The Passions of Pendragons

by Doberler

As Arthur and Merlin amend the laws easing the use of magic, opposition erupts from both nobles and commoners. While the king, queen, and knights prepare for the Golden Age, Dodd-Killian and Mordred plot revenge against them all even as a new threat rises from Escetir. Can Merlin and Arthur avoid a civil conflict and war with Lot before Dodd-Killian and Mordred strike against them?

61. Unbound

Summary

As Merlin prepares to search for Arthur, an unexpected magical crisis demands his attention.

Chapter 61 Unbound

Merlin stared at his reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the man who gazed back. The high-collared obsidian cloak fell to his knees like liquid shadow, its edges trimmed with subtle arcane symbols that seemed to shift in the candlelight. Three silver clasps, each bearing the mark of the Old Religion, secured the fitted tunic beneath. At his throat hung Arthur's gift from his appointment as Court Magician—a dragon pendant wrought in ancient silver and onyx, its wings spread in eternal flight, ruby eyes gleaming against the dark metal. He'd kept it stored away, uncomfortable with such a fine token of his friend's esteem. Now it felt right to wear it.

His sullen eyes traced the lines of the wardrobe he'd spent hours in the night transforming, his magic responding to his grief and determination by threading darkness through every fiber. Gone were the fine crimson tunic and silk scarf of his court attire. In their place, supple black leather bracers protected his forearms, etched with protective runes. A single belt of darkened leather crossed his waist, bearing only essential items: a dagger in an obsidian sheath, gloves, and a small pouch containing crystals he'd enchanted for tracking Arthur. The ensemble was a deliberate choice, dark fabric that matched his current state of mind and newfound embrace of his true nature. Where once he'd practiced restraint at every turn, now his magic surged freely through every gesture, every breath, every appearance.

The dragon pendant caught his gaze, its ruby eyes seeming to hold secrets older than time. Yesterday's secrets pressed upon his chest like a lodestone—such a monumental yet sorrowful revelation that had not been his to know. He'd sensed it in the glade – Arthur and Gwen's unborn heir, whose very existence would reshape Camelot's future. The child's nascent magic resonated with his own, a harmony that still left him breathless to contemplate. Like Arthur, whose magic manifested through Excalibur, this child possessed power in his blood—whether inherited or somehow imbued during conception, Merlin wasn't certain. But unlike his father's channeled abilities, the prince's magic seemed raw and unfettered. Would the king and queen understand what this meant for their child? For the kingdom?

Merlin's thoughts turned to Galahad, wondering if his mentor's gift for seeing magical auras had already revealed this secret to him. That delicate knowledge would have to be broached with him and Gwen—the responsibility of potentially mentoring a magical prince settled like another shadow across Merlin's shoulders.

Turning from his reflection, he adjusted the dagger at his hip and crossed to the dining table, each step across the polished stone floor echoing strangely in his ears. As was now customary, a servant had already left water and a small breakfast—fresh bread, cheese, and spiced apples on a silver tray. Such consideration still surprised him.

He ate standing up, starting with the cheese and bread, missing the simple things of his old life, these chambers still feeling foreign despite the lavish furnishings he'd helped transform. As his eyes swept the space befitting his station, Merlin realized there was nothing simple about these quarters. Three tall windows dominated the outer wall, overlooking the familiar rooftops of the upper town, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves he'd filled with ancient tomes and scrolls in the spaces between them. Their carefully arranged volumes now shared space with crystals and artifacts he used for his research.

His workbench stretched beneath the center window, its surface cluttered with mortars, vials, and ingredients for spellcraft. A massive hearth occupied one side wall, where a copper kettle hung ready above the flames. Before it sat a pair of high-backed chairs, a small table between them bearing goblets on another silver platter.

The servants' arch lay in the inner wall, and to its left stood his four-post bed and an armoire of darkened oak. Ornate tapestries lined the remaining wall spaces, their faded scenes of dragons and ancient battles now holding new meaning for him. Still, Merlin wasn't sure he could ever get used to his new setting.

