Chapter 4: Haunted by the Past

Merlin was on edge.

Collecting firewood, while a necessity of surviving in the wild, always brought up bad memories for him. Still, it didn't usually make his skin crawl like this. Every time he was bending down for too long, gathering sticks and branches, he found himself swivelling his head and jumping at noises, thinking it might be Mercian knights sneaking up on him.

Mercia, as far as Merlin was aware, had no particular stance on magic. Like in most kingdoms of Albion, people were wary of magic, but from what Merlin's parents had taught him, it was much the same as in Essetir: As long as you kept your head down and didn't cause trouble, nobody went to the effort to hunt you down.

But Merlin knew being a dragonlord made him a special target. The King of Mercia might not have a personal agenda against him, unlike King Uther, but he would not be happy knowing a dragon was living in his lands. Besides, Merlin had yet to meet a knight that took kindly to vagrants roaming the local forest, and Merlin was just that – a homeless wanderer, living off land he didn't own or have any claim to live on. He had been warned off a lord's property plenty of times in the past months, though he had got better at hiding away from hunters and foresters, or making up lies about living in a village nearby.

With a sigh, he gathered up the sticks and branches he had collected and headed back to the clearing. He probably should have picked up a little more wood, but with the help of a bit of magic, this would last them through the night.

When he walked into the clearing, he saw Arthur had made himself useful, setting up some stones to contain the campfire.

"Any sign of the Mercians?" he asked as soon as he caught sight of Merlin.

If Merlin was on edge, Arthur seemed positively anxious about stumbling upon the troop of knights. Merlin knew Arthur was trying to play it down, set as he was on pretending he wasn't one to be scared, but it was very clear he was more than a bit nervous about the Mercians. Even more so than Merlin.

But then, he had just lost his companions to a bandit attack. Of course he would be wary of armed men, no matter their affiliation.

"No, no sign at all," Merlin told him. It didn't ease the tension in Arthur's shoulders, but he did let out a little sigh that might have been relief.

Merlin put down the wood next to the stone circle Arthur had set up, then eyed the thinning clouds through the foliage. From what little sunshine was breaking through, Merlin estimated it was getting late, afternoon slowly turning to evening. As soon as dusk settled in, he would call for Aithusa. Merlin didn't usually move camp so often and quickly. He tended to stay for a couple of days in each spot, if possible.

"Want me to take another look at your arm?" he offered after a bout of silence.

Arthur nodded his consent and Merlin moved closer, kneeling down next to Arthur on the forest floor. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandages. They were frayed and dirtied from their travels, but they had no more tunics to spare, so they would have to do. The wound still looked nasty. The hole was scabbed over for the most part, but there was a shiny, wet spot in the centre and the edges were dark red. The flesh around the wound was swollen and hot to the touch. The infection seemed to be lingering, though at least Arthur's fever had not made a reappearance so far, in spite of travelling through the rain.

"Let me clean these a little?" Merlin offered, waving the bandages.

Arthur frowned. "Is there a river nearby?"

Merlin raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Oh," Arthur said and grimaced, settling his mouth into an unattractive twist. "You mean…?"

Merlin tried not to bristle at his reaction, aiming for a light tone when he said, "I'm fairly good at removing stains."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Still, after a long pause, he said, "I suppose you could try."

Merlin smiled at him, then settled the bandages on his thighs, spreading them out before raising his hand. " Fordwin wamm ."

Arthur flinched, sucking in a breath. A bit of an overreaction to strips of fabric losing a few spots of grime and blood, where Merlin was concerned, but then Arthur wasn't going for the sword at his belt again, so that was an improvement.

"There we go," Merlin said and when he aimed another smile at Arthur, the man's grimace smoothed into a look of vague indifference.

Merlin cleaned Arthur's arm with some water from his waterskin, then rearranged the lady's mantle and rewrapped the arm with the cleaned bandages, apologising when Arthur hissed.

"Still bad?" Merlin asked in a commiserating tone.

"It's better than it was," Arthur replied, though he was gritting his teeth a little. "It'll take time to heal, that's all."

"And your foot?"

