Chapter 11

I'm back for another instalment! A little overdue I admit, though that appears to be a bit of a bad habit of mine. Sincerest apologies.

Anyway, an extra-long chapter for you all for being so patient! Hope you enjoy!

I do not own Merlin, regrettably.

The fire is warm, the dry heat a welcome presence on his cool skin, damp from the evening dew. He bites back a groan as he moves his arm to turn the small rabbit roasting in the flames, a curse leaving his lips as he feels a fresh stickiness beneath his tunic and twists his head to see a dark patch beginning to blossom into the material.

Merlin sighs as he brings his hand up to clutch at the offending stain, the air leaving his lungs evolving into a hiss as his fingers squeeze around the wound tightly, as though their strength alone could will the bleeding to stop and the injury to heal.

He isn't sure how long he has been like this; hiding in the woods like a criminal. The first few days were a blur of pain and fearful stumbling between the trees, followed by freezing nights and feverish dreams.

Since he became lucid enough to count it has been twelve days. Twelve days of solitude and reflection; for the sorrow and fierce hurt of Arthur's rejection to simmer into the ball of cool rage and resentment that has taken up residence in his chest, and is constantly sparking.

"Will you leave me here to die?"

"That would be no more than you deserve".

It hurt. More than any wound ever could.

And then he had left him. Arthur had picked himself up, and walked away.

Merlin had watched until the king had vanished behind the city walls, before gritting his teeth against the pain and transporting himself to Gaius' chamber, where he had promptly collapsed from the exhaustion; breath leaving his lungs in fierce pants of pain.

He wished Gaius were here now. He would know what to do. He would know how to console him, and how to help him attempt to bottle the emotions threatening to crush his chest.

Releasing his arm from his vice-like grip he raised his good hand to rub at his eyes wearily, before moving to take his meal from the fire, biting into the warm meat hungrily. It was the first hot meal for days, the constant travelling making it hard to set up traps. There was also the risk of lighting a fire, as he was often too close to the villages where someone might see his solitary pillar of smoke rising from the trees.

No one would notice him tonight, however. The sky was full of smoke, huge black columns of it rising into the rosy dusk.

Camelot was burning.

Not only Camelot

A fresh wave of sorrow rippled through him as he remembered the sight of his home, Ealdor, razed to the ground.
As soon as he had been able he had made his way towards his home, craving the warmth of his mother's embrace, the softness of his bed, and distance from the source of his anguish; from Arthur.

The smell of the smoke reached him before he could see it, drifting towards him on the breeze, along with the cries and shouts of the people, his people. He moved as quickly as he could then, eyes watering from the pain throbbing through his chest as his shattered ribs shifted and scraped with each laboured heave of breath. The sight that met the sorcerer made his blood freeze in panic. The heat from the blaze reached him even from where he stood, huge tendrils of orange light licking their way menacingly into the sky as they emerged from the clouds of choking black smoke.

Somewhere amidst the blaze a building finally gave in, its walls collapsing in a great eruption of dancing embers. Across the clearing a woman wailed sorrowfully, Merlin's eyes flickering over to peer into the gloom, desperately trying to seek out any survivors. There! He could see her, his mother, Hunith, huddled amongst the trees with the other women, her favourite shawl wrapped around her shoulders tightly as she watched her home burn in front of her.
She was safe. He sagged against a tree in relief as the flaring panic began to subside.

Shouts from amongst the smoke refocused his attention as he turned to hear the men shouting at each other for water. They needed help.

Pushing himself up the sorcerer stretched out his hand, eyes glowing as his magic surged through him.

Nothing happened.

Merlin frowned in confusion, before raising his hand again, voice directing the words louder now, more forcefully. His eyes glowed gold, he felt his magic rush up again, only to die away just as quickly. Again and again he tried, his attempts becoming more and more desperate as the fire began to die down naturally and the ash start to settle. He was still there when the smoke had begun to clear and people had begun picking their way through the wreckage. By now his weak arm had moved to lean against a tree, trembling from exhaustion as his magic continued to fail him again and again. Eventually he stopped, breath short and head thick. He felt drained, as though he had used all of the magic that had been summoned, only there was no evidence of it ever being there. It was as if he had been simply casting it into the air.

It had been a flash of red that had finally distracted him from his thoughts, his eyes focussing on the bright colour as it faded in and out of view from behind the smoke. The colour was incredibly familiar to him, the reason as to why not piercing through the haze of exhaustion and pain until the silver glint of armour flashed at him in the sunlight.

