Chapter 2: Stranger in the Woods
Merlin hated summoning Aithusa. In fact, he avoided it like the plague, relying on prior arrangements to meet up with her whenever possible. Today, however, summoning her could not be avoided.
Merlin had seen red. Pendragon red. Then, he had run, as far and as quickly as his legs would carry him, only stopping to gather his pack at the old camp.
Now that dusk had nearly turned into night, he was exhausted from his trek and ready to curl up under Aithusa's wing to soak up her heat. He was standing in the middle of some forest he dearly hoped was not part of King Uther's realm, taking a deep breath. Calling on his dragonlord powers always made his skin crawl. It was nothing like using his magic, which always seemed to be waiting right near the surface, ready to leap to his aid if needed. To tap into his dragonlord powers, Merlin had to reach deep inside of him, coax those embers to life, set them aflame until he could feel the burn of dragon fire fill him up from within.
There was no avoiding awakening memories when he did so, memories of another man, standing tall and proud in the forest near Ealdor, calling for Aithusa one last time before he—
Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, tilted his head all the way back and started shouting guttural words into the sky. He had always thought dragon tongue to be beautiful when he had heard it from Father's lips, found it appealing in a rough, wild sort of way. Merlin could find no beauty in it now. As soon as the last syllable had left him, he doused the flames, snuffing out his powers.
Father had always said they were a gift. Only, it didn't feel that way at all, now that he had received it. It wasn't so much a gift as an inheritance, with all the heartbreak and misery the word implied.
Swallowing against a sudden lump in his throat, Merlin sat down on a rock, hugged his knees close, rested his chin on them and waited.
How could he have been so stupid? How had he not realised they had moved beyond Mercia's borders and into Camelot? With the Mountains of Andor looming, he had already known they had travelled close. Yet, he had not paid proper attention, had not realised that the view of those peaks had changed until it was too late, and he had almost walked right into the arms of Uther's henchmen.
Merlin wasn't actually sure they would recognise him on sight, but he sure as hells would not stay here to find out if they could.
There had been so many of them, too, at least ten knights riding along the road, wearing red capes, the golden dragon on their back gleaming in the sunshine. Not for the first time, Merlin thought about how exceedingly twisted it was, King Uther adorning himself with the picture of the very same creature he so hated, which he had hunted almost to extinction.
Merlin was pulled from his morose thoughts by a familiar swooshing sound. When he looked up, Aithusa was descending elegantly, her white wings shimmering in the quickly rising moon. Now that she was almost fully grown, it wasn't always so easy, finding clearings large enough to accommodate her massive wingspan. This one was a good choice, though, surrounded by thick foliage and big trees to give them cover, with a couple of large rocks in the centre to provide shelter for Merlin.
Aithusa touched down right by his side, her claws scratching over the rock as she found her balance. Then, she turned her head towards Merlin and bowed deeply.
Merlin's stomach lurched painfully at the sight. He didn't want Aithusa to bow before him, but the ancient words that had guided her here also forced her to bend the knee before her dragonlord. Merlin tried not to grimace at the sight and dutifully held up his hand in greeting, as was tradition.
"There you are, Merlin!" Aithusa briefly nuzzled her hot snout against Merlin's palm when she was finished paying her mandatory respects. "I searched for you. Why move so soon?"
"We were in Camelot," Merlin revealed with a grimace. "Might still be, actually."
Aithusa let out a disgusted hiss. "I did not know," she added. "Sorry, little one."
"It's not your fault. How should you have known? I always tell you to fly above the clouds unless you're hunting," Merlin replied gloomily. He looked at his boots and let out a sigh. More quietly, he continued, "I saw them. The knights of Camelot, I mean. They were searching the area, I think. I left as quickly as I could. I really hope we're past the border now, or at least close to it. I'll definitely keep moving tomorrow, to make sure we're out of Uther's reach."
"I understand, little one. I fly to the mountains tomorrow. It is nice up there." She paused. "You can come? I can carry you."
