Summary

In the aftermath of a devastating attack, Merlin and Gwen grapple with Arthur's mysterious abduction and its dire implications.

Chapter 54 Where Shadows Fell

"Come on, Gwen," Merlin pleaded, his voice quavering in the eerie stillness of the glade. His magic probed Gwen's motionless form, an ethereal current seeking out hidden injuries beyond the vicious dagger wound he'd just healed. The heavy metallic scent of her spilled blood mingled with the acrid stench of spent sorcery and smoke in his nostrils turned his stomach.

A trembling hand swiped at tears tracing thin, silvery veins freshly scarred on his cheek, the pain flaring at his touch. Wisps of smoke still clung to his singed clothes, a haunting reminder of his near-demise. Merlin's frantic gaze darted between Gwen's alarmingly pale face and the devastation surrounding them, his heart torn between immediate concern, growing terror, and heart-wrenching guilt.

"Arthur!" The name tore from his throat, a desperate plea that seemed to hang in the unnaturally still air of the forest. Each passing moment of silence felt like an eternity, Merlin's hope crumbling into a pit of gnawing dread. He should have returned sooner, should have prevented this nightmare.

His chest tightened as memories of the attack assaulted him, moisture welling in his eyes: the fierce battle against two assailants, a salvo of magical energy exchanged between them, his magical barrier protecting Arthur and Gwen. Then came the inferno, his own shield too late, death's fiery embrace quickly closing in. With his consciousness waning, he'd gasped "Dragon Mount," and found himself atop the distant peak, disoriented and wracked in agony.

Where his clothes had burned away—sleeves, patches of his tunic and linen shirt beneath, parts of his trouser legs—the exposed skin was ablaze with searing pain. His face felt raw, and the pungent scent of singed hair had filled his nostrils. How long had it taken to heal himself? How long had he actually been gone? Seconds? Minutes? Much longer? It felt both fleeting and eternal.

Now, as he channeled his arcane power to help Gwen, remorse ate away at his conscience. He should have found a way back sooner, should have been here to protect them to the end. Perhaps, he would have prevented this, kept Arthur from being abducted. Perhaps, he—

Merlin froze, pulling back from tending Gwen, stunned. There was something else wrong with her – an unfamiliar energy humming softly at the edge of his awareness—a faint ethereal signature he couldn't quite place. Then, in a rush of understanding, his eyes widened as they traveled over Gwen's unmoving form, something warm and unexpected gripping his heart, his vision blurred with even more tears.

With a trembling hand, he placed it on Gwen's forehead, checking once again for the steady thrum of life. Releasing a calming breath when he found it, he gently clasped her hand.

"Gwen," he called softly, his voice raw from the intense spellcasting and smoke he had inhaled, magical exhaustion creeping up on him like a heavy fog. "Gwen, can you hear me?"

His gaze found the angry slash on her bodice, blood staining a wide swath, before drifting to her belly. He choked back his sob, the halo of wildflowers about Gwen's prone body and the soft gurgle of the stream seeming to mock the grim scene around him. Lamenting his delayed return to the glade, the question "Why didn't I come back sooner?" echoed in his mind.

A faint twitch of Gwen's fingers in his grasp sparked hope in Merlin's chest, halting his spiraling thoughts. He forced back his tears, injecting optimism into his voice. "Come on, Gwen. That's it."

A low moan escaped her lips as her eyelids began to flutter. Her free hand subconsciously covered where the dagger had wounded her, then came to a rest atop her belly. Merlin leaned closer, his heartbeat loud in his ears. "It's alright, Gwen. I'm here."

Slowly, her eyes opened, unfocused and pained. Gwen flinched against the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, prompting Merlin to shift his position to shield her from the brightness.

"M-Merlin…?" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, it's me," he said softly, squeezing her hand gently, relief flooding through him at the sound of her voice. "Your wound was deep, but I've healed the worst of it. You're safe now," he assured her, his voice catching slightly on the last words, the fragility of that safety all too apparent.

"You're… you're alive," she said softly, disbelief in every word.

