Chapter 3: Lying Low

As soon as Merlin had disappeared from view, Arthur allowed himself to collapse onto the ground near the entrance of the cave, finally taking weight off his swollen ankle. He let out a long breath, trying to calm his racing heart and willing his body to stop trembling. He was still clasping the sword in his right hand, though he knew with his foot out of order and his left arm throbbing and cramping, he stood little chance in a duel against magic.

A sorcerer. The boy was a sorcerer! Why had nobody ever warned him that dragonlords also wielded magic? It made sense, of course. Dragons were creatures of magic, after all. Why should their masters be any different?

Not that Merlin looked like anyone's master, let alone a powerful dragonlord.

Arthur hadn't had a clear picture, even after hearing Uther go on and on about Balinor's son for the past months, but he certainly hadn't been expecting somebody like Merlin: A gangly boy, fourteen or fifteen at most, with a guileless sort of face framed by messy, dark hair.

But there was no doubt that Merlin was the one. He had been with the dragon, talked to the dragon – and that was another thing: Nobody had told Arthur dragons could talk , either!

Really, all his father had ever told him was that dragons were dangerous, disgusting beasts that needed to be killed right alongside their dragonlords. He hadn't really asked any questions beyond that, taking his father's word at face value. He was the King, after all, and where magic was concerned he ruled with a hard hand. Arthur knew better than to question any of Uther's words in regards to sorcery.

The truth was simple: Sorcerers were evil. Magic users were never to be trusted. Sorcery corrupted one's heart and soul.

And still, Merlin had helped him. The boy had been right to point out that he had had every opportunity to kill Arthur. Hells, he could have simply left him exposed in the woods instead of going through the trouble of rewrapping his arm and offering shelter.

But then, what reason would he have to kill Arthur on the spot? Merlin didn't know he was the Prince of Camelot, thought him to be a peasant injured by bandits. Surely, if Arthur hadn't told him those lies, if he had still been wearing his armour, he might have realised that Arthur was one of the very same people Merlin was fleeing from, and attacked outright!

Besides, Merlin might yet be biding his time, contriving some nefarious plan…

Gods, but Arthur was feeling woozy. He let go of the sword in favour of running a hand over his brow. It came back wet with sweat.

No matter his true intentions, Merlin had been right about one thing: Arthur's arm had become infected. He needed rest, and treatment. There was no way he could make it far on foot. And if this was indeed Mercian territory and no longer the realm of his father, he was in even graver danger.

Perhaps he should try to leave anyway, walk back to that road, find a village, tell them a similar lie, then make for Camelot once he was better.

But then what about his plan?

The only reason why he had followed Merlin in the first place was because he had hoped to capture him. Arthur knew he didn't stand a chance against the dragon without armour and a few men to cover his back, but he had been confident he could overwhelm a child, even on his own. A sorcerer, though? Far less likely, depending on how powerful Merlin was. He might only be able to do some small tricks, like vanishing dirt. Or he might be capable of much more than that. He certainly had seemed confident enough in his abilities of self-defence to return Arthur's sword to him.

Arthur looked down at the blade now resting in his lap, still splattered with dried blood from the ambush. He could always run Merlin through in his sleep. Sure, Father wanted the dragonlord alive, but if it was between letting him escape and a clean, swift kill, the King had to prefer the latter. Especially with Arthur's own life on the line…

He blinked as his thoughts trailed off again. Lords, but he was having a harder and harder time focusing.

With his head reeling and his eyes starting to droop, he came to a decision. He couldn't leave now. He would stay and play the orphan peasant awhile longer, at least until he was well enough to walk and fight again. Then, if the opportunity presented itself, he would either kill or capture Merlin and make for Camelot.

It had looked like a couple of knights had been able to flee the massacre. Leon, for sure, had seen Arthur ride off on Hengroen. They had to know he could still be alive. If so, Uther would send a search party and if Arthur made it back onto Camelotian soil, he would be found eventually.