Merlin shook his head. "You know I can't, Aithusa."
She let out a sulky little huff, then moved closer and extended a wing in invitation. Merlin smiled at her, then huddled against her, resting his upper body on her tail and soaking in the warmth radiating from her scales. She folded her wing around him until he was all wrapped up and hidden from view, leaving just a little window above. The air around him started smelling faintly of sulphur and smoke. Merlin didn't mind it. It made him feel safe.
For a long while, they simply sat together on the rocks, listening to the sounds of the forest and watching the stars. He hadn't meant to fall asleep up here, right on the rocks. At some point, though, Merlin must have dozed off, because next thing he knew, he was startled awake by a loud cracking sound, followed by a shout.
"Merlin," Aithusa hissed just then, her voice muffled. "Someone's here."
Merlin's eyes had snapped wide open. All he could see was the dragon's wing, cocooning him completely. Hastily, he sat up, his backside protesting a little where it had rested on plain rock for too long. His heart squeezed in his chest when he finally began to process Aithusa's words. Someone was here? Who? A knight of Camelot? Had they found them?
Aithusa unfolded her wing, granting him a view of their surroundings. Merlin immediately squinted into the moonlit forest, searching for the threat, then stilled. Just a couple of paces beyond, right at the edge of the clearing, there was a man. He was sitting on the forest ground, his eyes wide and silver-blue in the moonlight.
Aithusa growled at him.
The man fainted.
Merlin blinked. Then he quickly got to his feet. "Wow. You must have really scared him," he said, anxiety abruptly plummeting now that the man was unconscious.
"I smell blood on him," Aithusa replied. "He is hurt."
"He's definitely seen you," Merlin cautioned. "Quick. You should leave."
"He is asleep now," Aithusa replied, in that calm, reasonable tone that made her sound more like a wise grandparent than a three-year-old dragon. "He cannot hurt me. Go and see?"
Merlin looked at her, then back at the still form of the man. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly growing suspicious. "He might be faking it. Do you think it's a trap?"
Aithusa tilted her head. "No," she finally decided. "He sleeps."
"If you're sure…"
With a last look for Aithusa, Merlin climbed off the rocks and slowly made his way towards the man. On his way there, he picked up a long stick from the ground. As he approached the stranger, Merlin held it up like a weapon, ready to defend himself. As soon as he was but two paces away, he extended his arm and poked the stick at the man's boots.
No reaction.
He poked a little harder, jostling the leg.
Still no response.
Aithusa was right – the man was out cold.
Merlin let go of the stick and raised a hand, summoning his magic. " Leoht ." A ball of blue light appeared in his palm, quickly rising into the air, brightly illuminating the forest ground and spooking a little rodent, which promptly scurried off into some bushes.
Merlin stepped closer and looked the stranger over, realising he was not quite a fully grown man, though no longer a boy, either. He couldn't be much older than Merlin, eighteen at most, but looked to be taller and heavier, with broad shoulders. Strands of fair hair were fanning over his forehead. He was wearing breeches and a simple tunic. A leather bag and a waterskin were lying on the ground next to him. His left arm was wrapped up in what looked like make-shift bandages.
He did not appear to be a knight of Camelot.
Relieved, Merlin crouched down to inspect the stranger's arm, prodding gingerly at the dressing. His fingers came back wet, now tinged black in the blueish light of the magic sphere. When he lifted them to his face, he could smell the metal tang of blood.
Aithusa had been right. The stranger had been injured and probably fainted from blood loss rather than from the shock of seeing a dragon, though the latter probably hadn't helped matters.
Belatedly, he spotted a sword fastened to the stranger's belt, half-hidden underneath his leg. It was covered in blood. Merlin recoiled instinctively, reassessing what he saw. Had the weapon been used to defend or to attack? A sword was a knight's weapon of choice, though there was not a scrap of armour on this stranger to mark him as one. A bandit then, maybe? Merlin took in the face. It didn't look rough and tough enough to belong to some vagabond. Perhaps just a traveller, caught up in some trouble?
