Taa Daa! (Lifts a dazzling silver cloche off of chapter 24 with a flourish)
This chapter was horrible to write. I just hated it. It's had so many incarnations that I can't even remember what I wanted to include for the plot, so now it's just a bit fuzzy. I couldn't bear writing it again though, so I'm just compulsively posting it and will climb out of my plot holes later.
I do not own Merlin. All rights belong to the BBC.
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The remaining days of Merlin's journey with the Fripians had been tense, everyone's concern for Aethel palpable as they pushed hard to cover ground. Not long after Rosalin's discovery, they had come across what remained of Morgana's camp. Churned mud and burnt-out campfires stretched as far as they could see in either direction, with trails of footsteps leading away and on towards Camelot.
"They must number in their thousands" Wulf had muttered gravely, taking in the sight before them.
"She has been recruiting hard" Merlin conceded, "She hopes to intimidate us with her numbers."
From beside them, Brann had hummed. "It would send any man into a panic of fear to be approached by such an army."
"And that is why we must hold our resolve" Merlin replied, turning to look at him. "What we lack in numbers we make up for in strength. I know this kingdom; many of the villages that she has passed through are home to farmers, not fighters. There will be hundreds amongst her numbers who have never wielded a blade beyond harvesting their crops."
The warlock reached out a hand to grip each of his friends on their shoulders, pulling them in as he spoke.
"We are strong." He encouraged, "and we are prepared." He had been bolstering himself as much as the others, apprehension churning in his stomach.
"Aye" a gruff voice had sounded from behind them; Eoghan approaching to join their embrace and looking at them in term.
"We must not falter now, brothers" the large man said. They all hummed in agreement, their connection buzzing around them as they shared in the feel of each other's courage.
Offering a small smile, Merlin stepped back, lifting his chin to call out to the rest of the group.
"We must keep moving" he said confidently. "We will continue to tail Morgana's armies until we are close enough to the castle. From there, I will be able to get us inside."
,./,./,.
They had trailed the marching soldiers for several days, keeping to the cover of the trees and following the river to break up their tracks. It was helpful that Merlin knew these lands so well, having ridden the length and breadth of them by Arthur's side. As they had neared Camelot, he had deliberately veered their course towards a sharp incline of rocks that overlooked the city, only a handful of miles from the gates. From there, they should have a good enough vantage point for Merlin to get them in. It's always easier when he can see where he wants to go, and with so many people he doesn't want to risk things going wrong.
"Just over this ridge" he says, ushering his people on as they trudge through the morning frost. Crouching, they shuffle onto their stomachs, creeping forwards to peer out from the outcrop.
And there it was, gleaming white in the early light.
Camelot.
The keep's war flags are raised, hanging limp in the still morning air. Even from this distance the warlock can see the patrolling soldiers on the battlements. The city is braced for attack, having no doubt seen Morgana's forces slowly marching towards them for days.
From this vantage point Merlin can see the sorceress' troops pushing forwards; two large sections in the process of breaking off to the left and right, circling the city. They will need today to get themselves in position, and perhaps another to become organised. That gave them two more nights, at most, before the inevitable. Two nights to hold steady back in Arthur's presence. After that there will be time for them, if both of them are still alive.
Around him the rest of the druids are gathering, each peeking over through the rocks to watch the goings-on below.
"It is a fine fortress" Gareth, one of their healers says, whistling.
Merlin nods smiling over at him.
"And we shall soon be inside" he says. "Come, everyone, gather together and hold hands as we discussed. We must be united as one."
There is shuffling around him as everyone moves to obey him. Trying to clear his mind, the Merlin closes his eyes, taking a moment to prepare himself. This would be the most people he had ever moved at once. He had done it before, of course, with the knights in the forest, but that had been instinctual; fuelled by adrenaline and fear. Today, he must rely on his ability to stretch out his magic. He can feel hands in his own. Breathing deeply, Merlin begins to channel his magic through his palms and along the line of people either side of him. He takes time to let the power settle into each person fully before moving on, until the air around him seems to vibrate with the charged hums of their magical cores.