Merlin's brow furrowed when he noticed Gwen's dilated pupils nearly eclipsing the brown of her irises. When he'd first returned to the glade, he'd found her several paces from the blankets, lying amid the wildflowers. At the time, he'd noted the distance but had been too focused on her immediate injuries to fully process its significance. Now, he realized the surprise of detecting the faint mystical signature had distracted him from completing a full assessment of her condition.

"You might have a concussion," he said, his voice tender with concern. "I found you—here, quite far from where I last saw you. Do you remember how you got here?"

A weak arm lifted to the back of her skull. "I was… pushed—tossed… across the glade with sorcery. Perhaps then… when I landed," Gwen said, her voice weak but gaining strength. "I thought… you were dead, Merlin. Arthur – where's Arthur?"

Merlin was already examining her head, magic tingling at his fingers roaming through her soft curls, probing for the injury. But his heart constricted at the dreaded question about Arthur, one he'd been asking himself. He remained silent, unable to find the words, the magnitude of Arthur's disappearance and his own shortcomings bearing down on him.

Gwen struggled to sit up, her gaze darting around the clearing before settling back on his face. Merlin saw her expression crumble, mirroring the sorrow he knew must be visible in his own features. "Where is he?" she demanded, her voice carrying a tremor of fear but underlaid with the steel of a monarch. Lucidity was returning to her eyes, bringing with it a flash of regal willpower.

Merlin's glance was pulled inexorably to the scars of recent battle that had unfolded in the glade: the lifeless guards in the stream stained a dark, murky red; scorched earth and splintered trees standing as mute witnesses to the violence. The magical residue of his arcane energy and their malevolent forces seemed to twist and writhe in the air, a clash between light and shadow that only he could detect. As the air thrummed with these residual vibrations, the words "I don't know" lodged in his throat – too final, too terrifying to voice.

He watched Gwen's eyes glisten as she absorbed the scene, her face a canvas of dawning horror. Arthur's absence gnawed at him like a physical ache, Merlin's gaze darting about too, searching in vain for a familiar glint of golden hair or flash of scarlet shirt.

Fighting his own rising panic, Merlin saw a glimpse of the queen Gwen had become in her expression that then hardened with sudden resolve. Before he could react, she gritted her teeth against the pain and lurched to her feet, one hand instinctively protecting her belly.

"Gwen!" he exclaimed, clearly alarmed as he supported her to prevent her falling.

"I may be injured," she said, struggling for balance, "but I am still Camelot's queen. And I will not rest while Arthur is in danger."

Merlin felt a surge of admiration for Gwen's strength, even as concern for her condition troubled him. He knew she shouldn't be moving so soon, but the fire in her eyes told him arguing would be futile. Gripping her shoulders, he met her determined gaze with all the reassurance he could muster.

"We'll bring him home, Gwen," he vowed hoarsely, pushing back the anguish threatening to choke him. The words felt hollow in the face of his failure, but he pressed on. "I swear it. Whatever it takes, we'll locate Arthur and bring him back to Camelot."

Even as he spoke, his determination flickered like a candle in a storm, constantly threatened by the overwhelming tide of despair. Gwen's regal bearing faltered too. Her shoulders sagged, and for the first time since awakening, tears spilled over. The queen's mask crumbled, revealing the frightened, grieving woman beneath.

"This can't be…" Gwen cried, her hands cupping her cheek as if to hold herself together.

Merlin's heart constricted with shared sorrow as he folded Gwen into his arms. He had failed her, failed Arthur, failed Camelot. This was his burden to bear, his fault. Even with their scant security, he should have been able to outmaneuver the attackers.

The enormity of his mistake drew his own silent tears. His ethereal magic, the very power that should have protected them all, had faltered when it mattered most. The irony of his immense abilities and utter helplessness carved a gaping wound in his chest. He tightened his embrace around Gwen, holding his distraught friend as deeply as she held him.

Since returning to the glade, Merlin had reached out with his inner eye searching for any trace of Arthur's life force, desperate for any sign of hope. But each time, a baleful energy lingering in the area pushed against his magic, obscuring his mystical sight. Was Arthur's bright flame already extinguished by merciless hands? Did the light and heart of Camelot teeter on the precipice of a hopeless abyss? Was he gone forever, leaving them bereft of his strength?