Merlin looked up when he heard Aithusa coming closer. She stopped at the edge of the clearing, then lowered her head to sniff at the stranger.
"I like his smell. The smell under the blood." She looked at Merlin. "You should help him."
"Help him?" Merlin replied dubiously. "We don't know who he is. Plus, he's seen you. There's every chance he'll sell that information to Uther." Matthew's sneering face crept up on him as he voiced the thought. He quickly brushed the vision aside, scowling.
"You want to let him die?" Aithusa asked. She sounded upset at the thought.
Merlin sighed. "No. No, of course not."
He looked the stranger over again. In spite of the sword, he appeared to be no threat for now, all things considered. Merlin couldn't just leave him here to bleed out. That would be cruel. Mother had always said to help a stranger in need. It is how Father and she had met.
That last thought made him come to a decision. "Fine. Let's move him, then. He's too heavy for me, though. Could you drag him down there?" Merlin pointed towards the bottom of the rocks, where they formed a ledge, offering cover.
Aithusa nodded, then opened her mouth. Anyone else would have probably been intimidated by her massive fangs, but Merlin only brushed a grateful hand over her snout as she gingerly bit at the stranger's leg and started to unceremoniously drag him over the forest floor. Merlin picked up the man's supplies and followed them, the sphere of light flying after them on its own.
Eventually, they got the stranger settled on Merlin's bedroll. Aithusa lay down beside them to shield them from the worst of the wind and cold creeping down from the mountains nearby, forming a little wall underneath the ledge, her sulphur heat soon warming their surroundings.
Meanwhile, Merlin was pulling at the bandages. They were ill-wrapped, frayed and completely soaked through with blood. When he had finally removed all of the cloth, he saw that the wound was no longer gushing as it must have at first, but still oozing blood steadily. It was a small wound, just a hole really, but it looked to be deep. Merlin was no expert, but guessed the stranger must have been shot by an arrow or bolt.
Merlin didn't have any medical supplies in his pack, merely a few changes of clothes, some tools and little knickknacks. On a whim, he started to search the stranger's bag. He found a long, brown coat, which he immediately draped over the man as a blanket, then continued rummaging, pulling out spare breeches, socks and a tunic, a hunting knife, a small pack of dried meat, and a leather pouch filled with a handful of silver coins.
No bandages.
From the looks of the ruined ones, they had been improvised, too. With a shrug, Merlin went to work, tearing up the spare tunic. Remembering what his mother had taught him, he used the waterskin to clean his own hands, then the injured arm, before rewrapping it tightly, balling up two stripes and pressing them against the hole to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. When he was finished, Merlin sat back on his heels, looking over his work. This was all he could do for now.
It was in moments like this he felt the loss of Father most. He would have known what to do. He had known how to use magic to heal, though he had never taught Merlin the words. Healing magic can be dangerous, my son , he used to warn him, face stern. You can kill yourself trying to heal somebody who is beyond saving. You're far too young to take that risk. You're never to try, do you hear me?
Merlin shook his head, chasing the voice away, a tight feeling in his chest. He didn't usually allow himself to think of Father so much. He was gone, forever. If he weren't, Merlin wouldn't be here in the first place, and would have no need of healing spells.
With a wave of his hand, he doused the sphere of light, then looked at Aithusa. "Looks like my spot is taken," he told her with a crooked smile. "Think I've got to bunk with you."
Aithusa chirped and happily let him huddle close for the rest of the night.
When Merlin woke again, a pink dawn was just about to turn into a bright morning, and the stranger was still out cold on the bedroll. It was then that Merlin realised that tending to the injured man meant he could not move like he had originally planned. The thought immediately set him on edge. If they were still in Camelot, those knights he had seen might search the area and stumble upon them.
