Chapter warning!
Child death, non-graphic descriptions of warzone medical spaces.
The Apple Bearing Tree
Merlyn did not expect when next she woke, it would be to fire and fear. She did not expect to look out her narrow window and see Kilgarrah soaring over the city to brighten the night in blooms of flame. She did not expect to be ushered from the room by a harried Gaius as he muttered about the oaths of princes and the anger of dragons.
"But he made a promise," she said dumbly, shucking on a dress at her uncle's insistence, brain still fogged with sleep.
"Dragons are shrewd creatures, Merlyn, and they do not take kindly to those who attempt to lessen their independence."
"But he wouldn't lie to me. That's not how he works."
"Whatever his vow, Camelot is under attack, and he needs to be stopped."
Merlyn let Gaius herd her from the room, and they scurried along the corridors as guards and servants and nobles ran and screamed and shouted as they tried to find safety and protect the castle. She saw flaming arrows shoot in large arcs from the far wall, glancing off the dragon's hard scales like they were nothing. Soon after, a jet of flames washed over the entire area and a horrified cry escaped her mouth as the sounds of screaming reached her ears.
Merlyn jerked away from Gaius' hold and darted into the depths of the castle, ignoring his shout as she wound through the crowds of panicked people, pushing against the current as she climbed to the highest point of the citadel. She slammed through the door to the winding staircase leading up the tallest tower, to the place where the watchmen and – in the days of Old – the sorcerers would guard the city.
Round and round she climbed the spiral stairway, growing dizzy as her breaths shortened, tripping often in the blackness of the unlit space. Only narrow slivers in the wall provided any light from the outside world, and the dull orange glow only emphasised the urgency in which she needed to keep moving.
Finally, she reached the last landing, the way outside sealed by a small wooden trapdoor in the ceiling. She unhooked the rope dangling from one end and tugged on it desperately – only to jump back in fright as it fell open easier than expected and a ladder descended loudly from above. A quick glance up showed a cloudy night sky lit from beneath by flames and she scurried over the creaky, old rungs with haste.
She came out onto a windy top, the scent of smoke and fire choking even as the wind whipped to and fro. Her dress and hair were caught in the undignified dance, and she lifted and arm to brush the mane from her eyes to scour the sky for the flying menace as the devastation below glowed in red rivers. The sweat accumulated from her run now chilled upon her skin, but she resisted the urge to shiver as her heart thumped loudly in her ears.
There – a flap of wings.
"Kilgarrah!" she shouted into the night, voicing her fury and betrayal. "Kilgarrah!"
There was an answering roar, and the great beast swooped from the clouds to soar over her narrow tower, close enough she was buffeted by his tailwind. Perhaps he was trying to be intimidating, but there was only anger as he dived towards the city.
"Speak with me, you coward!"
Fire spewed over the lower town, but he climbed into the sky soon after, coasting into a turn to bring him back to face her. He tipped his large body back and flapped his wings to slow his momentum, golden eyes glowing with fervour. His teeth were bared in challenge, and his broad frame made her feel very small – yet indignation lent her courage.
"We had a deal!" she shouted, baring her own teeth at his traitorous maw. "You were to leave Camelot alone!"
"We had many deals, young witch," he replied, rising and falling slowly as his great wings kept him aloft. "And it is not I who broke them."
"I had no choice!" she screamed. "I tried! What you are doing, wreaking havoc for no reason! Is this why you wished to be free? To bring Camelot to ruin by your own hand? What of Albion?"
"Albion is dead," he snarled, gnashing in anger. Hot air washed over her face as he exhaled sharply, almost welcome at the chilly height. "It died when you bore that abomination. It died when you told the Seer of your magic. I see no path left but that of vengeance."
"Albion is clearer now than it has ever been! And Morgana… Morgana wanted the same thing we do. It is only her means setting her against us."
"I told you time and again of the threat the Seer poses, and you ignored my every warning! I no longer need to sit idly while you destroy everything meant to be. I will cleanse this place with fire to incite new life from the ashes! I will have my vengeance!" His lip curled, and he growled, "Do not get in my way."
"You have betrayed everything you taught me," she snarled back. "I will stop you!"
He roared, tossing his head, and she flinched as it rumbled through her chest so deep was it. He rose above her tower, a looming shadow of death, and his maw opened wide as he inhaled deeply, gullet glowing with a terrifying ember. She stared up at him, too stunned to think of escape, struck dumb by the realisation she was about to be incinerated by an ally.
