Merlin - Realms [Part 4]
Title: Realms
Genre: pre-slash: Arthur/Merlin, tiny bit of het: Gwen/Lancelot
Rating: R for violence
Length: ~45,000 words - Complete
Spoilers: Through Series 2, AU after the end of Series 2
Warnings: Violence, death of minor original characters
Synopsis: A portal has opened in Gaius’ rooms between Merlin’s realm and one very much like it, only on the other side magic was never banned and can be used freely without pain of death. Needless to say, Merlin has fallen through this portal more than once.
Author’s Notes: OMG, it’s done! Oh-so-many thanks to the awesome threnodyjones for the beta job on this monster, and to all the excellent cheerleaders over at
camelot_fleet for their support as I tried to wrap this up for the Finish-a-thon. This ended up far longer than originally intended, but tells the tale I wanted to get out, so I hope people are willing to give it a chance.
Secondary Notes: Suaimhneas = Irish for quiet, peaceful.
Synopsis: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Live Journal Links:
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Dreamwidth Links:
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
When he finally awoke, he was far more comfortable than he thought he had any right to be. His head was pillowed on something soft, and something smooth and cool rested against his skin. There was a dull throbbing ache in his side, but nothing like the sharp agony from before.
He prised his eyes open to find himself surrounded by silks and satins in hues of blue, the orange glow of a setting sun filtering in through the stained glass windows to his left. That same light cast odd shadows on the slouched form of Arthur in a heavy wooden chair to his right. The prince had apparently managed to remove some of his armour, but had retained his hauberk even in the sanctity of the castle.
Arthur perked up when he saw him glance in his direction, sitting up a bit straighter only to lean over the side of the bed to needlessly check Merlin’s temperature, the back of his hand feeling chilled against Merlin’s temple for a moment before he commented, “Took you long enough to wake up.”
Merlin licked his lips, tasting the sticky residue of the drug he had been given. “It’s that tonic of Gaius’. Makes me sleep like the dead,” he explained. He wondered if there was any water available, and if he could talk Arthur into getting some for him.
“Yeah, thank you for the warning that he was going to be here,” Arthur said with narrowed eyes. “I thought it was our own Gaius until I realised he did not recognise me. Do I even want to know who else is here? Or who this mysterious ‘Lady’ is that you don’t want me to meet?”
Merlin tried to push himself up into more of a sitting position, but regretted the action when the ache reawakened into something far more severe. With Arthur’s help he managed though, slightly embarrassed to find he wore no tunic or nightshirt beneath the sheet, only white bandages with the faintest tinge of red.
“That’s why I asked James to keep you away from the others until I had a chance to explain,” he told Arthur in his somewhat raspy voice. “Gaius was unavoidable as he is the Healer here, but I figured you would want explanations more than surprises.”
Arthur nodded, but did not press the issue. Instead, he stood and stretched and began to pace the somewhat opulent room. “They definitely seem to favour you here,” he commented with a wave to the fine fabrics and woodwork that surrounded them. “I think this was Lord Breckenwith’s chamber during his last visit back home, though I do not recall him ever having an affinity for silk.”
Merlin rolled his eyes at the gentle teasing, knowing full well who decorated the chamber and her feelings on Merlin’s personal tastes. He felt that such commentary could quite possibly be used as a gentle lead in to introduce just who all was here on this side and the rolls they played, but had barely opened his mouth before there was a knock on the heavy oak door.
Arthur, of course, reached for his sword, despite the fact that they were guests in a place near enough to home and the only threat thus far had been one they had brought with them through the portal. At Merlin’s hoarse call, James appeared, arm neatly bandaged beneath his crisp linen shirt.
“Ah, good, you are awake, Master Emrys,” he greeted him. “We had hoped as much, but know how you do not always take to the tonics.”
He strode in further and tilted his head to someone behind him to do the same. A serving boy that was perhaps half the age of Merlin followed, arms laden with a platter of covered dishes. He set the platter down on the table at the foot of the bed, brown eyes wide when he took in the sight of Arthur still brandishing his sword. Arthur sheepishly lowered it and set it aside and the boy quietly asked, “Did you need help with your hauberk, sir? I can have one of the seamstresses search for alternate clothing if you so desire.”
Arthur looked down at his training ensemble and shook his head. “I am fine,” he told the boy, moving back to his chair at the side of the bed. Merlin was not fooled; he knew that Arthur had just wanted rights to the location before James took it for himself.
