Tread the Precipice - chapter 9

[ashtakra]

Title: Tread the Precipice
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur/Lancelot
Rating: R
Warning: Boys being boys, some burning
Summary: Merlin took Arthur’s place as a victim of the assassin’s bolt. Fate is fickle however and what does this mean for the one destined to be the once and future King? Sequel to Gaze on Oblivion.
Disclaimer: The Arthurian Legend belongs to the people of the world; the interpretation of characters borrowed for this story belong to the television series 'Merlin'.
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Chapter 9

Arthur turned to Lancelot beside him and swept his hand across the lake. “Merlin said I’d find it here… here being lots and lots of water, very very deep water - he does know I’m not a fish?”

“I think he knows that much about you,” said Lancelot wryly. Their trip had been fast but Merlin’s directions precise. Lancelot had not mentioned Merlin’s use of his body and Arthur, aside from some inappropriate glancing, had spoken not a word of what happened. In many ways Lancelot felt this should make conversation between them awkward but instead they had travelled like old comrades, talk flowed easily and they joked and jostled one another in good spirits. Certainly Arthur’s mood had flourished; apparently his sort-of reunion with Merlin had been all he needed to put him back on the path. Unfortunately their path led here with cryptic clues from Merlin.

“He told me you would know what to find, or that it would find you - nothing more except that it was vital.”

“Bloody Merlin and his double-speak,” muttered Arthur, but there was little anger in his words.

Lancelot watched as Arthur stared at the lake, breathed, and then kept looking.

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “I feel only the cold and the-,” his voice froze as did his hand as it swept to the lake’s surface. The formerly tranquil lake was rippling, the water flowing back from something underneath.

“Oh,” exclaimed both men as the water gushed up and twisted itself into a form.

Lancelot turned to Arthur. “Life is never dull around you two.”

“No,” answered Arthur, his eyes on the water nymph sliding across the lake towards them. “I guess we can pretty much always guarantee that.”

Camelot

There was more pounding on the doors and Gaius felt annoyingly calm. Hynd’s men were about to breach the throne room; he and Uther were alone and had only one sword between them - yet the prospect of death didn’t seem that abhorrent. When faced with it from previously he hated the idea. Perhaps, he mused, being here with his oldest friend made it easier.

“I am sorry Gaius,” said Uther softly, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “I should have got you out of here earlier; there was no need for us both to die.”

Gaius harrumphed loudly and slapped Uther’s shoulder. “Shut up.” He smiled as Uther frowned at his abrupt tone. “You know,” he said more easily. “I’ve wanted to say that for a very long time.”

“Well,” smiled Uther. “If anyone has earned the right it is you.”

“I also have the right to tell you now is not the time to give up and think of dying.” Gaius walked to the pounding door and laid his hand on the wood. “It may take hours for them to get through and surely the great Uther can think of something before then.”

“Uther normally has knights by his side, soldiers - and his son,” snapped Uther.

“Your son would be here if you weren’t so pig-headed and those knights with him.”

“Pig-headed!” Uther laughed instead of snarling. “If I didn’t have to save my strength for slaughtering Hynd I would take your head off old man.”

“Hah! Look who’s talking.” Gaius walked over to the benches along the wall and lifted the lid on one and then the other. “I seem to recall a few old blades being stored here - I suppose you may need help in this great slaughter you speak of.”

“Yes… well,” Uther hung his head then gave Gaius an open smile. “It would be a pleasure my friend, then afterwards we can speak about the etiquette of addressing a King.”

Gaius just laughed. It was possible this was their last hours but somehow he had faith that Arthur and Merlin would find a way to save them. If not… well it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. “Found it,” he exclaimed and pulled out a slightly rusty half-moon axe.

“What!” chuckled Uther. “You can hardly lift it.”

“I’ll have you know,” said Gaius, hefting the blade over his shoulder. “I am stronger than I look, and although it lacks the finesse of a scalpel I believe it will suffice.”

“Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”

Gaius simply grinned and stood by his friend’s side. “Pot-Kettle-Black… sire.”

Beneath Camelot

Jarrod had not said a word since Morgana had said the name dragon, he just let himself be led down the stairs and into the darkness.

A dragon

Morgana must be out of her mind. They passed several passages and went down yet more steps. They became more uneven and disused the lower they went but instead of getting colder the air became warm, and very dry. No sooner would sweat form on his back than the air sucked it away - Jarrod regretted not thinking to bring water sooner.

“Here,” spoke Morgana softly and they walked out onto an overhang. The cavern before them took Jarrod’s breath away and it was hard to believe they had gone this far underground, or that such a place existed under Camelot.

Placing the torch in the wall slot Morgana walked to the edge and spread her hands. “Show yourself so we may speak!”

Only silence answered her and Jarrod, after waiting a few moments, walked to where she was standing and put an arm to her elbow. “My lady, perhaps we should-.”

