I'm back! Please enjoy this extra-long chapter as payment for another stupidly long absence.
Also sorry for the repated uploading and deleting, it's been a while and I was having some major formatting issues!
I do not own Merlin. All rights belong to the BBC.
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The morning air is still and crisp, a low mist hovering over the grass. Gaius had made sure to send his ward off with enough provisions and medicine to treat an army, and Merlin feels like a packhorse as he treads quietly through the forest.
He did not know exactly where he was going, only that he needed to cross the northern border. According to Gaius this was where the largest community of druids still lived and practised, although it has been many years since a confirmed sighting.
"They are an incredibly secretive people, and with good reason. It will not be easy to find them, but trust in your magic, my boy, and it will lead you true. You are Emrys, their great leader. I have faith that they will do all that they can to assist you."
Gaius' knowledge about the druid group had been frustratingly vague. All Merlin knows is that they are the remnants of the sorcerers that fled Uther's regime. Those who, despite their persecution, vowed to continue the old ways and keep their knowledge alive. Gaius had also shared with Merlin the news of the recent attacks on Camelot's villages, and the growing fears of an impending war.
"The lands are crawling with Morgana's men, Merlin. You must take care. She has sided with King Cenred, and his armies are under her control."
It had been at the mention of Cenred that Merlin had revealed to Gaius what had happened when he and Arthur were missing, and of Cenred's involvement. It was not an easy conversation, having to re-live the pain and betrayal, but despite the long journey ahead of him the Warlock feels lighter. It had been an un-burdening that the young man had needed; someone to share his sorrow and fear with.
It also made clear how Morgana was able to obtain Merlin's blood, and so much of it. Given the injuries that Merlin had sustained, Gaius guessed that she could have created tens, perhaps hundreds, of jewels to spread amongst her men. Should Merlin encounter them he will need to be cautious, as his magic will prove useless in a fight against them.
With this in mind the young warlock casts his eyes about vigilantly as he walks, tuning his magic into the rhythm of the forest and the earth. Mother Nature will help to warn him of any disturbance.
Merlin knows that leaving Camelot again is the best chance he has at saving it from Morgana's crusade, but he can't help the sadness he feels at the thought of being away from home yet again. He has never felt more like a criminal than he did today, creeping through the castle at dawn to make his escape. Gaius would not let him leave using his magic, exhausted and depleted as it is.
I am doing this for them… He must keep reminding himself. Even though he did not get a chance to see Gwen, or check on Gwaine and try to explain everything to him, or make sure that none of the other knights were hurt in Morgana's attack. Gaius has said that they weren't, but they are Merlin's family, and nothing could ever ease his worry like seeing them with his own eyes. The reassurance of a touch, a smile. He hopes that one day he will be able to explain all of this to them, and that they won't think that he has abandoned them. Part of him feels as though he is – abandoning them.
As I have been abandoned… his mind supplies unhelpfully, thoughts inevitably slipping to Arthur. The King had still been soundly sleeping when Merlin had left, and he had not been strong enough, despite everything, to leave without saying goodbye. Willpower had crumbled and the raven-haired man had stooped swiftly to place a soft kiss on Arthur's forehead, relishing in the quiet closeness for a moment too long before wrenching himself away.
Merlin sighs deeply, looking up at the sky through the canopy of the trees. His longing for Arthur is a constant ache that he cannot get used to. An incessant squeezing pressure in his chest that he has not yet found the courage to fully confront. His love for The King runs so deeply it's as though it were a living part of him; inevitable and impossible to ignore. But there can be no place for it where he is going.
Fear, instead, must drive him now. Fear and anger. Because Merlin is angry, and he knows that what plagues him is not just an ache of love, but the, now familiar, ache of rage. Rage at what he has had to suffer, all because of the wrath of one man. The one man that he has championed above all others. The man he would die for and kill for. The man he will go to war for. Part of Merlin wants to storm back into the city and scream at Arthur over the injustice of it all. He wants to make Arthur hurt has much as he as been made to hurt. He wants to sear it into Arthur's mind, burn it into his skin. Blind him with his despair and misery.
But he will not. Because down that path only darkness grows, and Merlin will not allow his heart to be corrupted as Morgana's has been. But also, it is because the warlock knows that however much he may think he wants to hurt Arthur, he is incapable of actually doing it. And so, without the possibility of either absolution or revenge, Merlin must live with this storm raging in his heart.
Bitter tears sting at his eyes as he walks, blue irises blinking them away forcefully. He stops to take a deep breath, steeling himself.
There is no more time for this... He thinks. He must focus now on the task in hand. The sooner he can reach the druids, the sooner he can learn how to fulfil his destiny. If he cannot succeed in stopping Morgana then there will be no Arthur. No family. No Camelot as he knows it. For Merlin this is a prospect more terrible than anything, more terrifying even than death.