Arthur wiggled it against the ground. "Getting there," he assessed.

Merlin nodded and backed off, settling down against the tree nearby. "Have you put any thought into where you want to go?" he asked. "If the fever stays away and your foot is better, you can always make for the nearest village."

Arthur sent him a guarded look. "Want to get rid of me?"

Merlin didn't, not really. He hadn't lied when he had said he enjoyed having some company – even from someone as rude and arrogant as Arthur. Merlin hadn't talked this much in months, and underneath Arthur's supercilious attitude, Merlin had glimpsed a sense of humour.

"Didn't think you'd want to travel with an evil sorcerer and his dragon if you could help it," he replied, aiming to tease.

"There's that, I suppose," Arthur grumbled.

"And so?" Merlin prodded.

Arthur looked at the ground, nudging a stone with his boot. "Maybe in a couple of days. I don't fancy coming across those Mercians on my own, with my arm like this."

Merlin couldn't help but smile. "Ah. Don't you worry. I'll protect you."

Arthur scoffed, "You? Please, Merlin."

"Aithusa, then," Merlin offered, but Arthur didn't reply.

They stayed quiet for a while until dusk settled in.

"I'm going to call for Aithusa, in the meadow," Merlin said and got up. "Maybe she's got some dinner for us."

As it turned out, she had. Merlin took one look at the flecked hide on the piece of meat she was clutching and scowled. "Aithusa," he scolded her. "What did I tell you about staying away from farms? They'll see you when you go for their cows! We don't need more people hunting us!"

Aithusa let out a huff. "Easy prey, little one. Good, soft meat."

Merlin shook his head. They had been having this same argument for months. Just a couple of days ago, she had hunted down sheep from some poor farmer's paddock. He accepted the chunk of beef with a little grimace, careful to let the juices drip onto the ground.

"How is Arthur?" asked Aithusa.

"Getting better," Merlin told her. "His foot is healing nicely. The arm will take a while, though."

Aithusa tilted her head. "He watches us."

Merlin turned. He didn't see anything, but knew to trust Aithusa's instincts, and called out into the general direction she had looked at, "You can come out, Arthur! She won't bite!"

Sure enough, there was movement in some bushes and Arthur walked out a moment later, looking just a little embarrassed to have been caught spying on them. He kept his distance, coming to stand several paces away from Aithusa.

"You could have said you wanted to meet her," said Merlin.

"Could I?" returned Arthur. "I felt you were being rather secretive."

"Well, you already saw her once," Merlin said with a shrug, then gestured between the two of them. "You never properly met, though. This is Aithusa. Aithusa, meet Arthur."

Arthur looked stiff and uncomfortable, but he did incline his head and said, rather formally, "Well met, dragon."

Aithusa let out a little puff of smoke as she studied Arthur, then inclined her head in return before swivelling her head towards Merlin. "He still smells nice. Like magic."

"Magic?" said Merlin, at the same time as Arthur, too, said, " Magic ?" – only rather more hysterically.

"Yes," Aithusa confirmed and blinked.

"Have you been using magic on me behind my back?" Arthur growled at Merlin, hand already itching towards the hilt of his weapon.

"No, of course not," Merlin replied hastily. "I wouldn't do that."

"Not like Merlin's magic," Aithusa said simply. She tilted her head. "But not so different. Familiar, like he belongs."

Merlin stared at her. What in the hells' name was she talking about?

"What does she mean?" Arthur asked Merlin gruffly, still looking extremely suspicious and like he was about three seconds away from drawing his damn sword again.

"No idea," Merlin admitted. "But that's dragons for you. I told you, it's not like talking to a human. They think differently." He turned back towards Aithusa, who looked unfazed by Merlin's assessment. "There's not enough room where we're staying and I'd rather you didn't sleep out here, where everyone can see you. Could you find a place nearby for the night?"

"Of course, little one." She lowered her snout to breathe hotly into Merlin's face, accepted a head scratch, then flew off.

"Dinner?" Merlin asked Arthur, lifting the chunk of meat.