Gwen's sobs muffled against his shoulder. "If Arthur is…" She choked on her words, then seemed to force herself to continue. "He's my heart, Merlin. How can one live without a heart?"

Merlin hushed her softly, tightening his embrace. Their bodies trembled in unison, fear and grief intertwining. "We haven't lost him, Gwen," he whispered, willing himself to believe it.

Gwen shook her head, gulping in air, shivering uncontrollably. Merlin pulled back and stared into her red-rimmed eyes, his heart aching at the pain he saw there. He knew he needed answers, but he also recognized the depth of Gwen's anguish.

"Gwen," he began gently, his voice filled with compassion, "I know this is difficult, and I'm so sorry to ask this of you now. But I need to understand what happened after I vanished. It might help us find Arthur. Did the attackers speak? Say anything at all?"

A cool breeze swept through the King's Wood, temporarily soothing his prickling skin. Merlin waited as Gwen composed herself with visible effort, her fingers trembling while smoothing the folds of her skirt. Even in this moment of despair, a queen's instinct for dignity seemed to assert itself.

"It was Mordred," she breathed, her voice firm despite her earlier shivers.

Merlin felt a chill creep through him at the name. Mordred—the druid boy he'd once saved, now turned enemy. The price of past decisions, both Arthur's actions against the druids and Merlin's own choices regarding Mordred, was now paid in blood. His mind raced, recalling prophecies and warnings he'd long tried to ignore concerning the boy, Kilgharrah's voice resounding clearly in his mind. Those unheeded warnings now loomed over him like a suffocating shroud.

"He stabbed me," Gwen continued, her hands pressing against her middle. "I… I begged him not to…"

Merlin's eyes slipped to Gwen's belly, the faint magical signature he'd sensed earlier suddenly clear as day. More than just Gwen had been on the brink of death when he returned to the glade. The legacy of Arthur had been but a flicker, but it lived. Gwen lived. It was a bittersweet hope in the face of overwhelming loss, but hope nonetheless. They could endure in Arthur's stead – they must.

Merlin studied Gwen's face, wondering if she was aware of the precious life she carried. The tender caresses of her abdomen he now recalled her doing these past few weeks told him she did. He pushed the thoughts aside for now, focusing on the immediate crisis as Gwen went on.

"I didn't recognize the other man," she recounted, "but he said that Arthur 'must pay for his crimes' against their kind. Merlin, if they wanted him dead, wouldn't he be…here? What do you suppose that sorcerer meant?"

"They wanted him for something else," Merlin stated with finality, his voice hollow with dread.

Few knew that Mordred was destined to be Arthur's bane, to slay the Once and Future King. And now, Arthur was in his grasp. Horrible scenarios invaded Merlin's thoughts, manifesting into a chill that penetrated to his very core. His mind raced to the three pieces of jewelry Mordred had stolen—artifacts whose functions he and Galahad had been unable to discern. Could these mysterious trinkets somehow be connected to Arthur "paying for his crimes"?

As this realization settled over him, deepening his dread, Merlin noticed Gwen's teary glance piercing him. Before he could react, her knees buckled. Quickly catching her, Merlin pulled her into a comforting embrace. They were not subject and queen in this moment, but friends linked by a source of great strength that had been snatched from them. After a few short moments of her weeping and his gentle rocking, Gwen silenced her shuddering sobs and withdrew.

He watched her wrestle her trembling into submission, the queen emerging once again, her grief momentarily masked by the steel of royal resolve. She fixed him with a fierce glare, then softened with compassion upon seeing the pain in his expression. He ached for Arthur too, his hope splintered like brittle wood.

Merlin floundered in a sea of unforeseen failures, but this one – this failure where shadows fell beyond his reckoning – weighed heaviest of all. The mantle of Court Wizard had never felt more burdensome, his vast ancient power rendered impotent in the face of this crisis. His shoulders sagged under his guilt, his features haunted by what-ifs and could-have-beens. He worried his lower lip, his face a canvas of shame and utter loss.