Only Emrys can save them now, and it is time for him to step into the light.
Raising his chin the warlock continues his journey forwards, into his destiny. Merlin must be left behind now; laid as a kiss on another's head as he slept. There can be no turning back.
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Morgana's hands twitch incessantly against the arms of her chair as she sits in her chambers, glaring at the fire. Cenred's castle is silent, save for the lowing of cattle in the nearby fields. The sorceress cannot stand it.
There should be news by now. Bells ringing in triumph, men moving to prepare themselves for battle, servants gossiping and sharing secrets in the hallways. And yet, all is quiet.
The Pendragon is frustrated. Camelot was the most powerful kingdom in the realm. She had seen Arthur die, watched him fall. His death should be on the lips of everyone in the land. It should have bred a tidal wave of outrage and fear. It was to be their signal to move, to march.
Morgana had returned to Cenred's city filled with euphoria. To have finally had Arthur within her grasp. To have finally served him his justice face to face, after having danced around each other for so long at a distance. It had given her a sense of triumph that she has never felt before, to at last have achieved her brother's death. Arthur had looked so diminished, so human, as he had hung within her grasp. Despite the awe and reverence surrounding his name, yesterday he had proven himself to be only a man. Just as his father had been. And he had died like a man - choking, pathetic, and powerless.
And yet, a new gnawing feeling that all is not that it seems to be is stirring within her.
The sorceress stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the cold flagstones, and tensely begins to pace. Minutes creep by as she prowls the small room, black robes rustling with each forceful step.
Morgana's mind races with questions. Not only has news of Arthur not arrived yet, but there is also no sign of Merlin – of Emrys. The sorceress still cannot fully piece the two together in her mind. How can she have been so blind as to not notice, to not see who was before her? The great leader of their kind, polishing the king's shoes. It is so demeaning, to think of him in such a lowly position. And yet, the princess must concede, that it is very neat and tidy. The perfect camouflage, and the perfect position from which to act as protector.
It seems that camouflage is a talent of Merlin's, as despite her precautions and protections, the manservant cannot be found. Morgana clasps the pendant around her neck absent mindedly as she paces, pale fingers turning the glittering gem around and around in the light. Perhaps he is already dead; expired from his injuries, cold and still out in the forest with no one to find him. No burial, no mourners. How ignoble - just like his position.
He will be your destiny, and your doom.
The words echo through her mind, as they always do. Feeding the ember of disquiet in her heart. It would be too easy, she thinks, for him to die now. She could never be that lucky. Everything she has ever achieved in life she has fought for, drawn blood for, and she knows that destroying Emrys will be no different.
She is distracted by a knocking at the door. A servant enters warily.
"My lady" he says, apprehensively. "News from Camelot"
A pregnant pause passes.
"Well?" Morgana snaps, impatient.
"King Arthur lives, my lady" the man continues, eyes watching for the woman's reaction nervously.
The sorceress is still.
"What?" she hisses, voice lethal in its coldness.
The servant swallows.
"The King is alive, my lady. They are saying-", he falters. "They are saying that he is without injury. They are saying that he and his men appeared in the city out of thin air."
Morgana is silent, frozen as she stares at the man before her.
Taking a nervous breath, he continues. "They are saying-"
The woman's eyes glint ominously as she takes a slow step forward.
"What?" she asks serenely. "What else is it that they are saying?"
The servant's body twitches slightly, as though he were fighting the impulse to move away.
"They are saying, that it was magic, my lady" he utters the words softly, as though it terrified him to say them.
Morgana's voice is deadly as she dismisses the servant.
"Get out" she hisses.
The man scurries from the room, door clicking shut loudly behind him.
Morgana remains frozen, mind racing. Arthur alive! It is impossible. That dagger had speared his heart, she knew it to be true. Only the most powerful sorcery could have saved him, and she had ensured that Emrys would be powerless to undo her magic. It should have been impossible. It should have been a death sentence; an empty throne for her to claim.
Perhaps the druid girl had lied to her, and the curse had not taken. Morgana feels her control slipping as uncertainty and doubt begin to creep back in. She has been so sure in her protection, has felt so invincible. Merlin must have found some way to defy her magic. Perhaps he is even stronger than the fates have foretold.
Indignant rage is winning the war in Morgana's heart as she feels the earlier euphoria abandon her. Yet again Emrys has stolen a victory from her. He must die. That is the only certainty that she can be truly sure of. Only then can she act freely, and without fear. With Merlin dead she will be unstoppable. His death would destroy Arthur and leave Camelot helpless to her attack.
Her armies will march today, and under the banner of one purpose.
Wrenching the door back open Morgana calls after the retreating servant.
"Tell Cenred to make the men ready, we leave before nightfall. I want Emrys found before the week is over."