Arthur eyed the raw beef disdainfully, but once they had returned to the camp, he did help prepare it. He assisted Merlin with removing the hide, then took over the task of cutting off cartilage and tough strands of sinew while Merlin got the fire going with a bit of magic and prepared the other ingredients. Arthur appeared well-practised in the way he was handling the meat. He had to have some prior experience with hunting or butchering.

"This was a cow, yes?" Arthur asked as he worked away, clearly still favouring one arm.

"Unfortunately," Merlin replied. "She must have got it from a village nearby. Which means we better keep moving come tomorrow. People tend to send out hunters when they spot her near settlements. I don't want them joining forces with those knights."

Arthur looked him over for a moment, knife hovering. "Is this really how you've been living? Constantly on the move? Never settling down?"

Merlin swallowed. Hearing it said out loud, it sounded rather sad and pathetic. "It's not safe to stay in one place for too long," he explained. "Two weeks is my limit."

"Even outside Camelot?"

Merlin pursed his lips. "There's many who would hurt us, and I can't risk Uther sending undercover men if he got word."

Arthur didn't reply, frowning thoughtfully as he cut the meat into cookable chunks with his hunting knife. Combined with some more roots, mushrooms and herbs Merlin had gathered nearby, they eventually had a passable beef stew bubbling over the flames.

"Maybe we should put this out," Arthur said after they were done cooking and eating, pointing at the fire. He sounded nervous again, eyes roaming over the bushes nearby. "It might attract those Mercian knights."

"Would they be out looking in the middle of the night?" Merlin replied. Knowing Aithusa was nearby had eased his own nerves, but of course Arthur would still be anxious.

"Those bandits attacked us in the night."

"It's mild out, I suppose," Merlin replied, conceding his point. A quick murmured spell had the fire turn to embers. "There we go. I can keep it low like that for the rest of the night. We'll still get some heat this way."

They both lay down close to the glimmering ashes. Merlin gave away his bedroll again, curling up in his blanket instead. It didn't quite keep the cold away like the bedroll did, but it would do. Arthur was still injured, after all. He needed the bedroll more than Merlin, to avoid catching another fever.

With his stomach filled with rich, meaty stew and knowing Aithusa was keeping watch, Merlin soon fell asleep.

He awoke to Arthur whimpering. Merlin blinked, sitting up a little to look across the embers. Their gleam was just enough to illuminate Arthur's form. At first, Merlin thought he was cold, as he seemed to be shaking. But then, Arthur let out another whimper, head turning left and right, and it became clear that this was more than chattering teeth: Arthur was having a nightmare.

Without further hesitation, Merlin got up and approached. As he leaned closer, Arthur started to talk, "Stop! No!" He grimaced in his sleep. "Don't! Spare them!"

Merlin swallowed. Gods, but it sounded like Arthur was dreaming of the bandit attack!

"I said stop!" Arthur's voice was growing louder, his words a desperate sort of command.

Merlin decided he should wake him. It wouldn't do for him to shout loud enough to be heard across the forest. He placed a gentle hand on Arthur's shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

"Arthur," he said, low and calming. "Arthur, you need to wake up."

"Please stop," begged Arthur, still caught in his nightmare.

Merlin braced himself and firmly shook Arthur's shoulder.

With a gasp, Arthur's eyes snapped open and he sat up so suddenly, he almost knocked his head into Merlin's, who managed to retreat just in time to avoid the collision. Arthur's eyes were wild, his breath came in short, panicked bursts and when he finally turned his face towards Merlin, the faint shine of the embers revealed a thin film of sweat across his face.

"It's all right," Merlin soothed him. "You're safe."

Arthur ran a trembling hand over his mouth, then struggled to get his legs untangled from the bedroll. Eventually, he was sitting on top of it, cross-legged, and buried his face in his hands. He let out a long, low groan. It took him another moment to stop shaking and even his breath.

"Feeling better?" Merlin finally ventured. He was still crouching next to the bedroll.

Arthur lowered his hands to glance at him. "Fine," he said curtly.

Merlin tilted his head. "You want to talk about it?"

Arthur scowled. "Of course not, you idiot."

