Never Again, Again
Early March

"Is that real tea, Morgana? For me?"

"You needed to drink a good example."

Not treason at all, to have a rolling meeting time with one of the most wanted women in Camelot. They were only going to talk about magic, after all. And look at her, she didn't even look like her usual witchy self, she'd… washed her face. That had to mean something good… right?

"Where have you been, you old crone? I expected you here last night."

Unfortunately for his guilty conscience, he was consistent enough for her to have a drink already boiling on a makeshift stand. Which is new, he added. She'd been more productive, these days. There was always a fresh invention added to the forest's clearing. "Extended hunting trip. Can never have enough meat, I guess."

She quirked a brow and withdrew the second cup. "You chose salting meat instead of insulting me? I'm hurt."

Merlin kneaded at his old-woman hips because they were already aching. "I thought you had a thicker skin."

"Don't get any ideas; I don't taste as good as I look."

He smirked. "You must be disgusting then."

She tilted her nose up imperiously, a haughty look she'd perfected in her youth. "That means nothing when the sight of your loose jowls consistently makes me throw up a little in my mouth."

"Cute, Morgana."

"Thank you. And I'll expect at least five more compliments before I tell you how to use the Chaos rune."

His eyes rounded with interest and he gushed, "You figured it out? Which one is it?" Then his hips got the better of him and he settled into his usual spot across from her.

She basked in the glory of making him wait, crossing her legs and tossing her hair. "A little less commanding, and a little more groveling."

As he took his tea from her outstretched palm, at this proximity catching a whiff of her oily curls and her filthy dress, his pinky caught on the cracked skin of her calluses and he wondered how many times she'd twitched those fingers and wrung someone's neck. She had a pretty face and a lasting wit, but… "Five compliments is a little much. Have some pity."

She barked a laugh. "Here's the thing about you," she leveled a finger at his face, "I can tell you aren't joking! You really think I'm the most evil thing to walk the land." She shook her head wryly. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough." He started with what had already come to mind, and ticked the other accusations off on his fingers. "You've murdered for your own gain, killed innocents, thrown Camelot into chaos for more power, and, perhaps most importantly, you consistently use dark magic."

"And what does that make you, you who's sharing my evil-sorceress-tea?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "I've been lied to, betrayed, bereft, and broken. Tell me with those honest eyes and your little disapproving frown that you've never strayed from the glowing path."

Uncontrollably, his frown deepened. "Of course I have," he admitted quietly.

"Let's hear it then," she smirked, proud that she'd won that bit of argument. "Tea's getting cold."

Being near her made stories of his first few years in Camelot come to mind, and while there were handfuls to choose from, he settled back to his most recent veer - the one that led him back to this forest every other night. "When you do terrible things, when you know you're wrong to do them but you do them anyways, what do you tell yourself later?"

"There you go assuming I'm a terrible person again," she said solemnly.

"Personally," he said, "I usually settle on I had to do it."

The fire popped, and an ember arced through the air and fizzled above Merlin's cup. It made him think of the Dolma's mask he would have seen reflected in the liquid, had the light only been a bit brighter.

"I get that," Morgana supplied, "I've used the same excuse. But I've noticed I used it most when I was at my weakest. When I couldn't face the choices I'd made."

"That's…" their gazes locked, "exactly it."

"I think it's a result of the way laws define magic. Our enemies built a high wall between them and us, and wishy-washy grayscale choices on our part will have no effect on it."

All those years ago, trying to convince himself Morgana was trustworthy despite evidence to the contrary had been one of those wishy-washy grayscale choices. Wonder what she would think of that? "I think blaming someone else for hard decisions we have to make is wrong. Then we're playing the victim."

"We are victims. We're victims of the greatest exposition of hateful propaganda this side of the century."

"That doesn't give us the moral high-ground. I've used a blast of magic to snap the necks of a group of men, and it's absolute cognitive dissonance to say I was the victim, and therefore deserve pardon."

She sighed, muttering a little. "I'm not saying to call yourself a victim. Anyone who thinks whining is a reasonable form of conversation deserves to be tortured a little." She waved his disapproving comment away, "My point is, stop judging yourself by different rules than everyone else is playing by."

"But the rules are wrong, Morgana."

Morgana was the kind of girl, when she was back in Camelot, who always had an opinion to make. So, it was rare to see her like this - her bottom lip sliding forward and her regal eyebrows drawing together - a little baffled and a lot focused. "Yes," she said eventually. "You're right."

Merlin chuckled dryly, "And yet I don't feel any better."

Her expression cleared and she leaned forward, eyes bright and reminiscently youthful. "But I'm willing to suffer the repercussions of all those terrible decisions if it means one day the rules will change."

He had to look away. At times she could be incredibly vehement and wild, and it spoke to the different paths they'd taken since the hemlock, but it was bitterly ironic that she would come to many of the same conclusions he himself had.

To that end he raised his tea, as if to call a half-hearted toast. "Well, I can cheers to that."

Eventually she did tell him the trick behind the Chaos rune and how it related to the Order rune that Merlin had previously shown her, and then they argued for a bit on how it could best be used. He couldn't help but be quietly amazed at her understanding of magic, though apparently that insight came through skill with the blacker arts. You must know magic to destroy it, as she'd said.

Now that he was away from her, tramping through the forest of Ascetir while preparing to teleport back into his room in Camelot, he had the mental space to call her a hypocrite. How could she tout herself as a defender of magic and its people, yet destroy both with dark spells?

"Astýre", he muttered, then frowned at his thoughts as the air began to slip around him. He'd have to bring this up with her next time. Surely she wouldn't have an excuse for that.

His tunnel stretched and expanded to slip around the Dolma's body. It tugged him through into that strange half-world of golden lattice, the distance and the aging spell and the late hour taking its toll on his strength, so that when he finally brought himself to the space near his cot he nearly staggered.

He likely would have fell all the way to sitting had a swordpoint at his throat not imbued an extra desire to stand. "You better be Merlin, or this isn't going to be pretty."

Merlin cursed and let the glamour fall away until he could face the intruder properly. "Seriously? Who else would it be?"

Gwaine gave him a look while sheathing his sword. "Where have you been? And why were you camouflaged as a woman?"

He tugged the navy cloak Arthur had gave him over his head, but at the sudden chill replaced it with his old jacket. "Dragoon is recognizable. Why are you in my room?"

