked Gwen's cheek with his thumb, thinking of the twinkle in her eye when she teased him, and the strength of her back when she carried him. "I've realized I no longer want to."
With a quiet vehemence that stole the room, "You are a far better, and far more worthy, ruler than Uther could ever hope to be."
Arthur looked to his friend speculatively, as he always did when Merlin chose to be wise and, almost surprisingly, fiercely loyal. "My father would never have given in to magic and produced a threat to this kingdom."
"But magic was not the threat this time, Arthur. It was your father."
They exchanged a long look that Arthur could not have guessed the fundamental strain of. It wasn't support, and it wasn't judgement. Maybe this was just the way plain truth manifested; he should recognize it by now after having Merlin around for so many years. He confessed, "Yes, you're right."
"A thank you and admitting you were wrong? This is unprecedented." Merlin held out gauntlet. "Would you like to help polish too?"
Arthur snorted. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you. You've been doing it wrong all these years, after all."
"Your fault for hiring a farmboy." Merlin put the breastplate aside and turned his focus on the gauntlet. A soft smile began to spread on his face, and eventually he made no effort to hide it.
"What are you so happy about?" Arthur questioned bluntly.
"I'm just proud of you," Merlin said happily, undaunted by Arthur's roll of the eyes. "You've come so far from the prat in the market that attacked a peasant boy for no reason."
"That peasant was an idiot. Still is, in fact."
Merlin raised a brow cheekily. "Why keep him around then?"
"Convenience, I suppose," Arthur joked. Merlin continued to smile, and watching him work was almost like meditating. It was soothing. It reminded of simpler times, and he leaned down to press a quick kiss to Guinevere's forehead before joining his friend at the central table. "And also because he may be one of the bravest men I know."
Merlin's mouth popped open, but Arthur cut him off. "I heard the tail end of what you said to my father. You stood against a barrow-wight with no way to defend yourself and practically invited him to kill you."
"You would do the same for me," Merlin replied with confidence. He set the gauntlet aside and cracked at his knuckles as his hand began to cramp.
"I guess I already have," Arthur mused quietly, thinking of the Morteaus flower and how he had invited his father's fury, and then more precisely over Merlin's words the night before. "You disliked my father, didn't you?"
Merlin mouth twitched, and he ducked his face away towards a greave in need of polishing.
"I think Gwen does too," Arthur thought aloud. "His accusations led to her father's death. She's a forgiving soul, but I can read from what she doesn't say." He snapped his fingers in Merlin's face. "Just tell me what you think. I want to know."
Merlin leaned back, playing with the greave in his hand but no longer using it as an excuse to ignore him. He seemed to weigh invisible thoughts in his mind. "Gwen's father had no magic to be condemned over, and even then he was arrested for a spell that had harmed no one. I think Uther was wrong then, and not for the first time."
"It was unjust, I know that," Arthur sighed. He slumped slightly, propping his head in his palm and hiding part of his face in a display of emotion not seen by many. "Sometimes, Merlin, this law is very confusing."
Merlin was silent for a long, long time. "What do you mean?'
"You know," Arthur waved a hand, "death for using magic. I'm not stupid. I know the Druids must still have some magic users, but so far they've been entirely peaceful. And I just used a magical artifact yesterday! And that's not the first one I've used." Arthur drummed his fingers against the table. "By my own laws, I should hang."
Astutely, more familiar with the train of thought than Arthur had expected, Merlin responded, "Only one of you can be wrong. Either yourself, for using magic, or the law, for convicting it."
Arthur shook his head. "I think it's a bit of both. The power of strong magic is corrupting. Its abilities are a temptation that can drive even the most honest of people into immorality. Just look at Morgana."
"I think she's a bad example," Merlin said quickly.
"She's the only one I have," Arthur replied. "The only person I've known well both with and without magic."
Merlin struggled with that comment for another long period. Arthur was familiar with the minute changes on Merlin's face, and he recognized another war taking place. However, whereas Merlin's true thoughts on Uther had won out before, whatever argument plagued him this time did not come out in Arthur's favor.
Merlin smiled, his eyes in half-moons. "It's time for Gwen's ointment. Pass me that cup, will you?"
Arthur did not react immediately, wondering. He wondered if he should call Merlin out and force a better response. He wondered if Iseldir had magic, and if he should consider him in this internal debate. He wondered on the Druids he wanted to save, and whether he was a hypocrite for doing so.
In the end, though, he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, in what some may call oblivious, he allowed Merlin this pass and turned for the workbench.
He squinted, then ordered, "Be more specific; I know you lack eloquent vocabulary, but all these cups look very different."
A few short days hence, Merlin tucked a spare change of Gwen's clothes at her bedside before he left the Physician's Chambers. Though she was sleeping again, she was staying awake longer now, and had regained the vitality to roll her eyes at Arthur when he informed her the knights would be remaining in Camelot to protect her.