Merlin frowned. "No need to be rude," he said. He should probably go back to his blanket and go to sleep. But he ended up hovering instead, sitting back to hug his knees close, settling in next to Arthur.

"What are you doing?" said Arthur, voice sharp, observing him with narrowed eyes. "I don't need a nursemaid to hold my hand."

"I have them, too, you know?" Merlin revealed, ignoring Arthur's reaction. "Nightmares, I mean." He didn't know why he said it, except that he was already aware that Arthur was the type to pretend he wasn't scared, and that he should know it was all right to be.

"I don't have nightmares," Arthur scoffed. He was looking at the embers now, mouth turned downwards, eyebrows drawn.

"Could've fooled me," Merlin quipped. "They're nothing to be ashamed of. They're normal."

Arthur let out a huff. "They're not normal . They're a sign of weakness."

Merlin shook his head. "They're your mind's way of dealing with pain and fear." More gently, he added, "Were you dreaming about the bandit attack?"

Arthur hesitated for a long moment, then – miraculously – admitted, "No. Something else. Something that happened a while ago." He balled a hand to a fist, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "Something I should be long over by now."

Merlin studied his taut features, compassion drawing out more words, revealing more than he would have under different circumstances: "Sometimes, old memories can be drawn up again by something that happened recently. My father taught me that. He also had nightmares. Terrible ones. He was a grown man, a trained fighter, yet he used to shout so loudly during the night that it scared me."

Arthur turned his head a little, searching Merlin's face. "Really?" he asked roughly.

"My father lost his entire family to King Uther," Merlin replied, the words tumbling out now. He hadn't talked about Father for so long. "The King betrayed him, killed his brother, his cousins, everyone. He was the only survivor, and he only just got away." He felt his own hands starting to tremble, but the dam seemed to have been broken now, and he kept going, "But they never stopped hunting him, even a decade later. They never stopped looking. Last year, they got him. I was right there, too. I didn't see the knights kill him, but I heard. I saw the body. He was murdered." Merlin shuddered. His eyes had slipped from Arthur's face, vision growing blurry. "That's what my nightmares are about. Father lying on the ground, dead. There was so much blood. A whole puddle of it." He sucked in a shaky breath, blinking against a stinging feeling in his eyes, fighting the pictures creeping up on him. "I knew I couldn't stay with Mother. They would come for me next. I couldn't endanger her. So I left. I fled that very night with Aithusa, and never returned…"

A hand grabbed his shoulder and Merlin startled. He looked back up to stare right into Arthur's eyes. There was a moment of heavy silence between them. Somehow, in the matter of a minute, their roles had been reversed, with Arthur keeping Merlin grounded.

"All right?" he asked eventually, voice rough.

Merlin gulped, then nodded mutely.

"We should go back to sleep if you want to travel some more tomorrow."

Again, Merlin nodded, throat too tight to speak. He got up and moved back to his spot across the fire. When he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to chase away a strange itch there, he realised his cheeks were wet.

Great. He had started crying in front of Arthur, like a child. Who was showing weakness now? Suddenly feeling embarrassed about his little breakdown, he quickly wrapped himself into his blanket, back turned on Arthur. He could hear Arthur settle down again, too, and then, there was nothing but the sounds of the forest, leaves rustling and owls hooting in the distance.

Merlin took a long time to fall back asleep and when he finally dozed off, it was a light, fitful sleep.

He woke before Arthur and left the camp at first light with both their waterskins, itching for something to do. When he returned from the little pond he had found nearby, Arthur was awake, too, bedroll already cleared away, busy dousing the embers with handfuls of dirt.

Neither of them mentioned what happened that night. Maybe they didn't need to.

They left shortly after, and Merlin found that Arthur was walking steadily now. His foot must have healed well enough, though he was still holding his arm stiffly, keeping it tucked close.

Without much talk, they walked for a while, until they came across a river. It looked to be deep and the currents were wild, with murky-brown water running high, flooding the shore in some places. Perhaps there had been more rain upstream.

"If we walk along the river, we should come across a bridge eventually," Arthur suggested as Merlin carefully eyed the water, feeling with his magic like Father had taught him, until he found what he was looking for.