His gaze landed on his crimson tunic draped across his bed, Gwen's gift now a reminder of his failure. The color of loyalty, of Camelot's heart, of Arthur... No. He wouldn't wear the kingdom's colors again, not until he brought their king home.

Merlin selected the spiced apples next, their sharp warmth exciting his tongue as his magic stirred restlessly beneath his skin, responding to his darkening thoughts. Yesterday's council meeting still burned in his mind—Gwaine, the preparations with Ranulf afterwards, the strategic sessions with Percival and the commanders, mapping out search parties and patrol routes. As he'd crafted his wardrobe through the night, responsibilities had tumbled through his mind like sparks from a restless flame.

His chewing slowed, a hand scrubbing his forehead. Soon they would begin their search for Arthur in earnest, and other duties would have to wait: an overdue visit with the dragons, the research with Galahad into those three stolen artifacts that now seemed ominously connected to Arthur's disappearance, the preparations for the sorcerers' council that could reshape magic's place in Camelot. He reached for the goblet of water, determined to balance it all as a knock echoed through the room.

"Enter," he called, expecting Ranulf's cheerful greeting.

The door creaked open to reveal Gwaine and a pretty lady with dark hair. He recognized Lord Badawi's daughter instantly, his eyes flicking beyond them and wondering where might her servants be—this woman never traveled without her escorts. He also couldn't help but stare at her, the quiet dignity in her bearing spoke of someone carrying a heavy burden, and her unaccompanied presence suggesting something more urgent, more private.

"Hi, Merlin," Gwaine said, the knight's usual swagger subdued, only his eyes showing surprise as he took in Merlin from head to toe.

For a moment, Merlin almost forgot their quarrel, thrown by the unexpected sight of these two together—one of Arthur's most loyal knights and the daughter of an accused traitor. But then...

He blinked as the echo of Gwaine's accusations from yesterday rang in his ears: You're supposed to be this great wizard and If that's the best you can do, then Camelot is already lost. And the cruel jab about Balinor that made him see red and strike at Gwaine. That hadn't been just about failing. It was about having all this power, yet being helpless as his father bled out in his arms. Just as he'd been helpless to protect Arthur and Gwen. Merlin set the goblet down, untouched.

"Gwaine." His voice held all the warmth of a morning frost. He couldn't help that either.

Lady Yaminah's hazel eyes, dramatically outlined in black, darted between them like a sparrow caught between two circling hawks. Gwaine shifted his weight, his hand gesturing toward his companion with formality. "Um, may I introduce the Al-Sayyidah Yaminah Zahir of the Northern Plains."

Her curtsey carried the fluid grace of nobility, her silk dress rippling in shades of emerald and gold. Her accent, when she spoke, held the warmth of foreign shores. "Lord Merlin."

"My lady." Merlin inclined his head, shoulders rigid as a castle wall. "Call me Merlin. Please come in."

Grasping the pendant around her neck, she glanced at Gwaine before stepping into the chamber. Gwaine cleared his throat, closing the door behind them. "Right. Well. About yesterday, Merlin—"

"Why you're here?" Merlin turned away, heat rising at the nape of his neck as he crossed to the bookshelf behind him, his eyes searching the bindings for anything, though the words blurred together. "I assume this isn't a social call."

"No." Gwaine's boots scuffed against the floor. "No, it's not. But I'm sorry. About what I said. You didn't deserve—"

"No, I didn't." Merlin bit out. He grabbed a nondescript book from the shelf before facing his friend again. "You knew exactly where to strike, didn't you? Bringing up my father—" His voice cracked, magic stirring beneath his skin like a brewing storm.

"It was unfair," Gwaine admitted. "I crossed a line I never should have. The words just... came out."