"Aithusa?" Merlin said, carefully extracting himself from the fold of her wing. He stood, brushing a hand over her head until she opened one eye and puffed out a little cloud of smoke. "You should leave. The sun is almost up. Somebody might see you fly off if you wait for much longer."
Aithusa opened her other eye. She blinked, then rumbled, "Fine. I go to the mountains."
A strangled yelp caught both of them by surprise. Merlin flinched, then swivelled his head to see the stranger was awake after all. He was staring at them, eyes wide, his already pale face quickly losing what little colour it had still possessed. For a moment, nobody made a sound. Then, in a flurry of movement, the stranger struggled to sit up, finally sliding backwards until he had his back pressed flush against the rocks, cradling his injured arm close, the coat now bunched up in his lap.
"It's all right," Merlin said, raising both hands in a placating gesture. "We won't hurt you. Don't be scared."
The stranger gulped. Then, his face shifted, expression hardening as he claimed, "I'm not scared!" He set his mouth into a firm line, though his eyes were still too wide and Merlin could tell he was trembling, too.
"Of course not," Merlin replied, voice turning just a little dry. "I mean it, though. I've taken care of your arm for you. I don't mean you any harm."
The stranger scowled. "You? You're just a child! Of course you can't harm me." His eyes shifted to Aithusa. "You better keep that disgusting beast away from me, though!"
Merlin frowned. For a man who had been kindly taken care of and was currently faced by an actual dragon, he was being exceptionally rude.
"She's not disgusting ," Merlin replied testily. "And I'm not a child!" He glared at the man for good measure, then turned back to Aithusa. "Leave, please? You won't have the cover of dawn for much longer."
But Aithusa was still looking at the stranger. "Leave you alone with him?" she returned. Though it had been her who had insisted Merlin help the man, she now seemed rather cautious.
The stranger chose that moment to exclaim, "It can talk ?"
Merlin frowned at him and took a step forward. The man all but curled into the rock wall, then seemed to think better of it, straightening his shoulders and jutting out his chin. His eyes, Merlin had noticed, kept flickering to the sword resting on the ground near Merlin's pack. Quickly, Merlin bent down to pick it up.
"There," Merlin addressed Aithusa. "Now he can't hurt me." He smiled reassuringly. "You know I can defend myself if I must."
Aithusa inclined her head. "Take care, little one. I return tonight?"
Merlin shook his head. "We've got to move soon." He grimaced. "I'll call for you."
She chirped her approval and then retreated from the rocks, unfurling her wings. She flew off, leaving Merlin to look at the stranger. The man was gaping, his eyes tracking Aithusa until she had disappeared from his view before they snapped back onto Merlin. He glowered. "You really think you can take me on without the dragon?" he growled, jerking his head at the sword in Merlin's hand. "Be my guest!"
"I'm not going to attack you. If I wanted you dead, I'd have run you through while you were still out," Merlin told him with a frown. "Are you planning on attacking me ?"
The stranger looked him over, eyes calculating as he considered Merlin's words. "No," he said eventually.
"Good. I should hope not, after fixing you up and everything." Merlin put down the sword and sat down on the ground, two steps away from the bedroll. "I'm Merlin."
The stranger gave him another once-over, finally relaxing enough to back off the wall and sit properly on the bedroll. "Merlin," he repeated, just a little disdainfully. Then he added, albeit reluctantly, "My name is Arthur."
Merlin glanced at the makeshift bandages. "How's your arm?"
Arthur looked down at himself. He moved the arm and hissed, face scrunching up with pain, his other hand coming up to clasp at the injury. What he said, though, was, "Fine. I've had worse."
Merlin snorted at his tough-bloke attitude. "Get shot a lot, do you, Arthur?"
Arthur sneered and didn't reply.
"How did this happen?" Merlin prompted, rather curious now. He didn't know what he had expected the stranger to be like, but certainly not like this – stand-offish, arrogant and more than just a little bit rude.
"We got ambushed," Arthur replied. It sounded like the truth.
