Summary
As the search continues for Arthur, Kilgharrah seeks Merlin's help to strengthen their connection to the lost dragons.
Chapter 75 Quest for Evanescen: The Summons
Merlin stood atop the crumbling parapet walk of Castle of the Ancient Kings, his gaze sweeping across the verdant expanse of Forest of Brechfa. This was one of the few opportunities he'd had to join the search in several days, his assignment bringing him to the ruins situated nearly three leagues from Camelot. His team – led by Sir Bors – scoured the castle's remains, looking for recent habitation, hidden passages, magical concealments – any evidence of Arthur. For him, this place brought back memories of another dark time, when Arthur himself had brightened it with the blade of his sword, anointing four commoners to knighthood.
Five days since Arthur's disappearance—days filled with mounting threats both within and beyond Camelot's walls. Even as Elyan's anti-magic movement threatened to fracture the kingdom in this vulnerable time, more pressing were the warnings from Masters Iseldir and Alator. Their grim explanation of the combined artifacts' power was inescapable, consuming Merlin's mind and heart. The weapon Dodd and Mordred may be using against Arthur could force him to relive the deaths of others repeatedly, trapping him in cycles of unimaginable mental suffering until his spirit broke or his body failed. They'd rattled Merlin to the core so deeply that he and Galahad had not found the courage to tell Gwen of the weapon's true potential and Arthur's predicted fate.
Merlin's fears painted shadows across every landscape he searched. Surveying his surroundings, he felt as if the forest was watching him, guarding secrets with a silent vigilance that set his nerves on edge. The ancient trees crowded the ruins, their branches stretching overhead like a canopy of judgment, while their roots breached the courtyard stones like grasping fingers. Mist clung to the lower grounds, transforming paths into uncertain territory and lending the landscape an otherworldly quality. Castle of Ancient Kings—once a sanctuary—now felt like another entity conspiring against their search. Was Arthur hidden somewhere within its keep?
Footsteps advanced from behind him, offering respite from his spiraling thoughts. Merlin turned to see Sir Bors approaching, a map rolled tight in his hand, concern shadowing his features. Of Arthur's knights, Bors was known for his steadfast nature and unwavering moral compass. He was neither as flamboyant as Gwaine nor as stoic as Percival, but his quiet devotion to king and code had earned him respect throughout Camelot.
"The men have almost finished their search of these ruins," Bors reported, unfolding the map across a flat section of wall. His voice carried the calm assurance that had guided many through battle—now repurposed for search and rescue. "Nothing in the eastern chambers or the underground passages." His finger traced their covered territory with meticulous care, mapping each search area with the precision of a military campaign. "You've been standing here a while." He looked at Merlin. "Did you sense something with your… abilities that might guide our search?"
"I was hoping to," Merlin admitted, appreciating Bors' straightforward question. Unlike other knights who danced around mentions of magic, Bors faced it directly—assessing it on merit rather than prejudice. "This place holds power—Arthur's legacy truly began here. He knighted Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Lancelot in these very halls. This is where he first showed Camelot could be different, that rank of birth needn't determine a person's worth. I thought perhaps..."
"That it might reveal something to you?" Bors completed the thought, his voice free of judgment. "We need every advantage we can find. I've come to appreciate the skills you... sorcerers have provided in this endeavor—the things you've helped us see that we otherwise would have missed with our... ordinary senses. And yet, even with every available knight and volunteer sweeping across these lands, we're covering ground too slowly."
"Too slowly," Merlin agreed, his gaze returning to the forest that had invaded the castle grounds. A gnawing question returned, and he reached into his pocket—as he had countless times these past days—and withdrew a small, ornate talisman on a gold chain, its metal catching the scattered sunlight.
Bors leaned closer, professional interest overcoming courtly distance. "What manner of device is that?"
"The Wayfinder's Dial," Merlin replied, turning the intricate instrument in his palm. "A gift from Master Ngakaukawa, a high priest of the Old Religion. It's said to guide the user to their heart's true desire. The needle would illuminate the path through even the darkest of times." His thumb traced the delicate workmanship of the dial, a fusion of ancient symbols and precise metalwork. "I've been reluctant to use it until now."