And I will bring his head to Arthur on a plate…
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"What do you mean he's gone?"
Gwaine's voice is incredulous as he looks over at Gaius. The two of them are sitting in the physician's chambers, Gwaine having sought the older man out for answers about his friend.
"As I say", Gaius replies. "Merlin has gone. He has left Camelot, and I do not think he will return for some time"
"But Gaius" Gwaine implores. "This is Merlin we're talking about, Gaius. He would never abandon his friends. More importantly I know that he would never abandon Arthur, not for anything. That boy looks at the king like the sun shines out of his arse. And I know that he can be a royal prick sometimes, but not so much that Merlin would abandon him entirely!".
"Gwaine", Gaius replies wearily, "There are forces moving that are beyond even Merlin's control. I cannot tell you anything more, but you must trust that he has left with good reason."
The knight huffs anxiously. "If Merlin can't face these mysterious forces alone then there's all the more reason for us to work together! Please, Gaius, tell me where he has gone. I can bring him back; persuade him to come back to Camelot. You've seen Arthur these past weeks. He's a wreck without Merlin; warlock or not. If the two of them are destined to be together, as you say, then there can be no benefit in them being apart. Let me go to him. Let me show him that he still has an ally in Camelot. You both forget that I grew up around the druids in Ireland. Magic is not an evil to me. It is the evil in those that wield it, that allow it to cause harm."
Gwaine pauses in his speech, leaning forwards beseechingly.
"And besides" he continues, "Merlin is my friend. He's as close to me as a brother would be, and I'll be going after him whether you point me in the right direction or not."
A pause settles over the small room. Gaius leans to clasp his hands together on the table.
"Gwaine" he says. "I admire your loyalty to my boy – truly – but his mission is not simply one of choice. It is necessary. Vital to us winning this war, and to Merlin's survival. Whilst I wish him back with us as much as you, it would not be right to remove him from his path."
"Then I'll join him on his path!" Gwaine protests, undeterred. "Please, Gaius. We can't just let him go out there on his own. He-" the younger man pauses, searching for the right words. He leans back in his chair, shoulders slumping slightly.
"You saw him, Gaius" Gwaine implores, more gently now. "The weeks away have changed him. He needs someone with him. A friend, an ally."
Gaius expression is carefully neutral as he replies. "Where he is going, he will not be short of either".
"But none who really know him!" Gwaine protests. "None who know Camelot, or of his life here. Please Gaius, if nothing else just point me in the right direction. I'll handle the rest".
Gaius considers Gwaine carefully, his furrowed brow lowering deeply as he thinks. Seeming to make a silent decision, the physician sighs as he leans back in his chair.
"I can see that I cannot stop you. Perhaps you will have some part to play before Merlin's work is done. It will not be safe, Gwaine. The kingdom is crawling with Morgana's spies"
"I can handle her minions" Gwaine scoffs.
"I've no doubt" the Gaius replies. "But there are others who would also wish you harm should you cross them. "
The knight straightens, arms crossing defensively. "Who?" he asks.
"The very people that Merlin has gone to seek. They are not only powerful, but loyal to Merlin above all else. They will do whatever it takes to protect him."
Gaius leans back in his chair wearily. "Head north. Do what you feel you must." he says to Gwaine. "I will not tell you anything more."
Gwaine is filled with a renewed admiration for the man in front of him. "Merlin has a true ally in you, Gaius" he says, meeting the older man's eyes sincerely.
"You have sheltered him all these years. Lied for him; protected him, at the risk of both of your lives."
"And don't I know it" the physician huffs, running a hand tiredly down his face. The two men share a small smile.
As Gwaine stands to leave the room Gaius' expression sobers.
"Gwaine" he calls, pausing in his words as the knight turns.
"Merlin… There is much that Merlin still needs to become before this war is finished; before he might be ready to return. If you do find him, I believe he may not wish to come with you. Be prepared for that."
Gwaine feels full of purpose as he strides through the corridors of the castle. North. Merlin has gone north. He will go after his friend and stand by his side, whether he is wanted there or not. He will not allow his brother to be abandoned again. The warlock's face in the woodland clearing keeps haunting him. Pale, gaunt. His desperate attempts to help; the panic in his eyes.
No one is invincible. And no man, no matter how powerful, can ever truly stand alone. Gwaine owes his life to Merlin, and he will risk it to show him that he is not alone. Never alone.
He must leave before the sun falls if he has any chance of keeping up with the warlock.
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Arthur is exhausted. No sooner had he left Gaius' chambers that morning had he been bombarded with news from his council about the continuing raids on the kingdom. It is becoming increasingly clear to the King that these organised attacks are only going to get worse, and that they are steadily moving closer and closer to the city. They must prepare for an imminent invasion.