"Who's we ?" Merlin prodded.
Arthur hesitated. "The group I was travelling with," he said eventually. "Bandits showed up out of nowhere. We fought, but there were too many. They killed everybody, but I got away."
This explained the bloodied sword, then. Arthur's eyes looked just a little haunted, and Merlin's heart squeezed with compassion. "Your family?" he asked, quite a bit gentler than before.
"I wasn't travelling with them, no," Arthur said.
"Where are they?"
Arthur grimaced and averted his eyes. "Dead."
Oh. Merlin decided not to push the point and quickly willed down the pictures that wanted to creep up on him hearing about dead family. "So, you've got nowhere to go?"
Arthur paused, then shook his head. "No, I suppose not anymore."
Merlin mulled that over. He couldn't help but feel for Arthur. Perhaps he hadn't been arrogant and rude so much as he was upset. His family, dead. The people who had taken him in, gone as well. He himself, injured.
"Right, look," Merlin finally spoke up. "Here's the problem: You're hurt, and I'd hate to leave you like this to fend for yourself. But I really can't stay here. I need to move. At least half a day's walk. Do you think you could keep up?"
Arthur frowned. "You want me to come with you?"
Merlin shrugged. "You've got nowhere to go, right?" He gestured at the arm. "You can stay with me until the arm's a little better. Or at least until we come across a village or something. Maybe you can find someone there who'd be willing to take you in."
"I twisted my ankle when I fled," Arthur revealed. He leaned over to prod at his right foot. "Let me check if I can walk."
Merlin stood and offered him a hand. After a moment's hesitation, Arthur took it and let himself be pulled up. He grunted and grimaced, and when he tried to walk, he was limping.
"It's fine," he said, in complete contrast to his demeanour. "Smarts a little, but nothing I can't handle."
"Are you sure?" Merlin asked dubiously. "You lost a lot of blood, too, you know?"
"I'm not weak," Arthur snapped. "If I say I can walk, I can walk."
"Fine, suit yourself," Merlin retorted, getting annoyed again. Arthur's attitude was grinding. Merlin had been through some stuff, too, and Arthur didn't see him grousing at people who only meant to help, did he? "Let's pack up, then."
He went to gather his belongings, but looked up again when Arthur said accusingly, "You went through my bag!" He had crouched down and gone for his pack.
"I was looking for medical supplies," Merlin replied, unfazed. "I had to tear up your tunic to make some bandages. I didn't touch the rest."
Arthur scowled, but didn't say anything else. Out of the corner of his eyes, Merlin watched him retrieve the hunting knife and slide it in his boot, count out his money, then close the bag. He tied the waterskin to it and slung the pack over his good arm. Merlin saw him eye the sword next. For a moment, Merlin wanted to deny him the blade, but it was his weapon. Besides, he was injured. Merlin doubted Arthur could fight like that.
"Go ahead. I won't stop you," he said, gesturing at the sword. "Roll up the bedroll, too, will you?"
Arthur eyed him cautiously as he went for the sword. After slipping the blade into his belt, he did as he had been told.
Once the bedroll was tied to Merlin's knapsack, they left. Arthur kept hissing and limping, but he did manage to keep up a tolerable pace for more than a few minutes as they marched through the forest. Merlin kept eyeing the sun and the Mountains of Andor just peeking through some of the foliage, trying to gauge in which direction they had to go, eventually deciding that Mercia was somewhere to the north-east and angling their path accordingly.
Arthur noticed the change in direction. "Where are we going?"
"Mercia," Merlin replied.
Arthur abruptly came to a halt. "Mercia?"
Merlin stopped a couple of paces ahead, turning. "Yes. I want to get out of Camelot."
"Why?"
Merlin frowned. Arthur hadn't struck him as particularly thick. "Did you notice the dragon?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, obviously."
"You must know King Uther's stance on anything magic. I'd rather his knights didn't kill her, or me." With that Merlin turned and started walking again.