With a grunt, he lifted the sword off his lap and ran it into the forest ground, using it as a crutch to stand up. He swayed on the spot, but he only needed to walk a couple of steps. Once he was inside the little cave, he collapsed again, coming to lean against the wall.

Holding onto the sword, he propped his head against the rock. He wouldn't go to sleep, just rest his eyes a little, only until he heard the dragonlord return…

"You're still here, then."

Arthur startled awake. Merlin was crouching right in front of him, his face incredibly close. His head was tilted to one side and his eyebrows were drawn.

Arthur instinctively tightened his grip on the hilt, then forced himself to relax. "Looks like it," he rasped. Gods, his head was spinning as if he had been somersaulting across the forest for the past hour.

"You look terrible," Merlin told him. In spite of the nonchalant words, Arthur could tell from his furrowed brow and searching eyes that he seemed genuinely worried. The boy scooted back a little and lifted his hands. He was holding up some flowers and leaves. "I found some feverfew. I brought lady's mantle, too. It might help with the wound."

Arthur's vision was starting to blur and he blinked against the double pictures. "Fine," he said.

"Really?" Merlin prodded. "Not worried about the evil sorcerer killing you?"

Yes , Arthur thought. "No," he replied out loud. Then, if only to appease the sorcerer, he added, "Sorry, I suppose, for earlier."

Merlin let out a little huff. "That was the worst apology I've ever heard."

Arthur wasn't about to genuinely beg forgiveness from a dragonlord, but in spite of Merlin's grousing, Arthur's words seemed to have been enough to mollify him. He went to set out the bedroll at the back of the cave, then helped Arthur lie down on his good side. Arthur dearly would have liked to watch what Merlin was doing, to make sure he wasn't up to no good with those herbs. But exhaustion soon took over and he drifted in and out to the sounds of Merlin moving about, rummaging through his pack and doing whatever it was he needed to do with the plants he had collected.

At some point, Arthur became aware of his left arm being moved, sharp pain cutting through his haze, making him whimper in spite of himself.

"Sorry," Merlin murmured and a hand patted Arthur's shoulder. Once the boy had stopped fumbling with the bandages, Arthur drifted off again.

Sometime later, he was rolled onto his back. His head was lifted and something hard was pressed against Arthur's mouth, warm liquid sloshing past his lips. He swallowed out of instinct, though the drink turned out to be bitter. He turned his head away.

"You need to drink this." Merlin's voice was faint, but insistent. "Come on, Arthur."

Arthur gave in, grimacing at the taste.

He must have passed out eventually, because next thing he knew, he woke to the dim light of flames painting dancing shadows on the walls of the cave. Arthur turned his head. There was a campfire burning right at the entrance. Arthur sniffed and the smell of smoke and roasted meat filled his nose.

He shifted, struggling to sit up, realising he had once more been covered by his coat in lieu of a blanket. Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello?" he croaked.

A head peeked into the cave. Merlin had been sitting outside. Keeping watch, perhaps.

"You're awake," he stated, unnecessarily. He squeezed past the fire and into the cave, coming to crouch next to Arthur. Without asking for permission, he once more pressed his cool hand against Arthur's forehead. "Much better. Fever is going down, I think." He smiled, cheeks dimpling. "How are you feeling?"

Arthur assessed his condition for a second. His arm was still throbbing and felt like it had swollen to three times its usual size, but he was no longer feeling like the world was spinning and turning all round him. He was hungry, too, which he knew from Gaius to be a good sign. The gravely ill do not eat , the physician liked to say.

"Better. May I have some food?" he said, glancing at the meat sitting on some stones by the fire.

"Sure," Merlin chuckled. "Aithusa brought us plenty."

Arthur grimaced at that. "The dragon?"

Merlin's smile faded. "She hunts. I get the scraps. Problem?"

Arthur swallowed. "No," he lied.