A knight. A Camelot knight.

A strong gust of wind whipped its way across the clearing, revealing the owner of the armour briefly; a tall man with a mop of long brown hair, his hazel eyes cast in the servant's direction.

"Gwaine", Merlin had breathed softly, blinking to clear his vision.

A spark of longing shot through the sorcerer to step out and move towards the knight- his friend, but fear kept his feet glued to the floor. He did not know what Arthur had told anyone of his sudden disappearance, if anything, but he could not take that risk, even with one of his closest friends. He lowered his arm slowly, realising it was still raised, outstretched towards the smoking remains of his home, before moving carefully backwards into the shadows of the trees. His eyes did not leave the figure in front of him until he turned to move as swiftly back into the woods as his injuries would allow him, his whole body praying with hope that he had not been seen.

Merlin sighed regretfully. How that must have appeared to his friend, seeing him running like that after having been standing watching the dying blaze, arm outstretched purposefully. If Gwaine did not see him as the enemy before then by now he surely must. His eyes prick hotly at the knowledge that he has lost another friend. Rage and sorrow fill him, an anguished roar grating out of his chest harshly. His blue irises flare gold briefly in his distress and around him the trees creak ominously as a sudden wind races through the air, whilst the modest fire before him flares into the sky like a beacon before dying suddenly, leaving nothing behind but whispering trails of grey smoke.

The new darkness is silent and cold. The sorcerer brings his knees up to his chest, ignoring the dull ache from his ribs. He is wracked with longing for his king, despite everything that he had done. Arthur's face flashes before his eyes, wild and full of revulsion. He can feel those strong hands, once so gentle, where they had wrapped around his neck, squeezing tightly.

A quiet sob escapes his throat as he buries his head in his knees, eyes closing tightly against the memories, desperately seeking out kinder ones- happier ones.

Slowly Merlin lowers himself to the floor, shivering slightly. His eyes glow gold once again and the fire dances merrily back into life, warming the lonely sorcerer as he gives way to his exhaustion. Curling up tightly amongst the leaves the young man gives in to sleep, trying to forget the hate in those eyes and the strength in those hands; the suffocating fear that will surely follow him into his dreams.

…..Arthur.

"Arthur! No, please!"

A feral snarl escapes his throat at the sight of the man in front of him, his long limbs kicking out frantically as pale fingers claw at the hands around his throat.

Merlin.

Anger flows through him violently. He leans his weight into the other man, pressing him more forcefully against the wall, one hand increasing its pressure on the slender neck while the other reaches up to grasp a fistful of black hair, wrenching the man's head back sharply.

You betrayed me.

He can feel the tendons in the servant's neck straining beneath his hand. Part of him wants to stop, but the rage is all consuming, flooding his mind and staining his vision.
He leans in to rest his mouth against the other man's ear.

"How dare you speak to me, Traitor."

The words grate out of his throat harshly. He pulls away a fraction in confusion.

That voice. Father?

The struggles of his victim are weakening now, hands moving from their grip on his own to scrabble weakly at the tunic covering his arm.

"Pl-p-ease". The word escapes the other's throat desperately, hoarse and choked.

"This is no more than you deserve." Uther's voice barks out of his own mouth harshly. He tries to move away in panic, but he cannot move his hands; cannot release his grip on the pale neck.

Merlin?! No… NO!

The blue eyes before him begin to lose focus. Slender arms drop limply, thudding dully as they swing back into the cold wall.

MERLIN!

Desperately he tries to relinquish his grip on his servant's neck, only the more he struggles the tighter it seems to become.

"Ar-a-ar-th"

He can feel a triumphant grin spreading across his face, his lips curling up into a cruel sneer.

"Die." The word spits out of his mouth.

The blue eyes before him finally close, as the man's body goes slack in his grip, head lolling forward lifelessly.

…..No…

He feels more than hears his father's laughter vibrating through his chest as he is finally able to move away to stare numbly at the body before him, pale and crumpled.

Inside he is screaming.

What have I done?

Arthur wakes suddenly, his whole body jerking upwards violently.

"Merlin!"

Shaking hands move to card through his hair as he struggles to right his breathing, the sound of his soft panting the only noise in the silent room.

Closing his eyes heavily he lowers himself back into the soft mattress shakily. Turning onto his side, the king presses his face into the pillow as his limbs curl up to hug his body protectively, as though desperately trying to hold all of the pieces together.