Below, a sharp shout rent the air, and a flaming arrow soared upwards, flying true as it pierced the soft skin just below Kilgarrah's wing joint. The beast gave a cry and dropped several feet before he rallied and flared his wings, clawed feet reaching for the only perch available.
Merlyn's shock broke, and she scrambled for the trap door still open in the middle of the floor, falling more than descending the ladder in her panic. She heard the grinding of his claws as they clutched at her tower, but he must have landed lightly, for the walls did not shake with his weight. They did tremble with his roar, however, and Merlyn covered her ears as the sound reverberated off the stone.
As soon as the noise died, another shout echoed up the stairwell. "Merlyn!"
It was Arthur, and he sounded frantic, armour clanking and boots stomping as he climbed the spiralling tower in his quest.
"Arthur!" she shouted in return, letting him know she was alright, and left the landing behind to rush down the stairs. She kept a hand braced on the curving inside wall lest she slip, but it did little good when an unexpected gust of hot air pushed her forward, preceding a wall of flames advancing hungrily. She flinched and slipped, ankle rolling on the edge of a step, and she fell, tumbling down the staircase like a ragdoll. Her knees and shins screamed at each sharp edge, fingers vainly seeking purchase against the steep incline and tight curve, but she bounced off the walls instead. Her only grace was the swift descent moved her beyond the reach of the inferno, the fierce orange glow fading as the last tendrils of aggressive flames curled into themselves.
She cursed her luck with stairs as she cradled her arms around her rattling head, knowing if she was hurt in the same way as Morgana, there was little hope she'd recover through the same efforts while the Cuff was upon her wrist.
Merlyn hit something that grunted and folded over her, but a leg braced against the wall and an arm around her middle kept her from continuing down the stairs with the new addition.
"Merlyn?" a worried voice murmured, but dizziness and nausea stopped her from replying immediately. Goodness, she ached.
Gloved hands brushed over her cheeks, as gentle as a butterfly's kiss, and her eyes automatically fluttered open to see Arthur's face whirling above her own, a torch casting flickering shadows from where it was hastily shoved into a bracket. She moaned and closed her eyes again, the play of light and dark worsening her vertigo, but Arthur's insistent taps of her cheek forced them open once more.
"Are you alright?" he asked insistently, gaze flicking over her form. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"My pride," she whispered with a feeble smile, before growing serious as she mentally catalogued her body. "I'm not sure. It hurts everywhere, but I should be able to walk, I think."
He nodded before a distant roar reverberated through the air and drew their attention upwards. "We need to join the others in the infirmary. It is more secure than this place." He looked back at her, frustration starting to mar his brow. "Why did you come here? I saw you atop the tower, facing the dragon's rage alone."
"I had to know why he was doing this," she answered, taking careful breaths as Arthur eased her into a seated position. Her hind protested as bruises made themselves known, but it helped steady her spinning vision. "How did he break free?"
"I freed him," said the prince with solemn honesty. Merlyn stared at him in shock. "Morgana is lost to us, perhaps dead, my father is barely able to rule in his grief, and you are worsening before my very eyes… I had to do something right. I had to uphold the oath I made."
"The promise I broke," she corrected, guilt swelling in her belly. "This should be my burden."
"No," he denied. "It was my father who put him there. It is only right I am the one to free him, even if now we bear the consequences of his actions."
Merlyn looked down. Kilgarrah's betrayal cut like a knife in her chest. "I don't know why he is doing this. He is the one who told me of Albion, and now he has lost hope." She met Arthur's eyes, beseeching. "I did not know making the Cuff would lead to this. If I had refused, perhaps…"
"The fault is not yours, Merlyn," Arthur stated, his features calm but weary. "In the end, it was I who forced your hand. No matter the outcome, the blame lies with me."
Another bellow echoed overhead, and he added in its wake, "We must move."
Merlyn hissed through her teeth as Arthur guided her upright, leaning on him as her ankle and knee – thankfully on the same leg – objected to weight. The rest of her body grumbled as bruises and scrapes throbbed for attention, but she ignored them all as they hobbled from the tower and into the bowels of the castle, slipping through the empty hallways towards the hospital wing, which was little more than a disused side chamber converted for wartime.
