Title: More Than It Seems
Author: Minch
Summary: Merlin, Arthur, and the knights are captured. However, their abductor is not interested in the King of Camelot or even Emrys. He only wants the stranger imprisoned with them. What is that stranger's secret, and what does their abductor so desperately want from him?
Rating: T, because I am not going to be nice to these guys in this fic.
Spoilers: Occurs in between Series Four and Series Five.
Disclaimer: I hold absolutely no claim to ownership of Merlin. It belongs to BBC and Shine, Ltd. I'm just someone with a boundless imagination who happens to love the show.
Author's note: I'm borrowing jargon from Tamora Pierce's books. (Don't judge; they're good books.) I'll put a list of the spells I used at the beginning of the last chapter.
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Chapter Twelve: Rescue
Renault fell to his knees, chanting once more, his arms stretched out toward the empty altar. "Sécan mec, sécan þín hláford, beón under mín ánweald!" His voice grew louder and more frantic. He glanced around eagerly, searching for something that only he could see. "Where is he? Where–" he stammered in a feverish howl.
The door on the opposite side of the room burst open and every torch was suddenly extinguished. The only light remaining was that of a sun scarcely clear of the horizon. In the doorway stood a cloaked and hooded figure. The cowl of the cloak was deep, hiding the stranger's face in shadow.
Renault stood up shakily. "You came. It–it worked." He drew closer. "For a moment, I thought the ceremony–" He stopped, peering into the shadows of the cowl. Without warning he backed away from the advancing figure. "No!" He sounded terrified. "It can't be!"
"And yet, it is." The voice came from the hooded stranger, a man's voice as cold and uncompromising as stone.
"But I–" Renault gestured wildly. "I performed–"
"You have defiled the rites and rituals of the Old Religion," the stranger interrupted, never stopping his deliberate stride toward the monster. "You misused and perverted those ceremonies until they served your purposes. But even with all your power, you could not enslave me."
Renault recovered his arrogance. "I was chosen by the gods to restore magic to the land!"
"Were you chosen?" the stranger asked in a disdainful whisper. Renault's swagger evaporated. He backed up into the altar, leaving himself nowhere to run. "Or was it a lie you used to coerce the weak into your service? You told that lie so often that you soon believed it yourself." An arm and hand covered by an armguard of some sort shot out from the cloak and took Renault by the throat. The stranger wrenched the monster up to his eyelevel. "The gods never favoured you. Your acts have been judged." He clenched his fist and threw Renault to the floor, who landed with a sickening crunch.
The chain restraining Merlin and the others fell off, even the shackles. Dust and loose stone fell from the ceiling as the entire castle began to shake. "Quickly now." The stranger motioned for them to follow him out the door. "The fortress will soon collapse." Numbly they followed. As they went out the door, Merlin looked back. Renault's body lay crumpled in front of the altar, his head at an angle. His neck was broken.
The seven of them travelled hurriedly down a narrow passageway. Everyone but the stranger stumbled and reeled as the floor shuddered. They came to a waterway flowing through a tunnel and out into the forest. A longboat waited for them. "What about the horses?" Arthur asked in a faraway voice.
"Rhiannon will guide them to safety," the stranger told him. "She owes me a favour." They got into the boat, lurching as the foundations of the castle quaked. The stranger put a hand in the water. "Father Llyr, guide us to Rhiannon," he prayed. The boat moved forward swiftly. Within seconds they passed through the tunnel. The dawn illuminated the land in a beautiful glow.
The castle was falling apart in earnest now. Towers crumbled and tumbled into the courtyard. A herd of horses led by one large snow-white horse thundered out the gate and into the forest. Behind them, the entire curtain wall quivered and disintegrated. Clouds of dust were thrown up into the air, obscuring the view. No one cared. They only wanted out of that place.
The boat continued on without any assistance from its passengers, always following the horses that ran on a path not far from the river. No one spoke; everyone was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. The stranger sat in the prow of the boat, straight as an arrow, the cowl of his cloak always concealing his face. Finally, the boat slowed to a halt beside a gentle slope of the bank. They clambered out and went to the horses waiting in a large secluded clearing.
The stranger walked up to the white horse, a mare larger than any of the others. "Thank you, my beloved Rhiannon," he said, putting a hand on her head. She tossed her head and whickered. "Yes, you and I are no longer husband and wife. But where will you go?" She looked at him with profound brown eyes, as if to say, Why would I tell you? Then she shook her head and cantered away.
The stranger raised a hand in farewell before turning back to the other six. "Good sirs, you are weary and mournful. Here in this clearing you will be protected until dawn tomorrow. Then you will have the strength to journey back to your home."
The horses went to their riders and greeted them cheerfully. They were well looked-after for having been in the care of strangers for four days. Each man was glad and relieved to see his mount. They were also happy to find that their chainmail, swords, and other supplies had come along with the horses. They checked the horses for any sign of mistreatment, but found none. It seemed that Renault cared more for the animals in his stables than for the people in his dungeons.
"Wait," Arthur called. The stranger was beginning to sneak away. Even though they looked directly at him, the edges of his form wavered. "Who are you?"
"Who I am is of little consequence," the stranger replied. "I was given special permission to guide you away, but now I must go. Gods and mortals were not meant to intermingle." Behind him, the sun was completely above the horizon. He seemed to melt away into the trees. They never saw his face.
No one spoke, everyone trying to wrap their minds around what had transpired in the past hour. Merlin looked to his horse, the placid mare Lluagor. There was a bag that did not belong to him hanging off the saddle. Then he recognised it: it was Alder's.
It was damaged beyond repair. The internal frame was splintered and the cloth torn. The bottle of glue had broken and covered most of the feathers inside with a sticky fetid odour. Only a handful of quills had survived unscathed.