Unable to contain his anguish any longer, Merlin gazed at Gwen, his eyes brimming with tears. "Forgive me for not protecting you both," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The flames, his flight, his wounds—all of it had caught him off guard. Now Arthur was gone, and Gwen bore the scars of his miscalculation. "I failed," he concluded, the words heavy with self-reproach.

Gwen's hand found his, her grip firm despite her own ordeal. "I hold no fault with you, Merlin – truly. I know if you could have, you would have saved Arthur. I failed him, too," she confessed.

As they regarded each other, Merlin saw his own anguish mirrored in Gwen's expression, a wordless understanding passing between them. This shared trauma would forever bind them, a sorrow only they could fully comprehend. And yet, beyond their personal grief, a greater concern loomed. Albion – Arthur's vision of a unified kingdom – had not yet appeared on the horizon, but now appeared to flicker and fade. Merlin trusted in Gwen's ability to lead Camelot, but could Albion rise without Arthur? Could they bear to see Arthur's hopes for a united kingdom vanish, leaving only whispers of what might have been?

No, Merlin thought, resolve crystallizing within him. The world would not halt for them, no matter how crushing the loss of their king. He would scour the earth for Arthur, bending every law of the supernatural if necessary to bring him home. Arthur must be found, not just for their sakes, but for the future of Albion. Only he could turn that fragile spark of unity into a blazing reality.

But Merlin could sense the residual tendrils of dark energy in the air, an oily residue that clung to his magical senses. His magic stirred in response, a restless current beneath his skin. His power was formidable too, as was that of his allies, and for a moment, darker thoughts consumed him. He envisioned channeling that combined might, unleashing a force that would make Mordred rue the day he dared touch Arthur. With jaw clenched and eyes hardening with a cold thirst, his suppressed rage seemed to urge him towards vengeance, to make Mordred pay dearly for this transgression.

A horse's whinny cut through his spiraling notions like a blade, jerking Merlin back from the edge of his darker impulses. He blinked, momentarily disoriented as the woods came back into focus. The bitter taste of vengeance lingered in his mouth, and he swallowed hard, forcing it down. Merlin took several steadying breaths, grateful that Gwen seemed not to have noticed his brief descent into darkness. Slowly, he willed his features to compose themselves, to appear outwardly calm despite the turmoil still roiling within. Only then did he scan the glade, searching for their mounts and those of the fallen guards. As his gaze settled on the horses peacefully grazing nearby, the very opposite of the chaos in his heart, he pointed to them wordlessly, feigning normalcy.

Gwen nodded, her voice taut as a bowstring. "We must alert the knights and begin our search at once."

She was right. Every moment counted if they hoped to pick up a trail, mystical or otherwise. Gwen gathered her skirts, the fabric whispering against the crushed grass as she strode toward her white mare. Merlin hurried to match her swift gait, his senses still on high alert despite the peaceful scene around them. He kept a watchful eye on Gwen, noting her determination but also the subtle signs of strain in her movements.

As they walked, Gwen pressed her fingers against a temple, her face contorted with confusion and pain. "Merlin, I thought you were dead," she murmured. Noticing a slight imbalance in her gait, Merlin reached out and clasped her arm. "How ever did you escape from the flames?" she asked, leaning on him for support.

"Ethereal energy – teleported away," he replied, his voice hollow as a dry well, the words bitter on his tongue. The memory of the spell flashed through his mind – the rush of power, the world blurring around him like watercolors in rain, the sickening lurch as he reappeared on Dragon Mount – the pain. "I didn't entirely escape them though."

Merlin felt Gwen's scrutinizing gaze upon him, her eyes widening as if truly seeing him for the first time since the attack. He was acutely aware of his appearance: his clothes in tatters, bearing scorch marks and gaping holes. Patches of angry red flesh remained visible, particularly on his forearms and along his sides.

As Gwen's eyes traveled to his face, he resisted the urge to touch the thin silvery scars that he knew snaked up his left cheek, ending just below his eye – a fearful reminder of how close he'd come to losing his sight. His hair was noticeably shorter on one side where the flames had licked at him during the attack.