Merlin seemed to sense his unease, judging by the deepening frown, but all he said was, "It's venison. A deer's hind leg, I think. It's hard to tell sometimes, after Aithusa had a go at it with her fangs."

"Lovely," Arthur deadpanned. He leaned back against the wall of the cave, then accepted a piece of steaming meat, wrapped in some leaves, as well as his own waterskin.

Merlin came to sit on the opposite side of him, seemingly content to watch him eat. Arthur felt a little awkward being on display like this. He had abandoned courtly manners in favour of tearing at the meat with his teeth like a barbarian, not that it seemed to bother Merlin.

"Where's the dragon now?" Arthur asked between two bites. The venison was a little charred, unevenly cooked, too, but it would do.

"Not here," Merlin replied. "Too many trees. She's around, though, watching."

Arthur nodded. "Does she always keep close to you?"

Merlin shrugged. "Close enough."

He was evading Arthur's questions. Arthur supposed it made sense he didn't want to risk revealing too much to a stranger. Still, Arthur should try and get as much information out of Merlin as he could. If he ended up having to kill him, he would at least have something substantial to pass on to his father.

"How long have you been travelling with her?"

Merlin turned his head to look at the fire, hugging his knees close. "A while," he said.

"What about your family?"

"Dead," was the curt response.

"All of them?" Arthur probed, knowing for a fact the mother was still alive and being watched by informants. It would suit a sorcerer, though, to be deceitful.

Merlin paused for a long while. "No," he finally admitted. "My mother's still at home. But I can't visit her. It would be dangerous for her."

"Dangerous how?"

But Merlin shook his head and stayed quiet.

Arthur watched him for a while as he kept biting and chewing, washing down the tougher parts of the meat with some water. Eventually, he started looking around the cave and the campfire, spotting a little iron pot with a spoon in it. There was a knife, too, and some other utensils he couldn't quite make out in the dim light. Clearly, Merlin's pack was filled with the kinds of tools one might need to live in the wilderness.

"So, Mercia," Arthur finally said. "Any particular reason you want to go there?"

"It's not Camelot," Merlin replied simply.

"I see. You're wanted there, are you?"

Merlin snorted. "I have magic, and I've got a dragon with me. Of course I'm wanted by King Uther." He finally turned his eyes away from the fire and sent Arthur a calculating look. "You're awfully nosy."

Arthur tried to smirk around his mouthful, but had enough manners not to speak before he had swallowed. "Just making conversation," he said.

"How about you then?"

"What about me?" Arthur returned, aiming for nonchalance.

"You grew up in Camelot, right?"

"Yes, I did."

"Was it your parents who taught you that magic was evil?"

"My father," Arthur replied. He knew it was best to add some truths to the lies one was spinning. It helped keep one's story straight. He had been taught as much by some of the knights, in case he ever got kidnapped or made a prisoner of war.

"How about your mother?" Merlin prodded. "Did she agree with him?"

Arthur looked away from his curious stare. "No idea. She died when I was born."

"Oh." Merlin cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. Must have been hard, growing up without ever knowing her."

Arthur hummed non-committedly. He wasn't about to spill his heart out to a dragon-loving sorcerer.

"Did you have siblings?"

Arthur sent him a pointed look. "Now who's the nosy one?" he drawled.

Merlin made a face at him, then got up from where he had been sitting on the bare rock. "There's some feverfew tea left. You should drink it, so the fever doesn't spike again." Merlin stood up and brought over the little pot Arthur had spotted. "It's gone cold, but it should still be working fine."

Arthur supposed the tea had helped before, so he accepted the pot, emptying the bitter liquid in two long gulps, grimacing as he returned it. "Delicious brew," he quipped.

Merlin chuckled. "At least you're funny, too," he said. "Makes up for the arrogance."

"I'll try my best to be entertaining, then."

Merlin's eyes crinkled as he smiled. His cheeks were dimpling again, too, and he showed off a perfect row of white teeth. Merlin looked incredibly likeable like this; just a boy, years away from adulthood and much too young to be roaming the forests of Albion on his own.