If he remembered correctly, her exact words had been 'From falling shields, Arthur?'
Still, even in peasant clothes, five burly men with swords would always stand out, so it was better that some of the knights remained behind. If he were to follow through on Arthur's masterful plan of walking to a border-village and asking around, they had to be as subtle as possible. Though, even dressed in one of Merlin's oldest shirts, Arthur was about as subtle as a horse in a wedding party.
Even now, where Merlin could see him in the distance, Arthur's proud shoulders and golden hair were a beacon that screamed look at me. Things would definitely not work out with subtlety if Arthur were involved; they rarely ever did. He smirked—all the more reason to have a backup plan.
"Ready?" He called when he stopped in front of Arthur. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder that held blankets, some food, and a vial or two of herbal remedies. If something terrible had happened to the Druids they would be his foil while he used magic to help them.
"Finally done brushing your hair, I see," Arthur snarked.
"I wanted to look nice for our date," Merlin answered, just as quick.
Arthur made a sound of disgust and turned away. He strode purposely through the rest of the city and then out onto the main road that would eventually lead into the forests around Camelot.
Merlin couldn't help the grin on his face. He was hopeful. More hopeful than he had ever been regarding Arthur and Albion and their shared destiny. A journey specifically to help the Druids, and the conversation had recently, must only mean the law was near to being repealed. Maybe freedom was closer than he ever could have imagined. He wondered what that felt like - to be truly free.
They weren't long into the trees when they heard a crunching that halted Arthur in his tracks.
Arthur's hand closed around the pommel of Excalibur, and he held up a hand that Merlin did actually know meant stop and be quiet. Though, he knew they were in no danger, and he took great enjoyment watching Arthur's aggravation. So, he trundled onward without heed to Arthur's hiss of "Merlin!"
"What?" He called back, much too loud.
"Someone is out there," Arthur said with deliberate slowness, eyes casting around the two of them.
A head popped over Merlin's shoulder, and a voice said, "Who's out there?"
Arthur's attention snapped back forward, and he glared as Gwaine took the last bite out of an apple and then tossed the core behind him. "What are you doing here?"
Gwaine grinned and winked at Merlin, who chuckled, glad Gwaine had found them so easily. "Princess, I'm just as surprised to see you. I was just out picking herbs for Gaius."
Merlin's laughter became an embarrassing round of giggles and snorts, and Arthur propped his hands on his hips. "Following me again, weren't you? What part of 'solo mission' gets you thinking you're invited?"
Gwaine squawked, jerking a thumb in Merlin's direction.
Arthur rolled his eyes, but was forced to concede. "Alright, you can come. Not like you'll listen to reason anyways." He shouldered past the two giggling men, and Merlin hopped to join him. Merlin elbowed him gently.
"You don't mind do you?"
Arthur just snorted, and then had to brace himself as Gwaine's weight fell on him. The knight had just thrown his arms around both his and Merlin's shoulders.
His smile was infectious, and he looked back and forth between his two traveling companions. "Band's finally back together, mates."
Footnotes:
(1) The Leshy is a forest creature based on Russian myth, actually (P1: Lucky Charms, P1: The Sound of Silence).
(2) Droitwich, a salt town near Camelot I've mentioned before (P1: Seven Layer Upside Down Cake).
(3) Forridel, canon! 2.13 The Nightmare Begins. She's a Camelot citizen who was forced to flee because of her association with the Druids. In Three Wheels she's also a tanner (P1: Seven Layer Upside Down Cake, P1: Surprise! It's a Love Story, P1: Cell Block Tango).
(4) Arthur and Merlin reference a time Gwen's father, Tom, was condemned for accidental association with sorcery (1.12 To Kill A King).
(5) I got mad at myself. I've gone back to the way the dates should be. 16 Kalends of November to 5 Kalends of November is about the 16th - 26th of October. I think it looks uglier at the top of the chapter, but at least it's slightly more accurate.
Author's Note:
My little boat flying the FLeon flag has made another appearance.
Huge thanks to my internet sisters this chapter. Dmarie helped me decide to continue to go with present tense in Morgana's scenes, Jewels I had a great time with while I 'met' Leon properly, and extraordinary-beta Linorien you all have to thank for the Merthur scene. Seriously, she saved me this chapter.
And on that note, yes! They're finally talking about magic! I feel like Merlin wouldn't keep as silent anymore, considering what he went through in the finales of Part 1.
And to my lovely reviewers, really very very glad you all liked my remake of an episode. Whew! PMs inbound for you. Also, I'm looking for a one chapter fic poking fun at us authors, or other tropes of the Merlin fandom. I'm having an itch to laugh at myself. Do you know of any?
Next time: The Audacity of Hope. It's Samhain, and Merlin, Gwaine, and Arthur finally find the Druids.