“No,” she said firmly and shook off his grip. “He is here, I know it - I can feel it.”

Jarrod let his gaze sweep across the cavern. It was immense and gave him a small dose of vertigo, not enough to make him stumble but it was a close thing. A dragon, down here? But why? Uther hated magic and although he may use the dragon as his symbol Jarrod could not fathom why the King would keep one close by. Morgana was hoping for too much and Jarrod knew he should tell her as much and get them out of here while it was still possible.

A great rush of air combined with the snap of giant wings halted his movement and Jarrod froze as the dragon dropped into view, settling on a rocky outcrop opposite them and fixing his reptilian eyes upon them. Jarrod had spent years in Rome, he had travelled the continent and even made his way to Jerusalem. Due to where he had lived and those he had worked with everyone thought him a godly man, even with his browned skin, jet black eyes and long dark hair.

He was a godly man but not of the Christ. The old blood in Jarrod’s veins throbbed and he found himself dropping to his knees. This creature before him, Morgana called him Elemental but Jarrod had been raised knowing the Dragon as something else.

This was a God, real and alive and fantastic and powerful - not a mere man on a cross or some invisible being speaking through a burning plant.

He lowered his head and held his breath. If the Dragon wanted blood then he would give his freely. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Morgana looking at him strangely, she too was awed by the Dragon but had remained standing. Perhaps she claimed to know something of Dragons but Jarrod family was from an ancient line - he had spent years covering his past and in an instant all the things he had pushed away came tumbling back.

Hot breath, drier than the deserts of Arabia, ghosted across his face and Jarrod squeezed his eyes shut - knowing the Dragon was but a hand’s breadth away. The great beast inhaled then chuckled deep in its throat.

“You are of the old world,” its voice rumbled. “And initiated in the Ways.”

“Aye Great One,” spoke Jarrod, his eyes still shut and his voice wavering. “Through my mother’s bloodline, as it should be, but from my father I am also a Child of the Sands… and your servant by both.”

Morgana gasped and Jarrod dared say no more, not without his Lord commanding him.

“Then arise my Son,” intoned the Dragon, laughter evident in his voice. “For we are truly family and too few of us remain to insist on ceremony.”

With shaking knees Jarrod stood and finally opened his eyes. The Dragon’s head was still close and his breath full of primordial heat. The eyes, so close, drilled into Jarrod’s soul and he felt what the Dragon spoke - a connection.

“Your scent is familiar child, what was your mother’s name?”

Jarrod hesitated, he had not spoken the name in many years and had become used to never mentioning his heritage in Camelot, where such a thing would be viewed as little better than magic. His eyes flicked to Morgana, who although seemed a little shocked, smiled her encouragement at him - she must have known it was her presence that made him pause.

“Ninianne my Lord, daughter of Viviane.”

The Dragon smiled and such sadness filled his eyes that Jarrod felt his own heart hurt at her memory.

“Viviane… The Lady of the Lake,” said the Dragon softly. “I knew her well my Son… and I grieved as did the land at her untimely death and then at the loss of her first-born daughter. I am pleased to see that Ninianne survived and, I hope, prospered.”

“She did my Lord. Finding sanctuary with the Bedouin of Africa.”

One of Morgana’s eyebrows lifted in question at the names but Jarrod refused to look at her. It would be hard enough to explain later and almost impossible at the moment.

“And what is your name, son of Ninianne.”

“I-.” Jarrod spread his hands in supplication, terrified that he had been tempted to refuse the great Dragon’s request. “By my Father’s tongue I am Ghalāḥ ad-Dīn Ayyūd but I have yet to earn my name back my Lord - many years ago I failed in my sacred duty; my shame allows only this man called Jarrod to stand before you.”

“Mmm,” the Dragon pondered. “Each of us must find our own redemption child - perhaps we can be travel companions on the path for a time.”

“I would be honoured Great One,” Jarrod whispered.

The Dragon turned to Morgana. “Another with old blood, but closed to it. You do not practice the Ways daughter?”

“I-,” Morgana looked to Jarrod, her confidence had taken a hit he was sure. She had brought him here to impress, instead the Dragon had focused on Jarrod and revealed that his history was more complex than Morgana had supposed. Obviously she was embarrassed at her lack of knowledge. She was vain, yet this did not lessen her in Jarrod’s eyes - vanity was not a sin in all faiths.

“The world is wrong Great Dragon, I feel it, I know it - a tipping point is approaching.”

“Indeed it is daughter. The destiny of this land has long been entwined with the life that inhabits it. Together they prosper or die - if one unbalances the other then Chaos rules… and that is the beginning of the end.”

“Yes,” said Morgana, louder this time and she stepped forward. “I have seen it. Death and pain and a great darkness that seems never-ending. Is this what awaits us? Can we change the future?”

The Dragon laughed and curled one of its talons. “You are talented daughter but untrained. Death happens to us all - it is not something to shun and as for pain.” He shrugged as much a Dragon could. “A mother endures pain bringing life into the world - would she deny that life to avoid the pain?”