Arthur had to look away. It wouldn't do to go soft in the face of a magical dragonlord, be he fourteen or forty.

He finished his meat, then went to prod at the arm. There was something green sticking out between the bandages.

"It's the lady's mantle," Merlin told him without being prompted to. "My mother taught me it helps with closing wounds. Helps the skin grow together, I think." He shrugged. "Worth a shot, eh?"

Arthur nodded, trying to remember if Gaius had ever used the same herb, but he usually didn't pay much attention to what the court physician was doing when Arthur ended up in the infirmary. Maybe he should learn about these things. It wouldn't hurt to be able to treat a fellow knight's wound when they were out on patrol.

"Nothing I can do about the ankle," Merlin continued. "It doesn't seem to be broken, if you can still walk. Probably just needs rest."

Arthur nodded again, then thought to add, "Thank you."

Again, Merlin's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "You're welcome. Happy to help."

"Are you?" Arthur probed. "Happy to help, I mean?"

Merlin smoothed his features. "If the person's nice and doesn't try to kill me, sure." He gave Arthur's sword a pointed look, then shrugged and turned away, eyes wandering. "I've been travelling alone for a while. Aithusa's good company, but it's nothing like talking to a human. She's quite young, too, and doesn't always understand how the world works."

"Young?" Arthur repeated, surprised. "She's huge!"

"She's three. Dragons grow incredibly quickly," Merlin explained. "Their parents only stick around for a couple of years, then they're on their own, until they find a mate."

Arthur sensed an opening. "You seem to know a lot about dragons."

"I suppose."

"How did you find yours?"

"She was hatched from an egg."

"Are there more of them?"

Merlin hesitated, but revealed, "One more I know of."

Arthur tensed. This was troublesome news. The King had only ever mentioned the one dragon. Arthur didn't want to imagine being attacked by two of the beasts. "Is it around, too?" he probed, trying to hide his wariness behind a mask of harmless curiosity.

Merlin's face grew dark. "Imprisoned."

"Who'd imprison a dragon?" Arthur asked, and he didn't have to fake the surprise in his voice. It would make far more sense to kill the creature if one got the chance.

"Who do you think?" Merlin scoffed. "King Uther, of course. Got him locked up in a cave below his castle."

"In Camelot? That's ridiculous," Arthur exclaimed, before he could help it.

Merlin glared at him. "And you would know, yes? Been to the castle a lot?"

"Of course not," Arthur said hurriedly. He should be more careful not to blow his cover. "It just sounds… far-fetched, that's all."

"I'm not lying," Merlin insisted. "He's been chained up there for seventeen years. Ever since the Purge started."

"If you say so," Arthur replied, not believing one word of the dragonlord's ludicrous tale. If there was a dragon in the citadel, surely Arthur would have heard about it.

Merlin pursed his lips and looked away. "We should get some rest," he said, voice stand-offish. "I'll check out the area tomorrow, see if this is Mercia. If not, I'd like to move across the border, if you're up to it."

"I can take the next watch if you need to lie down," Arthur offered. He hadn't meant to put the sorcerer in a foul mood. It wouldn't hurt to show some good will.

Sure enough, Merlin offered him a small smile. "That's not necessary. Aithusa is keeping watch. We'll know if somebody's coming. Just lie down again. I'll go to sleep, too."

Arthur didn't like the idea of sleeping outside, quite possibly in Mercian territory, with nothing but a dragon to keep them safe, but Merlin seemed entirely unfazed by the prospect. He had retrieved a blanket from his pack and lay down on the bare floor, head nestled on his knapsack. It was only then that Arthur realised that, of course, Merlin had generously given his bedroll to Arthur, which meant he would have to camp on plain stone.

"Night," Merlin said, appearing entirely unbothered by the sleeping arrangements, and closed his eyes.

