Chapter 6: Lies and Betrayals

Merlin froze where he knelt, an icy rush of fear locking his limbs, halting his breath, constricting his heart until it skipped a beat.

They had found them: ten Mercian knights, blue cloaks draped tightly over polished armour, broadswords in hand, ready to strike at any moment.

"We've been following your trail for a while now," said the same knight that had spoken before – tall, beefy, dark hair framing a bearded face. "Almost lost your tracks back at the river, but your fire helped guide our way in the end. Ta ever so!"

Next to Merlin, Arthur stood up slowly. The move jolted Merlin, shaking him from his own stupor. He, too, got to his feet, keenly aware that several sets of beady eyes were tracking his every movement.

"What do you want from us?" Arthur asked. His voice was impossibly calm.

Merlin admired him for it. He wasn't sure he could bring himself to speak even a single syllable right now. His mouth had gone dry, his throat squeezed so tight that it hurt. His heart was thumping hard and fast, a wild rhythm that was sending his whole body atremble. Merlin felt himself curling inwards, making himself small, instinctively recoiling from danger.

In contrast, Arthur stood with his shoulders squared and his head held high, chin jutted out. Belatedly, Merlin realised he had moved, too, now standing half in front of Merlin – shielding him. His hand seemed to be creeping towards his belt. Was Arthur going for his sword? He had to know he stood no chance, surrounded as they were from all sides!

Beyond Arthur's shoulder, Merlin could see the knight smirk. "Eh, don't you play dumb with us now. You must have known we'd be looking for you. Didn't realise you'd moved well into King Bayard's lands, though, did you, Your Highness?"

Merlin started. Your Highness?

"I don't know who you think we are, but you've been tracking the wrong people," Arthur replied firmly, voice smooth and measured as he tagged on a lie, "My cousin and I are travelling through Mercia and into Anglia to visit our family there."

"Cousins. Right," the knight sneered and some of the others laughed. "A prince and his servant, more like."

Merlin stared at the knight, then at Arthur, whose mouth had gone tight as he appeared to consider his response.

"You've got the wrong people," he repeated, though there was an edge to his voice now, belying his composure. "There's no prince here."

The knight's smirk vanished. "Enough with the games! Come quietly and we won't harm you. King Bayard wants you alive, Pendragon!"

All air rushed from Merlin's lungs in one, sharp burst of surprise. Pendragon? As in Uther Pendragon? Merlin gaped at Arthur, who chose that moment to throw a quick look over his shoulder. Their eyes met and Arthur grimaced, a flash of guilt passing his expression.

Merlin took an instinctive step back, a hundred tiny pinpricks of ice cascading down his back. This—this didn't make sense. Surely, Arthur wasn't—If he was, why hadn't he—?

Struck dumb, he watched Arthur's hand finally come to rest on the hilt of his sword. His demeanour had changed again, face now set in determination, an arrogant sort of sneer playing about his lips when he announced, "I'd rather die than surrender without a fight, Mercian!"

The atmosphere shifted. All knights raised their blades, some of them stepping forward menacingly, closing in, crowding Arthur and Merlin against the edge of the pond. Merlin could feel his magic respond to the growing threat, his powers prickling against his skin, but his eyes kept flickering to Arthur. Was he really —?

"No mistaking that Pendragon stubbornness," growled the Mercian leader. "Be reasonable, Camelot. You might be able to take out, what—one, maybe two of my men?" He glanced at Merlin. " He certainly won't be of any help."

"Leave him out of this," Arthur replied sharply, reangling his body, now almost blocking Merlin's view.

The Mercian took another step closer, face hardening. "Come on, now, princeling! Fingers off that sword and surrender! I promise we'll spare your little servant. He can carry a missive to your father, inform him that you're King Bayard's hostage now." He leered. "Let's hope for his sake Uther isn't the type to shoot the messenger."

"Back off!" Arthur snapped. He drew his weapon, and Merlin felt his magic rear at the same time.

A deafening noise rang through the forest, a fierce roar Merlin would recognise anywhere. He turned, spotting Aithusa approaching from the direction of the pond, flying so low that her claws were tearing through the water.

Merlin didn't think. With the surge of magic dissipating, he grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled, moving both of them to the side and sending them crashing into the forest ground. Not a second later, a hot streak of dragon fire blasted past their heads, engulfing three of the knights and setting the bushes beyond bright ablaze.