Merlin knew Gwaine's bitter words had been born of fear, anger, and fatigue. Now, seeing the genuine remorse in Gwaine's eyes touched him, caught him off guard. Remembering the years of their friendship, he closed the book, set it back on the shelf. The silence returned, but something in it had shifted, like the first crack in winter ice.

Lady Yaminah's fingers found the diamond pendant at her throat—a gesture Merlin had noticed her repeat several times now. "Actually," she stepped forward, a slight tremor in her voice, "I'm the reason for this visit. We—I need your help, Lord Merlin."

Merlin shook his head. "Just Merlin, my lady. I'm still a servant at heart."

"A servant who wears black now," Gwaine observed, a hint of his old humor returning. "Very imposing. Very mysterious sorcerer-esque. Though I preferred the neckerchiefs myself."

Despite everything, Merlin felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "The neckerchiefs didn't exactly command respect at council meetings."

"No, but they had character." Gwaine's smile faded as quickly as it appeared, his eyes finding the lady.

Lady Yaminah drew a steadying breath. "My brother claims I have magic," she began softly. "He says our father bound our powers when we were children. That this jewelry—" She gestured to the diamond at her throat. "That it's not just an heirloom but a prison."

Merlin's eyes widened. Of all the reasons he'd imagined for their visit, this hadn't crossed his mind—though it explained her arrival without servants. Such a revelation couldn't risk being overheard, not even by her most trusted attendants. Lord Badawi—the man who'd spent years denouncing sorcery as an affront to God—might have used magic himself to bind his own children? His gaze fixed on the diamond pendant, studying it with new understanding. He glanced at Gwaine, whose expression confirmed this wasn't news to him. "Your brother...?"

"Youssef," she replied as if it were painful to speak his name, her eyes downcast. "He now serves King Lot."

"That's not common knowledge," Gwaine added. "And we'd appreciate it if…"

Merlin nodded, letting the words settle, each one adding weight to an already impossible situation. Sir Youssef serving King Lot—that detail alone carried ominous implications given recent events with this family, but he filed that away for later consideration. Fear could indeed drive people to desperate acts—hadn't he seen it with Uther? With Morgana? How many others had hidden their magic, bound it, denied it out of terror?

Merlin nibbled on his thumbnail before he quickly tucked his hands under his arms. Knights were gathering for the search parties in the courtyard on the other side of the castle—men soon to be waiting for him. With the search barely begun, and now this... He rubbed his temples. "I don't suppose this could wait a few days?"

"She leaves for the Northern Plains soon," Gwaine said quietly. "And Merlin... she needs to know the truth. About herself. About what she might be capable of."

Merlin studied Lady Yaminah for a moment. "Magic isn't something to be tested lightly, my lady. Especially not now, with tensions in Camelot running high between the magical and non-magical communities."

"I understand the timing is... unfortunate," Lady Yaminah said. "But I cannot return home carrying this uncertainty. My father sits in your dungeons, my brother serves our enemy, and I—" Her voice caught. "I'm not sure I know who I am anymore."

"You're still you," Gwaine said softly, moving closer to her. "Magic or no magic."

The tenderness in Gwaine's voice made Merlin still, caught his attention. He'd never heard that tone from his friend before, and certainly hadn't expected it directed at the daughter of a traitor. The way Gwaine stood near her without quite touching, the subtle lean of her body toward his—there was a story here Merlin hadn't been told.

"Look," Gwaine continued, turning to Merlin, "I wouldn't ask this of you now. Not with Arthur—" He swallowed hard. "But if there's even a chance her father did this to her..."

"Like Gaius did to Morgana?" The words escaped before Merlin could stop them.

Lady Yaminah's brow creased. Gwaine questioned, "What?"

"Nothing." Merlin spun away, moving to put distance between them. "It's not the same situation."

"But it is, isn't it?" Gwaine pressed. "Keeping someone from their true nature, from knowing who they really are—how is that different?"