Arthur lay down, too, but kept watching Merlin for a while longer. The boy had quickly slipped into sleep, face relaxed and breaths even. He looked awfully young like this. He had to be closer to thirteen than fifteen. When he talked, he seemed rather mature for his age, bitter at times, but then, he must have been fending for himself for a year or so, ever since his father's death. Anybody would have to grow up quickly, living like that.

The thought, for some reason, made Arthur's heart squeeze a little and he quickly pushed away the feeling. Merlin was a sorcerer, and the last dragonlord. His beast was lurking about and would be happy to sink its fangs into Arthur if it knew who he was. Shivering at the thought, he refused to close his eyes, wanting to stay alert. But he was still feeling worn out and much too warm. Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep as well.

The next morning, the worst of the fever seemed to have passed. But Arthur's ankle was still swollen and tender and there was a cold drizzle in the air that had the potential to stoke Arthur's temperature back to old heights. Merlin agreed that it would probably be best to stay and let Arthur rest some more.

They shared the rest of the cold meat for breakfast.

"I'll go and check the area," Merlin said afterwards. "See if we're in Mercia. I'll bring some more firewood on my way back. Will you be all right on your own?"

"Of course," Arthur replied, just keeping himself from scoffing. He was trying to tone down on his hostility. Merlin seemed not entirely unwilling to open up to him as long as Arthur made an effort to be civil, and he wanted to get as much information out of him as possible. "Are you going to see your dragon, too?"

"It's been light out for a while. She probably left already," Merlin replied with an unbothered sort of smile. "Hand me your waterskin? I should pass by the stream again."

Arthur emptied the pouch in three gulps, then passed it on, raising a hand when Merlin waved him goodbye.

He settled in to wait, soon getting bored with listening to the birds and watching the leaves bend under the rain. His eyes fell on Merlin's pack. He had left it behind with Arthur, who smirked. Time to gather some more intelligence.

He pulled the knapsack close and fumbled the buckles open one-handedly. Mindful of the order in which he pulled the items out, he retrieved what was inside. There were some spare clothes made of simple fabrics, wooden cutlery, thread and needle wrapped up in a piece of cloth, three measly copper coins tucked into a well-hidden side pocket and— what was that? With a frown, Arthur pulled out a toy. It was a dragon whittled from wood. Less sophisticated than the playthings Arthur had once amused himself with, but not too crudely made. A vision crept up on him, an image of Merlin playing with the toy, making dragon noises, and he found himself smiling a little. If Merlin was carrying a figurine like this, he really was a child yet.

Arthur quickly shook off the thought, grimacing. No . He had to remind himself of the facts: Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin was a dragonlord. He controlled a dangerous beast. He was not a harmless little boy.

There was nothing else in the knapsack and Arthur took care to replace everything in the same order before returning the bag to its place, then looked over the items still strewn about the camp. But just as he had thought last night, they were practical tools and cooking utensils, nothing that looked magical or threatening in any way.

Arthur didn't know what he had expected to find. Poisonous potions? Cursed objects? A book on dragon breeding?

With nothing else to do but wait, Arthur soon drifted off again, napping against the cave wall as he was waiting for Merlin's return.

When the boy made an appearance, it was with a fair bit of ruckus, branches snapping and leaves rustling as he hurried back to the camp, the refilled waterskins slung haphazardly over his shoulder. His hair was wet from the rain, curling around his prominent ears, and he was not carrying firewood, as he had promised.

"We need to move," he said, already crouching down to gather up his things.

Arthur tensed, then leaned forward. "What? Why?"

"I saw armed men searching the forest."

"Knights of Camelot?" Arthur asked, trying to banish any trace of hope or excitement from his voice. That would make things very easy for him. All he would have to do was draw their attention to them and they would have Merlin captured in no time.

"No," Merlin replied the next moment. "They were wearing blue. That's Mercian livery, I think. They're looking for somebody."