"You're late to the Round Table meeting."

Merlin's eyebrow rose, and he poked his head out of his window to check the sky. Yep, that was definitely still the moon. "It's the middle of the night."

Gwaine shrugged, "Arthur's pantyhose are in a twist." Merlin muttered an answer about Arthur's continuing inability to dress himself, and Gwaine filled him in on Gaius' lie. Apparently the elder man had claimed he'd called out to Merlin, heard some gruff response, and assumed he was getting up.

Of course, that meant that the moment he walked into the Throne Room Arthur lobbed, "Don't bother with beauty sleep anymore, Merlin, I promise you it's not working."

Gwen - Arthur's one redeeming quality, as his sleep-deprived brain so named her - smiled warmly at him. "I'm glad you're here, Merlin. We were just about to discuss the amount of guests coming to Camelot. We'll have to have our best face forward, and we can't do that without you."

"Hear that, Arthur? Gwen says my face is prettier than yours."

"Don't answer that, Princess," Gwaine flopped into his seat, "I'm too tired for mental sparring." The other knights nodded in agreement, and the movement brought the side of Leon's face into sight, where his blonde hair was still plastered to his forehead. They'd pulled him from bed a little too quickly.

"Gwaine is correct," Gaius said. "Let's focus on the matter at hand. What is troubling you, sire?"

Arthur folded his arms on the table. "You all know that King Bayard from Mercia is arriving tomorrow morning, right?"

"Yes," Leon answered, "He and I arranged the date when we met before winter."

"Well, he'll be extending his stay until after the Purge Trial." Arthur shifted in his chair, pressing a fingernail into a dust-filled crack in the wooden table. "And he's not the only one. Word has spread further than I expected. Caerleon, Gawant, Deorham, and Nemeth are all sending ambassadors, Iseldir's bringing enough Druids to fill the courtyard, and a messenger from Amata got here only an hour ago. The Sarrum will be attending, along with half his court."

Gwaine whistled lowly, "You've got a big boy audience."

"What's the problem?" Percival asked. "We've had similar sized crowds during tournament season."

"The problem," Arthur frowned, "is that I may have turned my reign, and Camelot, into an exhibition. My weakness will be on display."

"I think you're earning a lot of respect," Gwen soothed. "Most rulers are too unapologetic to do something like this. You're a good man, our citizens love you, and you trust the people around you to do the right thing. The trial is only proving that to a wider audience."

Her words had a visible effect on Arthur that made Leon smirk, "And why worry if Gwen will be leading the proceedings?"

"She'll be there to save you if you make a fool of us," Percival added.

"Besides, they may not even be coming for you," Elyan said. "Emrys is speaking too. Isn't he some huge Druid figurehead?"

Arthur's eyebrows drew together, his mouth pinched, and what would one day be permanent worry lines wrinkled across his face. "We haven't heard from him. He might not show up."

Merlin couldn't stand by and watch him feel that way, not when he had a great view of everyone wincing at how embarrassing it would be for Arthur. "He'll be there." He cleared his throat, now having to go all in. "He gave me a message for you."

"What?!" Arthur looked at him sharply. "When?"

He hedged. "Just now… in a dream?"

Arthur had gone straight past the annoyed Merlin and instead into MERLIN, "You didn't want to lead with that?"

"I was building up to it."

Gwaine threw his hands up in a way that Merlin translated as I can't believe he bought that! "And if Emrys doesn't show up, Merlin will use an aging spell and play the part."

Arthur's words drawled witheringly towards him. "Be serious, Gwaine."

He scoffed. "Aren't I, though?"

"You both are the reason I grind my teeth at night," Arthur muttered under his breath. "What's the message, Merlin?"

Er… "He's coming to the trial, definitely."

"Anything else?"

"He looks forward to speaking with you… peacefully… and a chair would be nice because he's old and it's hard to stand for a long time. Also he said you should give me more time off—"

Arthur did the thing where he held his breath while silently counting to ten. His face always went a little red from the lack of oxygen, and Merlin held his lips shut, knowing from experience that this was Arthur a few choice remarks away from throwing goblets. "Thank you Merlin, that's enough." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, this is good news, I think. Emrys talks to my manservant in his sleep."

"I'm glad we've all accepted that without question," Gwaine muttered.

"The point is," Gaius interjected swiftly, "that he'll risk his life to attend this trial. He trusts you to treat him fairly, in spite of your history. If these many rulers are here to see anything, sire, they are here to bear witness to men both singular and inspiring. They must be here to stand ready for the change you will wrought."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Leon nodded.

"I've lived many years," Gaius continued, "and I've never seen a king face his kingdom's mistakes so bravely."

Gwen smiled, "Thank you, Gaius."

"Great," Gwaine finished, almost sourly. "Meeting adjourned?"

This was all much ado about something that really should not have been as much of something as it was turning out to be, in Gwaine's humble opinion. Honestly, the two major players in this trial were standing right next to him, and a lot of the anxiety could be avoided if Merlin would quit pretending like keeping secrets had ever worked in his favor.

Practically proving his point, the secret sorcerer was frowning something fierce as the Amatan royal party rode closer. The reason? As if Gwaine could guess. Who knew what went on in Merlin's head? But glowering felt like exactly the thing to do. Gwaine had been on his best behavior all week; his cheeks were done with smiling.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, considering) this thought process put the aptly named 'bad-boy' look all over his infamously rugged features. The combination could hardly be ignored, so really it should have come as no surprise that the pretty-boy on the white horse sent him a slow wink.

Arthur was chatting, the Sarrum was chatting back, everyone else was pretending to pay attention, and Gwaine eyebrows were halfway up his forehead. Subtly, his eyes slid left, then right, and then he tapped a thumb against his chest. Me?

The man ran a hand through his thick head of hair, and raised a dark brow. Oh, yes.

Well, then. This was a thing that was happening. The man's cape had gold clasps where it buckled over his throat - did that make him the prince? Wow. This needed eyewitnesses.

Is anyone else seeing this? He tried to angle enough to catch the notice of one of his friends. The knights in their red capes fanned out to his sides with the castle at their back, but they ignored him. Gwaine was usually the restless one, so that came as no surprise. Beyond them, in the shadows of the castle's archways, servants stood by with bowed heads, prepared to take bags and horses when Arthur and the Sarrum were finished talking about… the terrain? Yeesh Princess, get a personality.