Merlin turned back, a sharp retort on his tongue, but stopped at the sight of Lady Yaminah's face. Fear warred with hope in her expression, reminding him painfully of another time, another person who'd discovered their magic too late. He'd failed Morgana, failed to help her understand and accept her gifts before fear and hatred poisoned her heart.

"Have you spoken to your father, my lady?" Merlin asked. "Perhaps…"

"How can I, my lord?" Her voice remained steady despite the tremor in her hands. "If Youssef speaks true, then every moment I spent in prayer, every teaching about magic being an affront to God—it was all built on my father's lies." She touched the pendant again, this time with purpose rather than nervous habit. "I cannot face him until I know who I am. What I am."

"May I see the pendant?" he asked finally.

Lady Yaminah's fingers trembled as she reached for the clasp at her nape. "I haven't removed it since my brother's accusations." She hesitated. "In truth, I've seldom taken it off except when necessary."

"May I?" Gwaine stepped behind her, his hands moving to help with the clasp. The simple gesture carried an intimacy that made Merlin look away. There was definitely more between them – a connection that both intrigued and concerned him, given the complexities of their situation.

Once freed, Merlin held out his palm and Lady Yaminah placed the pendant in it. She drew a sharp breath, one hand rising to her now-bare throat, but gave no other indication of discomfort. Merlin held it up, the diamond refracting the morning light in strange patterns across his chambers. It looked ordinary enough—a perfectly cut stone in an intricate gold setting—but as he turned it over, he noticed unusual markings etched into the metal backing. He squinted at the tiny script.

"There's something..." Merlin moved to his workbench, absently lighting the candles there with a wave of his hand as he retrieved a brass device from a drawer—two circular frames joined by sliding rings, each holding a curved glass lens. Setting the viewing device near their warm glow, he adjusted the rings until the lenses aligned at the proper distance. He held the pendant closer, studying the metal backing through the paired glasses. "They're in the Old Religion's tongue, but the dialect is... different. More ancient, perhaps." He glanced at Lady Yaminah. "How long has this been in your family?"

"Generations, or so my father claimed." She leaned closer, trying to see the markings. "Though now I wonder if that too was a lie."

Merlin rotated one of the brass rings, shifting the second lens closer to the first. The tiny markings sharpened into crisp lines. "There seems to be some truth to what your brother told you, at least in regards to the jewelry. These particular runes... they're more sophisticated than simple binding spells. The outer symbols form a complete circle, each with its own purpose—binding, sealing, containing. Look here." Gwaine and Lady Yaminah moved closer as he traced one delicate rune with a fine metal pin. "See how the lines flow into each other? Your magic isn't trapped or suppressed, it's... redirected. Back into itself, over and over. The craftsmanship is extraordinary, designed not to crush magic but to channel it back into itself, like a river forced to flow in circles. Whoever crafted this understood both the Old Religion and the nature of magic itself."

He looked to Lady Yaminah, but by her expression - the bottom lip she chewed – told Merlin these answers about the pendant's origins were as much a mystery to her as they were to him. Such sophisticated spellcraft suggested someone of great magical knowledge and power in her family's past – or someone they'd sought out. But those secrets, it appeared, were solely Lord Badawi's. Setting the pendant down, he spread a few more books across his workbench, flipping through pages, comparing symbols to those on the pendant. "As for the release..." He frowned at a particularly complex diagram.

"What is it?" Gwaine asked, tension threading his voice.

"The unbinding requires precision like I've not seen before." Merlin moved to another tome, older than the first. "One mistake and—" He caught himself, glancing at Lady Yaminah. "I don't think we should rush this, my lady. This is a very complex, very old spell. I need time to study it, perhaps with Sir Galahad's help…."

"Caution is wise, Lord Merlin," she said. "But what I need is your compassion, and the answers that I trust no one else can provide."

Merlin looked in her eyes, saw the same desperation he'd once recognized in Morgana—the need to understand, to know the truth of oneself. But this time he had a chance to do things differently. To help someone embrace their magic before fear and isolation could poison it.

