A/N: A lot of people have asked me by PM or review where I'm getting my translations from, so I thought I'd post a note about it here.
Old English / Spells: Many of them are just coming straight from Merlin Wiki, which has a useful list of spells used on the show and their supposed translations. The great bulk of the spells I use in this story probably at least borrowed bits of the spells on there. If I need a word that's not been used on the show (Trent's spell on their cell door, for example), I used an English to Old English dictionary I found online to get a rough translation of what I wanted the spell to say. I'm actually a linguistics student at a university right now, and one of my teachers briefly touched on Old English grammar once, so I used what I remember to try and get the grammar correct. I am by no means an expert, so it's probably wrong.
Dragonspeak, on the other hand, is a bit trickier. According to the Merlin Wiki spells page, Merlin really only has about three things to say to dragons: his long speech to Kilgharrah at the season 2 finale, his command to order wyverns and Aithusa to listen to him, and what he says to summon Kilgharrah. In particular, I've noticed that Merlin essentially says the exact same thing to Kilgharrah every time he summons him. I decided that's boring. Also I was excited to find an English to Ancient Greek dictionary online, and as a linguistics student, I wanted an excuse to use it. So I thought I'd write more creative dragonspeak than what the show usually offers. I have no previous experience with ancient Greek and no idea how the grammar works, so it's most likely grammatically incorrect as well.
This site doesn't let you post links directly, so for the links below, replace "slash" with "/" and "dot" with ".". Also, remember to take out the spaces. The dictionaries are not very user-friendly (especially the ancient Greek one, which also tends to go out at random moments), so be patient with them.
Ancient Greek to English dictionary: www dot perseus dot tufts dot edu slash hopper slash resolveform?redirect=true
Old English to English dictionary: www dot oldenglishtranslator dot co dot uk slash index dot htm
Merlin Wiki: merlin dot wikia dot com slash wiki slash spells
Now, on with the story! Arthur angst, Merlin whump, and foreshadowing await!
Chapter Nine: The Guiding Light
Arthur didn't know how long it was before the dragon finally landed, but it was with great relief that he slid off its back to the ground, Merlin in his arms. He would never take the earth's solid presence beneath his feet for granted again.
He carefully laid Merlin on the ground to inspect his injuries. The warlock was still unconscious. His jacket had been burned through in so many places that it had disintegrated during the flight, but his shirt and neckerchief were still holding together. In the dim moonlight, Arthur could still see the scorched red marks seared into Merlin's skin through the threadbare spots in his shirt, even darker in contrast with his deathly pale, almost ashen skin.
The dragon, Arthur abruptly realized, was still behind him, watching him curiously with those eyes gold enough to pierce the darkness, as if waiting for him to say something. Arthur turned to face it. He could feel his knees shaking, and briefly wondered whether it was with fear or exhaustion. Probably both.
"I thought I killed you." Immediately he winced at what a horrible conversation-starter that was, but it was too late to take it back now.
The dragon snorted. "Whatever gave you that impression?"
"Merlin told—" Arthur swallowed. Merlin had told him he'd defeated the dragon. Of course he'd lied. Merlin had lied about a lot of things. How had Arthur never realized? Of course he'd known before that Merlin lied—but badly, about where he'd been or what he'd been doing. Not big things. Not important things.
Ignoring the twinge of betrayal, Arthur asked, "Why are you helping us?"
"Because you both have a great destiny before you that has yet to be fulfilled…and because my lord ordered it."
"…But…But I didn't…"
"I am not referring to you, Pendragon."
Arthur glanced down at Merlin for a moment, incredulity creeping back into him. "Merlin? But…" How in the name of Camelot had Merlin become a dragonlord? And if he was, why hadn't he kept the dragon from attacking Camelot sooner?!
Arthur took a deep breath. He could deal with that later. Right now, he needed to focus on getting Merlin to safety. And if he needed this dragon to do it, so be it. Gathering his courage, Arthur spoke to the dragon again. "He needs help. Take us back to Camelot...Please."
The dragon shook his head slightly. "I cannot. Though I have been ordered to defend Camelot, I am forbidden from returning without direct order after my…regrettable behavior."