The Mercians screamed and scattered. The smell of singed hair and burnt flesh filled the air and Merlin hurriedly pressed a hand against his nose before the stench could make him gag. He looked up to see Aithusa was gone, though another, more distant roar was echoing through the forest, driving any remaining birds from the trees. She had to have taken a sharp turn upwards after spewing the fire and was probably circling above the trees now. The Mercians were nowhere to be seen, either, though Merlin could hear their shouts of pain and anger in the near distance. They had fled, but not far.

Arthur seemed to have had the same thought. He was already on his feet again, pulling Merlin up after him. "Go! Run!" he urged and shoved at him.

Merlin didn't hesitate a moment longer. He took off, grabbing his half-packed knapsack and clutching it close to his chest as he tore past the smouldering bushes and into the forest. He could barely see where he was going, the sun not quite high enough to light up the woods. Somehow, though, he managed to remain on his feet, dashed past trees and bushes until his lungs were burning and he could run no longer.

Panting and gasping, he finally slowed down, taking a moment to prop himself up against a tree, then forced himself to walk on, his sides in stitches, until he could move no more. He collapsed between some bushes, hoping they were thick enough to hide him.

As he caught his breath, he watched the sun starting to peek through the forest, slowly illuminating his surroundings. He didn't recognise any of it, had no idea in which direction or how far he had run. He could only hope it had been enough to get the Mercians off his back.

As if on cue, he could hear footfalls nearby. Quiet, but unmistakable. Merlin pressed his face into his knapsack, holding his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Merlin?"

Arthur! On instinct, Merlin raised his head and opened his mouth to call out for him, then thought better of it because Arthur – Arthur was Prince Arthur. Arthur Pendragon. The Prince of Camelot. Uther's son.

He must have made some noise, though, because not a moment later, he heard more footfalls and then, there was Arthur peering down at him, sword in his hand, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and shoulders heaving from exertion. His leather bag was nowhere in sight – he must have left it behind.

Merlin instinctively drew back, clutching at his knapsack like it was a lifeline.

"Merlin," Arthur repeated. "Are you all right?"

Merlin stared up at him.

"Come on, get up! You can't stay here," Arthur continued, glancing around. "You left a massive trail. They'll be on us in no time."

He shoved the sword into his belt, then offered his good arm.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. A sudden wave of hot, blazing anger overcame him, burning through his fear and mingling with the sharp sting of betrayal. He scrambled to his feet, shoving at Arthur's extended hand with his knapsack as he stood. "Don't touch me!" he snapped.

Arthur's eyes widened. He retrieved his hand, took a step back, then schooled his features. "Well," he said, voice infuriatingly measured. "I suppose the cat is out of the bag now."

"You lied to me!" Merlin hissed. "You're Uther's son! You're the bloody Prince of Camelot!"

Arthur's mouth twisted. "Yes."

"I can't believe this!" Merlin continued. With sharp, jerky movements, he slung his knapsack onto his back. "You—you let me patch you up! You took my food and my bedroll and you listened to me talking about my father, all the while knowing —" Merlin's breath caught in his throat, his voice cracking, but he pushed past it, continuing, "You knew who I was. You knew your father had my father killed and yet you—" He stopped again, realisation dawning.

Yes, Arthur had known. From the very start, given he had seen Aithusa. It had all been an act. He had followed Merlin to watch him, to lure him into a trap, to strike at the right moment. Arthur wanted him dead.

Abruptly, Merlin leaped back, raising his hand in front of him, getting ready to defend himself with magic. "Get away from me!"

Arthur didn't move. "I won't hurt you."

Merlin let out a short, sharp laugh. "Oh no? What was your plan, then? Capture me? Drag me back to Camelot and throw me at your father's feet?"

Arthur didn't respond, which was answer enough.

"I should kill you," Merlin said, hand still raised. His magic was crackling at the edges of his consciousness again, tempting him to simply let it loose. It would be so easy to lash out, to send Arthur flying, to shove him into the nearest tree with a wave of invisible power.

"You'd never do that," Arthur replied evenly.

"You sure? An evil sorcerer like me?" Merlin hissed. "Watch me!"

"You're not evil," said Arthur.

"You— what ?"

Arthur shook his head. "We don't have time for this," he said. He glanced over his shoulder. "They'll be here soon. Your dragon scared them off, but not for long. Come on! We need to leave."

He brushed past Merlin, then turned around again after a few paces when he realised Merlin wasn't moving. "Come on !" he repeated, more urgently this time.

"You honestly believe I'd follow you now ?" Merlin replied incredulously. "For all I know, you'll run me through with your sword the minute I turn my back!"