"Emrys"
Merlin opens his eyes. Brann and Gareth are watching him expectantly.
"Are you ready, Lord?"
The warlock nods, squeezing his companions' hands tightly.
"Hold tight, and brace yourselves!" he calls out, letting the arrow within him loose as his magic surges. It swells up within him like a wave cresting on rocks, his whole body thrumming with energy. Blue eyes fixed on the gates of the castle, Merlin allows the sensation to overwhelm him. He feels the power flashing behind his eyes and yells as it floods through him. There is a loud crack, and then they are gone.
,./,./,.
The ground rushes up to meet his knees as Merlin lands, still gripping like a vice to Brann and Gareth's hands. He opens his eyes to damp, packed earth beneath him, and the imposing sight of Camelot's great western gates.
Breathing heavily, he turns to check on his companions, counting them all anxiously in his mind. They are all here. He did it.
Relief surges within him as he is helped to his feet. Around him there is awed murmuring and several of the druids bow their head at him in deference.
"Well done, everyone" he calls out, smiling a little awkwardly as the bells begin to ring and soldiers start shouting from the battlements.
He braces himself as the drawbridge starts to lower, his nervousness returning tenfold. It was time to see the king.
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"Sire, an embassy from Dyrne has arrived at the castle gates. Merlin is among their number; he has asked for an audience with you."
Arthur's stomach lurches at Eylan's words. Despite having known that this moment would come, he feels both caught off-guard and utterly unprepared.
"Let them come" he says to the knight, who bows his head and sweeps out of hall.
Swallowing, Arthur turns to the long table, which is still a mess of papers and plans. Retrieving his crown from where he had tossed it, now buried beneath old maps of the catacombs, he places it on his head. He fiddles with it clumsily, trying to tidy his rumpled hair.
Clearing his throat, the king walks over to the throne and takes a seat. Looking down, he notices that he has missed a button on his tunic, and scrambles to fix it hurriedly. He shoots a look over to Gwaine, who offers him an encouraging smile from his position at the door.
Footsteps sounds in the hall. Arthur takes a deep breath, his father's voice echoing in his mind.
A king must be stoic and calm, and listen twice the amount that he speaks…
The doors to the throne room are swept open, and a small crowd of people enters. Silence falls as they move inside, their leader stepping to the front. Tall and lithe, with raven dark hair and bright blue eyes; he is decked in a black shirt, worn beneath a fitted dark leather jerkin. A long, fawn coloured cape flows behind him, and around his neck sits a shining string of jet-black stones.
Arthur drinks in the sight of the man.
Merlin…
The sorcerer looks older somehow, a light dusting of stubble softening the coltish sharpness of his jaw. His face is set and impassive, keen eyes calculating as they glance around the room before settling cooly on Arthur.
The moment their eyes meet, Arthur feels everything from the past months rush through him. The control he has on his composure wavers, as though something were tugging on the bindings. It feels simultaneously as though it has only been moments since he has last seen Merlin, and years.
Coming to a halt in front of the throne, Merlin bows his head stiffly.
Merlin never bows… is all that Arthur is able to think. He is still trying to take Merlin in, trying to connect this new, changed version of the man with the servant that he knew.
"King Arthur" Merlin begins. "We, the Fripians of Dyrne, have come to offer our services to Camelot in her fight against the would-be-usurper, Morgana. In return we ask for temporary leniency when it comes to your laws against magic users, and for respite within your walls until such a time comes that we are no longer needed. Should you deem these conditions unfavourable, we will withdraw, and respectfully request that we be able to return to our lands freely and without obstruction."
The warlock keeps his gaze off to the side of Arthur's head, avoiding eye contact. Everything about his tone and delivery is formal and detached. Emotionless.
"We, the Fripians of Dyrne" …. So, Merlin no longer sees himself as one of them. The thought prickles. Merlin has found new people and a new home. The idea of being replaced causes an ugly, jealous feeling to bubble in the king's chest.