"Why?" Bors asked, studying the talisman with newfound respect.
"I wasn't certain..." Merlin worried his bottom lip, choosing his words carefully. "Sometimes desires can lead us astray. But now, I have no desire stronger than finding Arthur."
Holding the dial aloft, Merlin focused his magic on the delicate needle. "Arthur Pendragon," he whispered, his voice trembling, the tingling sensation in his eyes beginning to swirl in gold liquid. "Show me the way to Arthur."
The sensation behind his lids fleetingly intensified to a cooling flash, his magic melding with the device and illuminating it with a golden glow. For a moment, nothing happened. The needle remained still, as if the dial itself was uncertain. Then, with a sudden jolt, the needle began to spin, faster and faster, a wild, erratic dance that seemed to defy understanding. Ancient power surged through the talisman, the whispers of fate and destiny spiraling around him like an invisible tempest.
"What… what does this mean?" Merlin whispered, his voice barely audible even to himself, his eyes darting to match the needle's the furious path. "Why can't it focus?"
A knot formed in Merlin's throat as he watched the needle's chaotic movement, dismay spreading from the Wayfinder into his trembling hand and through his body as certainty bled from his expression. What if Arthur was beyond the reach of even the most powerful magic? Or was there some unknown force interfering, something that even the spellcraft of the masters could not penetrate?
"Well?" Bors asked expectation and hope in his voice.
"Nothing," Merlin replied, the word scraping harshly against his throat. "It's as if the earth itself swallowed him, Bors. I don't understand it."
The knight's expression darkened, but he remained silent, allowing a moment of quiet. As they stared at the device, a sudden thought struck Merlin, hollowing his chest until his exhale emerged jagged and uneven. What if the Wayfinder's confusion meant that Arthur was... No—He refused to entertain such a thought. Arthur was alive. He had to be. Merlin would know if his friend, his king, his destiny had fallen. He would feel that severed connection in his very soul.
Merlin...
The familiar voice jarred through his mind, causing him to stiffen. Even though he'd expected word from Kilgharrah concerning a suitable new location for Morgana these past days, the dragon's timing to reach out now grated more than ever.
Merlin, I am aware of your burdens, and I am sorry, but this is urgent.
He sighed, a deep groan catching in his throat. One moment, Kilgharrah. Please. Merlin turned to Bors. "I need to check something. Alone."
Bors nodded, his expression showing neither surprise nor suspicion. "I'll gather the men for the next sector. Join us when you can." He descended the crumbling steps, leaving Merlin to his silent communion.
What is it? he asked, his mental voice edged with more impatience than he'd intended. Have you found accommodations for Morgana?
The search continues, the dragon replied. Yet even with the hope of improving her living conditions, Morgana is insistent on contacting the dragons of Evanescen once more. It has been a mere three days since you brought her from the brink of death, yet she believes this is more important.
Merlin's vision blurred momentarily before he surrendered to darkness, allowing his eyes to close as he struggled to reconcile the competing demands for his attention. While Evanescen conjured vivid memories of the brief but powerful link that Morgana and Aithusa had established with the lost dragons, also touching his mind from across the aether, he could understand her desire to try again. The voice of the female dragon – just a few words – still made his skin tingle. What would he glimpse this time if she succeed? What would it mean for Kilgharrah and Aithusa?
When he'd visited Morgana just a day after healing her infection, she'd shown rare enthusiasm about the possibility of a new confinement—somewhere with natural hot springs for warmth, fresh water, and abundant game. A place where her imprisonment might feel less harsh, and one he could reach without Kilgharrah's assistance. Perhaps with magical barriers that would allow her more freedom to move while still keeping her safe, yet contained as the Triple Goddess demanded. Now those plans languished while her focus shifted entirely to reconnecting with the lost dragons, regardless of the risk to her fragile health.
She should rest, Merlin argued, his mental voice as strained as his conflicting responsibilities. A few more days, at least. It's too soon for her to attempt such a feat again.