What's more is that people are flooding to Camelot in their droves, wounded, starving and displaced by these invaders. Arthur is determined to do all that he can for them, and temporary housing has been set up all over the city. The problem, as his advisors have warned him, is that they are running out of room. One city cannot house an entire kingdom. But they have to try.
The King is currently making his way back from examining the old storehouses by the eastern gate. Many of them are derelict; filled with scrap and old weaponry from the smithies, far beyond any good use. If they cleared these rooms, repaired, and partitioned them, it would create a whole new block of living quarters for those seeking shelter. Similarly, if the horses were coupled together and stabled in twos within the stalls then half of all of Camelot's stabling could be used as temporary housing. It wouldn't be much, nor would it be ideal. But it would be something. A roof over people's heads, shelter from the cold night air and the rain.
Arthur has also had a lengthy discussion today with the council regarding their food stores. There is plenty, more than enough to last the winter, but that is not what worries the young King. With more mouths to feed they must be careful. Particularly with the threat of war on the horizon; a prolonged blockade could starve them. Hours spent pouring over the crop yields and working out a numbering system have resulted in a tight, but fair, rationing per household. It should ensure that everyone is accounted for, with some room to spare should the winter prove particularly harsh.
It has been the first time that Arthur has had to deal with such difficulties. He has been blessed with a kingdom of plenty, and the fertile lands never fail to provide for them. With so many grain stores already destroyed however, and the threat of losing more, things are only set to get worse.
It is a heavy burden, to carry the responsibility of so many lives. It is what Arthur has been trained and prepared for his whole life, but it doesn't remove the anxious gnawing fear in his stomach. The past weeks have been the most challenging of his life, as though the whole axis of his world had suddenly shifted, and cast everything into the angle of a new light. It is a much harsher light than the young King is used to, and he can feel the weariness in his bones as events catch up to him.
Pushing through the heavy oak doors to his chambers, Arthur slopes across the room and falls into the waiting armchair. The fire has not been tended to yet, and the room is cool and still. He sighs deeply, eyes closing as the quietness of the room surrounds him.
He had left Gaius' rooms that morning determined to find his men – not just to check up on them after Morgana's attack, but to find out from their lips what might have happened. With the chaos of the day, however, he's barely had time to spare a thought to yesterday's events.
Arthur is sure that he is missing something, some vital information. There is so much that doesn't make sense, not least of all the fact that he is still alive and breathing. He can still feel the phantom ache of that cold blade in his chest, and he rubs at the spot absentmindedly. The whisper of a voice tugs at his memory.
He feels sure in his heart that it is magic that has saved him. Magic that has returned him home, safe, yet again.
Could it have been…
An emotion that Arthur cannot place swells within his chest as he allows his mind to think of his manserv – Merlin. Of Merlin.
Merlin the warlock. Merlin, the man he reaches for in the darkness of his dreams.
Merlin who was not sided with Morgana. She had said as much in the clearing, hadn't she? That he had sacrificed who he was to stay with Arthur; to stand by his side.
The King sighs heavily, running a hand down his face. What could that even mean? There is so much that he seems not to know. So many questions that he would like answered. How much had truly been going on without his knowing? How many times had Merlin been battling with Morgana's forces in secret, drawing lines and forging alliances?
She had called Merlin Emrys. Arthur had recognised that name from his time spent in Cenred's dungeons – as if he could forget it. He remembers how desperately he had wished he did know who Emrys was. He would have handed him over gladly to Cenred if it had meant sparing Merlin any more pain. They had been so brutal.
Blinking harshly Arthur fights to remove the images of Merlin's battered body from his mind. It would not help him to dwell on such dark memories.
It seems that he knows who Emrys is now; Merlin is Emrys. Emrys is Merlin. Morgana had been triumphant at the thought that Arthur might have killed him. She had seemed, almost, to fear the thought of him.
And there Arthur is faced with yet another aspect of his life cast into a new light – Merlin, as someone to be feared. Someone intimidating. Powerful.
"If he is dead, it was not by my hand"
That's what he had said, wasn't it? So certain of his moral high-ground. But now, sitting in his darkening room, the young King isn't so sure. Merlin's bruised face flashes unbidden across his memory again. There had been so much blood. Men twice Merlin's size could have succumbed to those wounds. Alone, cold and on the run in the forest, infection would be near impossible to avoid. Deadly.
Merlin's face is changing in his mind's eye now, becoming paler - almost blue. His cheeks are hollow, his eyes dull, glassy, and lifeless. Body stiff and still, half hidden by leaves and vegetation. Cold. Lost.
Breath stutters from the King's chest unsteadily as he tries to shake the images from his mind.
Yes, Arthur may not have been the one to draw blood, but perhaps he had delivered the final blow.
After all, he had walked away.