Merlin though was in his usual position as a lanky, three-dimensional version of Arthur's shadow, and that should have given him a front row seat to this surprise romance. Instead, his brows were furrowed and he was staring avidly at a cloth-wrapped trailer at the rear of the Amatan assembly. It had wheels, and a rigid, box-like shape, and as he studied it a guard began to trundle it forward.

This was in response to a raised hand from the Sarrum - a ghoulish man by any standards - but he looked particularly gleeful as his prize approached. "My prisoner is unconventional. You see, it will play a role in my defense of the Purge." He turned to his men, "Ensi, release the tarp."

The prince turned back to his father, a serious expression falling over his face. Silently he spurred his horse forward the few steps to close a hand tightly around the heavy cloth, then, with a mighty heave, he yanked the covering above his head with the skill of a court entertainer. It rippled in the air, made light by his strength, revealing the bars of a metal cage and within them - a monster.

At first it was a thrashing serpent's tail, scales large and steel blue and mud-encrusted. But the monster blended into the translucent skin of a thing nearly human, arms thin and fingers long and spindly, with wing-like fins of the same fishy texture protruding from its back. It's head was a grotesquerie of large lidless eyes and a lipless maw filled with rows of carnivorous teeth open wide as it, and the ragged gills straining in its neck, struggled for air.

Merlin couldn't tear his eyes away. This wasn't the first magical creature he'd seen carted into Camelot, and it would be easy for everyone to turn their hearts away from the flapping thing, but there was an intelligence behind its eyes. There was fear and pain and desperation and - "My manservant will lead him."

His attention snapped to Arthur, but the expectant crowd spurred him nervously forward as his brain hurried to fill in the blanks. Lead who, where? He thought desperately.

The answer came in the form of a bald-headed hulk of a man stepping before the cage. He wrapped a chain onto each forearm, angled himself until veins stood out in ropey relief against his thick neck, and then began to trundle towards Merlin, who sidestepped away. Understanding his purpose now, Merlin marched the man into narrower passages, leaving behind the sunlight and the people and listening to the creature's garbled words echoing from the eaves.

When they reached the wide set of double doors that would lead down into the lower levels of the castle, Merlin picked up the pace. One door he propped with a heavy stone, and the other he held back with a hand. He exchanged no words with the guard, whose eyes were narrowed at the pathway ahead like a trained boar. In fact he hardly glanced at Merlin as he passed, sweat dripping through the divots in his muscles, and he moved onward until the cage passed hardly a foot from Merlin's nose.

At the opportunity the creature snapped upwards, making a roaring mess of sound that could be taken as a curse or a plea, and its yellow eyes focused on the servant in the shadow of the door. It's stick-like fingers ending in razor claws wrapped around the metal bars, and it's spine went rigid, mouth working, gills flapping. It thrust words directly into his mind.

Merlin? Merlin, help me, please. Merlin, please help me help me please Merlin —

Four hours later Arthur makes it to the dungeon.

He stands with his hands clasped behind his back and his feet shoulder width apart. His nose is to the bars of the prison for a better view of the creature now supplying the rumor mills of Camelot. He's not afraid it will leap at him, because it's still doubly trapped within the Sarrum's portable cage as well. Two sets of locks to get through to free the thing, and one set of keys never leaves the rival king's hip.

He knows this because the Sarrum is here too. Arthur's hoping that seclusion from the entire staff is enough to inspire honesty, and for the same vein he invited Bayard as well. But the Mercian king is leaning a shoulder on the back wall with his arms crossed, waiting on Arthur and the Sarrum.

"Why bring it?" Arthur began.

"Your father and I were great allies in the war," the Sarrum chose to say, instead. "We saw many dangers that we were fortunate to exterminate."

"Like the dragons?" Bayard added sarcastically. "Because I recall a golden dragon razing Camelot not too long ago."

"The Great Dragon is dead," Arthur said with confidence, despite the fact he hardly remembers injuring the thing, much less killing it.

"And for good reason," the Sarrum continued. "Many creatures that terrorized our citizens were killed in the process of purging these lands. In Amata, we once called this monster a merrow."

"In the North we call it a ceasg. It's a wives tale to keep children away from fast flowing rivers."

"I can see how it would frighten children," Arthur replied, then gestured at the creature lying limply at the bottom of its cage, "but look at it now. If your plan is to scare our people into believing the Purge was justified, then your creature should look less pitiful." Arthur just felt sorry for it, and that did not lend itself to murderous ardour.

"This is what having magic can do to a person. Death is a mercy for people who have been corrupted by it, but fear of death is what caused so many of the battles during the Purge."

"I think defense of the Druidic way-of-life had a little to do with it too," Bayard commented dryly.

"As such, wouldn't everyone have been happier if there had been a more humane solution? Using this creature, I'll be able to show that solution much more emphatically."

"Why don't you explain for the room?" Bayard said. "You can save your showmanship for the trial."

The Sarrum's attention cut to the opposing king, and the air prickled between them. He stretched a tight smile across his aging face and answered Bayard as if he were telling a joke, "You're not very fun, are you?"

The Sarrum made a gesture to mean for Arthur to unlock the doors, which he acquiesced with his own set of keys. The door swung aside easily, and as their boots stirred through the hay the strong smell of wet grass turned wilted and mildewed pervaded the small room. The stench did not seem to affect the creature, it had only small slits for nostrils, but it eyed them warily with its eerily reflective vision. As they approached its cage, it slunk backwards.

The Sarrum crouched down to be eye level with the merrow, and he spoke directly to it. His voice had the toneless murmuring of someone familiar with training horses. "Magic ruined your life. You can't understand now, but you will once I free you from this wickedness." Without breaking eye contact, he reached beneath his cloak and untied a black velvet bag from his belt. His hands worked the material from the outside until he held something tight in a fist, then he unlaced the hood and worked it down until a slug's head had appeared.

At the sight of it the creature visibly recoiled. It screeched something unintelligible, but the Sarrum was already turning away. "This is an Eancanah. We discovered its powers late in the Purge, unfortunately. Many lives may have been saved if we'd used it earlier."

It sounded vaguely familiar, Arthur thought. He had likely heard about it from his father or during his studies, but he didn't remember the details. Luckily, the Sarrum continued to explain.