Morgana visibly pondered these words and Jarrod shifted in discomfort, he could see she was determined to argue.

“And what of the darkness - is that not something to fear?”

“On the contrary,” answered the Dragon. “We should always be wary of that which lay in shadow but never afraid - fear feeds the dark. This darkness that you see, it may only be that which your mind cannot comprehend.”

“Because I’m just a woman!” snapped Morgana.

“Because you’re just human!” roared the Dragon and flapping his giant wings he alighted back to the pinnacle in the middle of the cavern. “This land is older than you can possibly imagine and it existed long before you and your kind stumbled its hills.”

Morgana’s eyes had gone wide in fear and Jarrod knew she may have overstepped.

“You would do well to respect that which is both before and after you,” said the Dragon mildly. “Uther has done his job well; humans now believe they are the centre of existence when they should know how lonely and short the trail is that they lead.”

“I am sorry,” Morgana bowed her head. “It is true, though I dream of events to come it is as you said. I am untrained and sometimes unaware that there is more to this world than Camelot.”

“Huh!” The Dragon snorted and shook its head, before a sympathetic smile graced its terrible head. “Do not be too contrite Daughter. You wear humility poorly and I liked it better with fire on your tongue.”

Jarrod saw a smile tug at the corner of Morgana’s mouth and he blanched. She had dared go up against a Dragon and while she had not a victory she had at least earned respect. Uther had indeed done his job well if Morgana was a product of his mentoring.

Morgana relaxed a little and held out a hand. “I need your help, if you would grant it. I believe Merlin has trounced fate and all may suffer unless it is undone.”

The Dragon returned and nudged her hand with the tip of his mouth; for all intents and purposes a Dragon’s kiss. “Prescience is both a gift and curse daughter - how we use it defines who we are.”

Turning to Jarrod the dragon gave what could only be described a sad and tired smile. “Leave us my son, it is enough that one must be told.”

Jarrod did not hesitate to move; Morgana may be bold enough to go up against a God - but he was not.

The Hills Surrounding Camelot

Sir Bedivere nodded at Merlin as his horse trotted up. “The people are ready my Lord.”

“Mn.” Merlin absently crackled a ball of energy in his hand. Of late it had become easier to use, and the power coursed through him like pure bliss. A small part of him realised the danger, and the allure - but this part was getting smaller and smaller. He no longer objected when the Knights called him Lord and somewhere along the way the common people had started called him Eminence; he barely even noticed thinking of the villagers as simply ‘common people’. He had the power now, the ability to change things and not fear the repercussions. The aim was to put Uther back on throne - but with concessions.

Arthur cleared and back at his father’s side.

All the Knights cleared of what Uther would see as treason.

And of course, magic restored to its rightful place.

“They know to just cause confusion - no actual fighting.”

Bedivere nodded and signalled to the other knights who dismounted and started removing their armour and Camelot colours. Sneaking in would be hard enough, even during the riot that had been arranged - doing so in full livery would be near impossible.

“Did you find Guinevere? Getting into the castle will be easier if she can open the wicker gate.”

Merlin looked to Bedivere when he didn’t answer. The man had confusion written all over his face. “I asked as much was possible sire… none knew of this ‘Guinevere’.”

Wanting to snap at the man Merlin let it go. It would be just like Arthur’s knights to not even remember a servants name, even it be Morgana’s handmaiden. How the castle’s people wouldn’t know where she was made him worry but Gwen was a survivor - and there were other ways of getting in.

He dismounted himself and pulled on a dark cloak. Underneath he still wore the blue and black clothing but people recognising him would not be a problem.

Magic was more powerful than flesh and blood.

“Let’s finish this then.” The knights, as one, turned and gave Merlin a slight bow.

Merlin didn’t even acknowledge them and walked towards Camelot, a staff in one hand to complete the illusion of a crippled old man.

For that is what the people would see.

The Lake

The sword glittered in the sun, water drops creating a rainbow of colours. Arthur hefted it and it felt so right in his hands.

Having delivered her gift the water nymph sunk back into the lake and the two men stood gazing at the blade.

“It is beautiful Arthur, truly amazing - and may I say it makes you look… I don’t know… splendid.”

Arthur stifled a laugh and sheathed the sword, gently shoving Lancelot with his other hand. “I know I can be irresistible but I thought it was only the Merlin in you that brought on such emotions.”

Lancelot blushed and lowered his head. “I apologise, but if you could see yourself with that sword; you are truly a prince.”

Unsure if he was being serious Arthur chose to laugh it off. “Smooth words Lancelot but save them for Guinevere; I know you have your eye on her.”

“Guinevere?” Lancelot looked at Arthur in confusion and his next words made Arthur’s blood run cold.

“I’ve never met anyone of that name.”

Tbc…

AshtakRa Masterfile

Next: Chapter 10