In fact, the entire address catches Arthur somewhat off-guard. He had not expected to be given the choice of sending Merlin away again. Gwaine had made it seem as though Merlin would stay, and fight, and that would be that. Instead, the king realises he is now facing his first test; he must be seen to publicly choose magical help, to the contrary of all of his kingdom's laws.
Of course, he will say yes. It would be suicide to send these sorcerers away. Their situation is desperate; Morgana is at their door, and they have no way to defend against her magical weapons. It is the best decision for Camelot.
A good king is objective… he reminds himself as he thinks, even if being so near to Merlin again is curling his stomach into knots. There had been no training from Uther to prepare him for this. Merlin was finally here, but he is changed. He feels altered and distant, and a part of Arthur is wrestling with the sudden urge to cry. Another part wants to rage at this new man; turn him away and treat him with contempt. And yet, another part is filled with such a fierce ache of longing that Arthur is worried he won't be able to speak.
He clears his throat against the sensation awkwardly, gripping tightly at the arms of his throne. Taking a moment, the king looks over the gathered crowd of travellers. His eyes catch on a tall, dark haired man behind Merlin, who is watching him with a penetrating scowl.
"People of Dyrne" he begins his address. "I am grateful for your arrival, and generous offer of support." Arthur keeps his eyes moving across the room, trying to avoid looking at Merlin for too long. He can feel the man's piercing blue gaze on him as he speaks.
"As you have no doubt seen, our city is bursting at the seams with the people that Morgana has displaced. Her armies greatly outnumber us, and we have no defence against her magical attacks. We accept any aid that you see fit to offer us, and would welcome your advice on such matters."
The king stands now, addressing the room as a whole.
"I would have it known to all within my walls that these people have the right to full sanctuary here. They are our allies, and brothers and sisters in arms. I, King Arthur, personally vouch for them."
Arthur sits back down, hoping that he has said the right thing. Soft murmuring has started up around the room at his words. He can feel Merlin's eyes still on him, watching. He deliberately looks anywhere but at him, knowing he cannot trust his composure to continue hold under the sorcerer's scrutiny.
"We are grateful for your pledge." Merlin's voice calls through the room again after a moment's pause, "We will aid you in any way that we can."
The sorcerer bows his head, and Arthur reciprocates. As he lifts his head, their eyes meet again. Lightening jolts through him, and the king can feel himself spiralling, unable to look away. He feels like a deer caught in the sights of a hunter; and like a hunter Merlin's gaze is penetrating and assessing. The king is sure that Merlin is reading him like an open book; all of his doubts and confusion and remorse laid bare. In turn, Arthur can read almost nothing in the sorcerer's expression, save for the tight clenching of his sharp jaw. The months apart seem to the king to open up like a chasm; deep and endless, echoing with whispers of secrets, and betrayal, and everything unsaid.
Unsettled, and desperately trying to keep in control, Arthur rips his eyes away from Merlin's and stands again.
A good king is stoic and calm…
"Come" he orders, gesturing an arm out to Merlin and the Fripians behind him. "You must be tired from your travels. We shall see that rooms and sustenance are found for you."
Arthur starts to make his way out of the hall, trying hard to ignore the way that Merlin had stepped back from him as he walked by, keeping his distance. Gwaine quickly falls into step beside him, nudging his shoulder in silent support.
A good king is objective. A good king is objective. A good king is objective.
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The sun was almost directly overhead when a knock sounded on the door to the Fripians' chambers. The knights had been able to allocate them two adjoining rooms in the servant's quarters; one for the men and one for the women. Since then, they have been left to themselves. Generous plates of food had arrived, and Merlin has to admit that it has soothed something in him to see his companions bolstered and comfortable after so many days on the road.
He sits against the wall as he eats, thinking over the exchange that had taken place in the great hall. It had felt so strange – it does feel so strange – to find himself walking the halls of his old home as a guest and stranger. His nerves had been so heightened that he had felt sure they were a visible force around him. Despite Gwaine's assurances in Dyrne, the warlock hadn't truly known how he would be received, and as they had moved through the castle's corridors, he had been mentally bracing himself for more rejection.