Arthur's fists clenched at his sides, and he forgot he was facing a dangerous magical beast, forgot that he needed this creature. "You killed my men!"
"I did, and I apologize. It was Uther I meant to kill."
"Do you know how many men died? How many citizens? Innocent people!"
"I'm aware. Merlin…lectured me quite thoroughly."
Arthur's anger increased with every word, the thoughts he'd shoved down quickly returning to the surface. "Why didn't he stop you sooner?! He and I left Camelot to go find a dragonlord, do you realize that? We wasted days trying to find one, and all that time he could have just—"
"He could not. Dragonlord abilities are passed from father to son, and are only inherited upon the father's death."
Arthur felt the wrath bubbling inside him collapse. It had been years since the quest to find the last dragonlord and most of the details had long since faded from his mind, paling in comparison to the vivid memories of the havoc wreaked on Camelot, but one puzzling image had stuck through all that time: Merlin, holding the dying dragonlord in his arms, looking like the world had ended.
Oh. Oh.
Arthur found it difficult to speak. "But he…that was his…but I told him not to cry."
Merlin was a better liar than he could ever have guessed. Arthur went over what he remembered from the dragon's attack years ago, and despaired at how little he recalled of anything that might have been important. He remembered the relief at the dragon's defeat, the weeks spent repairing the castle and lower town, the funerals he'd spoken at. But of Merlin? Had he seemed sadder, more distant during that time? Had he snuck off to mourn? Arthur couldn't remember. All he could remember was that Merlin had thrown himself into the reconstruction effort and had stayed by his side, comforted him after he'd lost so many men. Comforted Arthur, after his own father had died right in front of him…
Merlin made a funny, wheezing sort of sound, and Arthur immediately turned his attention toward the unconscious man. Merlin's chest rose slightly, lowered, rose, lowered—
And didn't rise again.
"Merlin," Arthur said panickedly. He sunk to his knees and shook him. "No, Merlin, you magic idiot, I can't lose you, not now, breathe—"
For the first time, Arthur saw the dragon look concerned. "Stand aside, Pendragon."
Arthur curled protectively around Merlin. "I'm not letting you kill him."
"He is the last of my kin. I do not want him dead. Now let me see him."
Fighting every instinct, Arthur inched away. He eyed the dragon warily. "Can you save him?"
"I can heal his wounds, yes. Stand back."
Arthur reluctantly retreated back a few more steps, eyes flitting between the too-still Merlin and the dragon. Merlin he trusted, trusted even though he knew it was foolish to trust such a liar, but this dragon…who was to say it wouldn't take advantage of its master's weakness? And why was the dragon opening its mouth?
Arthur realized what the dragon was going to do a split second beforehand. "NO!"
But in the moment before Arthur dived, Merlin was entirely engulfed in glittering flames. The king threw his arms in front of his face to protect against the blinding heat that was obliterating Merlin—
The flames stopped, and Arthur lowered his arms, bracing himself to see what was left of his friend.
But Merlin was not ash; he was still lying there, unconscious but breathing.
Arthur rushed over to kneel by his side. The bruises around Merlin's neck were gone, the cut on his cheek and dozens of small nicks had vanished, and the slightest bit of color had returned to his face. The burns were still there, but they had faded, as if they had been there for weeks instead of days.
Merlin's body suddenly seized with coughing, dark smoke spurting out of his mouth as if he'd swallowed a pyre.
"Merlin? Merlin?" Arthur tried, but Merlin's eyes remained shut. When the last of the smoke dissipated, his body took a deep, shuddering breath, and his chest resumed a slow, steady rise and fall. He looked almost asleep now, rather than dead. Arthur gently brushed his fingertips near the edges of one of the healing burns.
"He'll live," the dragon said. "Those are injuries of dark magic. They should fade as he rests and his magic recovers."
"So he'll get better?"
"I said he'll live," the dragon said sharply. "How did he get into this condition?"
Arthur swallowed. "We were captured…they bound him with these chains that burned him and had some of those magic symbols scratched into it."
"So they cut him off from his magic." The dragon looked utterly furious.
"…But he could still use it. He saved me, he blocked a sword."
"Of course he could still use it! Magic is a part of his very essence. It can hardly be stopped by something as primitive as runes."