"Is there anything you have read able to stop a dragon?" Arthur asked as they walked, and Merlyn shook her head.
"Next to nothing is written of them in the tomes I have studied. They guard their secrets closely. Are there any books within the vaults able to help?"
Arthur thought it over but ultimately rejected the idea. "Unless it is hidden amongst tales of sorcery, there are none coming to mind. What of Gaius?"
She nodded. "He will know more than us, at any rate."
As they drew closer to the heart of the castle, more people scurried through the corridors and the scent of burnt flesh and sweat grew heavy. There were sounds of crying and moans of pain and, when they slipped through the open doorway, the scenes of distress were haunting. One corner maintained absolute silence, cloaked in shadows and white sheets.
In the middle of the managed chaos, Gaius worked diligently with Gwen as his nurse while Farah, Aayla, and another, unknown man, handled the less severe cases. Gaius saw their entrance and called to Aayla to take over his task before approaching swiftly. Merlyn noticed many eyes shifted their way, citizens staring from under eyelashes and behind hair while voices hushed into hisses and mumbles. She assumed it was for Arthur until Gaius spoke, ushering them to a shadowed cot away from the rest of the patients.
"What were you thinking, girl?" he whispered with bite, reaching for her face to examine the scrapes and forming bruises she was sure lived upon her skin. "People saw you atop the tower, facing off against the dragon! You could have been killed!"
He tilted her chin so the light of a nearby candle hit her skin more clearly, and Arthur explained to the silence, "She fell down a spiral staircase; twisted her knee and ankle; perhaps more."
Merlyn shot the prince a dirty look and he shrugged unapologetically, lips twitching with faint amusement. Something by the entrance caught his attention and the strained humour faded like it never existed. "I have men to rally," he said, glancing to Gaius. "Is there anything you know that may help stop him?"
Gaius shook his head as he turned to grab a few unlit candlesticks to illuminate the area. "I'm afraid I know little of dragons, sire."
Arthur sighed but didn't seem surprised. He nodded to the both of them and turned away.
"Be careful!" she blurted, anxious at the thought of Arthur facing the vengeful beast. "He's mindless in his rage."
He looked at her, resolve and resignation warring on his face. "Be safe," he said in reply, then strode away to Sir Leon, who was speaking with a guard at the door.
Gaius set the lit candles around his space before unlacing the boot on her injured ankle. Merlyn asked desperately, wincing at the movement of her foot, "Is there truly nothing you know able to help?"
His lips pursed, eyes locked on his task, and silence reigned for several long seconds before he said, "The ways of the past are no longer viable. We must trust the King to have the solution."
Merlyn snorted softly with bitterness, then hissed as he tugged off her boot. "He was the one who hunted them into near extinction. With his experience, Kilgarrah should already be dead."
Gaius set the boot aside and finally met her gaze. "It is one thing to hunt a beast down, it is very much another to be the hunted."
Delicate but firm fingers moved over swelling flesh, feeling for damage. Merlyn pressed through gritted teeth, "So how did he kill them then, if it wasn't with weapons?"
"I did not say there were no weapons, but it was very much a game of strategy." Gaius rolled his lips then added reluctantly, "A creature who does not know it is being tracked, does not guard against it."
"So – what?" she asked irritably. "He killed them in their sleep?"
His answer was only the rising of his eyebrow and the knowing glint in his eye. Merlyn's anger deflated in lieu of revulsion. How sick.
"I know of one thing to stop this attack," she muttered, sour as curdled milk. "A King for a Kingdom."
"Merlyn!" Gaius hissed, eyes darting to their nearest neighbour lest their hearing suddenly enhance enough to hear her words. "You speak treason!"
The girl tossed her head like an irritated horse. "But I am right! Innocent people are dying, and he hides in this castle like a coward."
"So you would throw him beyond the walls as a sacrifice which may appease the Dragon?"
She ducked her head, instantly chastised by the callous idea. "Of course not," she mumbled. "But he brought this upon himself, and he's dragging his people to death alongside."
"Things are not yet so dire," Gaius said softly, grabbing a bandage for her ankle. "The Dragon's rage may fade with daylight; a primal act of grief and resentment we need suffer only a few more hours."