After a moment, he could hear Arthur following him. " Her ?" he repeated. "You talk about that creature like it's a girl?"
"Her name's Aithusa," Merlin told him gruffly. He didn't like Arthur's tone. He was speaking about Aithusa like she was something disgusting again, a vile monster of some kind.
"Right," Arthur replied sceptically. "And you're her… friend?"
"Something like that," Merlin replied. He wasn't going to tell a perfect stranger about being a dragonlord. Bad enough already that Arthur had seen Aithusa. He might very well go and sell the information if he got the opportunity. Good thing they were moving out of Camelot and away from Uther.
It was too late for regrets now, at any rate. Merlin had offered Arthur his help, they were travelling together, and Merlin wasn't one to go back on his word.
"I didn't know dragons could talk," Arthur said after a few moments of silent walking.
"They can," Merlin replied curtly.
"Did you teach her?"
Merlin shot Arthur a side-way glance. "No. They teach themselves. She's still learning, though. Short sentences only." When Arthur opened his mouth again, he intercepted, "Save your breath, Arthur. You look a bit flushed. You need to keep up your strength." Merlin wasn't lying, either – Arthur's cheeks had started to turn pink.
Arthur scowled, but stayed quiet from then on. After an hour or so of walking, carefully keeping off the roads and paths, Arthur's limp had become much worse and he was sweating more than the exercise and mild temperatures merited.
Merlin had them stop at a little stream to fill up their waterskins. "You look like you're burning up," he told Arthur. His cheeks had gone from pink to red.
"Nonsense," he said. But after filling his own waterskin, Arthur splashed some of the water on his face and sighed, clearly glad for the cool relief it provided.
"Let me check," Merlin said and before Arthur could do anything about it, he had his hand pressed against the man's forehead.
Arthur immediately slapped it away, but the touch had been enough to confirm what Merlin had already suspected: Arthur was getting a fever.
"Your skin is all hot. You've probably got an infection from that wound."
Arthur scoffed, "Who are you? The local physician?"
"My mother does some healing on the side," Merlin retorted, getting worked up again over Arthur's tone. "She taught me a little about the trade."
Arthur seemed to believe that didn't merit a response. Instead, he prodded at his arm, then hissed, grimacing and squeezing his eyes shut.
"Let's take a break. We haven't broken fast yet," Merlin suggested. "You stay here. I think I saw some ripe berries a few paces back."
Arthur gave the faintest of nods, coming to sit on a rock near the edge of the stream, and Merlin retraced their steps to collect the berries he had recognised as edible. When he returned, Arthur was munching on the dried meat Merlin had discovered in his pack last night.
"You want to trade?" Merlin asked him, settling down with three handfuls of berries he had collected in his tunic, forming a little sack with the cloth in front of him.
Arthur sniffed. "Do you even know what you're doing, collecting those? They might be poisonous. You could kill us both!"
Merlin scowled. "Is there any reason why you're being such an insufferable prat to me?"
Arthur stopped chewing. "What did you just call me?"
"You heard me," Merlin snapped. "Honestly, I offer to help you and you thank me by behaving like a complete ass! It's rude!"
Arthur looked at him in absolute bewilderment, almost as if this was the first time in his life he had ever been called out for his behaviour. After a moment of silence, he swallowed his mouthful, then said stiffly, "I apologise if I caused any offence."
The awkwardness of the apology made Merlin smirk, fast to be mollified. "So? Trade?" he said as he plopped some berries in his mouth. "See? They're not poison. They're just bilberries. My father and I collected them all the time when we—" Merlin stopped. He hadn't wanted to bring up Father.
Arthur sent him a dubious look, but he did end up trading two strips of dried meat for a handful of berries. "You were saying about your father?" he said after a moment.
"I don't want to talk about him," Merlin deflected immediately. Fortunately, Arthur didn't push the point.