"This creature eats magic. It can absorb it directly from a sorcerer's body and allow the man to walk free after."

"I've met many men without an ounce of magic who were still very dangerous," Arthur said. Also, he couldn't imagine any of the sorcerer's he'd met as willing to part with the one thing they had been attacking him about in the first place.

"It's up to you how to deal with them once they're liberated from their magic."

Arthur could imagine all this going two ways. Either the Sarrum used this slug on the creature and it somehow saved it, causing a bout of thankfulness and proving the usefulness of this thing, or something terrible happened and the entire room would heave. He hadn't forgotten what he'd seen in Lot's lands.

The chime of the noon bell broke their concentration, and it signaled the Sarrum to return the Eancanah to the depths of the velvet. It was just as well, because there was a lot to reflect on. At the very least, Arthur knew he had more research to do.

Perhaps he's stop by Gaius' chambers during the lunch hour. There was a patient in need of constant monitoring, and so even if he didn't find Gaius, he'd catch Merlin there.

Or, he thought cynically, I'll find Merlin right here.

He'd just swung wide the heavy iron door blocking the row of prisons from the lit guard station, and he'd heard a short scrabble before emerging to two guards blinking sleepily and Merlin loitering around looking bothered.

"You'll have to excuse me," Arthur said to the two kings, mentally imagining shaking Merlin by his lapels. "My manservant has come to fetch me for another engagement. The guards will show you to your luncheons."

The Sarrum nodded regally and allowed himself to be led away, but Bayard walked straight past the second guard with a terse, "I think I've got it from here."

"Sire," the guard said roughly, then returned to his post. Arthur almost berated him for dozing on the job, but he had a better idea whose fault that was. So, he swiveled for the archway leading down into the catacombs and stomped off.

When he was more certain not to be overheard, he spoke gruffly out of the side of his mouth. "Did you dose my guards? Actually," he pinched his nose, "don't answer that. You were listening, weren't you?"

Merlin's long strides brought him even with Arthur's, and he grinned that goofy smile of his. "Would we be friends if I didn't do things like that?"

He rolled his eyes. "Well, what do you think? Do you believe the Sarrum?"

Merlin grew instantly serious. "He can't be trusted. If he had his way, he'd be using the Eancanah on the Druids already."

"The Druids shouldn't be using magic within Camelot's borders. That's the law," Arthur argued.

"The law could be wrong," Merlin said quietly. "That's an understanding you could come to after the trial."

"This isn't a trial for or against magic," Arthur said stiffly. "Everyone is acting like it is, but it's not. It's a trial for the injustices of the Purge."

Merlin looked away, and they walked in silence for some time. This was a long hallway which steadily sloped downwards into what had once been a cave system. Arthur had been taught how they'd filled it in to help support the weight of the castle, but the area still had the smell of a damp underground.

When they were deep enough for their words to echo slightly off the vaulted ceilings, Merlin tried a different tactic. "Don't let the Sarrum use the Eancanah on the creature. It wouldn't save him. It would kill him."

"How do you know that?"

Bitterness tinged Merlin's words. "Eancanah destroy magic, and magic is the only thing keeping him alive right now."

"Him, Merlin? Don't you think you're getting a little too attached? It's not your pet."

"I know that; he's a living being." Merlin sucked in a breath, and when he spoke again his voice was low and earnest. "He doesn't deserve to be penned in, frightened and alone until he's put on display to die. He deserves to be free."

Arthur connected their gazes, and he took a long moment to study his best friend. Even when they'd first met, Merlin had been the type to defend those whom conventional wisdom would tell you to ignore. Merlin had taught him what it really meant to defend all of your people, and though he would never admit to that, Arthur knew to trust Merlin's heart.

"That slug, Arthur, is evil. It's pure evil."

Arthur's eyes slid closed and he shook his head, exasperated at what he'd decided on. "Don't make me regret this, Merlin."

Merlin's expression opened, hope stretching his eyes wider. "Are you sanctioning a prison break? Because tonight would be perfect —"

He hissed and held his hands up. "I don't want to know any details." He turned on his heel and walked back the way they'd come, muttering, "Just do it quick, and don't get caught."

Merlin smiled wide enough for Arthur to count his molars. "Yes, sire."

Right around this time, Gwaine was getting roped into giving a certain prince a tour around the castle grounds, then the tournament grounds, and then the depths of the lower town. Because why not?

The cul-de-sac that had birthed the iconic connotation 'yellow-stripe' was a stone circle crammed with double-story buildings stuccoed together with a plaster that had faded to the color of piss. At this time of day there was a dreary harshness that reminded you of early morning regret, but the energy inside door number one, The Cavalry, blew that completely from your mind. One step in and your eyelids were blinking away smoke and struggling to adjust to the dim lightning, and two steps in and a boisterous girl was dragging you to a table and cupping a hand in the area of your belt.

She winked when she found Gwaine's coin purse.

"Now this is a party!" The Ensi said, his accent pulling the 'a' long and immediately enticing a dark-haired girl onto the bench beside them. "Game of jacks?" She asked coyly.

"Games, I can play games anywhere," the Ensi said. "Tell me about you!" His smile was full of lustrous confidence and it drew the girl in like a mosquito to a light. She was so enraptured that she didn't even flicker despite only getting about ten words out before he'd slapped a hand on the table and drew her under his arm. "I like you. I like your nose. Have you ever worn a snake?"

"No?"

"We have many snakes in Amata. The ones with no poison can be very friendly. Even the ones with poison can be very friendly if you know how to treat them. Do you know how to treat them, my lady?"

Good time for drinks. Gwaine took a turn for the bar, and had to squirm out of the way as the hostess swept by with a bright smile on her face. From the thud of the door behind him, it sounded like there was another guest, and only because his ears were tuned to it he heard the coo of her voice, "Did you just come to sit?"

"No, I came for him."

Gwaine slowly arched a single eyebrow, then pivoted and propped his elbows on the bartop behind him. "How could you possibly have found me here? I didn't even know I was going to be here until ten minutes ago."

Merlin joined him at the bar with a smirk, "Where did Arthur tell you not to go?"

"Sound logic."

Merlin chuckled and scanned the room until his eyes landed on the Ensi. He jerked his head at the prince and asked, "Think you can distract him tonight?"