Arthur immediately got to his feet, ignoring the jab of pain in his ankle. "Did they say who?" he asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible and making a point of focusing his eyes on Merlin's bedroll. His hand, however, was trembling as he rolled it up with one arm.

"Don't know," replied Merlin, sounding distracted. "Not me, I don't think. They were talking about Camelot. I didn't stay to eavesdrop." He clattered around with his pot and cutlery, unceremoniously shoving everything into his knapsack. "They didn't sound too friendly, though. I'd rather they didn't find us. They might think we've been poaching from the local lord's lands." He gathered his blanket, then stood. "You ready? How's your foot?"

"I can manage," Arthur said, and they left the cave.

The ankle held up much better this time, and while his arrow wound was still incredibly painful, holding the arm tucked tightly to his side helped keep the waves of pain at bay. Arthur wasn't quite sure in which direction they were heading now, with thick, grey clouds covering the sun, but if Merlin was sticking to his plan, they were either heading straight for or going deeper into Mercian territory.

Arthur was under no illusion that Merlin stumbling upon the Mercians was a coincidence. Bayard's men were looking for him , knowing the Prince of Camelot had fled into the forest. Perhaps they had found Hengroen and his abandoned armour, and followed his trail from there. Merlin and he certainly hadn't bothered with covering their tracks so far. Maybe they should have erased the signs of their camp at the cave, but it was too late for that now.

They walked for at least two hours, both of them jumping at any noises and movement around them. But they met nobody except for a family of boars passing them by at a distance, and the drizzle let up, too. Eventually, the forest started thinning and they ended up walking along the edge of it, going parallel to a wide, green meadow. This provided them with a better view of the area. The Mountains of Andor lay to one side, peaks hidden in the lingering clouds. In the distance, beyond the meadow, Arthur could just make out a tower. He swallowed heavily. It was the ruin marking the border – the backside of it. They were most definitely in Mercia now.

He revealed as much to Merlin, who slowed down to squint at the ruin. "That tower?" he asked. "How do you know?"

"My group passed it when we were travelling," Arthur half-lied and Merlin seemed to accept that information at face value.

"Maybe we should find a place around here, then," he said. "Aithusa can easily land in the meadow at night."

They set their sights on a dry spot surrounded by bushes, right at the edge of the forest. Neither of them had any food left, so Merlin went off to scavenge, returning with some more berries and what he claimed were edible roots. "Tough, but fills the stomach," he said with a shrug. "If Aithusa won't bring us some more meat later, I can hunt us some hares or squirrels tonight."

"You can hunt?" asked Arthur, half-heartedly chewing on his tough root. It tasted awful. "You haven't even got a bow with you."

Merlin wiggled his fingers. "Magic," he said nonchalantly, making Arthur wince. "I don't like doing it, but if it's between that and starving…" He shrugged again, popping some berries into his mouth, only to scrunch up his nose. "Yuck! Sour!"

Arthur ignored his antics, making a conscious effort not to sound apprehensive when he asked, "So you can use your magic to kill?"

Merlin stilled. "Yes," he said after a long pause. "I suppose I can." He glanced at Arthur. "You don't need to worry. I've never killed anything larger than a chicken."

"I'm not—"

"Worried. I know." Merlin smiled. "You do that a lot, did you know?"

"What?" Arthur asked defensively.

"Insist you're all… rough and tough. It's normal to be scared every once in a while."

"Not for the likes of me," Arthur retorted without thinking.

"Oh?" Merlin raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Who are you, then? A mighty warrior?"

You have no idea , Arthur thought, but only made a face in response. It made Merlin laugh, at least, and he backed off. Once they were done eating, he made off into the forest again, this time to gather some firewood.

Arthur looked after him, then towards the direction of the meadow. He could not quite make out the tower ruin from the cover of the bushes, but knowing it was there was enough to make his stomach squeeze. He was in Mercia, with her king very clearly set on starting a war with Camelot.

Arthur had no idea what Bayard's men would do to him if they caught him, but he really, really didn't want to find out.