Merlin settled in a nook above the archway in the council meeting. He comfortably listened to the echo of the council's chatter in a shaft of cut light between the carved arches above the balcony. Once he was done, they drifted out to their usual business. He pulled himself free, completed his chores to the dragon, and watched the fading day near his fire.
The queen's window flickered to life. He noticed its glass pane open. Something about the autumn cold and the shadows of the late day accented just how steep the drops were about the castle.
"Oh, Merlin. I'm glad for the company. You know for being so sly, you are a terrible spy."
"I thought you liked my cunning," he teased.
"You're slipping." Her answer echoed in his ears.
It wasn't long before the talk in the room shifted. Merlin couldn't catch anything specific, but he knew the feeling.
She was being challenged.
In the passages, he heard the same phrase a few times. "She is young."
Then one day he'd pushed a bucket of wet meat tenders into the courtyard for Aithusa and caught a shadow in the corner of his eye. He followed it. The queen followed quickly behind.
The day was a heartbeat every second. Somehow – in the middle, he glanced up at her gloved hand. It was stretched to catch him. He took it. She was strong.
They were testing her.
"I don't even know the name of who we're rescuing," said Merlin.
She smirked and asked, "How do you know we're rescuing someone."
He gave a deep chuckle and slowed to an even, confident stride. "Because your council is leaving puzzles for us."
He got a measured look. Her cheek caught the faint light of a doorway. Her eyelids fluttered.
Merlin's lips parted. And he felt the confidence slide away. He found himself leaning forward, and repeating, "A servant?"
"Is that hard to believe?" she asked. "Do you think me so heartless I'd do otherwise?"
He tipped his head in an inclined bow that didn't reach the shoulders. "No," he said. "You're very noble," he offered. "It might be wise to think of yourself."
"Why?"
He grunted; climbing to follow. "You are strategically more valuable," he explained. "Think on it. If you're gone, who replaces you?"
She glided to a stop.
He blinked.
"Merlin," she said.
"…. What?"
"Shut up."
She casually paced to where a curly-headed, gangly teenager from the outer towns had been post-chained. Ignored the riddler and ripped a mace from a suit of armour. She smashed the chain.
Merlin braced.
"No magic?" he said.
"No."
The doors closed, and the boy ran to Merlin.
The verdict was clear. She flatly chose her life over a stranger.
Merlin timidly approached the sorcerer this time. Instead of panic, it was awe. He pushed her long curls from her face and cautiously glanced up as he cradled her head. The servant opened the door.
"… They never would have killed the queen," said Merlin lazily.
The servant, called Braun, said, "No. They would have. The Lady has trials."
As her good deeds grew, Merlin stopped being frightened of the kind of turn that would happen with Uther. It was eerie. There were no stocks, no one was being humiliated for stealing bread. It wasn't a perfect kingdom; there were still thieves, but it was okay. He saw her as a young thing; starting far behind him in his adventures which had long died.
She was interesting, if nothing.
They really would have killed the girl. Merlin had become complacent. The cook slyly spun that information with his meal that night. Many young rulers had died playing games with the court.
Could it be he had settled there?
He found himself slowing his pace when she was near. He once even doubled back to catch a glimpse after she had performed a beautiful piece of magic.
This was magic performed slowly.
It wasn't manipulative. It wasn't throwing things about or hiding things. She used magic to help the servants. She used magic to wipe tears from a crying girl. To repair buttons after a distraught patron apologized for ruining a garment; it was all magic.
Merlin peeked around corners as though entranced, engrossed in the turn of her head. He shuddered and rocked back against a wall.
Merlin pretended to be interested in her to stay close to Arthur. Could it be he wanted to be here? He didn't. Did he?
But the sun took on a buttery, then crisp-clear view over the spires and needle-thin towers. The dark rock, hazy mornings and white powder of late fall swept over the settling sweetness of strange freedom. Merlin was free.
He took classes on powders and dyes, and star positions. He bathed whenever he wanted, cleaned his room with magic, filled scroll by scroll with formulas and patterns and personal writings with charcoal provided to him like a nobleman.
His stature changed. His fingers didn't twist submissively behind him as often. His shoulders didn't slump into a bow whenever the guards came near. People greeted him. Slowly, even Aithusa filled out from his bony, emaciated frame. The Dragon glowed, and so did Merlin.
She would greet him in the evenings. And she had quite a lot to talk about. It was morals, and philosophy, sometimes. And sometimes it was practicalities of logistics, and to that Merlin would always say, "I'm not sure it's my place…'
Cardell would always be scowling in the wings, a cocked head ready to shout at him if he did anything inappropriate. The rest of the council seemed to approve of the hypothetical idea. They said nothing.