After they had finished their breakfast, they walked some more, but it soon became clear that Arthur's fever was getting worse. His whole face had gone bright red and his twisted ankle wasn't doing so well, either. Arthur kept limping and grunting, and eventually, Merlin made him pull off his boot, only to reveal a bruised, swollen foot.
"We can't have you go much further than this," Merlin decided, although he dearly would have liked to move some more. He simply would have to hope that they had finally made it past the border and into Mercia. "We need to find shelter and get you to lie down."
Luck was on their side. When Merlin searched the area, he found a small cave, just big enough to fit two men and leave some space for their packs, too.
He led Arthur there, who took one disdainful glance at the dirt and rodent bones on the ground and drawled, "You want me to lie down in this filth?"
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Sorry it doesn't meet your standards, Your Highness," he couldn't help but mock him, and saw Arthur stiffen at the words. "I'm afraid my castle is in the other part of the forest." In spite of his words, he lifted his hand and turned towards the cave. " Fordwin fylþu !"
The filth vanished into thin air and Merlin smiled. He had always been good with cleaning spells. When he turned back, Arthur had his sword drawn and his flushed face was twisted into a mask of fury. "Sorcerer!" he hissed.
Merlin took an instinctive step back. "I—yes," he stammered, stunned. "I thought you knew?"
"No, I didn't know you were a bloody sorcerer!" Arthur snapped, lifting his weapon just a little higher. Merlin had little experience with swords, but Arthur looked like he knew how to wield it properly. Maybe he should have kept the thing away from him after all.
Merlin willed down his magic, which had started stirring at the threat, and spread his fingers in a placating gesture. "I thought you knew!" he repeated, still feeling more than a little bewildered. "I was with a dragon when you met me, for the gods' sake!"
"And from that I was supposed to know you used magic?" When Merlin shifted a little, Arthur shouted, " Don't get closer! I'll run you right through!" He sounded just shy of hysterical.
"Arthur! Calm down," Merlin said, lowering his voice and aiming to soothe. "I'm not going to attack you now. I had every chance to kill you before, and I didn't."
Arthur was still clutching his sword with all his might. It was clear, though, that he would have a tough time fighting, feverish and injured as he was. His arm had started trembling. "You cannot trust sorcerers," he hissed.
"You grew up in Camelot, didn't you?" Merlin surmised. "Look. King Uther is a liar. Magic isn't evil."
"Don't you dare call the King a liar!" Arthur shouted.
That pronouncement had Merlin quickly run out of patience. "Uther's a monster and a tyrant," he spat back. "I'll talk about him however I damn well please." When Arthur growled at this, tightening the grip on his sword and taking a menacing step forward, Merlin realised he probably should not be provoking him further. More calmly, he added, "Listen. I understand you're scared—"
"I'm not scared ," Arthur insisted. That seemed to be a touchy subject, too.
"Right," Merlin amended. "How about this? I'm going to leave for a bit. If I come back here and you're gone, I'll assume you decided to part ways and I'll move on without you. You can walk back to where we crossed the road to find help there. If you're still here, I'll let you apologise to me and we'll forget this ever happened."
With that, Merlin slowly retreated backwards until he was out of Arthur's reach, then quickly walked off. Once he had brought some distance between the two of them, Merlin let out a long breath.
Lords, but the expression on Arthur's face! He had been terrified, and disgusted, too, by the sound of him. Merlin had known, of course, that Camelot had outlawed magic on pain of death. It wasn't like the people of Essetir accepted sorcery with arms wide open, either, but Merlin had never encountered this kind of open hostility where the topic of magic was concerned.
While he was confident he could defend himself against Arthur with his magic, he didn't really want to get into a fight if he could help it. He had never outright attacked a person before.
Well, perhaps this was it, and Arthur would leave. In that case, good riddance! Merlin was better off without the insufferable man, anyway. He was slowing Merlin down.
Still, when he stumbled upon some feverfew in a little clearing beyond, he crouched down, pulled out his knife, and started to harvest.