Wait, so Merlin had seen the winks? Gwaine gaped. "All night?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Well… wait a second. Why are you asking?"

"Long story short," Merlin leaned a little closer, "that monster from Amata is actually a friend of mine. Arthur is letting me bust him out and I need to make sure no one is in the dungeon while I'm moving him."

Gwaine held up a finger and circled it around in the air. "So much of what you just said is super weird," he flicked Merlin's nose, "start with the part where you're friends with a manfish."

"He's not a manfish. His name is Gilli." Merlin ran a hand through his hair. "His uh… stuff went awry while trying to escape from the Sarrum's troops."

Gwaine poked his tongue in his cheek and tried not to smile. "His stuff? He swings your way, then?"

"Very funny, Gwaine."

He shrugged, it was funny. "So you know how to change him back?"

"Not really. I think I'll take him to that one underground cave until I figure it out."

He couldn't help but grin at the irony. "You mean that other underground prison?"

"I'll make it comfortable," Merlin said awkwardly. When Gwaine started laughing he had to admit this wasn't much of a prison break. He strode off and muttered, "Fine, let's go make sure it meets your requirements." He and his iconic cheekbones were halfway up the stairwell before he noticed Gwaine was looking at him bug-eyed. "Aren't you coming?"

"Up there?"

"Yeah?" Merlin said obliviously. "It would take too long to walk back to the castle." He pointed upwards. "I figured we could use a room here."

Gwaine's mind went blank and he swore he could see the Ensi pouting from the corner of his eye. This may have been one of the strangest days of his life, and he'd met dragons.

But yeah, he went up there. He was cool with that.

At the base, the stairs were re-purposed rubble. But as you rose higher they transitioned into a patchwork of wooden planks that creaked loudly underfoot and gave you that cringey feeling that everyone could hear you getting closer to that long dark hallway with the thick doors and rectangular sliding peepholes. When Gwaine finally made it to that upper story of late night secrets, Merlin had his ear to a door and a smirk on his face. "This one's empty."

"People are going to start wondering about you, mate."

Merlin's eyes flashed and the knob swung loose under his palm. "People are already wondering. We're up here."

The room smelled a little. That was gross. "Well for the record, I was the big spoon."

Then it was Merlin's fist on his sleeve and that stomach-sucking emptiness and topsy-turvy disorientation like being two pints too drunk but somehow still sober enough to hate every second of it. The way his vision swam afterwards had become his most hated part of teleporting, and he needed long minutes blinking at the cave wall slowly rippling into steadiness before he felt stable enough to look at Merlin's horrendous decorating skills. "A chair, Merlin, really? He's a fish."

Merlin shoved the rock back into place and huffed, "Yeah I don't know what I'm doing," before disappearing in a spell. Half a minute later he returned holding the wooden tub from the Physician's chambers and nearly knocked Gwaine off the small ledge they were clustered onto. "Oops," he said.

Arms pinwheeling, "Do something!"

Rocks cracked and lengthened, and when he was forced to step back for his balance, smooth stone held him up. It gleamed under his boot like polished marble, and as he caught his breath he watched the floor radiate outward, floating on air. It slid viscously around the cave's natural pillars, clinging to them as anchors, and he watched awestruck as the expanse of the magically-laden floor slid into the darkness beyond. When Merlin's eyes faded back, they listened to the creaking of rock solidifying into place.

"I was thinking more like a ledge, but this is nice too." It would make a stonemason weep.

The little bit of sunlight glinted off the polished surface and Gwaine walked out onto what had once been empty space. The cave was huge, big enough for a dragon to fly in for years (while chained), and it was filled with natural swoops and dripping stalactites and far below, a thin river that likely fed into the waterwells of Camelot.

He was still getting over the odd feeling that he was defying gravity and the floor would break any second when he made it to the center. Merlin was conjuring water into the bath, and so Gwaine swung his head back and looked up through the cave opening at the blue sky above them. Without the sun, it would be impossible to tell where Merlin's floor ended and empty space begun. He swiveled back to his friend. "You should add some lights."

"You're demanding."

But Merlin whispered something that sounded like light, and little spheres of blue drifted upwards like bubbles.

And that evening, when the moon had risen into the cave's small window to the sky, those lights glittered above like a thousand stars.

Merlin looked down at his red robe, mentally nitpicking the glamour spell he'd used to transform into Dragoon. His first few times with the spell he'd used Gaius' old clothes, but now that he was transfiguring his own shirt he had to make sure he hadn't missed any important details. He was pretty sure the patterned borders were completely different than the original set; they were much less ornate now, but he liked that.

He practiced his old man voice a few times, a task which consisted of quoting some of Gaius' more common phrases, "Merlin, clean the leech tank. Leech tank. Leech tank," and when he felt confidently in character he croaked, "Astýre."

He aimed for the particular cell he had left Gilli trapped in, hoping for a quick in and out, but when he materialized in the small square there was a Camelot guard standing two inches away. His eyes were wide, a look which Merlin mirrored, and at this distance, Merlin could tell his nose had been broken at least twice, poor guy.

Gilli backed up this stellar heist with a cracking sound. He had bit clean through the bone in a chunk of salted meat, and the steady crunching spurred the guard into motion. The bag of food slid from the guard's numb fingers as he scrabbled for his sword.

Merlin held up both hands in a mock surrender. "Do you really think the merrow's imprisonment is worth fighting me?"

"It's my job," the guard said as he struggled with his weapon. Merlin had fused it into the scabbard.

"Would Arthur really want you to throw your life away?"

"I swore to protect Camelot from threats to the peace like you," he answered proudly.

Merlin started clapping. "Congratulations!" He shifted his gaze to the doorway and pointed at an imaginary audience, "You've passed our test and proven yourself a worthy knight of Camelot!"

The guard was wary to turn, but his shoulders lost some of their tension. "Really?"

"No," Merlin responded just as the guard's eyeballs rolled into the back of his head, "but maybe next time."

The guard crumpled, snoring, into the hay below and Gilli snarked, "Those clothes are going to need a thorough washing."

"You couldn't have scared him off earlier?"

Gilli shrugged bony shoulders. "I was hungry."

With noted exasperation, Merlin stepped over the downed guard and reached through the locked cage to grab Gilli's thin shoulder. Sucking in a breath, he measured the return path and his remaining magic before squeezing his eyes shut and flinging them across the distance. This time he had no unexpected guests, and Gilli plopped smoothly into the tub of water.