Merlin followed the basket with his eyes. He hadn't realized it was under guard until the last moment. A sleepy-looking servant swept between the passers at the newest banquet.
Merlin flipped the cloth up, and with a squint of struggle, lined himself casually out of sight as if he'd left the banquet hall to his room. He doubled back up a spiral stair and perched high enough to see what needed so specific an eye around him. –Merlin had a suspicion the objects were especially hidden from him when his servant strayed away. A lingering eye and a whisper gave him the feeling of village chatter, and he didn't much like it.
Merlin gave the basket a once over with a glance of the inner eye; the cloth fading away, and edges of perception blurring so he could now see through to the lightless forms inside. He detected objects from Camelot. Nehetid, the crystal, which he pried his instincts away from, and the horn of Cathbad. A little - not so little, stab of pain lingered in his chest.
The Horn of Cathbad could recall the dead.
It could recall Arthur through the stones.
Merlin's mind worked wildly.
Arthur's time-frozen body lie-in-wait. Merlin allowed himself the logic-starved weight of grief believing he could use the power of healing given the sihde, and repair Arthur's body enough. That Merlin could fix it. But this was necromancy. It would never work. Arthur's body was in Avalon, where a spirit from the stones could never follow, and the body would decompose if Merlin moved it.
Still, he flipped the cloth with his force of lazy, two-finger-stretched expression of magic, transfigured an item of no consequence to look like the horn, and made the switch with the drop of a small amount of weight.
He floated the real horn into the stone beams of the Dragon Run and casually stuffed it in his coat.
His servant checked on him to find him in a feigned drunken sleep.
Gwendolen brought him a horse the next morning. She was in a slim silver gown wrapped under a cloak, now visibly what a noble lady would look. She pulled a horse to him after morning chores.
"Come here, Merlin."
"I don't know what you're getting at." He lied. "A bit of a dangerous game, don't you think?"
"Why?" she said innocently.
He scoffed. "I'm not noble."
She wrinkled her nose into a face. "I have secrets," she frowned. "And," she said, "It's just a ride."
"You've brought flowers," he argued "It's inappropriate." He gathered the lay of the land to see most of the council spread through the courtyard. His stomach dropped when he realized they were watching. "What secrets?" He said nervously.
She grinned, with a sad little nod, bowed her head slightly, and the rim of gold in her blue eyes flashed like dawn. The limp flower on a broken stem in her hand straightened dramatically, erupted into crimson colour against the dull backdrop of late fall, and bloomed. A swell of life rushed into vibrancy in a bubbled perimeter around her by about a meter. The grass below her bare feet and its waiting seeds rushed to full bloom, speckling the lush with pinpoints of white.
She told him many things, and he walked the grounds pulling small stunts of magic with her. They were like secret exchanges and notes, each small action meant to bend, or impress her, meant to draw out a curled expression on a bright face. She'd brought them food and enjoyed dried dates and sweet things. Merlin fished up fresh water timidly. When he tried to draw away from what he'd done she picked up the spell, catching a stream of water caught in mid-air bubbles. She lightly touched the glittery surface of one and scooped it into her mouth. She grinned and leaned against a tree with a look of interest.
He let his shoulders drop slowly, reached above him and did the same.
"Are you showing off?"
She shrugged with an engaging smirk. "Ah, I heard somewhere that it's sharing accomplishments. It's only showing off when someone is meant to be jealous. And you could never be jealous of me."
He mumbled. "I wouldn't be so sure."
"Ooh," she peeled a grin, pulling a blade of grass apart with unnecessary attention. "I am."
"You are royalty," he smiled, "I'm a servant. I feel like I've had this conversation before."
"Do you want to be?" She probed.
The water dropped into the stream with a finality. His smile fell.
She reached into her pocket and flipped her fingers delicately around a paper bird. It sprang to motion in her delicate fingers, drifted upward and met Merlin who swiped it as it unfolded.
"Who is this? What does it have to do with me?"
"The councilmen found your mother. I'm sorry Merlin. They recognized her." There was a note of genuine apology in her tone and he coiled back.
"Before you finish," she said cautiously, eyebrows gathered, "Do you want to be? I can cover this up."
"Cover what?" he said. "No. Whatever you think is lies. My mother is not royalty," he scoffed with a laugh, but the laughter died painfully when he saw her concerned expression. He turned away and read. It was so official. It was that king who tortured travellers for straying too close. "They're lying." He thrust the page in her direction and held it on extended fingers.