James gave a wry grin to let Merlin know he knew the true reason for the positioning as well. He did not seem to mind though as uncovered the dishes with his good arm and let the tantalizing smells waft in their direction. “I believe you liked these, if memory serves correctly,” he said, gesturing to the meats and breads. With a wave to the room around him, he added, “And I hope you do not mind, but we put you in the same room as your last visit. We thought something at least a little familiar would be better than waking to the unknown.”
“It is appreciated,” Merlin agreed, though he could not help but glance repeatedly over to the table and its burden. When his stomach growled loud enough for the others to hear, he knew the game was up.
He reached to remove the blanket and swing his feet to the side, but was stopped by a glare from Arthur, who chided, “Oh, for... stay there and I will get it for you.” The prince left his special little chair and stalked over to the table muttering something about pulling stitches and ripping open wounds, and possible something about incompetence.
Merlin rolled his eyes, trusting Gaius’ work to hold steady, especially when it involved more than simple thread. It was James’ turn to scold, however, as he said, “You should not be on your feet quite yet, Master Emrys. Give your injury a chance to heal before you rush off again.” He handed Merlin a goblet of what appeared to be simple tea. It felt like an elixir upon his throat though, and he hoped both his smile and downing of the contents showed his appreciation.
“Rush off and do something stupid,” Arthur guessed, earning a foul look from James. Merlin knew the words were not said in actual insult however, as the tone was too fond and paired with the gift of a plateful of his favourites that only looked vaguely pre-tasted.
James pulled over a second chair and encouraged Arthur to partake of the meal as well, though he still seemed upset at the way Arthur spoke to Merlin. He updated them both on the efforts to locate the attacker and on the finalization of an antidote for the poison. One guard was killed, and another wounded similarly to Merlin, but there was no trace of the poison in any of the wounds, which led to the conclusion that either only the smaller blades were treated or the poison needed to be reapplied regularly for full effectiveness. Given that it was found on items simply left out for others to happen across in their own realm, Arthur was of the belief that it was simply applied as needed, and neither James nor Merlin could find fault with that argument.
Arthur also expressed concern over being in this realm for too long as he feared his absence would rouse his father’s suspicions and possibly his wrath. Merlin tried to remind him about time working differently between the two realms, but understood how it really did not make a lot of sense unless you experienced it for yourself, which was something Arthur would not be able to do until their return.
Arthur also tried repeatedly to dig for information about the ways and wants of this other side. He asked questions, but not the right ones. He seemed to think only the differences and the acceptance of magic were the important things, and Merlin wanted to stress the similarities and the fact that, just because something was acceptable did not make it the norm. It was hard to concentrate though, and Merlin doubted it was just from the lingering effects of Gaius’ tonic.
“Did you drug me, James?” he asked. His head lolled back against the pillows and he had the distinct feeling that his words were slurred.
Arthur immediately went on the defensive, but James shook his head. “No, but Gaius himself made that tea, so it is entirely possible he did,” he admitted. Arthur subsided only slightly and James began to clear away the dishes, adding, “It is likely for the best though. You need to rest, Master Emrys, and we both know the chances of that happening.”
Arthur snorted, and this time not just at the title. “Merlin never listens to what he is told,” he agreed. There was the slightest hint to his tone that Merlin recognised as falsely congenial. He was pretending to be at ease, but was still concerned about the drugging, likely because he also consumed the food. He should know by now that Gaius always preferred to enhance the liquids as they absorbed his various tinctures best.
“That is true enough,” James concurred. “But that failure to listen has served us well in the past.” At Arthur’s questioning look, he continued, “We had drawn up plans and set our army in motion, only to have to backtrack because Master Emrys had a thought and that thought led us to the true culprit. Mind you, the way he determined that culprit was by nearly being captured by him and run through, but it all ended well at the close of the day.”
“Took him out and saved you all,” Merlin yawned, remembering the day in question. There was fire and lightning and magic that flowed through him so free and uninhibited. The rush had been incredible, but also reminded him how easy it would be to fall under magic’s control and lose his own control in the process.
“Of course you did,” Arthur said in an obviously placating tone. He even went so far as to pat him on the knee like he would a small, and possibly infirm, child.
Merlin frowned, but could not fully conjure the energy to glare. “Save you all the time, so why not them?” he muttered. His eyes were drifting shut again, and he was having trouble picking up the various expressions Arthur wore, so he could not tell what his reaction was without words.
James seemed to understand, or at least felt for him, and offered, “Why don’t we leave the sleeping man alone?”