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As soon as Merlyn was able, she leapt in to helping the injured, ducking between Aayla and Farah as the skilled women flitted from critical patient to critical patient. She kept guard as the foreign sorceress applied basic healing charms to poultices and salves, distracting patients from glowing eyes and sudden ease of pain. Still… some they could not save, the injured crying with the knowledge they were not long for this world, bodies trembling and spasming in the last throes, begging, screaming to live. Once their last breath exhaled, guards were ushered over to move the body to join the others, solemn in their duty and gentle in their handling even as they tallied the number. Aayla taught Merlyn a simple prayer to guide their souls to the Other World, and it fell from her lips more than she wished.
There were others who did not go so quickly, but for whom there was nothing to be done, and it was they who Merlyn lingered near, holding hands and singing to them softly, blinking back tears for the terror and agony in their eyes.
She hoped Arthur was alright.
Then, finally, dawn broke, and as Gaius predicted, the dragon decided he'd done enough damage, leaving the city without a backwards glance. Merlyn hoped he would never return.
It was many more hours before the medics found a break, and Merlyn tried to be optimistic about Arthur's continued absence. If he wasn't in the hospital wing, it meant he wasn't injured. Or it meant he was trapped and dead.
She shook her head viciously, rubbing at her aching eyes with the back of her grubby hands. Her fingers were tinged a permanent red and the bandage around her forearm was stained a multitude of colours she didn't want to identify. Clean water had grown scarce, and she had retreated from participating in surgeries so no more of the precious liquid was wasted on her one-handed assistance.
Speaking of… she flexed the bound limb carefully, hissing quietly as sharp twinges travelled up her arm. She'd forced it into activity it vehemently protested for many hours, and now it seemed to be catching up, throbbing mercilessly with pain. Her fingers refused to bend at all.
"Merlyn," Gaius called, and the black-haired girl dropped her arm quickly, pasting an innocent expression on her face as she turned to her uncle. The physician said nothing about her arm, but his expression was knowing as he approached. "You've done enough for now. Go rest for a short while."
Merlyn shook her head, aghast. "There is too much to do. There are still people unaccounted in the lower town, children who need care while their parents recuperate. The state of the castle remains unknown – and Arthur has yet to return."
"He will be busy with his father," he assured, patting her shoulder gently. "You will do no one any good if you do not care for yourself first. When you awaken, I will rest, and you can take my place."
Well. When he said it like that, Merlyn could hardly argue, though she did pout a little at knowing she'd been played. Gaius' lip quirked and he jutted his chin towards the door. "Go," he insisted, and Merlyn went.
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That night, the dragon returned.
As the last rays of sunlight died upon the horizon, the dark of the north flared red with flames. It was a warning as much as it was a statement: they would not escape his wrath.
And, as with the previous night, they were caught off-guard, lulled into complacency when the day passed with no reappearance. The citizens sprinkled throughout the lower town scrambled over one another to return to the safety of the castle, terror devolving them into mindless prey. Thatched rooves caught quickly as the dragon, almost lazily, let his flames roll beneath his swooping bulk. Those cut off had no escape.
Far away, safe within a land untouched by beastly vengeance, a pale face was set aglow by the very same orange madness besieging Camelot's city. The destruction reflected from shiny brown eyes lined in kohl, and pink lips parted with intrigue.
After a moment, she let the images in the crystal fade, stepping back as she thought over all she had seen, and the opportunities to be exploited.
She cast a glance towards her slumbering sister, still recovering from poison, and hesitated a brief moment against leaving before sensibility won out. She marched from the room to speak with her mercenaries.
To those of her world, it was known only one dragonlord remained. To those who delved deeper, it was known whereabouts he hid himself away. Uther may be a fool, willing to let his people die without calling for such aid, but his son was not. The prince was not yet so jaded by responsibility and mistake. And such hope would be Morgause's triumph.
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Merlyn stared at the overcrowded hospital wing, taking in the clusters of injured patrons as healers and helpers flittered from one to the next before a new wave brought still more. She watched as Farah tried to fill her pail with clean water from one of the drums, only to find no more within. She tried the next. And the next. And the next. All empty.
She returned to Gaius' side and murmured to him, the old man glancing towards the empty drums before steeling himself and shaking his head. Farah looked both relieved and distressed, bowing her head and moving away with the last of the clean water.
Merlyn's attention was caught by a clatter of armour and two knights appeared in the doorway, smoking with the evidence of a near-miss. One supported the other until two guards leapt forward to take the injured man, and the able warrior left as swiftly as he'd appeared, back outside into the warzone.