Strangely, as soon as Merlin had entered the throne room, his nerves had vanished. All that remained had been an odd, detached numbness. It had looked the same. Everything had been the same; Just as he'd left it. The same decorations, the same people, the same colour-stained light pouring in through the long windows. It was surreal, to find it so unchanged after the turmoil of the past months. Merlin felt so altered from who he had been, so separated from his old life, that it had almost felt like stepping into the past. Like stepping into a dream.
And there, on his throne, Arthur had sat, as regal and composed as ever. He had looked tired; that had been the first thing Merlin had noticed. Dark circles shadowed beneath his eyes, and his golden hair looked dull and unwashed. To his annoyance, and despite his best efforts not to concede it, the king still looked effortlessly handsome. The warlock had watched Arthur take him in, his blue eyes lingering on the beads around his neck. And then their eyes had met.
It had felt like ripping open an old wound; everything rushing to the surface and pouring out, hot and painful. All of his anger from the past months: his despair, his sadness, his rage at the unfairness of his situation, his fear, his longing, his regret. Merlin hadn't known whether he had wanted to throw curses at the man in front of him, or grovel at his feet and beg for forgiveness.
It had only lasted a moment. That was all it had taken for Merlin to feel shaken off course. He hated how easily Arthur could unnerve him. Frustrated, the warlock had steeled himself, dragging his gaze away to bow his head. He had a job to do. Partly out of self-preservation, and partly out of prickling pettiness, he had fixed his stare on the detailing of the throne by Arthur's head, keeping his tone as respectful as he could whilst reciting his practised address.
There had been a long pause after he had finished, and for a brief moment Merlin had felt the doubt creep in, eyes flickering to the king's face. Perhaps this had been a mistake. It had been hard in that moment not to fall back into the memories of Cenred's castle; to the feeling of hands on his neck, the disgust in Arthur's expression. He had braced himself for a refusal.
But instead, Arthur had replied calmly and graciously. Merlin can admit, that he had been surprised by the fervour of the king's support. To have declared himself for the druids so absolutely before all of his advisors, well – that was certainly not a trick out of Uther's handbook.
Arthur had avoided looking at him as he spoke, but Merlin had looked at Arthur. The king's words had been bold and confident, but as he sat back onto his throne, the warlock had caught a look of uncertainty flashing across his face. Whether it was because the king felt he could not trust the people he had just vouched for, or because he was navigating new waters, Merlin could not tell. Either way it was clearly desperation, and not compassion, that had driven him to speak. Without the threat of war at his doorstep, who knows what Uther's son might have decided to decree.
We might all be burning on the pyre already… He thought bitterly.
When their eyes had locked again, Merlin had fed his rage, allowing it to simmer at the surface. He had been determined not to show any weakness, he would not break first. Arthur had looked back at him for a long moment, his pale fingers gripping tightly against the arms of his throne. Merlin could not tell if this was from discomfort, or anger.
Something had shuttered then in the king's expression, and at once the tether between them had snapped. Arthur had turned his attention back to the room at large, looking past Merlin as though he weren't even there.
Reeling, overwhelmed, and caught up in his wave of anger and pettiness, Merlin had made a show of keeping a wide berth of Arthur as he had walked past, trailing behind him at an exaggerated distance out of the hall.
Wulf had settled into step beside him as they were led to their chambers. The large man had glanced sharp eyes over at his leader.
"That went well" the druid murmured gruffly as they walked.
"Yes" Merlin had replied, his eyes fixed on the back of the king's head in front of them. A small frown had creased his brow as he stared, longing to know what thoughts were circling beneath that golden crown.
,./,./,.
It is Brann who answers to the knock at their door, revealing Gwaine and Percival. The pair crane their heads into the room, seeking Merlin out and grinning when they see him.
"Fancy a tour, Merlin?" Percival asks.
The warlock raises an eyebrow. "Do you think I've already forgotten my way around?" he replies, cocking his head playfully.