"But then why didn't he just…magic us out?"
The dragon gazed down, golden eyes fixed on Merlin with a tenderness that seemed disturbing coming from a beast that had slaughtered so many of Arthur's people. "Stopped, no, but slowed. A sheathed sword can still do damage, but it takes far more effort to do so. Effort that cost him dearly."
Arthur scowled. "What does that even mean? Cost him how? You mean like…" He trailed off, remembering Merlin slumped in his chair, face coated with blood.
The dragon turned, great wings slowly rising. "The dark magic on him reeks of the witch. I fear her power is growing. I must return to my search for Aithusa. It may be even more important than I realized. A missing dragon and an injured dragonlord does not bode well for Camelot, and the two may be connected..."
"Missing—there are more of you?!"
The dragon's wings beat down, lifting the creature a few feet in the air. "Farewell, King Arthur. Merlin is in your care now. Remember you will need both sides of the coin to fulfill your destinies."
"Wait, you're leaving? You can't leave him like this. He…" Arthur thought frantically, then pointed towards Merlin. "He ordered you to rescue us, and—and do you call that rescued? Look at him!"
"There is no more I can do for him. And he did not order me to rescue him. His orders specifically were to save you. Now again, farewell. Our paths will cross again."
"No, don't leave, you stupid dragon, you need to fix him!"
But the dragon's great wings beat, kicking up enough wind to make Arthur cover his eyes.
"Come back!" Arthur shouted as the dragon flew away. "He's your lord or something, you can't just leave! Come back, you stupid…dragon." He murmured the last word, because by then the dragon was only a speck in the night sky.
Stupid dragon. Stupid Merlin, who wasn't awake to order it to stay. Who apparently hadn't even ordered the dragon to save him. Idiot. Had he just forgotten? Had it somehow slipped his mind that perhaps he should order the blasted dragon to make sure he didn't die?!
Actually, yes, Arthur realized as he started to pace. Merlin had been in such a state that he had probably not thought beyond getting Arthur to safety. That was so bloody Merlin.
Arthur was going to kill him. That is, if the idiot hadn't killed himself already.
Arthur's fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to calm down. Kings always handled situations calmly, even when abandoned by supposedly dead magical beasts in bandit-infested forests at night with an injured, possibly dying, suddenly magical-and-yet-not-traitorous friend. So Arthur would be completely calm.
He was exhausted to the point of lunacy, Arthur realized dimly. He hadn't eaten in days except for the bit of soup and bread given to them in their cell earlier, and he'd been without water for even longer. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd slept, but he estimated it had been at least a day. All the rush of the fight, all his anger and rage and full-blooded terror fueling him as he had escaped with Merlin were gone, leaving him more tired and sore than he had any right to be, the leg that Merlin had healed especially. Merlin had said that he wasn't the best at healing spells, but Arthur wondered if the lingering pain was simply the result of overexertion on a recently healed wound.
Still, physical exhaustion was something he could deal with, something with which he had plenty of experience. His exhaustion was as much emotional as it was physical. He'd spent the last few days feeling enraged and helpless, and then there had been the waves of alternating betrayal, grief, and fear. Even now, Arthur was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Merlin actually had magic. Half of him wanted to rip Merlin limb from limb for lying to him for so long, and the other half wanted to get him back to Gaius and make sure nothing ever touched him again. And more than anything else, Arthur wanted to go back to Camelot and curl up in his bed in his castle, with Guinevere and a cocoon of a ridiculous amount of pillows, and go back to when life was simple.
But that wasn't an option. Having finally gotten his breathing under control, Arthur took stock of their situation. Daylight was several hours away. He and Merlin were out in the open, exposed to the bitter beginning-of-winter cold, from which Merlin's only protection was a threadbare shirt peppered with holes. They were also exposed to any bandits they happened across, not to mention Morgana if—when—she decided to come looking for them. And to top everything off, Arthur had no weapons.
Alright. First step, get Merlin somewhere more easily defendable.
Carefully, he lifted Merlin onto his shoulders, hoping the movement wasn't somehow hurting him. If it was, Merlin made no sign of it, and his breathing was still steady.