"What's that?" Gwaine asked. Too grief-stricken for words, Merlin could only hold the ruined bag for all of them to see.
Without a word, Arthur began to gather wood from the ground. He set up some branches in the middle of the clearing, in a conveniently-placed fire pit. The others knew what he was doing. Percival took the wood axe from the saddlebags and went off to collect more wood. He returned shortly with enough for a good-sized fire that would burn easily. Merlin found his flint in the luggage and set the timber ablaze. When it could burn without his coaxing, he stood.
They encircled the fire. Merlin pulled the undamaged feathers out of Alder's bag and carefully put the broken shell of the pack in the centre of the flames. He passed around the feathers. There were enough for everyone to have one.
Gwaine went first. He stepped closer to the fire. "You had an odd sense of humour," he said simply as he laid his goldfinch's bright orange feather in the flames. "And you wanted us to leave you behind. You didn't have to want that."
Leon was next. As his red feather caught fire, he said, "I'm sorry you ever had to cross paths with that monstrosity. I'm sorry we couldn't save you."
Elyan cleared his throat before speaking. "You counted us higher than your own family. I–I'm not entirely sure we deserve that, but thank you." The feather he set down was a deep russet colour.
Percival looked at the flames, saying nothing. Then, as he placed a feather so black it was almost purple, he whispered, "You were like my little brother."
"You were not meant to die so soon," Arthur said quietly as his crimson feather with sprinkles of gold burned. "You had done nothing wrong."
Merlin could not think of what to say. He looked at his feather. It belonged to a hawk, a merlin in fact. He laid it in the fire. "You're not worthless. You do matter." The flame that came from his feather blazed golden and blue.
No one spoke as the flames consumed the wood and died down. When the fire was well and truly gone, they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as they laid down.
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When Merlin awoke, the daylight was as orange as it had been when he and the others dropped off to sleep. For a moment he thought he had slept out the night, but then saw where the sun was. It hovered over the distant White Mountains, which lay to the west of Essetir and Camelot. It was a sunset he saw.
He knew this clearing. It was where they had been last night, and where they had met Alder. They were inside Camelot's borders, less than a day's ride from the castle. He settled back and tried to sleep, but could not banish all thought from his mind. His heart grieved for Alder and the life he had been denied. He was just a boy, still learning his place in the world. He could have gone on and had a happier life. He need not have died thinking he was worthless and going mad.
Renault's death also warranted some thought. He's gone, Merlin reminded himself. He can't hurt me anymore. Strangely, the thought of the monster who had brutalised him and his friends did not terrify him as it had less than a day before. Just as the shackles had fallen from his ankles, Renault's hold on Merlin's life was also gone. He did not have to be afraid. There were people all around him who cared about him, even if they –that is, Arthur– did not readily show it. Even if they remained unaware of just how much he did, he could still count on their friendship. If only he could have saved Alder. If only he could have shown him that friendship as well.
But the stranger, who was he? If he was a god, why had he not come sooner? Why did Alder have to die before he turned up?
"Merlin." A voice came to him on a breeze. He sat up to look for the speaker and saw no one but Arthur and the knights, and they slept like logs. "Merlin," it called again. He glanced around. The others did not stir. He doubted even shouting would wake them. He stood up, muscles protesting against the sudden movement, and went toward the voice. He remained in the glade, soon coming to a fallen log near the edge.
"Hello?" He called back. "Who's there?"
He was looking directly at the tree before him when a shape seemed to step out of the bark. He stepped back in surprise before he recognised the person. It was the stranger who had rescued them. Now, he had a quiver of arrows slung over his back and carried an unstrung bow. Merlin still could not see his face, but he could see the archer's armguards he wore.
"Hello again," the stranger said.
As before, Merlin's mind went straight to the least-helpful thing in the series of things he had to say. "I thought you said that the gods wouldn't allow you to stay."
"Then we just won't tell them that I stayed for a little while longer," the stranger replied casually. He sat on the log and gestured for Merlin to join him. "The gods aren't all-knowing."
Merlin glanced at him confusedly. "What?"
"The best term your language can render for those beings is 'gods,' but they're really more along the lines of 'immortals' or perhaps 'extremely-long-lived-souls-with-great-power.' But that's a bit longwinded, so 'gods' will have to suffice."
Merlin decided it would be better to just take his word for it than to argue. "Then you're not really a god, or a long-lived soul?"
"I am long-lived," the stranger clarified. "Just not as long-lived or as powerful as some of the others. And then, I'm not even sure how long-lived or powerful. You've met some like me before."
"When?" Merlin thought he would have remembered seeing someone like the stranger sitting next to him.
"Taliesin, for one. Remember the old man who showed you the Crystal Cave?" Merlin did remember, and shuddered at the memory. "We are here and there, but we don't associate with mortals. It's bad for their egos." He heard a smile in the stranger's voice.
Merlin got a better look at him. His cloak was a mottled green-grey colour, which made it hard to see where the cloak ended and the foliage around it began. That was probably its purpose, but it was nonetheless bewildering. The stranger sat easily, but he gave off the aura of leadership.
"If you've been watching us all this time, why did you not come sooner?" Merlin asked quietly. He recalled, with a spike of grief, that Alder had asked the same question.
The stranger was silent for a moment. "I was stuck," he admitted.
"'Stuck?'" Merlin wanted to make sure he heard that right.
"Yes," the stranger affirmed. "I was trapped. I did not want to reveal myself until I had no choice. But then, by the time I should have come forth, I could not."
"Why not?"
"You know who I am, Merlin."
"Do I?" Merlin asked. He was fairly sure he had not met this stranger before.
As an answer, the stranger pushed back his cowl and revealed his face.
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Check back on 9 October for Chapter Thirteen.