"Your wounds," she asked, her voice a soft whisper, "why haven't you healed them completely?"

"I've mended what mattered," he replied tightly, though warmed by Gwen's concern. "But I left these... as a reminder. Of my failure, and what's at stake." Merlin's fingers brushed the scars on his cheek, his expression somber. The irony of being one of the most powerful sorcerers alive, yet unable to prevent this tragedy, cut deeper than any flame.

She glanced ahead, her look as distant as his. "I understand. My pain will last forever if Arthur was truly lost."

Merlin nodded solemnly, her words echoing the ache in his own heart. For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of grass beneath their feet as they walked. Then, unable to contain the torrent of guilt any longer, Merlin broke the silence.

"Why wasn't I faster?" he lamented, eyes cast down to the trampled grass. "Why didn't I return sooner?" His free hand flexed at his side, his mystical forces churning beneath his skin like a restless sea, yearning to be unleashed, to change what had already come to pass. If only he'd trusted his instincts, pushed his powers further...

Gwen trembled under the steadying grasp of his other hand, compassion and relief etched on her features. She paused, then embraced him, her touch gentle. "It's a great comfort I have not lost you too, Merlin," she whispered. For a heartbeat, he allowed himself to be comforted by her embrace, to draw strength from his friend. When she drew back, her expression hardened with fresh purpose. "What's done is done. We must move forward no matter how treacherous the path."

Her gaze softened as she looked at him again. "But Merlin, you must heal yourself completely now. And... your clothes. The people of Camelot cannot see us like this. They need hope, not fear."

The wisdom in her words pierced through Merlin's self-recrimination, silencing the torrent of guilt that raged within him. He nodded, and with a deep breath, he summoned his magic, feeling it wash over him like a soothing balm. The scars on his face faded, his skin knitting itself back together, and his clothes mended themselves, erasing all signs of the attack and his physical pains.

Then, with Gwen's permission, he turned his magic to her. The tear in her bodice sealed itself, the blood stains vanished, and her hair smoothed back into its usual regal style. The dirt and grass stains on her face and dress disappeared – even the small bump on the back of her skull finished mending.

"Well done," Gwen said, smoothing her now-immaculate dress, a sad smile emerging but for a few moments.

As they continued toward the horses, Merlin saw Gwen's eyes skitter away from the remnants of her ill-fated picnic, settling on the fallen soldiers still splayed in the water. Her gaze then darted to a random tree not too far away, her brow furrowing deeply.

Merlin, outwardly restored but inwardly still raw, noted her unease, sensing her desire to flee this place of sorrow, but both of them remained silent as they neared the closest horse. Despite Gwen's bolstered resolve, his heightened magical senses could detect her inner turmoil, waves of despair and determination radiating from her in turn. The urge to soothe her pain with his magic rose unbidden, but he reined it in, knowing there was no true balm for her suffering until Arthur was found.

Suddenly, a flicker of magic caught Merlin's attention – faint but undeniable. His mystical senses focused on Gwen, detecting the unmistakable pulse of new life intertwined with her own essence. The unborn child's nascent power resonated with his own, a subtle harmony that left him momentarily breathless. Did Gwen have any idea of the gifts her baby might possess?

Merlin wrestled with the revelation, torn between sharing this miraculous discovery and protecting Gwen from additional stress. The knowledge of her child's magical potential could offer hope, but it might also overwhelm her in this moment of crisis. With Arthur missing and Albion in peril, was this the right time to burden her with such weighty information?

"Gwen, wait," he said, his fingers light on her arm, deciding in fairness to address the immediate concern – his awareness of her secret.

She halted, exasperation coloring her voice. "What is it? We must hurry, Merlin."

He swallowed, his stare penetrating as he searched for the right words. "I think you should know: when I healed you," he began gently, treading cautiously, "I sensed something… within you…."

Merlin watched as realization bloomed on her face. She inhaled sharply, a quivering hand moving reflexively to her middle, a gesture that resonated with newfound significance. The faint, flickering essence he'd detected earlier now pulsed with renewed vigor, a tiny beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf its mother.