Immediately submerging, Gilli took greedy gulps of air while humming, "Oh, this feels amazing."

Merlin slouched against the wall and let the magical exhaustion wash over him. As the aging spell dissipated, his own magic reached out for the ambient magic in an attempt to replenish his depleted stores. It left a slightly unpleasant, cold feeling in his stomach that kept most of his attention until Gilli popped back out and spit a stream of water at him.

"So how are you going to get my legs back?"

"One thing at a time," Merlin sighed. "Tell me properly how you did this to yourself."

"Extreme unluckiness. After Sina escaped they cornered me at the Tamesis. I don't know as many spells as you, so I had limited options. I thought I could use the glamor spell you taught me to transfigure myself into a sea creature but… maybe I said the words wrong or something."

"Can you repeat what you said?"

"Er… Adeadaþ þisne… gust min freondum and max feondum?"

"Yeah… that doesn't make any sense."

"You try spouting off some Old English nonsense while swimming for your life."

Merlin lamented his luck while he walked over to the tub. When he leaned his hands against the tub's rim his fingers dipped into the cool water and he wiggled them as he thought.

"Stop that, it tickles."

He ignored that and instead put his hand atop Gilli's bald head. "I'm going to try some stuff. Try not to squirm."

He dug deep and let his remaining magic run through his veins. Naturally it turned his eyes gold and he used the extra sense it gave to look through the veil into the world's magic beyond. He was hoping he could recognize or destroy whatever spell held Gilli in this form, but even this inspection found nothing out of the norm. No magical bonds held the facade in place, and he frowned as he confirmed Gilli had done something seemingly permanent to himself. He didn't know how to fix this.

Though lack of knowledge hadn't ever stopped him before. Usually there would be research to do, or Gaius or Kilgharrah to ask, but Merlin already knew he was treading on rarely walked ground. His delving into the runes had proven that he was reaching a stage where there weren't many other people who could teach him. He had to figure this out himself.

So he tried another glamor. But it couldn't permanently dispel the transformation and he had to move into stranger and stranger magic until he felt like he was making things up as he went along. Maybe there was a way to make a spell seep into someone's skin? He'd had luck with those hexagon shapes, perhaps he should try those and….

He lurched, and Gilli's wet palm slapped against his shoulder and held him up. "I can handle one more night as a fish."

Merlin nodded and slunk down against the tub. He let his ankles slide against the rough rock below and leaned his head against the old wood. His mind drifted through a motley mix of golden patterns, and beneath his ear he let the sound of shifting water lull him blind.

He was lost somewhere there in the murk when Gwaine nudged his thigh. "Hate to wake you, mate, but word's getting out that Gills is missing."

"It's Gilli," Merlin replied drowsily.

"Not anymore," Gwaine quipped. "And seriously, Merlin, you need to have an alibi. Wakey wakey."

"I'm up, I'm just… give me a minute." Merlin scrubbed his hands across his face, and Gwaine left him to get his head in the game. Meanwhile, there was a manbeast to inspect. Its big yellow eyes were gleaming eerily through the surface of the water, and Gwaine poked a finger at the fleshy skin between them. It nearly snapped his finger off. "You sure this is your friend?"

"Yes," Merlin said, propping his head in his hand, "but I can't figure out how to change him back."

"You'll figure it out," he answered with confidence, because he had yet to see a magical situation Merlin hadn't subsequently blown the socks off of. "Besides, if you knew curses inside and out, I'd start questioning you again."

Merlin thunked his head against the wood, aggravated at himself, then reached behind his neck to untie a leather cord. It was the end of a necklace which had hidden beneath Merlin's clothes, and as he withdrew it he revealed the gem at its center - an ornate ring of the smoothest glass. Reverently, Merlin tipped it into his palm.

Gilli emerged more fully from the water and cocked his head. Merlin gestured for his hand, and when the long, spindly fingers were in Merlin's grasp, he slipped the ring onto them. Admittedly, Gwaine expected blasts of light or sparkling rainbows, so when nothing seemed to happen he was at a bit of a loss. "Did it work?"

"He's still a fish," Merlin answered dryly.

"You looked so serious," Gwaine said while Merlin returned the ethereal jewelry to its original home over his heart. "And it's not like I know anything about what rings can do to manfishes."

"It's a cursebreaker," he noticed the strangely poignant sadness stretching Merlin's face, "it worked for her so I thought… but Gilli's not under a curse."

Gwaine tried to connect the dots, suddenly not so eager to get Merlin outside. "Was it your mother's?"

Merlin shook his head, "It's too long a story for right now. Hard to explain."

"Nope," Gwaine said, stepping in the way of the exit, "wrong answer, try again."

Merlin glared, "This isn't a funny one, Gwaine. I don't feel like telling it." Merlin brushed past, entire body language screaming that the conversation was over, and ducked into the dark tunnel beyond. Gwaine pointed a questioning finger at his back, but Gills only shrugged in equal confusion.

Gwaine jogged to catch up, ignoring the hints to shut up. "I kept my mother and sister a secret, and you know how terribly that turned out." Without Merlin lighting the way, and without the torch he'd initially brought with him, the tunnel was getting dark to the point he could barely see his boots. "I'm not asking for gossip, mate. I wouldn't tell anyone, and I know what it feels like to keep everything buried."

Now he couldn't even make out Merlin's silhouette, but he heard his disembodied voice sigh and the still of his pace. There was a scrape as Merlin must have leaned against the cave wall, and then he said, "I'm sorry."

He heard the old pain in Merlin's voice and things began to click into place. He knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved.

"Her name was Freya."

And she was a girl in a cage, dressed in rags, in line for death and terrified of it. And there was Merlin, not yet jaded and so very hopeful.

"She was cursed to become this creature, a Bastet, every night. She wasn't herself when she changed."

But there were plans to escape, and a rose as bright and brief as the time they'd had together. Apparently, she'd died in his arms.

"Usually…" Merlin started, but then faded into his thoughts. Gwaine gave him the time. This girl, Freya, had died years ago but it didn't feel like Merlin had fully let her go. Whether it was the guilty what-ifs or the the regretful I-wish-I'ds, he could relate. He'd lost his father, a man who had been his hero in the lens of his childhood, and that pain had never left.