Percival chuckles, but it is Gwaine who responds.
"The king has asked you to join him on the battlements." The knight explains, "so that you can discuss fortifications, and any other measures we might take for protection."
Merlin's good humour at seeing his friends fades a little. Clearing his throat he stands, steeling himself for more time in Arthur's company. He looks over to Brann and Wulf, signalling for them to join. Eoghan was passed out behind them, snoring loudly. His worry for Aethel has been exhausting him, and Merlin doesn't want to disturb his rest.
"Fetch Rosalin and Hayether, we will need their expertise."
Brann nods and heads through to the other room, knocking softly and announcing himself before entering. After a moment the two women emerge, cloaks in hand, along with Moira, who leans up to place a kiss on Brann's cheek.
Merlin shoots a crooked grin at the waiting knights.
"Lead the way."
,./,./,.
It has been useful, Merlin has to admit, to see what defences were in place. The battlement walkways were stacked with ballasts, and barrels full of pitch had been placed every few metres. Down below, the warlock can see where stakes have been pinioned into the castle walls at increasing heights. Hundreds more of the wooden spikes are lancing out of the ground menacingly, forming an extra hurdle of defences. Merlin can see the arrow tips of poised guards glinting through the slitted windows of the barbican, ready to strike at a moment's notice. All around them soldiers are bustling to-and-fro, shouting orders and warnings to each other as they hoist things up and down the walls on pulleys.
"We are trying to fortify the walls as best we can" Leon explains as they walk along. "They are not as strong as those at the keep, but with the number of people we have within the walls, we will need them to hold for as long as possible."
Merlin nods as the knight speaks, looking down from the parapet to observe the slow-moving crowds beneath them. The city is heaving. If Morgana's soldiers break through their defences, it will be a slaughter.
"Where will they go, to take shelter?" Brann asks, also eyeing the crowds.
Leon pauses, glancing at Arthur. "We are still deciding on the best course of action. We only have so much space."
"We have considered the catacombs" the king adds, "But they are unstable, and the only entrance we can access collapsed years ago."
"All the more reason to shore up the external defences" Merlin says, considering their options as he continues to look around, avoiding meeting Arthur's gaze as it moves to him.
Gesturing to Rosalin and Hayether, the warlock encourages them over with a smile.
"Rosalin is one of our most strategic magical fighters, and Hayether is a skilled charm weaver" he explains, introducing the women to the Camelot men. Rosalin puffs up at the praise from her leader, shooting Merlin an honoured glance.
"What would you suggest?" he asks the druids as they step up.
"We can enhance the walls with strengthening charms" Hayether says, as she leans over to look down the battlements. "Shields too" she adds, "to help protect it against magical bombardments."
"If Morgana has an army of sorcerers on her side, she will have protections of her own in place" Rosalin adds. "It would be wise to enhance as many of your weapons as we can. If our enemy intends to raise magical shields, then we will need arrows that can pierce them."
Arthur blinks, clearly not having considered any of this. Beside him Gwaine and Percival are nodding seriously.
"Well, that sounds like a strong place to start" the king says, offering a small smile to the two women.
"Leon" Merlin turns to the blonde knight. "Perhaps you could continue to show Rosalin and Hayether around the rest of the defences. Once they have the lay-of-the-land they can get to work. I will send others to assist them."
Nodding, and gesturing kindly for the two women to follow, Leon continues along the wall, listening intently as the druids begin to offer more suggestions.
Merlin can feel Arthur watching him as he turns to Wulf and Brann, his mind racing with all that needs doing.
"See if you can find any free space to train" he says to Brann, "it might be beneficial for Camelot's warriors to gain some experience with magic in combat before they have to face the real thing."
Brann nods and makes to move off. Wulf hesitates for a beat longer, glancing between Merlin and Arthur. Merlin understands his reluctance; connected as they are, Wulf has felt some of the pain that lingers between the two men.
All is well… Merlin casts out to his companion's mind, easing his worry. The dark-haired man tips his head, sending back a gentle nudge with his own magic.