"It's alright, Merlin," Gwaine said quietly. "We have faith in you."

Merlin's gaze fell to the pendant, remembering his own journey of discovery, though very different from hers. "Very well." He looked between them—the knight and the noblewoman, each placing trust he had yet to earn. "I just need to be certain of the sequence."

Lady Yaminah's shoulders relaxed slightly while Gwaine gave a slight nod, the ghost of his usual grin touching his lips. Merlin turned back to his books, acutely aware of their eyes on him as he worked. After several minutes of cross-referencing and memorization, he extracted a piece of chalk from the drawer.

"My lady, before we proceed, you should understand something. If this pendant has been containing your magic since childhood, removing the spell could be... overwhelming."

"Overwhelming how?" she asked, her hand finding Gwaine's arm.

"Imagine a river dammed for years suddenly breaking free." Merlin pushed aside a stack of books, making space on his workbench. "The power won't know how to flow properly at first. It could be dangerous."

"For her?" Alarm sharpened Gwaine's voice as he gently covered her hand with his.

"Yes, and anyone nearby." Merlin met Lady Yaminah's gaze directly. "Untamed magic can be volatile—windows could shatter, furniture could splinter, the very air could become like lightning."

"I need to know," she said, a surety settling over her features. "Whatever the risk."

"Then we'll need more space." Merlin's eyes flashed gold, and the remaining scrolls and books lifted from his workbench, floating in an orderly stream to settle on the shelving behind him. His heart skipped—he'd never attempted anything like this before. "And precautions."

Holding the chalk, his hand hesitated over the workbench. Everything he'd read suggested this could work, but theory wasn't practice. Still, he began drawing the symbols, each one copied with painstaking accuracy from the texts. The runes formed a perfect circle, each mark flowing into the next—containment woven with protection, release tempered by control. One mistake in the sequence could unravel the entire spell.

"What are those for?" Gwaine asked, moving closer to study the marks. His previous protective stance near Lady Yaminah shifted to cautious curiosity.

"Containment, mostly." Merlin completed the circle, silently praying his hand hadn't trembled on any of the runes. The chalk symbols seemed to pulse faintly in the candle light, or perhaps that was just his imagination. "If there is magic bound in this pendant, these will help control its release." He glanced at Lady Yaminah, her eyes fixed on the chalk symbols. "How do you feel?"

"Frightened," she admitted, meeting Gwaine's eyes briefly before squaring her shoulders. "But ready."

"Gwaine, you should step back." When his friend didn't move, Merlin added more firmly, "Now." He couldn't risk Gwaine's safety, not when he was barely certain of his own ability to control what might happen.

Gwaine squeezed Lady Yaminah's shoulder before retreating to the far wall, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "If anything goes wrong—"

"We'll be the first to know," Merlin said, his heart thundering against his ribs. He positioned Lady Yaminah opposite him across the workbench. "Whatever happens, don't touch the pendant until I say so. Understood?"

She nodded, her fingers twisting in her gown at her sides.

Merlin took a deep breath and began to speak words that felt older than time itself, words of power he'd just memorized feeling natural on his tongue. The chalk marks began to glow with a soft blue light. As his voice rose, the pendant rose too, hovering inches above the workbench. The diamond's facets caught the mystical light, throwing fractured shadows across the walls. Then something within the stone began to pulse, a rhythmic flare that matched the cadence of his spell.

"I can feel it," Lady Yaminah whispered, her face transformed by wonder. Merlin saw her hands tremble, though she remained steady where he'd positioned her. "Like... like a heartbeat."

The pulsing grew stronger, faster, as if the magic inside fought for freedom. The diamond's clarity began to cloud, smoke forming within it. Though his voice never wavered, Merlin desperately tried to recall if the texts had mentioned this reaction. The chalk circle blazed brighter, containing whatever force was awakening. His own magic surged in response, recognizing something ancient and powerful struggling for release.

Suddenly, the pendant shuddered. A hair-thin crack appeared in its surface.