What was Arthur supposed to do if Merlin stopped breathing again?
Arthur pushed the thought away and looked up at the stars. Camelot was…that way. He staggered off in that direction into the trees, cursing how slowly his feet were dragging. Either he was more exhausted than even he himself had guessed, or all those times Merlin had called him fat was him projecting.
Definitely the latter, Arthur decided, because his body was not allowed to give out until they were somewhere safe.
The problem was, the trees were blocking out even more of the limited light, so much that Arthur felt as if he were walking through a cave. Actually, a cave would be brilliant, he thought. A nice, hidden cave where no one would find them, packed with blankets and weapons and food and pillows…
He trudged on through the darkness, trying to keep from bolting like a startled stoat. Every rustle in the trees was an enemy, every movement was Morgana or Gwil. And all of them were after Merlin, because of Emrys…Emrys the dragon apparently. Arthur realized now that must have been what they'd wanted from Merlin. A dragon would be incredibly useful in battle—Morgana could simply sit back and let the dragon destroy Camelot before coming to conquer the remains. After all, the dragon had done an exceptional job of bringing Camelot to its knees before. If Merlin hadn't been able to stop it last time, Camelot would have been destroyed. Arthur himself would have been dead. He'd gone against that dragon fully expecting to die, only to wake up to find it defeated. Except Merlin had lied about its defeat. Merlin had lied about so much—his magic, the dragon, his father. Had everything Arthur ever known about him been a lie?
No. It couldn't be. This was Merlin. Merlin who lied all the time, but badly. Except, apparently, about his magic. But even now, looking back, it had been so completely obvious that Arthur wondered if him not noticing was less due to Merlin's lying abilities and more due to Arthur's determination that magic was evil and Merlin wasn't.
And Merlin still wasn't, Arthur decided. He couldn't be, because he was Merlin, and if he was evil Arthur would have to kill him, and Arthur could no more do that than chop off his own sword arm.
No, Merlin wasn't going to die. At least, not if Arthur had anything to say about it.
On his shoulders, Merlin suddenly started to tremble, as if he could sense what Arthur was thinking. Arthur grappled with him in the darkness, trying to keep him from falling off his shoulders.
"Merlin?"
Silence.
"Merlin, if you're just not saying anything because you're too lazy to walk, I will make you muck out every stable in the castle and the lower town. Without magic."
More silence.
"Did you even do your chores with magic? Did you do all of them with magic? Because if you did…"
More silence. Merlin was still trembling—no, shivering. Was that a good sign?
"Fine, then, you lazy buffoon. Have it your way. Off we go."
Yes, it was a good sign, Arthur decided determinedly. Any sort of movement was a good sign. It had to be.
He traveled farther and a bit faster. Merlin was heavy on his shoulders, reminding Arthur with every step how much he needed to get them somewhere safe now. His speed backfired, however, when he tripped over a tree root in the darkness and went sprawling. Merlin landed on the forest floor with a heavy thud and rolled, and Arthur scrambled to keep him from rolling any further.
At Arthur's touch, Merlin's eyes flew open, burning in that alien gold. For the first time, Arthur's heart leapt at seeing Merlin's eyes like that, because it meant he was still alive—
"Merlin?"
But Merlin's eyes shut again, and Arthur was plunged back into darkness.
"Merlin?" Arthur tried again, trying to pull the warlock back up.
A small ball of blue light swirled into existence in Merlin's palm. Arthur stared at it, not caring if he ruined his night vision. He recognized that light…
An identical orb started to glow just above Arthur's head. He looked between it and the one in Merlin's hand, yet another revelation sinking in. That had been Merlin, back then. Merlin had been there from the beginning, helping him, protecting him, being his friend. Magic or not, that couldn't have been a lie.
Arthur tried to pull Merlin back onto his shoulders, but then let out a curse as he nearly dropped him again. Finally, he just hefted Merlin up piggyback style and kept staggering on. The night seemed endless, but the ball of light guided him onward through the forest, floating slowly and pausing in its journey often, as if waiting for him to catch up. When he looked down to check for roots, he saw Merlin's arms dangling over his shoulders, the other blue orb in the warlock's hand illuminating the ground.