"You should go with them" Arthur says to Percival and Gwaine, "See if there are any more storage rooms we can clear to make space".
The four men leave, and for the first time in months Merlin is alone with Arthur – or as alone as two people can be on a parapet heaving with soldiers. He crosses to the edge of the battlements, looking out over the kingdom and the tell-tale trails of Morgana's approaching army. Arthur moves to stand at his side, leaning on strong forearms against the wall.
Neither of them speaks. The distance between them is palpable. To Merlin it almost feels as though their relationship is frozen in time; paused on that moment outside Camelot's walls where Arthur had turned his back and walked away. The warlock's eyes trace over the landscape, finding the spot.
It feels like a lifetime has passed since that day. Merlin knows that he himself has changed, and Gwaine had tried to persuade him that Arthur had too. The king's words in the great hall would seem to suggest that - but then again, that could have just been politics. It was an odd sensation, to be so unsure around Arthur. Merlin had always found the king so easy to predict. Now, however, the other man feels unknown to him.
There is so much that needs to be said, but Merlin knows he cannot bear to face it now. He draws in a fortifying breath as his nerves return, trying to keep as focused to his task as possible. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Arthur opening his mouth to break the silence, and cuts in ahead of him. He will fare better if he can stay in control of the conversation.
"There are also talented healers among our number" he says, clearing his throat. "As skilled as Gaius is, I am sure he will appreciate their help once the battle starts."
There will be so many to help, he thinks to himself. In truth, he had not expected the city to be as full as it is, and the scale of what was at stake is beginning to sink in. There are so many lives at risk, and the warlock cannot help but to feel responsible for all of them. He grips the cold stone of the wall in front of him, trying not to let the rising surge of panic overwhelm him.
Arthur finally speaks; "I am sure that Gaius will gladly accept any help that you offer him." He says simply.
The blonde moves to face Merlin fully, and the warlock reluctantly follows suit, dragging his gaze to the other man's face. The dark circles under Arthur's eyes are more apparent in the daylight, and Merlin can see a light dusting of stubble on the king's cheek. Absently, Merlin wonders if Arthur has found a replacement servant since he left. He would never have allowed him to go so long without shaving. It had always been a task that he had enjoyed; close and intimate. Latterly, Merlin had taken to straddling the king's lap as he went about his work, relishing the feeling of strong hands at his hips, holding him in place.
Arthur clears his throat and Merlin snaps back to the present.
"I thought you would want to know that your mother arrived last week from Ealdor." Arthur says.
"She is quite well" he assures gently, noticing in Merlin's expression some of the alarm that he is feeling. Of course, his mother had been rendered homeless; he had seen her escape the fires himself. He feels guilty - with everything that had happened, he had not had time to check on her. Merlin looks at Arthur earnestly, all thoughts on Hunith as he waits for him to continue.
"We have lodged her with Gaius, in your – in the spare bedroom in his chambers. I thought she would be the most comfortable there" the king finishes, shrugging a broad shoulder awkwardly.
Merlin finds himself temporarily lost for words. For the second time that day, Arthur had surprised him. Despite everything that had happened, he had gone out of his way to show Merlin's mother kindness.
Perhaps Gwaine is right…
"Thank you" he chokes out, realising how truly he means it. "That means a great deal."
Arthur offers him a tight-lipped smile, and silence falls between them again. Merlin is overwhelmed with the urge to run to his mother and seek out the comfort of being near her. He wants to see Gaius, too, and tell him about everything he has learned with Brigit.
Something gives him pause, however; something that Arthur had mentioned about the catacombs. Merlin knows somewhere for the civilians to hide during the fight; the perfect place, even. He knows that sharing it will mean introducing Arthur to even more of the magical side of himself, and the thought worries him. The king may be acting sympathetically now, but how many more secrets can he bear before it becomes too much?
He cannot in good conscience keep the knowledge to himself though, not with so many lives at stake. Camelot's needs are greater than his own.
Chancing a glance over at Arthur, Merlin takes his shot.
"I – uh. I may have a solution to your catacomb problem."
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