"Then walk behind me," Arthur snapped. "We can part ways at the river. It's close. I can hear it." With that he marched off, not looking back.

Merlin stared after him. This was insane ! He had no reason to trust Arthur now. He should turn around and walk into the other direction, as far away from him and from Camelot as he could possibly get. But his feet moved on their own accord, turning to follow Arthur, falling into a light jog two paces behind him. True to his word, they soon stepped out of the forest and were standing next to the same river they had crossed only the day before.

"Can you do your thing?" Arthur asked, gesturing at the water. The currents were slightly less wild than the day before, but looked to be no less dangerous. There wasn't a bridge in sight.

"Ah, so that's why you still need me," Merlin sneered, crossing his arms. "Can't get caught on the wrong side of the river."

"You're right, I can't," Arthur replied, all the while staring into the forest, craning his neck. "But you need to cross over, too. Those Mercians believe you're my man. If they capture you, they'll interrogate you for information. Torture you, most likely. Once they realise you know nothing, they'll get rid of you." He paused, now looking at Merlin, face grim. "You might be able to take me on with your magic if you set your mind to it, but are you sure you can defeat a whole troop of trained knights? You told me yourself, you never killed anything larger than a chicken. If they catch you where your dragon can't reach you, you're as good as dead."

Merlin pressed his lips together as he considered Arthur, who had gone back to searching the forest for signs of pursuers, grimacing nervously. He was right, Merlin had never fought a proper fight with his magic, had no idea if he could stand a chance against a whole group of men. He couldn't risk them capturing him.

"Fine," he said, closed his eyes and started reaching out with his magic, prodding the riverbed. He sensed a suitable spot a few paces upstream. There, he repeated the words he had used the day before to raise rocks.

They made it across the currents quickly, and without incident this time.

"Can you make them go back?" Arthur asked on the other side, pointing at the rocks. "Cut off their path this time?"

With a wave of Merlin's hand, the stones sank back into the water.

"All right," said Arthur and walked on.

"All right?" Merlin repeated harshly, following. "How is any of this all right ?"

Arthur didn't reply. He was peering into the stretch of forest lying on the other side of the river, walking along the edge of it, then stopped. He gestured at a gap in the treeline where vegetation was sparse. "You need to look out for spots like this. Whenever you walk past a bush or a tree, you break twigs, trample leaves… A half-decent tracker will be on your scent in no time. Using the cover of the forest is important, but if you leave a swathe of evidence in your wake, you might as well not bother and walk out on the road." He pointed at the ground. "Mud and soft earth are your worst enemy – footprints. Cover them up with dried leaves if you must pass through. Always try to keep your feet light as you walk, step on rocks whenever possible. Being thorough is more important than speed unless they're already breathing down your neck. Once you've walked half a league without leaving a proper trail, you'll have lost any pursuers."

Merlin stared at him. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"I told you, you need to cover your tracks," Arthur replied, sounding impatient. "I'm going back to Camelot. I'll leave a deliberate trail for a while, to try and draw them away from you, though I'm sure they'll be searching far and wide." He gave a sharp nod. "That's all I can do for you now."

"You're trying to help me?" Merlin said, his lingering anger slowly dissipating in spite of himself.

Arthur averted his eyes. "You saved my life. Your dragon, too. As much as I hate it, I'm in your debt." He looked up and his gaze hardened. "Don't come back to Camelot, ever. I mean it. If you're caught there, I won't protect you."

"That's it ?" Merlin replied incredulously. "You spy on me for days and then just leave?"

"Would you rather I attack you after all?" Arthur snapped. "I'd be glad to lock you up in Camelot's dungeons instead, dragonlord !"

Merlin flinched back. "N-no. It's just—" He shook his head, which was starting to spin a little. Arthur was letting him go without a fight. Arthur was helping him. None of this made any sense. It was all too much, and happening too fast. He felt he was owed so many answers, or revenge, or something , but distant voices cut through his thoughts.

With a start, they both turned towards the river. On the other side, Merlin could see movements, flashes of blue between the reeds and bushes lining the shore. In unison, they both ducked.

"They caught up," Arthur said quietly. "It's time to leave. They'll know where the next bridge is and then, they won't stop until they've caught either of us. They might have sent for reinforcements, too, to cover more ground." He looked Merlin over. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Then, he seemed to shake himself and said curtly, "Good luck and farewell, Merlin." With that he stood and was off, steps quick and determined.

Merlin gaped after him until he had disappeared from his view, blond hair vanishing behind the trees.

Gone, just like that.