….Merlin.

She paces impatiently, dress rustling with every movement, the long material carving paths through the thick dust lining the floor.

It had been entertaining, for a while, to return to her old shelter in the woods, the familiarity of its simple walls somehow comforting despite their darkness and lack of warmth.

For Morgana, however, the novelty was wearing a little thin.

A silhouette appeared in the doorway, she snapped her green glare to it.

"Well" she demanded "anything!?"

The man shrank a little, body tense.

"Several parties have returned, my Lady" the man began, "none have been successful in locating the sorcerer."

Morgana hissed impatiently, head flicking from the messenger's face to glare irritably at a patch of browning moss on the wall.

"Tell them to keep looking" she replied, "I want them gone by dawn. Check every house, every farm. He will be found."

The man- one of Cenred's knights- hesitated before suggesting nervously,

"Perhaps, My Lady, it is possible that he stays within the city?"

"You know the rumours as well as I do" Morgana snapped back, "Arthur returned to Camelot alone."

She turned to face the flames in the hearth behind her, "wherever Merlin is, it isn't there. Even he would not be foolish enough to stay - too much would be at risk." The image of Gaius' aged face bloomed at the front of her mind. She blinked.

"He would never leave Camelot's borders." She continued, "He's too loyal to his precious king"
She sneered scornfully, teeth flashing with disdain.

"So he is hiding" the knight supplemented.

"Yes he is hiding" Morgana bit back, green eyes flashing in the firelight, "and, as it seems, shall not be found, even if I were to comb every corner of this kingdom."

The sorceress continued to stare into the flames silently. Instead of taking this as his cue to leave, the knight remained in the doorway, hovering apprehensively.

Morgana sighed impatiently, and eyed the man coldly.

"Well?"

"My lady, King Cenred also informed me that a party of knights was sighted leaving the Camelot's walls this morning, heading into the woods to the west. The King was among them".

Upon hearing this further news the sorceress grinned gleefully,

"And we shall see that they receive a proper reception".

The knight nodded and made to leave, "shall I inform the king?"

Morgana eyed him disdainfully before turning again to face the flames in the hearth behind her.

"You may report back to your king" she conceded, "but tell him that I shall go alone".

The knight hesitated slightly, before bowing and scurrying off further down into the trees.

The sorceress' green eyes flashed in the firelight, hands moving to twist a red pendant through her slender white fingers.

Turning sharply, Morgana strode from the gloomy den, black skirts swaying with each purposeful step. Her hands dropped to her sides as she moved, palms twitching expectantly.

The scouting party had been quiet all morning; a solemn line of red against the green, wooded landscape.

The king was leading the group. He had barely spoken since he had appeared from his chambers, pale and distant with dark circles beneath his eyes. With a quick word to Leon he had mounted his horse and left the courtyard, leaving the others to trail behind him. Gwaine had been watching Arthur carefully from his place beside him, making sure to keep a little behind so as to allow the man his space.

The king was distracted. Every so often his eyes would flicker up to scan the path ahead of him, before dropping to stare vacantly at a spot somewhere behind his horse's left ear. Occasionally his jaw would clench as though he were experiencing something painful and his fists would squeeze themselves shut tightly before opening again widely, causing the reins so slip from their grasp and Arthur to start slightly before moving to take them up again.

"Sire!"

Elyan's voice cut through the silence as the king halted his movements to turn to the knight behind him. Gwaine turned to see Elyan's hand pointing to the sky in front of them, to a small column of smoke to be exact, twisting into the sky above the trees.

"They cannot be more than a mile away, Sire." Leon spoke, moving his horse to come and stand next to the king's.

Arthur nodded, "we shall investigate" he said, before clicking to his horse and moving steadily forward through the trees towards the smoke.

"Ah! Brother Dearest."

The menacing voice caused the men to stop short, the sound of swords scraping from their scabbards filling the air as several pairs of eyes cast around warily.

A rustling up ahead caught the men's attention, and they watched to see a familiar figure step out from behind a tree on the rise above them.

"Morgana!" Arthur's voice spat out, cutting through the air sharply.

A playful smirk spread across the sorceress' lips,

"So nice of you to drop in."

The smirk spread into a grin as the woman's eyes flared gold and the men were thrown violently from their mounts.

"We have much to discuss."

Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and following this, never imagined so many of you would like this! Hopefully more will be up soon

Thanks for reading!