"Right." She took it. "I'll cover it up. He won't come for you or your mother. I promise."
"Come for me?" He echoed as a druid in his mind.
She jumped as if he'd yelled. "You don't know." She said, softly. "Our secret. And your mother is Hunith of Dyfed, yes?" She offered him his coat now.
Merlin folded his arms. "Hunith, of Ealdor," he said, "in Mercia."
She gave a slow, knowing nod. "You and I will eat well tonight." The subject changed, she curled a finger gracefully through the air and the stirrups led his horse closer. "And stop trying to discourage me. You are very fine." She mumbled, and Merlin's cheeks burned slightly. "And I don't care about your lineage; you're cursed to the subject anyway as a Dragon Lord." Her voice casually upturned, dying while her eyes fluttered avoidantly on a somewhat desirous breath. "You're status, love. Get used to that." She snapped her reins. He climbed and followed her.
He avoided being seen watching her.
She had a – a grip, he thought.
He replayed the turn of her head and the flutter of her lashes. Maybe she had this power because of the way she reacted to him. He did so want to be wanted.
"You are overreacting." Merlin's servant pulled clothes out of a bag as Merlin stuffed them in. "Sir, I cannot allow this."
"I order you to," huffed Merlin.
"I have orders not to!" said Braun. Braun stood between Merlin and his bag. "Sir, I will steal your clothes!"
"Give that to me," hissed Merlin, suddenly serious. Braun sensed the change in Merlin's voice and procured a wooden carving of a dragon. "And me, I'll leave without them," continued Merlin.
Braun frowned, then went for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"For the master of arms. To warn the knights," he replied, voice fading around the turn.
Merlin clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. "No, no. Get back here."
The cold rain began to patter the grounds, creating a soothing rhythm against the courtyard's stones. The guards, now accustomed to his presence, paid Merlin little heed. The cold rain gently pattered the grounds, the rhythmic sound soothing against the courtyard's stones. The guards, now accustomed to his presence, paid little heed. Fortunately, they never discovered the horn, safely tucked away amidst the collapsing drawers provided for his herbs.
"You're such a bother," said the grounds matriarch. She was the same as the head servant in Camelot, but she acted as a steward for their needs. She ordered Merlin to his master's side and Breachan made him sift sand with his magic all day. It was a tedious task. Merlin bit his lip coyly and quietly bragged about his ability to perform wordless magic.
A quiet crowd of servants habitually gathered to watch through the cut windows. Breachan darkened them with a flash of gold of his own.
Breachan spoke with an echo from the side of the hollow room. "You know the council doesn't tread lightly on your past, and this cold preoccupation with Camelot?"
Merlin cocked his head, not looking but drawing stiffly. He knew the teacher saw he'd heard. That was good enough not to test moving too much.
"They'll know you the traitor if you keep on as you're going. The troubles you had in your first months are fine; you've been through a lot. But if they were to discover you doing magic firmly aligned, still seeking to undermine your interest…"
"I won't," said Merlin. His voice lightened soothingly. He tried to reassure and heard his voice turn saccharine. "I wouldn't turn on the girl," he said almost brusquely, glancing down. He swallowed, unable to manage his face. "I don't want to marry her though."
Breachan winced, then churned up a hearty, surprised laugh. "She likes you that much?"
"I do like her, I think. It's just –"
"Not that way? Alright," said Breachan.
Merlin stole away in the faded light, tiptoeing through the stony ground and running through yellow bursts of torchlight. He stole onto the grounds behind high grasses and followed a trail up a rocky path until he found a ring of stones. These were all over the vast grounds around the castle. He breathed in and felt the nature of them. Even without the burst of life from summer, something ancient, alive, and hollow like breath thrummed as if through time. Merlin padded, carefully, toes curled in his leather boots, shaping around every stone with hyper-awareness.
He slipped a hand in his coat and unfurled a cloth. It was the horn. The light glanced off in his careful fingers. The silver rim caught the eye.
It wasn't the stones of Nemaiton, but it would work. He was sure from careful reading in his late nights. He could see Arthur, or Arthur's spirit, just once, then forever the veil would close.
Braun stumbled. Merlin turned to the sound.
A knight hurried Braun away with a hushed sound. The two disappeared. Merlin pursed his lips; frowning.
He spun on a heel and met the queen, a betrayed look on her face.
"Wen," he said.
"Don't do it," she urged, taken aback, eyes wildly alive and almost wild with entreat.