The semi-conscious knight was carried to the closest bed and Gwen hurried forward with an armful of supplies. Those supplies tumbled to the ground when the young woman recognised the man, and she released a shocked cry as she lunged forward.
"Lancelot!" she sobbed, hands stroking over his cheek in a desperate attempt to incite a response. "Lancelot!"
He stirred at her summons, murmuring her name deliriously, and a bloodied hand reached for her face. She let him cup her jaw, oblivious to the red stains now on her skin as a relieved laugh escaped her teary features.
"Let me see," ordered Gaius as he swiftly approached, and Gwen shook herself from her reaction, wiping over her face and brushing down her rumpled clothes as she apologised, stepping out of the physician's way. Merlyn looked to the nearly empty pail by Gwen's feet. They would need more if they were going to treat Lancelot effectively.
Merlyn pushed herself to her feet, glancing at the body of the young girl who had passed minutes ago. The guards had yet to notice, and the healers were preoccupied with treating those they could save. The girl had fallen beneath a collapsing house, swallowed in a fire that should have killed her immediately. Rescued by a soldier, she was carried to the castle, but there was little they could do. Horrific burns covered most of her body, much of it blackened in death no salve could cure. She had already succumbed to shock, limbs trembling and eyes rolling as her mind lost itself to the pain. She was already dying.
Gaius had dosed her with milk of the poppy and moved her to a quiet space to slip away in peace, and Merlyn had followed like a lost puppy. She hadn't touched the poor girl, as there wasn't a spot unaffected by flame, but she did sing to her, simple melodies her own mother had crooned when she was young, letting the nameless little girl know she wasn't completely alone in her last moments.
Merlyn glanced towards her mentor, but the old man was focused on determining the severity of the burns splashed across Lancelot's arm. She looked to the doorway and saw the guards were distracted by a pair of distraught teens, too busy to be watching for those leaving the room, so she padded over to where an empty pail was abandoned by the drums. She picked it up and scanned the room one last time, but no one paid her any mind.
Merlyn edged around the guards and limped down the hallway toward the courtyard, staying to the wall as guards, knights, and servants rushed to and fro, supplies, weapons, and injured carried where they needed to be. The smell of smoke and burning grew stronger the closer she drew to the outside, the sourness of singed hair and the perfume of burnt skin underscoring the deeper musk of burning wood, twisting in her deadened nostrils until the memory of anything else was lost.
The double doors to the grand staircase were left wide open, granting her a clear view of the horrors beyond, but she didn't hesitate, stepping outside the relative safety of the stone walls. She was instantly buffeted by hot wind as dragon wings pushed the flames sideways across the cobblestones, knights forced to dive to the ground so they were not set alight. She squinted as smoke burned her eyes and lifted an arm to cover her mouth to stop ash sticking in her throat, pressing against the banister as a cluster of older citizens staggered up the staircase and into the castle, laboured sobs tearing from their throats.
She watched the dragon loop through the sky one more time before she focused on the task before her, unwilling to be distracted by the golden scales glinting like starlight above.
She moved carefully down the stone steps as her twisted knee and ankle ached, dodging burning debris as she rounded the banister to the water pump beside it. Climbing atop the stone ledge to reach the lever, Merlyn smiled in victory as clear, clean water spewed from the faucet. She filled it as much as she trusted to carry and grimaced at not having thought to bring a second pail to balance the weight.
"Merlyn!" Arthur cried in alarm, and she turned with a smile to assure him she was fine and, instead, watched him sprint in her direction as the great beast loomed like death's shadow at his back. Struck by the image, she forgot to be afraid, feet unmoving as they should have been, and Arthur was forced to protect her body with his own as Kilgarrah stretched out his talons, a terrifying grin upon his maw.
She felt the jolt as Arthur was hit, and heard the grunt as he smothered his cry, tucking her to his chest as they fell and tumbled across the hard stones until the banister of the grand staircase halted them. Merlyn's knee hissed in anger at the treatment, but the pain was an afterthought as Arthur pushed away from her to check his shoulder, pressing a hand to where she could see the chainmail had been pierced.
The sight sent something slick and burning into her gut, and she was helpless not to reach out and touch the hole, wetness staining her hand when she drew away, turning it to stare at the dark stain. She didn't realise she was trembling until Arthur clutched at her hand to draw her attention.