Shouts from the other side of the river shook Merlin from his dumbstruck stupor. Ducked low, he made his way over to the spot Arthur had shown him and slipped into the forest, stepping on rocks and slowly brushing past any bushes, careful not to bend or break any twigs.

Avoiding leaving a trail kept his mind calm and focused and it wasn't until his stomach grumbled loudly that Merlin slowed down again. The forest was thinning, interspersed with patches of grass and moss, and he could make out the position of the sun, quickly approaching its zenith. He should let Aithusa know he was all right, but if he called her now in bright daylight, she might be spotted. The last thing he wanted was for the Mercians to see her.

He sat down on a rock and pulled down his knapsack, cursing when he realised both his bedroll and the blanket were still at the old camp. Rummaging and taking stock, he saw that he still had his waterskin, tools and cooking utensils, though, which was a relief. He would simply have to bunk with Aithusa as often as possible until he could get a replacement at some village or farm. Merlin was no thief, but sometimes, needs must.

He put down his knapsack and took a long gulp of water from his pouch, his whole body relaxing into the much-needed break, and soon, Merlin could no longer shove away the realities of what had happened.

For several nights, Merlin had travelled with a man whom he had thought to be a nobody, somebody who had lost everything, like Merlin. A man that had been arrogant and infuriating and absolutely backwards where magic was concerned, but who had also been funny, strangely and contrarily likeable and, most important of all, dearly missed human company.

He had also been the enemy. Biding his time, until he could attack.

Merlin curled his hands into tight fists as a sense of betrayal stoked his anger.

Arthur bloody Pendragon. Uther Pendragon's son. He must have been with those knights Merlin had seen patrolling the road in Camelot. Arthur had been out hunting for Merlin and Aithusa. The arrow wound had not come from a bandit attack, but from those Mercian knights, still roaming the area now to find the Prince of Camelot.

How could he have been so stupid? Hadn't there been enough signs? Had Merlin really been too blind to see that Arthur was the enemy? He hated magic. He was disgusted by Aithusa. He had threatened Merlin with a sword. He had been anxious about leaving Camelot. All of that should have made Merlin suspicious, but instead, he had helped Arthur, again and again.

Merlin dug his fists into his thighs, grounding himself as another wave of betrayal and anger rocked him.

Lords, he had shared everything with Arthur. His things, his food, his thoughts, his memories of Father, his magic… Last night, it had even seemed like Arthur was warming up to it, like he had realised that magic was not all evil. Merlin, foolishly, had even thought they were becoming something like friends, that he could have a companion, someone to travel with in the long run…

His eyes suddenly began to sting and Merlin quickly brought up his hands to rub at them.

No. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't waste a single, stupid tear on Arthur Pendragon. Had the Prince not been injured, he would have attacked Merlin and Aithusa on the spot. Every little joke and tale shared between them had been nothing but a lie. There had been no understanding, no beginnings of a friendship. He shouldn't waste another thought on it all.

Merlin needed to focus on surviving. He would find a nice, large clearing and summon Aithusa at nightfall. Then they would do what they had done for the past months – travel and hide, travel and hide, on repeat.

Is this really how you've been living? Arthur's voice echoed through his mind, deceivingly caring. Constantly on the move? Never settling down?

Swallowing down the beginnings of a sob – why would he be sobbing over Uther's son, for the gods' sake? – Merlin abruptly got up from the rock, gathered his things and started walking again, not caring about leaving a trail this time, blindly marching onwards. By the time dusk had arrived, he had already settled down in a spot that could accommodate Aithusa and he tipped back his head, letting the ancient words spill from his lips.

Aithusa was there in no time. She must have been close by, circling above the clouds, hoping for a sign of him.

"Merlin!" she exclaimed as she bowed. "You are safe!"

Merlin all but leaped forwards and buried his face into the side of her head, breathing in the familiar sulphur smell. "Thank you," he gasped, suddenly feeling choked. "You saved us–" He swallowed. "Me."

Aithusa rubbed her cheek into his face until Merlin let go. She looked him over, then said gently, "Arthur is gone?"

"He lied to me," Merlin spat, then told her what had happened and what he had learned.

All the while, Aithusa listened patiently, not making a single noise in response. Finally, when Merlin was busy scrubbing at his eyes again, she spoke, "I liked him."

Merlin let out a surprised grunt. "He was only pretending," he retorted.

Aithusa tilted her head. "You cannot pretend with a smell," she said and Merlin remembered her cryptic words, about Arthur smelling familiar, like he belonged.