“Not asleep yet,” Merlin protested, but knew his words would be ignored, if they were even understood.
“You will be soon enough,” James assured him. He helped Merlin get settled and tucked a new talisman in his hand, which made Merlin quite belatedly realise his previous one had been removed, likely by Gaius. “Our Lady fears the last one did all it could offer and more, and requests you use this one,” he whispered.
“Liked the last one, it was good,” Merlin protested, right up until the charm touched his skin. His very being seemed to respond to it and its energy seemed to meld directly with everything he ever was. “This one’s warm, comfortable,” he commented, knowing he was being contrary and not fully caring. He felt the gentle pull of power in the last one, but this one was like an enhancement to his own energy, while still somehow being separate and protective of that same energy. He did not fully understand it, but he did rather like it.
“She said she saw a vision and knew it would be the right one for you,” James agreed. He took a blanket from the end of the bed and spread that atop the thin sheet, offering a final comment of, “Magic borne of magic; you are doubly blessed.”
Merlin spared a thought of what Arthur would think of such things, but figured he would find out soon enough. He had been fine with the last one, but how far would that acceptance stretch? He decided there may be a delay in that discovery as he overheard Arthur arguing with James in hushed tones that no separate room was necessary, and that he would stay here to watch over Merlin as much, if not more so, than some random bauble.
James was protesting, but not enough to win the squabble, and it was not long before Merlin heard an overly dramatic sigh and a relenting, “As you wish then, so long as it does not disturb Master Emrys’ rest.”
There was the familiar almost tinkling sound of the links of the hauberk shifting against each other as the armour was removed, and the thud of boots hitting the stone floor, slightly muffled from what were likely the plush rugs that Morgana preferred. A little more dithering about, and there was the slight dip of the mattress as Arthur settled upon it. A shift as blankets we adjusted, and then there was the feeling of a warm and callused hand resting lightly atop his wrist. He vaguely wondered if he needed to worry about stabbing himself with the sword that was undoubtedly nearby in the middle of the night, but settled for a final yawn and a whispered, “Goodnight, Arthur.”
“Just... go to sleep, Merlin,” Arthur replied, but notably did not remove his hand.
With a final smile at the thought of Arthur being Arthur, prat and all, Merlin surrendered to sleep.
He awoke to the smells of even more food, the absence of Arthur at his side, and absolutely no mention of the protectiveness from the night before. The sun was back, as was James, and he and Arthur had apparently been carrying on a conversation of some sort while Merlin remained dead to the world. They seemed amiable enough about it, but one never could tell with nobles, especially with nobles of the Pendragon family, so Merlin knew he should probably approach the situation cautiously and feel it out around the edges before diving in and destroying any truce they may have formed.
Of course, that went right out the proverbial window when he attempted his usual morning stretch and his side reminded him of his activities from the day before.
He did not think he made a noise, but he must have because both men were instantly there, one checking the bandage while the other checked on him and he really could not tell who was who through the haze. He felt a cup at his lips and dutifully drank and hoped whatever it held was as fast-acting as the rest of Gaius’ wares.
“Is this going to put me to sleep again?” he muttered when he could find the words.
“I should hope not,” James replied, setting the cup off to the side. “You are wanted in the Council chambers as soon as you are ready. There has been a development that may prove quite enlightening.”
Merlin knew that this meant two very important things. The first was that it was to be an official review in front of as many members of the court as currently present in Camelot. The second was that it was time to reveal to Arthur just who those members of the court were, and the roles they played.
Somehow he doubted this was going to go over well.
“Clothing?” he asked, knowing it would be provided. Though there were some notable differences in this realm, one did not appear in front of the Council half-naked or wearing only bloodstained and torn cloth unless it was a truly dire emergency. Mixed that with the fact Morgana had tried to get him to take several tunics back with him last time and he had declined knowing he would not be able to explain the sudden newfound wealth away, and he figured there was a very good chance his needs would be provided for.
“Over here,” James replied, motioning to the small armoire in the room. He opened the door and pulled out a tunic and a pair of trousers at random, and Merlin could see the fine embroidery along the hems from where he lay.
He dressed with the assistance of both men, joking to Arthur about the role reversal though Arthur only offered the faintest of smirks at the jibe. He shoved his feet into his usual boots only to have them properly tightened before he could wave off the attentions. Finally, he was allowed to the table where he pulled together a quick breakfast of bread and cheese washed down with more tea.