"Hey, Merlyn, I'm alright. I'm fine." She met his eyes and saw his assuredness, but the sinking pit in her stomach wouldn't be allayed, reality sinking its callous claws back into her brain. He rolled onto his knees and tugged her up beside him, gaze going back to the smoke-filled sky. "We need to get you inside. Come on."
She followed mutely, stumbling on her aching joints, before realisation had her pulling back and startling Arthur. He turned to her with wide eyes. "What?" he hissed.
"The water," she insisted, working her hand free of his tight grasp to grab the pail. "We need water."
He grabbed it from her without a word and, together, they stumbled back up into the castle. There were relieved cries when the knights of Arthur's party saw he had returned, but Sir Leon kept them contained as he observed the way Arthur held his arm against his body. He looked to Merlyn behind the prince and dipped his head to her, as if in thanks, but Merlyn, who had done nothing but cause the situation, turned her head away in shame.
"It is good to see you alive, sire," the tall knight said, the light tone disguising his relief.
The prince scoffed good-naturedly and held out the full pail to one of the other knights. "See that this gets to Gaius," he ordered. "Tell him to use it sparingly."
Sir Florence took it with a nod and hurried down the corridor. Arthur turned back to Sir Leon. "What of the defences?"
"No," interrupted Merlyn, then immediately fought the urge to tuck her chin as all eyes turned to her in surprise. She focused on Arthur instead, adopting a scolding tone, "You need to be seen by a physician first. Updates can wait."
Arthur sighed in resignation. "I'm fine, Merlyn. We don't have time or supplies to check every superficial wound."
"That," she snapped, gesturing to his shoulder, "Is not superficial. You can either come with me to see Gaius or I can drag Gaius away from his critical patients and hunt you down."
She studiously ignored the smirks flitting across several of the men's faces as they glanced away in assumed disinterest. Arthur glowered at her, and she glowered back, unmoving.
He gave in with a groan. "You heard the lady," he said to Sir Leon. "Physician first."
"Very good, sire," he said diplomatically, and Merlyn rolled her eyes at them all. She fell into step alongside Arthur when he headed to the hospital wing, her limp a little more pronounced after the excitement. At the prince's entrance into the chamber, Gaius peeled away from his task to meet him, eyes locked onto the bloody shoulder and the stiff way it was held. His gaze also darted to Merlyn, the displeased rise of his eyebrow telling Merlyn her absence had been noticed.
"Sire," the physician greeted, guiding him where to sit.
"Gaius," the prince returned politely. Once beside the bed, his mail and shirt were carefully removed, and the bloody wound in his shoulder bared to all eyes. Merlyn moved automatically to the fireplace for the scant remains of freshly boiled water as Gaius was using the last with him to sterilise his hands. When she returned, his craggy face was set into a studious frown, rotating the joint and judging Arthur's responses. He seemed perturbed and was mostly silent as he probed the area with diligent fingers.
"Well," he said eventually, lowering the arm back to his side. "You are very lucky. I can find no impairment to your mobility. He missed your bones, ligaments and major veins when he struck. Frankly, it is so precise as to seem deliberate."
A call went out from across the room; "Gaius!" and the trio turned to see Aayla assessing the bloodied arm of an unconscious man, guards lowering another body on the next bed. Both had shrapnel littering their skin, and it was obvious they were needed surgery.
"Go," Arthur urged. "You said I was fine. Merlyn can take it from here."
The old man looked to Merlyn sternly. "It will need to be flushed. Such an injury is prone to infection. If not tended –"
"I know," she nodded insistently, trying to shoo him away.
"Be sure to pack it with honey, Merlyn – and make sure the stitches are continuous since the area is –"
"Yes, Gaius, I know –"
"And apply the tincture of –"
"Go!"
He hurried away and Merlyn rolled her eyes. "You'd think I'd never treated a patient in my life, the way he was acting," she muttered, more to herself than Arthur but he replied anyway.
"It is a little riskier to treat the son of the King than a patient of the lower town. The weight of failure is harsher."
She cocked a brow at him. "You going to put me in the stocks if I don't make your stitches look pretty, Your Lordship?"
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head at her attitude, though his words when he spoke were grimmer, "It would not be I who punishes a mistake, Merlyn."