It also let Arthur see the raw skin around Merlin's wrists, reminding him how badly Merlin was hurt. He wondered if Merlin should even be using his magic right now, although Arthur saw no way to stop him. The dragon had said that Merlin would need time for his magic to recover…
What had Gwil done to him? How exactly did you injure magic? Because that implied that it was part of Merlin, something that could be hurt just as much as an arm or a leg. Hurt or tortured. And Merlin had been tortured, Arthur was sure. Or was the dragon lying, like Merlin had lied about so much else?
Arthur knew he should hate Merlin for all the lies and the magic, but he just couldn't. Because as much as he didn't want to, he understood why Merlin had lied. He understood completely, and it hurt.
Merlin shouldn't have had to lie in the first place. He'd saved Arthur's life with his magic—and Arthur suspected the glowing ball of light wasn't the only time. How could it have been, with all the years of battles and attacks and miraculously lucky escapes with Merlin at his side?
And if Merlin really had done all those things, he hadn't sought any credit. How could he? Uther, if he were still alive, would have had Merlin killed. Arthur's council now would probably still want Merlin killed, and Arthur felt sick just thinking about it. He'd have to talk to them, change the law…but he couldn't make an exception for just Merlin. What if there were other people out there like him, people who used magic to protect instead of destroy? People who would have helped the kingdom had Uther not had them executed?
Arthur shuddered as he thought of how many executions Merlin must have witnessed over the years. Arthur had never enjoyed executions the way his father had seemed to; he had just accepted that they were necessary to make the kingdom safe. And though magic was still illegal, Arthur hadn't actually executed anyone for magic since becoming king. But still…he had never thought seriously about legalizing magic. It went against everything his father had taught him. He remembered how Merlin's eyes had glowed that unearthly gold. That gold had saved him, but Arthur still found himself involuntarily repulsed.
Merlin and magic just still seemed like such a contradiction, one that Arthur was far too exhausted to reconcile. Merlin was good, and his magic was keeping him alive, and that was good. Everything else they could deal with later. That is, if Merlin made it that far.
The sphere of light hovered a moment by a large tree, then slowly plunged down. Arthur peeked down after it. Where the light had gone, the ground dipped in a sharp slope. The light seemed to go under Arthur's feet. There must be a hollow of some kind in the side of the cliff, Arthur realized, not visible to anyone standing where he stood now.
He found a less steep slope over a little farther and carefully picked his way down to see his suspicions confirmed. In the blue light, Arthur could see the roots of the massive tree above jutting out of the ground, forming a small, secluded space just large enough for two people.
Gratefully, Arthur set Merlin down on his side in the hidden space. He called his name softly a few times, but the warlock didn't stir. The small blue sphere in Merlin's palm glowed steadily, flaring slightly with every inhale, proving that he was still alive.
His shivering had still not stopped, and Arthur could feel the chill himself through his chainmail. In his exhausted haze, Arthur started to collect a few twigs for firewood before realizing that a fire would just draw in Morgana or bandits. But what else was he supposed to do? He didn't have any blankets, and his cape was in tatters back in the cell…
Suddenly, he got an idea. After a bit of awkward twisting, he managed to get his chainmail off. Underneath was a dark red quilted jacket, used as padding for his chainmail. He took off the jacket and wrapped it around Merlin as tightly as he could manage with his own trembling fingers. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do.
He tried to bury his chainmail under dirt and leaves to hide it from passing bandits. He felt horribly unprotected now, down to just a shirt with no chainmail or armor or sword, but he didn't have the energy to put the chainmail back on. The metal probably would have chilled him further anyway. Still, he wished he had something to defend them with.
As he finished hiding the chainmail, his hand bumped into a large stick. He lifted it a moment and gave it a half-hearted swing. Not a sword, but it would do.
Weapon in hand, he sunk to the ground to the left of Merlin—facing out so any would-be attackers would have to go through Arthur first—and curled up against him, back-to-back.
The blue glow pressing against his eyelids dimmed to darkness, sensing it was no longer needed, and Arthur let the exhaustion take him.
A/N: Next update is on Friday. It's a nice, long chapter, with a proper conversation and some nice action. Please review, as it makes me grin like a loon all day.