I agree, Kilgharrah replied, but she perseveres with her request. Merlin…Unusual silence from the dragon made the hairs on Merlin's arms rise. No amount of mortal peril or formidable adversaries gave this ancient and reticent dragon pause.
What is it, Kilgharrah? Merlin asked, wary as a falcon sensing a storm's approach.
I had hoped to reach a compromise – that you might accompany us in the aether, where the connection would be strongest for us all. Assist her if her health fails.
Merlin's shoulders tensed, pressures mounting, bearing down on him. He couldn't abandon the search for Arthur, guilt gnawing over how few searches he'd actually been a part. But the thought of Morgana pushing herself too soon, risking her health once more...
Kilgharrah... he began, his mental voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. He'd felt something stir between him and Morgana during his recent encounters with her – an old connection that hadn't crossed his mind in many years. The way her eyes had held a vulnerability that disarmed him completely. Or had he merely projected his own confused emotions? His unexpected longing for... what exactly? Her forgiveness? Something more? Merlin shook his head, pushing these unsettling thoughts aside.
I can't leave the search. Not now. Not when we've sought so long without any sign of him. He must be found soon. The weapon Dodd and Mordred are using against Arthur could kill him or leave him in an even more unspeakable condition. I can't let that happen.
Merlin, Kilgharrah's voice was filled with that patient wisdom Merlin had heard throughout their years together. He braced himself for the gentle rebuke to come. I know your heart is heavy with the uncertainty of finding Arthur, as is mine. But there is more at stake here, I have come to realize.
Merlin frowned, his mind still fixated on the search for his friend, but the ominous quality of Kilgharrah's words deepened his concern. What do you mean?
The link Morgana and Aithusa forged with the other dragons is a fragile, yet precious thing, Kilgharrah explained. But you saw for yourself the toll it took on Morgana, the lengths she is willing to go to make that bond. She believes in this, Merlin, as do I.
Merlin absorbed Kilgharrah's revelation, his thoughts drifting back to that night in the cave – to the way Morgana had gazed at him, the flicker of warmth and vulnerability in her eyes that he hadn't seen in years. Of how warm and compassionate she had been with the youngling… of their own special connection.
What I don't understand, he began, uncertainty threading through his mental voice as heat bloomed across his cheeks, is that she was able to make this connection at all. Shouldn't I forge this bond myself—without her? Why is Morgana so crucial to this?
Kilgharrah hummed thoughtfully, his deep voice vibrating through their mental link like distant thunder. Your power as a dragonlord is indeed great, Merlin. But Morgana's magic is ancient also. Perhaps, in this instance, for this purpose, it is not a matter of power, but of balance.
Merlin's forehead creased with concentration. Balance?
You are a child of the earth, young warlock, Kilgharrah said, the source elemental that binds all magic. Your power is vast and deep, connecting you to the very fabric of the world. Morgana, as a priestess of the ancient ways, wields a magic of the Old Religion, perhaps even the forces of nature. And Aithusa, young and untouched by the scars of the past, represents the promise of the future, a blank slate upon which the destiny of dragonkind may be written.
Kilgharrah's words hung in Merlin's mind like suspended lightning, barely absorbed before the dragon continued. Together, the three of you form a triad of magic that may be the key to unlocking the secrets of the lost dragons. Your powers, when combined, have the potential to bridge the gap between the past, present, and future, and to restore the balance that has been lost since the time of the Great Purge.
The ancient magic within Merlin hummed in truth, sudden understanding coursing through him. We all have a role to play in this. We need each other to make this work.
Indeed, Kilgharrah confirmed. The path ahead will not be easy, and the challenges you face will test the limits of your strength and resolve. But if you can learn to work together, to trust in each other and in the power that binds you, then perhaps we will succeed.
Between Merlin's eyes, a sharp pain lanced without warning, forcing him to brace against the crumbling wall. He massaged his temple with unsteady fingers, the dragon's words splitting his focus like sunlight through a prism—each beam pointing toward a different, urgent duty.