She sobered, nodding in acknowledgement of his warning, and reached for the cooling water now the salt within had dissolved. "Then I'd best not make a mistake," she stated with a terse smile.
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The night was long, and everyone exhausted. Merlyn lasted a short hour after Arthur left the hospital wing before her mind retreated, and Gaius was left trying to monitor her regressed state between surgeries. Gwen tried to usher her towards a side room to rest safely, but Merlyn seemed drawn to the terminal patients like a fly to honey, stroking sweaty brows and holding trembling hands, guiding the lost and lonely into the afterlife with soft lullabies. Though it was impossible for her to be using sorcery, the comfort she brought those without hope seemed to be a magic all its own.
But, finally, inevitably, dawn arose once more, and the dragon retreated for another day. In his wake, the King called a council meeting, dragging an exhausted Gaius and injured Arthur into a Council Chamber aglow with dusty golden fingers of sunlight. Merlyn was given into Gwen's care, and they used the time and lessened danger to raid Gaius' home supplies.
Shortly enough, however, Merlyn found herself diverting from her task to, instead, venture upwards towards the parapets, unable to voice a reason beyond a need to see the damage. There, manned by a single, smoke-stained guard, she stood, overlooking the lower town.
Or – what had once been the lower town.
Not much was left as fire and bombardment destroyed much of the wooden buildings. The rare stone structure was peeled back to bare skeleton where flames had gutted the inside, leaving everything blackened and stained with soot. The air was acrid, sharp in her nostrils despite her dulled senses. Her eyes burned as the gusty breeze sent smoke and ash spiralling through the air, a thick haze lingering over the city and darkening the dawn into a dull orange.
Oddly enough, however, the walls and parapets were completely undamaged, merely streaked with the touch of a too-close blaze. The buildings and turrets had suffered, but not the battlements where the men would have been easiest for the dragon to strike. The peculiarity bothered her for several moments before she hissed in realised anger.
I will not besiege her walls, the Great Dragon had said. He'd made a literal oath, circumventing the spirit of his promise so he did not, in his mind, lie.
It was a dastardly thing to do, and she felt foolish at being deceived so simply, even after the warnings Gaius gave of the cunning of dragons. She wondered just how long Kilgarrah had planned his assault. Weeks? Months? Since they met? Since before they met?
She couldn't deny the hurt, and the accusations she threw at him months ago came back to plague her thoughts. Did he care for her or Arthur at all? Did he even care about Albion? He seemed to dismiss the prophecy easily enough. Was anything he said to her true at all?
Merlyn shook her head and turned her back on the desolation laid before her. She couldn't let his actions upset her own convictions. Just as with Morgana, Kilgarrah had chosen his path, and she needed to stand as a sturdy tree in the winds of their temper.
This would not be the end of Camelot. Not by a long shot.
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When Merlyn returned to the hospital wing bearing a wheelbarrow full of the last of what Gaius had in his stores, she found the physician rolling up an unused bandage while the patient he had been tending was led to the exit by a guard. The expression he wore was unusual for the task; furrowed brow, pursed lips, hunched shoulders. He appeared unhappy – unhappy in a way not consistent with the general situation.
"Are you alright, Uncle?" she asked, leaving the supplies to be picked over by Farah and Aayla as she made her way to his side.
He blinked and looked up, brow rising on his forehead as he took in the wheelbarrow by the door. "You should have taken a guard with you," he scolded, the statement a clear attempt at diverting attention from her question. She tilted her head in expectation, ignoring his stern tone.
"What is wrong?"
He sighed, deflating with weariness, familiar enough with Merlyn to know she would not settle without answers. "The King is desperate for solutions," he said, as if it wasn't common knowledge.
Merlyn frowned. "Of course," she stated in confusion. "The Dragon is a menace."
"What do you know of the history of dragons?" he asked abruptly, and she blinked at him like an owl.
"Only what is available in the library."
"And what do you know of Dragonlords?"
"Um." Nothing. "What is that?"
"There were once men who could talk to the dragons, tame them. They were called Dragonlords."
"Why have I not heard of them before?" she asked in surprise. People who could command dragons? Seemed a thing she should know.
"Uther believed the art of the Dragonlord was too close to magic. So he had them all rounded up and slaughtered."
Of course, Merlyn thought, disappointment devouring the spark of hope. It always came back to the King.
And yet…
"Why are you mentioning them now?" she asked with suspicion.