"So the ring was hers," Gwaine finally prompted. "It kept the Bastet at bay."

Merlin's clothes rustled as his hand clenched over the necklace. "Yes. She gave it to me a few months ago," he hesitated and Gwaine tripped on the idea that she was still alive. "She became the spirit of the lake I buried her in. I've seen her twice since she died. The first time she returned Excalibur, and the second time she returned this ring," he swallowed thickly, "this is why it's so difficult to forget her."

"You don't have to forget her."

"Move past her, whatever," Merlin answered in a rush. His arm moved, likely to rub at his eyes, but Gwaine didn't call him on it. "She showed me the life where we did escape, and where I fixed her curse and we got married and had a hut in the woods… in that dream I knew her for years. It's so hard to pretend like it never happened. I'll always love her."

Gwaine reached out blindly, not knowing how to comfort him but wanting to. His hand landed on Merlin's shoulder, and his fingers dug into the hollow between muscle and bone. "Don't pretend like it didn't happen." Merlin shifted to protest, but his grip tightened. "Seriously, listen to me. I wasted years in a half-life trying to shed my nobility. Percival, Elyan— everyone, actually— has lost a piece of themselves to death, but learning who we were without that piece made us worthy of the Round Table."

Merlin shrugged out of his hold, but when he spoke his voice was warm. "Thank you," a soft blue light brightened between them and lit Merlin's friendly smile. "You're a good friend."

"I know," he replied. Merlin gestured them to continue forward, hand falling from Freya's ring but the gold of magic dancing in his eyes. The irony of it bit at Gwaine, because here was Merlin when at his most free and honest, but he required a forgotten passageway hidden hundreds of feet underground to exist. "This is why you'll never sit at the Round Table, isn't it?"

Merlin glanced back, but didn't answer.

"Because you're still acting. You're still living a half-life."

"Maybe a three-quarters life, I've got you," Merlin smiled wryly. "But you're right. I'll never take that seat. Not until I've explained what I really am, and Arthur is fully aware of what he's offering."

"Potatoes?"

Gwen blinked at her already laden plate and then shook her head. "No, thank you." Her stomach has been upset recently, and all this food despite smelling delicious did not look appetizing. Arthur passed the dish back to the kitchen servant and waved her down the table.

It was Ari for this course, Gwen noticed, and Gwaine's sister had taken this task with absolute seriousness. Her back was ramrod straight and her face impassively blank as she extended the potatoes to the next at the table, the Ensi. He winked at her out of view of his father as she scooped a healthy spoonful, and Gwen was thankful that nothing came of it. This supper was filled with enough tension as it was, between the three kings and Druid leaders, that any father-son issues were sure to give someone a stress-sickness just by proximity.

Further proof: "Do Druids eat potatoes?"

Oh, spirits. "Yes, we eat the same foods you eat," Iseldir answered pleasantly. Ruadan, another respected Druid elder with hair gone an early grey, took this less in stride, scowling particularly unpleasantly.

"I had this idea you were all vegetarian," the Ensi said, "animal-loving forest-folk, you know."

"I do love a good cut of swine," Iseldir smiled.

"I remember when I took down my first boar," Arthur chuckled, "I was so proud - I hung its tusks from my bedroom wall. It took months before I realized it had only been a child."

He laughed, and many of the others politely smiled along. The good humor was so strained that Gwen almost put her face in her hands and groaned. She fought the urge, instead supporting Arthur's story with, "King Bayard, you must have some good hunting stories."

"I don't find much enjoyment in the sport," Bayard responded dully. He had a thick mustache and beard so it seemed his mouth was barely moving. "I've spent too many years hunting humans."

The Sarrum chortled, eyeing Iseldir and Ruadan. "You Druids were very hard to catch."

"We still are," Ruadan said stiffly, "we're still being chased out of nearly every kingdom in Albion."

"Ah," the Sarrum said, leaning back in his chair and looking victorious. "So you are one of the Druids from Lot's lands?"

Ruadan's eyes flicked to Arthur's. They had met in Essetir while Lot had been rounding up the Druids, and when Arthur, Gwaine, and Merlin had left to find out why. Though, they'd kept that particular mission a secret from most. "Yes, my tribe is from the northern forests."

"Well then, I'd love to hear your opinion on the revolt."

"I'm sure death is not something to be spoken of at the dinner table."

"Oh, it's all for friendly debate," the Sarrum smiled. "I've only heard rumors, and I'd love to hear the truth from my new Druid friend Ruadan."

Ruadan's lips pressed into a thin line, his derision for the Amatan king hardly suppressed. "We were trapped there many weeks, penned in on the outskirts of the stronghold. Winter approached with no end to the confinement. There was a small skirmish, and in the confusion many of my people escaped into the forests."

"Small?" The Ensi leaned forward curiously, "I hear forty of Lot's men died."

"I hear Emrys himself was there shooting lightning from the sky; you can't believe everything you hear," Bayard sneered.

"But he is the type, isn't he?" The Sarrum's eyes slunk around the table in his excitement to drop this unheard piece of news, "He appeared at my castle making threats only a few months ago - blew up a well on his way out."

Arthur caught Gwen's eye, and she understood the frown hidden in them. It was hard to correlate the strange old hermit Dragoon with the magical threat that came laden on the name of Emrys. It proved they had little idea who they had invited into their borders. "He's not warlike," Arthur said, and that was so far from what she had expected him to say, and the surprise showed so obvious on her face, that Arthur had to continue. "He has a great magical ability, but he's never used it for a throne."

At the words Iseldir glowed with delight, and Gwen filed that information away. She and Arthur had long had the suspicion that Iseldir was working with Emrys. "I believe he prefers to act from the shadows."

Yet on the other side of the coin Ruadan huffed lightly under his breath, obviously perturbed at that truth, "Then he is a coward." Camelot had already taken the flames of many revenge-soaked Druids, and they didn't want another attack when half the country would be here to see it. She'd have to watch out for him.

The Sarrum slapped his hand on the table and chortled. "I like you. I agree! We have little to fear from a man that hides behind anonymity."

"Yet didn't he kill your father, Arthur?" Bayard asked, his usual straightforward manner once again sending them skidding.

Arthur tensed with the question, and to comfort him Gwen squeezed his knee beneath the table. "I'm aware," he replied tersely. "But that's for he and I to discuss."