But he couldn't deny the truth in Kilgharrah's words, though building trust between him and Morgana would take time. As the pain subsided to a dull throb, clarity emerged through the haze. This joining of their powers represented more than just a magical experiment—it was an opportunity for him to demonstrate a trust that could reunite the dragons and shape the future of magic itself. And Morgana, despite their troubled history, was willing to risk her life to bring this about too… Merlin clicked his teeth. He had to go for her. She would need protection from her own determination to make contact, and without him, she could put herself at risk once more.
I will come, he said at last, his voice rough with resigned conflict. For Morgana, for the dragons, and for the balance of magic itself.
Anther pause, and Merlin could almost hear the dragon's sigh in his mind's eye. This must also be for yourself, Merlin, Kilgharrah said. In the heart of every great journey lies the occasion for self-discovery and transformation. As you seek to restore balance to the world of magic, do not forget to find balance within yourself. For it is only when we are whole and at peace that we can truly effect change in the world around us. Remember that, young warlock…. We'll meet you at Dragon Mount shortly.
As Kilgharrah's presence faded from his mind, Merlin retrieved the Wayfinder from his pocket, his fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the enchanted metal. Balance within himself? The needle still spun madly, unable to find its mark. A small, traitorous part of his mind wondered if perhaps the device's behavior was a sign of something else entirely. A sign that his heart's true desire lay not with Arthur, but with someone else entirely, someone inaccessible.
Someone like Morgana.
The admission dropped into his consciousness like a stone into a sacred well, sending ripples of alarm through his entire being. He clamped the device, its weight suddenly heavier in his palm. The castle ruins around him seemed to shift, crumbling battlements bearing silent witness to his conflicted heart. His priorities had been so clear just moments ago—find Arthur at any cost. Now, with this unsettling revelation, even his magic seemed to waver, responding to the turmoil within. He tucked the Wayfinder away, as if hiding the evidence of desires he wasn't ready to confront.
Merlin descended the moldering staircase, each step carrying him further from his troubled musings and closer to the immediate decisions that had to be made. Finding Bors in the castle's central courtyard, the knight stood organizing their group for the next search sector as the men moved with purpose, gathering supplies and rechecking their maps.
"Sir Bors," Merlin called, approaching with a composure he didn't entirely feel.
Bors turned, brow furrowed. "Have you found something after all?"
"No," Merlin replied, lowering his voice. "I've been summoned elsewhere on urgent business. Court Sorcerer matters that cannot wait."
"Summoned?" Bors glanced around the ruins. "How did word reach you here?"
"Some messages don't require couriers," Merlin replied, his eyes drifting momentarily to the map in Bors' hands, marking territories yet unsearched.
"Of course. Magic," he said simply, understanding dawning quickly. "Will you return to us today?"
"I cannot say for certain. Continue without me—the king needs every available set of eyes searching."
Bors nodded, his disappointment visible but his respect for Merlin's position evident. "We'll cover the southwestern quadrant as planned. May your other duties bear fruit."
"May yours as well, my friend."
Merlin made his way through the castle gates, seeking privacy beyond the ruins. Despite the acceptance of magic in Camelot, he knew his method of transportation might unnerve some of the men, their comfort with sorcery still a work in progress. Once clear, he closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the task at hand. And if his thoughts strayed—now and then—to a pair of haunting blue eyes and a crown of raven hair, to a woman he had once called friend and now called enemy... well, that was a secret he would keep, buried deep within the labyrinthine depths of his own heart.
Drawing upon his magic, Merlin pictured the familiar contours of their rocky meeting place in his mind's eye. Whispering "Bedyrne ús. Astýre ús þanonweard tó Draca Beorg," he felt the power surge through him, the world around him fading away as he surrendered himself to the rush of magical teleportation.
By the time Merlin landed securely on Dragon Mount, he spotted the dragons in the mid-morning sky, growing larger as they neared him. Then he marked the rider – Morgana perched behind one of Kilgharrah's great horns. His pulse quickened, his heart now pounding in his ears as he took in the sight of her. She appeared both achingly familiar and disquietingly foreign – the woman he had once known merged with the woman she was now.