"Look," he replied, trying to tone down his frustration in the face of a dragon's faulted logic. "I don't know about that sort of thing, but he was not our friend. He's the enemy. Arthur's father is the reason my father is dead; he had your dragonlord murdered. Arthur was only looking to hunt us down!" He stared up at Aithusa, feeling upset and helpless in equal measures when he asked, "Aren't you… aren't you angry ?"

"Arthur did not kill Balinor," Aithusa replied reasonably. "Arthur never hurt you or me."

"Because he was biding his time !"

"He never hurt us," Aithusa repeated, much too calmly. "He could not have. He belongs by your side. And you by his. I could smell it." She tilted her head, looking up into the sky. "It is written in the stars. It is whispered in the winds. Arthur Pendragon and Emrys. They walk on the same path."

"Emrys?" Merlin repeated. "What does that mean?"

"That is all I know," Aithusa replied, eyes still turned upwards. "But it is true."

Overwhelmed by feelings he could not quite name, Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. Dragons. Father had always said that one day, Aithusa would start speaking in riddles.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" he asked, unwilling to unravel her words.

Finally, Aithusa stopped gazing into the night sky. "Of course, little one," she replied, settled into the clearing and unfurled her wing, inviting Merlin in.

But in spite of his exhaustion, Merlin couldn't fall asleep, ruminating over Aithusa's words. Was she right not to be upset with Arthur? It was true, he hadn't hurt either of them, but only because he hadn't had the chance, given his injury and the pursuing Mercians.

And yet there had been other things, too, hadn't there? Arthur, comforting him. Arthur, admitting that magic could be beautiful. Arthur, stepping in front of Merlin, shielding him from the Mercian knights. Leave him out of this! Merlin, threatening him, and Arthur's calm response, You'd never do that. You're not evil. Did all of this mean anything?

They should have talked. Merlin shouldn't have let Arthur run off on his own without demanding answers. Why had he let Merlin go without even attempting an attack? Why help him cover his tracks if he could have let the Mercians do his dirty work and kill the dragonlord he had failed to hunt himself? Why was a life debt owed to Balinor's son worth anything to the Prince of Camelot?

When Merlin finally fell asleep, he had found no answers.

In the early morning, he was woken by Aithusa's hot snout, poking him. "I can hear men," she cautioned. "They are close." She flicked her tail, indicating the direction.

"Stay down, then, and don't fly off yet," he said. "I'll have a look. If it's the Mercians again, we need to leave the area at once."

On quiet feet, he crept through the lingering darkness of dawn, realising after just a few paces that he had been more than careless last night. The clearing he had picked was close to a road, only a few minutes' worth of walking. He hadn't seen it, hidden as it was beyond a line of thick bushes. As he crept closer, he could hear the voices Aithusa had picked up on. He slowed down, peering past the foliage.

On the path, there was a large troop of Mercian knights, riding on horses, a couple clutching torches. Another group was on the ground, swords at their belts. It looked like they had met up, coming from opposite directions.

Merlin should back away now, lie low until they were gone, then send Aithusa off and make for a different area, hells, a different kingdom. Yet, he found himself creeping closer, straining his ears as he hunkered down behind some bushes, his back to the road.

"… scoured the whole area, upstream, downstream, all night long. They must have made straight for the border."

"And the dragon?"

"Not a sign of it."

"That damned beast… came out of nowhere, killed three of ours!"

"You think it was Camelot's?"

"With Uther's stance on magic? Nah. Happenstance, must have been. That thing was looking for a meal. Lucky bastard, Pendragon."

"What are the King's orders?"

"Pursue the Prince, at all cost."

"At all cost… you mean, cross into Camelot again?"

"If we must."

"Fully armoured and on horseback? That's as good as a declaration of war."

"And hunting the Prince of Camelot isn't? We crossed that line when we attacked his party on Camelot's soil the first time."

"You're right. As long as the King is aware…"

"Oh, he's aware all right. He's craving this war, and he wants Uther's son to tip the scales in his favour."

"Fine, then. Let's make directly for the border. On horseback, we can be in Camelot well before noon. He'll try and reach one of the villages there first to get help. We need to catch him before some peasants have hidden him away."

"You ride on ahead. We'll follow on foot and wait on our side, just shy of the border. We'd only slow you down."

"Fine. Rendezvous where the northern trade route crosses the road towards Othanden. Understood?"

A round of aye s echoed through the forest.

"Let's go, then." A dirty sort of laugh. "We won't let His Royal Highness slip through our fingers again!"