"Merlin, just tell me," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

He gently grasped her shoulders, his touch an anchor in the storm of her emotions. "He's all right," Merlin said softly. "Your baby."

As he spoke the words, Merlin felt a surge of protective power well up within him, a tingling warmth spreading from his core to his fingertips impulsively wanting to reach out to envelop both Gwen and her unborn child in an invisible shield.

She caught her breath as tears carved glistening paths down her smudged cheeks. "He… he…? A son? I knew it." Gwen sank to her knees, the revelation overwhelming her.

Merlin lowered himself beside her, a bittersweet smile ghosting across his features despite his own anguish. He gently enveloped her trembling hands in his, offering what solace he could in this poignant moment.

"A son for Arthur." Gwen's voice trembled when she spoke again. "A son he may never see… a child who may never know his father."

Merlin's heart fractured for her, for Arthur, for the kingdom, a sharp ache spreading in his chest. "Does Arthur know?" he asked gently, dreading either answer.

Gwen shook her head, swallowing hard, fresh tears tracing glistening paths down her cheeks. Her focus remained fixed on her lap, her fingers intertwining restlessly. "No. I chose to wait. I wanted to be certain nothing would go awry. You know – Morgana's curse."

Merlin's expression softened, but his words resonated with unwavering conviction. "Morgana has no magic, Gwen. No power. Please trust me – that curse was hollow. You can feel him alive and thriving inside you as surely as I can. And if need be, I'll weave protections around you and the child so potent that no corrupt magic could ever breach them."

He clasped her hands, smiling reassuringly. His gaze met hers, fierce and unyielding. "We'll find him. I swear it. Cling to hope, Gwen. You must."

She nodded. "I shall," she affirmed, her spine straightening despite their kneeling position. "For Arthur's sake. I will not falter, nor will his kingdom. He entrusted me as his queen. I won't fail him, Merlin. I can't."

Merlin felt a wave of admiration watching Gwen compose herself, marveling at her innate nobility shining through even in this darkest hour. A small, proud smile tugged at his lips as he regarded her. Her resilience and unwavering commitment to her people and to Arthur struck him anew, reminding him why she was the perfect choice as queen – not just for Arthur, but for all of Camelot. After another heartbeat's pause, he gently coaxed her to her feet.

Gwen's gaze settled on the fallen guards once again. "We can't leave them here," she said, her voice laden with emotion but resolute. "They gave their lives protecting us. Can you... can you do something for them, Merlin?"

Merlin nodded solemnly. With a fluid wave of his hand and a whispered incantation, he gently lifted the bodies from the stream. Water cascaded off them as they floated to the shore.

"Wrap them in these, Merlin," Gwen said softly, moving to separate the furs on the picnic site.

As he carefully covered each guard, Gwen reverently stepped beside him holding their horses' reins in her grip. "We'll bring them back to Camelot," she declared. "They deserve to be returned to their families and buried with honor."

He finished his task, and with a shared glance of grim determination, Merlin helped Gwen mount her horse before mounting his own. The leather of the saddle creaked beneath him, the familiar scent of horse and sweat grounding him in the moment. He cast one final, haunting look at the scene of their attack. His failures lay bare before him – the fallen guards, the signs of struggle, the lingering tendrils of dark sorcery that seemed to twist the very air. Whatever malevolent forces had ensnared Arthur, he would counter it with the full force of his own primal abilities.

The shadows had fallen, and Merlin's arcane power burned within him like a living flame, a conflagration that would not merely guide him to Arthur, but scorch a path through any obstacle in his way. As they urged their horses forward, leaving behind the glade of sorrow, Merlin felt his purpose solidify, an unbreakable core forming within him. His magic surged through him, a tidal wave of raw power ready to reshape destiny itself. Yet alongside this force, he sensed his buried darkness stirring, a willingness to cross lines he'd long kept at bay. Hope, no longer a faint flicker but a blazing beacon, fueled this complex amalgam of light and shadow within him. He would find Arthur, protect Gwen and their unborn child, and forge the future they had all dreamed of – no matter the cost, no matter how dark the path.