Quietly Iseldir added, "Didn't he also aid in the recovery of Camelot only last year? I heard he drained Morgana's magic."

At this the Sarrum hummed thoughtfully while his son picked at his food in utter boredom. This was juxtaposed by Ruadan whose eyes had sharpened in interest. "Why protect a country that would kill him, from a magic-user like himself?" Thoughts seemed to hit him in an array and that gaze snapped to Arthur. "Perhaps he has a soft spot for you. Many of his legends talk about a pet king."

Arthur prickled, "I am owned by no man."

Gwen squeezed again in an effort to prevent even more blatant confrontation. "Nor are we hiding any sorcerer in our halls," she tried to infuse a serenity to the group through the warm tones of her voice.

It had only minor effect. "What of the strength of Excalibur, then?" Bayard asked.

This piqued the Ensi's attention, and the young man leaned forward with excitement. "I've heard this story! It's a fantastic one. Hilt deep in a stone, wasn't it? The strength of ten men couldn't remove it, but to come free it only needed the grasp of the true king of Camelot!"

The Sarrum looked amused, but not convinced. "Perhaps Emrys left it for you as a gift on his way to secure the witch."

"He did not hand me Camelot, or my sword." Arthur stood, removed Excalibur from its sheath to gleam in the firelight. "See for yourself - this is no magical blade."

The Ensi's eyebrow rose slowly, and he pointed at the gold inscription on the wide flat of the blade. "Isn't this magic-language?"

"No, runes are an ancient alphabet," Ruadan snapped.

Iseldir cocked his head to see the verbiage better. "Take me up," he read, then gestured to flip the blade over. "May I?" Arthur complied, and Iseldir translated the second phrase. "Cast me away. These are not spells."

"Thank you," Arthur said, sitting. And for an added proof he placed Excalibur in her hands. "Guinevere can confirm that it is a manmade blade. She was once a blacksmith and knows much about weaponry."

"It's been many years," she started, but Arthur smirked at her.

"You're just being humble."

"Go on, Queen Guinevere," Bayard said solemnly. "You have an admirable skill."

She smoothed a hand down the blade and tucked the compliment away to savour later. "I'll need a moment," she said, because how did one prove this blade was made with hammer and tongs? From the distance she'd generally viewed Excalibur she'd seen no imperfections, and even the most expert of blacksmith would err.

The edge was symmetrical and smooth - and without the tools of her shop it was unlikely she'd catch a mistake - so she focused for the other end, where gold filigree criss-crossed over the sturdy leather of the hilt and ended in an embossed pommel weighted for balance. In exquisite form it blended seamlessly with the cross guard in between, proving that the entire sword had been laboriously formed from a single stream of molten metal, and quenched with the expertise of a master craftsman. It reminded her of evenings in the forge with her father, home after a long day on her feet, air smelling with the sharp tang of metal and the smoky vapour of quickly boiled water.

The memory made her smile. In those last years it had only been she and him, but he'd always beamed at her like she was the only light he'd ever need in his life. He could have made this sword; he had the skill. He would have done so much for Camelot, and it killed her sometimes that he'd missed so much. He'd never get to meet her children.

She'd only done it because she'd been thinking of him - run her thumbnail over the fine metal at the base of the cross guard. It ran long and thin, shiny and sharp, and her father could wax for hours on the best angles to nick an attacking blade or deftly deflect it aside, and in this corner where metal met hilt, her nail caught in the tiny unexpected ridges of an artisan's mark.

"Guinevere, what do you think?"

She thought her stomach was going to come out of her throat. She thought the room was echoing, and she thought she may have lost three shades to a pallor of her skin.

"I think," she spoke, voice even though she reeled, "of all the weaponry I've made, seen, or used, it is the finest."

After all, her father had called it his magnum opus.

Love is Mystical by Cold War Kids

Footnotes:

(1) King Bayard - king of Mercia (P2: The Betas). The Sarrum - King of Amata (P1: Two Can Keep a Secret, Centuries). Ruadan (P2: The Audacity of Hope), and recall he and Sefa spent some weeks with Morgana.
(2) Mermaids appear in British folklore as unlucky omens, both foretelling disaster and provoking it. Merrow or Ceasg - Irish and Scottish versions of the word 'mermaid'.
(3) Ensi - Prince in Sumerian
(4) Yellow-stripe district was a region/slang I started in P1, but it is the 'subtle' name for the raunchy area of town, and those that participate. Also - The Cavalry. Get it? GET IT? Ride in on those stallions, girl.
(5) Miht dagan, beþecce me. Adeadaþ þisne gast min freondum ond min feondum - original piece of the canon spell Merlin used for his initial transformation into Dragoon.
(6) P1: Cinderella is referenced. In summary: Merlin goes to talk to Freya, she shows him a lost future where they get married and are briefly happy before she's killed by soldiers, and Merlin realizes his place was always meant to be in Camelot. She then gives him the cursebreaker / engagement ring that he used to break the Bastet's curse over her in this alternate future. Merlin's been wearing it since P2: Snow Angel.
(7) Canon references in regards to Excalibur. S4E13 Arthur pulls Excalibur from the stone. S1E9 Gwen gives Merlin Tom's finest sword, and he gets it reforged in Kilgharrah's breath. The look and runes on the blade are pulled from Merlin wiki.
(8) Potatoes are not native to England, like tomatoes, but the show used both so here they are again. Thanks to dmarie1184 for showing me her nerd - potatoes are native to South America! Also, KIMMIKY gave me some more great nerd!knowledge in regards to last chapter - gunpowder could have been in England by this time, but it would have been extremely expensive, and they wouldn't have known how to make it. Thank you ladies :)

Author's Note:

Thanks to Linorien (Lady of the Lake in Sindarin, by the way) for helping me strengthen the plot of this chapter and sending me into a giggling fit over the nickname Gills. A fantastic beta. And great thanks to Dara and Jewels for being great friends and sources of inspiration, and especially Dara this chapter for pushing me through roadblocks. As to all of you reviewers, I appreciate you all to death. Seriously, you brighten my life. Also, please thank Tempest Rain for the Freya scene as a result of spamming me with reviews :) Absolutely convinced me to have Freya this chapter.

And then, of course, there's Gwen. Let's cheers to that.

Next time: House of Cards. He shouldn't have expected such a precarious tower to stand forever.