"No need," he replied, sending Arthur a grin before raising his hand, going a little cross-eyed as he tried to remember how to pronounce the ancient words. " Ahefe stánas !"

Slowly, sluggishly, the water parted in four spots, large rocks rising to the surface, forming a sort of path across the river. Merlin glanced over at Arthur and found him gaping.

"Handy, right?" Merlin said, then walked up to the shore. "Come on. Let's go!"

He adjusted his knapsack, then jumped onto the first rock, then the next, quickly making his way across the water. When he turned around, Arthur was still at the other side, staring.

"It's safe!" Merlin called out over the roaring of the water. "Just jump!"

Arthur threw him a dubious look, but he did approach the edge of the river and leaped. Merlin had underestimated, though, how much the injured arm would throw Arthur off balance. His first jump was wobbly, the next even more unsteady, and as he made for the third stone, he slipped and toppled over. Instinctively, Merlin raised his hand, magic bursting out without a single word uttered. Before he ever touched the water, Arthur was abruptly yanked up and backwards, and then, he was standing on the rock again, safe from the currents.

Arthur stared at him across the water, eyes wide, mouth open. Then, his whole face transformed. Looking much too angry for somebody who had just been saved from falling into a roaring river, he crossed the rest of the rocks with three quick jumps, looking ready to punch Merlin in the face.

"What in all hells was that ?" he shouted, as soon as his feet had touched ground on the other side of the river.

Merlin crossed his arms, instantly annoyed. "I saved your sorry arse," he retorted.

"You used magic on me! Without my permission!" Arthur barked.

Merlin sneered. "Oh, would you rather have drowned in the raging currents?"

Arthur's face was flushed red. "You had no right using your dirty little tricks on me, you wretched sorcerer!"

In the face of Arthur's irrational reaction – and completely uncalled-for insults – Merlin saw no point in keeping his own temper in check. "You're an ungrateful, arrogant ass!" he snapped back. "I help you! I feed you! I treat you! I save your life! Yet you still call my magic dirty ? Seriously, Arthur just— just piss off !"

With that, Merlin turned on the spot and stomped off, seething as he made a beeline for the cover of the nearest bushes, avoiding the path nearby.

What a complete and utter clotpole! Merlin thought. He was about done hauling Arthur's ungrateful backside across the kingdoms! Why on Earth had he ever let him tag along in the first place? Merlin should have left Arthur at the side of the road the minute he had drawn his sword on him!

And to think Merlin had believed they had come to an understanding of sorts last night, talking about nightmares and such! Apparently, he had thought completely wrong. He should have never told Arthur anything about Father! Arthur probably thought he had deserved to die like any other sorcerer!

Letting out a growl, Merlin slapped aside some low-hanging branches and increased his speed, happy to bring distance between himself and that magic-hating idiot!

It took Arthur some minutes to catch up with Merlin. Maybe he had contemplated parting ways, but then thought better of it. Out of breath, his bag dangling haphazardly off his good arm, he ended up drawing even with Merlin.

"Sorry," he gasped between two breaths.

" Are you, really?" Merlin retorted curtly, still angry and making no effort to slow down.

"It's just—that you—surprised me," Arthur continued, still panting. "This is all—new to me. The magic. I haven't seen—much of it."

Merlin slowed down a little then, allowing Arthur to take in some much-needed air. They ambled on in silence for a moment until Arthur had caught his breath.

"I apologise, Merlin," he said eventually. He was talking with that strange, formal tone that he seemed to adopt sometimes. "I shouldn't have insulted you. You saved me. You keep helping me and I should be grateful for that."

Merlin pursed his lips, still a little upset. He nodded, though, ready to forgive. "It's fine."

After a moment of silence, Arthur added, "So, I don't have to piss off then?"

The way he said those words, with an almost posh sort of drawl to them, made Merlin snort in spite of himself. From the sound of it, one could almost believe that nobody had ever dared to say those words to Arthur before. When he looked at Arthur, the man was smiling crookedly.

"Just keep up," Merlin replied, though he felt himself smiling back.