Gaius paused, as if on the cusp of a revelation, before he deflated back into calm. "One managed to escape," he said, and though it was remarkable, Merlyn didn't think it was the cause of his hesitation. Still…
"You told the King."
The old man dipped his head in assent. "Arthur has been tasked to find him and bring him to Camelot."
Merlyn nodded, sorting necessary provisions in her head. She would need to move quickly if she wanted to accompany him on his quest. "Do you have any idea where he may be living? How long it will take to get there? What we will need?"
His voice grew stern. "You are in no state to go galloping across country and into enemy territory. Arthur is headed for Essetir; he cannot bear Camelot's colours or draw attention. You cannot go with him."
"All the more reason I should be by his side," she said plainly. "Essetir is my homeland, and Arthur is injured. He may have been lucky in how little damage was done, but it doesn't excuse the risk of infection in such a wound. We are lucky he has not yet succumbed to fevers."
"Another can take your place, Merlyn. Aayla is a warrior as well as a healer. She will be better at defending the prince than you."
"Aayla is needed here," she snapped, angry at his words, even if they were true.
"So are you."
"I am useless here," she bit out, shaking her head fiercely. "I cannot move quickly, my mind is untrustworthy, and I am not as experienced as you who are already handling it. I know Arthur, Gaius, and he is incapable of blending in unless someone is there to guide him. Trust me."
"Your weaknesses are just as debilitating beyond these walls as they are here, in safety."
"Safety?" Merlyn scoffed. "How am I safer under the wrath of a dragon than I am within a forest?" she sighed, and continued in a calmer voice, "I will be riding, so my knee and ankle will matter little, and Arthur needs medical attention. If this Dragonlord is alive, then Arthur's mission is imperative, and I will not risk it to preventable illness when this is something I can do."
Gaius looked away, stern expression melting into something she struggled to identify, almost… guilty?
"What is it, Gaius?" she pressed, not liking his sad demeanour. "What aren't you telling me?"
He sucked in a heavy breath and cast his gaze around the large room before seeming to make a decision. "Come with me," he ordered, moving towards a small chamber near the back of the room.
What he had to say wasn't even on the list of things Merlyn expected.
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"What?"
Her mentor with certainty, "The man Arthur seeks is your father."
Merlyn closed her eyes, head shaking slowly as she tried to digest the new information, confusion paramount in her mind.
"I – how?"
"During the Purge," Gaius began. "I helped him escape. I sent him to Hunith so he would heal beyond Camelot's borders; I did not expect them to fall in love."
"Why… why did he leave?"
"Uther," the physician breathed on a sigh, features worn with old grief. "He cared not for borders in those early years. He hunted mercilessly and without justice; any caught in his way were cut down within a breath. Balinor was forced to flee so Ealdor did not weather the King's ire. He… sent me a letter several years later to tell me of his survival, but by then… Hunith had larger concerns, an innocent life to care for. One who would suffer were the King to learn her heritage."
Merlyn understood he meant herself, could comprehend the terrible danger her mother faced if the attention of Uther Pendragon cast her way, but to finally learn the identity of her father, to realise she did gain her magic from him, was almost surreal.
"My father is a Dragonlord?" she asked, needing to hear it out loud.
Gaius nodded solemnly. "Yes."
Merlyn looked down, swallowing hard. "Would you have ever told me, if we did not need him now? Would you have ever told me the truth?"
Gaius looked down; the answer clear on his craggy face. "It was not my tale to tell."
Betrayal lanced through her chest, even as rationality burned as a raw counterpoint. Given the past few months of Merlyn's life, she understood his reluctance in sharing something so dangerous. She wasn't exactly gifted in keeping life-threatening secrets a secret.
Regardless of the logic, anger stewed like acid in her gut. "I deserved to know," she uttered, feeling hollow. All that time growing up, begging for answers only to be rebuffed, teased by the other children for having no father, for being demon-spawn, fearing them to be right because why else would her mother say nothing?
"It was to protect you."
"No," she dismissed sharply, hearing echoes in her head: neighbours calling her loveless, children asking why her mother didn't drown her in the river when she was born, townsfolk steering clear on the chance her corruption was contagious. "I had a right to know."
Gaius remained silent, only nodding in acceptance, and she spun away, needing space to sort her mind. And to pack her supplies.
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To my fellow Aussies, Lest We Forget 3