He heard Gwaine's voice call his name from afar, muffled, like under water, but Merlin's eyes never left the pendant. His concentration couldn't falter—not now, not with the containment circle already straining against the building power. The crack spread like lightning across the diamond's surface. His voice rose, the ancient words echoing off the stone walls as he fought to control whatever was about to break free. Should he have summoned Galahad, or practiced the words longer, or studied more—?

The pendant exploded.

Light erupted in all directions, but Merlin's chalk circle contained most of the blast, every fiber of his being focused on maintaining the barrier. Diamond shards hung suspended in the air, caught in a web of golden energy that seemed to pour from the broken stone. The energy swirled, searching, until it found Lady Yaminah.

She gasped as it struck her, her eyes flooding with gold. Her hands flew to her chest as if she couldn't breathe. Something was wrong—the texts hadn't mentioned this violent a reaction. Before anyone could react, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed.

"Yaminah!" Gwaine lunged forward, catching her before she hit the floor. "Merlin—!"

"Let me see her." Merlin knelt beside them, his hands hovering over her still form. Her breathing came in shallow gasps, her skin cold to the touch. "She's alive, but—"

A sharp knock interrupted them. "Merlin?" Sir Ranulf's voice carried through the door. "The search parties are assembled."

"A moment," Merlin called, but the knight was already entering.

Ranulf stopped short as he took in the scene—diamond shards suspended in air, golden energy still crackling, Lord Badawi's daughter unconscious in Gwaine's arms, and chalk symbols glowing on the workbench. His mouth worked soundlessly before managing, "M-Merlin? What in God's name—"

"Find Galahad," Merlin ordered, his voice leaving no room for questions. "And Master Ruadan. Let's hope one of them has knowledge of binding spells. And Ranulf?" He met the knight's startled gaze. "Speak of this to no one else."

"The queen?"

Merlin's chest tightened. He met the knight's gaze. "No one."

Ranulf hesitated only a moment before nodding sharply and disappearing as Merlin turned back to Lady Yaminah. Her chest barely moved, and her skin had taken on an alarming pallor. Magic rippled beneath her skin like water under ice, untamed and dangerous. Had his attempt to help only made things worse? Please, he thought, not another Morgana. Not because of my mistakes.

"What's happening to her?" Gwaine demanded, his voice raw. Gone was any pretense of formality – the fear in his eyes spoke volumes about his feelings for the woman in his arms.

"Her magic was bound for too long," Merlin said grimly. "It's overwhelming her system." He sat back on his heels, his familiar companion returning to gnaw at him. First Arthur, now this. "I should have been more careful, should have—"

"Don't." Gwaine's sharp tone cut through Merlin's self-recrimination. "Just... help her. Please."

The last word came out as a whisper, and Merlin saw in his friend's face the same desperation he felt in his own heart concerning Arthur. He nodded, pushing aside his doubt. "Move her to the bed. And Gwaine?" He caught the knight's arm. "This could change her—in more ways than one. Are you prepared for that?"

Gwaine's only answer was to gather Lady Yaminah closer, her head lolling against his shoulder as he lifted her and carried her gently to the bed. Her silk dress whispered against the crimson tunic laid there—the colors Merlin had forsworn until Arthur's return.

Merlin watched his friend arrange the woman carefully, noting how Gwaine's usual boldness had transformed into something gentler, more vulnerable. He'd seen this protective side of Gwaine before, but always directed at their small circle of knights, at Arthur. This was different—something that made the knight's hands tremble as he brushed hair from the lady's face.

From where he stood, Merlin could see the morning sun painting long shadows across the upper town's rooftops, so similar to the view from his old chambers. Somewhere beyond those familiar streets, Arthur waited to be found. Yet here in his chambers lay another person who needed him, unconscious because of his actions. Both crises now pulled at him with equal urgency, testing not only his loyalty to Arthur, but the fragile trust being rebuilt with Gwaine.