"It's just Morgana, Merlin," he whispered. "The enemy…" He scoffed, the sound catching in his throat as he shook his head. He didn't believe those words anymore – hadn't in some time. He remembered their exchanges during her recovery, the unguarded moments between them. Had he imagined the softness in her gaze? The current of connection that passed between them? Swallowing hard, he scratched the back of his head and shuffled his feet, suddenly aware of his own nervousness.
When Kilgharrah settled and then lowered his head, Merlin scampered up his neck, grabbing onto the rough, cool scales and tucking his boots between them to lift himself upwards. At the top, he found himself face to face with Morgana, her sparkling blue eyes reflecting the light like the surface of a clear, still lake. He watched her, frozen like a startled buck.
"Fair day, Merlin." Her gaze swept over him, satisfaction lifting the corners of her mouth.
"Fair day, Morgana," he croaked, forcing his legs to move, hands to grasp, and slowly eased in behind her, the closeness of her sending a shiver down his spine.
Time seemed to stall as his gaze was drawn to the graceful contours of her waist, the way her dark, wavy hair curled against the nape of her slender neck, exposing the pale skin beneath. She seemed diminutive atop the massive dragon, yet he knew the formidable will that resided within her slight frame, the resilience that had carried her through darkness, even with her magic bound by the silver bracelet that encircled her wrist.
Morgana turned her head sideways, a playful glint in her eyes. "I won't bite," she said. Her voice was like honey, sweet and smooth, with just a hint of mischief lurking beneath the surface.
His mouth gone dry, Merlin cautiously encircled her with his arms, the warmth of her body seeping into his own despite the layers of clothing between them. Her shorter hair brushed against his cheek, the strands now untamed from her time in captivity, so different from the silken locks he remembered from their days in Camelot. Still, the cut suited her, accentuating her features instead of diminishing them.
"How—how are you, Morgana?" he managed, his voice rough and unsteady, his heart hammering against his ribs as he struggled to maintain his composure. There was something undeniably compelling about the way she felt in his arms, her slender frame fitting perfectly against his own.
She twisted in his arms, turning to face him fully, her eyes searching his face with an intensity that sent a current of awareness through his entire body. "Thanks to you, I'm fine now," she said softly, her gaze warm and sincere. Her skin was like ivory, smooth and unblemished, and her lips were the pale pink of a wild rose, slightly parted as if in invitation.
Merlin felt as though the ground had fallen away beneath him, his pulse racing as he took in the sight of her, so close he could feel the whisper of her breath against his cheek. He coughed suddenly, his face flushing with heat, and looked away, unable to meet her gaze. Morgana chuckled, the sound musical and light, and turned back around, settling into his arms with a contented sigh.
A soft trill caught Merlin's attention, and he glanced to the side to see Aithusa now perched on Kilgharrah, her white scales gleaming in the sunlight. The young dragon cocked her head, her eyes sparkling with what Merlin could have sworn was amusement.
"What are you looking at?" he muttered, feeling a rush of warmth flooding his chest.
Aithusa chirped, a sound that was suspiciously close to a giggle. Morgana joined in with a soft laugh, and Merlin couldn't help but feel that they were sharing some private joke at his expense.
"Are you three finished?" Kilgharrah asked, his voice rumbling with impatience. "We have important matters to attend, if you recall."
Morgana smirked as Merlin cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Yes, of course. Sorry, Kilgharrah." He tightened his hold on her waist, determinedly ignoring the flutter in his chest at the contact, and nodded to the great dragon. "We're ready."
Kilgharrah snorted, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils. "Very well. Hold on tight, you two. The journey to the aether is not for the faint of heart."
With a mighty flap of his wings, Kilgharrah lifted off from the cliff, Aithusa soaring alongside them. As they rose higher into the sky, Merlin resigned to this strange turn his life had taken – instead of searching for his king and friend, here he was, holding onto Morgana, his once-enemy, as they set off on a quest to connect to the lost dragons, and perhaps, restore balance to the world of magic.