“Okay,” he said around a bite of crusty bread. “Some very important things you need to know if you are going to attend this Council meeting with me,” he addressed Arthur.
“I have attended Council meetings before,” Arthur reminded him, and Merlin could hear the eye roll in his tone even if he refrained from actually doing it.
“Not like this,” he shook his head. “The chamber is set up much like ours, but the sides will be lined with known sorcerers as well as noblemen. You will be able to tell them apart by their robes and usually some sort of pageantry that they will insist upon but is likely totally unnecessary. Do try not to run them through.”
Arthur tensed slightly, but nodded and motioned for Merlin to continue. He could only imagine what it would be like to be raised to think magic was the be-all and end-all of evil, and then to have to willingly walk into a room full of it and do absolutely nothing about it.
As much as for a distraction from that thought as for the sake of expediency, Merlin continued, “You will recognise the royal family. You must remember that they will not recognise you.” With a breath to steady himself, he figured he might as well get the worst of it over with and rushed to explain, “Morgana is a ward of the court here as she is at home. She is the Lady of whom I have been speaking of.”
“Morgana?” Arthur asked, blinking as he took in this piece of information. He shook his head. “But you said, or at least strongly implied...”
“That she has magic? Yes,” Merlin finished for him. He bit his lip at the expected outburst, but found Arthur was more overwhelmed than anything else. He could see him trying to fit the pieces together, but his bias against magic so clearly stood in the way. “Think about our Morgana at home, and the dreams she always went on about, the dreams that were like visions and kept her from her rest.”
Arthur looked up at him, a hint of realization dawning upon his featured. “But those were...”
“Those were dimmed with droughts that Gaius has been giving her since she first came into her Gift,” Merlin finished bluntly. He knew he revealed too much, of Gaius’ involvement and knowledge and of his own complacency in the deception. “The Gaius of our realm did not want to take the risk that your father’s hatred of magic would encompass even his own ward, even for something she herself could not control. He hid this from your father, and he hid this from Morgana herself. I discovered it only because she spoke to me of her visions, and of how often they came true.”
“So the Morgana here is a seer?” Arthur guessed, the word seeming almost painful for him to pronounce.
Merlin shook his head. “She’s so much more than that,” he corrected. “Her Gift was never reined in, but nurtured and allowed to flourish. She was taught how to control it instead of suppress it, and learned so much more in the process.”
“Without your birth, she is also the sole heir to the throne of Camelot,” James added for him. Merlin spared him a glance. He had been getting to that part, really he had, but thought he would ease into it, or possibly avoid it until the last possible moment. There was enough for Arthur to take in right now that the addition of the fact his surrogate sister stood to inherit the lands promised to be his might just be a little too much for him to handle.
Arthur though, proved that he was a prince, through and through. And possibly someone who understood the woman he was raised with. He straightened slightly and offered, “Then we best not keep her delegation waiting, you know how tetchy she can be when she doesn’t get her way.”
Merlin agreed, but it was actually Arthur himself who caused the delay. He knew of proper court decorum, had been raised on it really, and knew that walking in on a Council session clad only in his practice gear would not make the best of first impressions. He had scrubbed down previously, but now donned one of the tunics James offered, insisting on keeping his belt and sword though, something neither James nor Merlin really questioned. Merlin figured it was better than storming in fully armed and guessed that either James felt the same or was accustomed to the quirks of royalty and warriors by now and expected no less.
Clothed properly and with enough of Gaius’ tea in him to dull the persistent ache in his side, he let James lead the way to the chamber while Arthur followed at his side. It was an odd feeling, really. Arthur was, in a sense, deferring to Merlin; the prince following his servant instead of the other way around. This was Merlin’s place though, he was the known and had rights, and Arthur was but his guest as far as this realm was concerned. Perhaps he could be seen as a visiting prince or dignitary if given the chance, but this was not his home, no matter how much it looked the part.
The door opened to the chamber and it was exactly how Merlin pictured it to be. The nobles lined either side of the long table, parchment and scrolls spread about, half in robes with elaborate golden embroidery and half in the usual finer cloths of the upper caste. Morgana sat in the seat usually reserved for Arthur, and offered a smile and nod at his arrival. The king sat at the head of the table, only glancing up when their presence was announced, and he gestured for them to approach.
“Master Emrys,” Uther greeted him with not a hint of derision to his tone.
“Your highness,” Merlin replied in turn. He offered a little bow and tried not to wince when the action pulled at his wound. He could feel Arthur tense at his side and could only imagine the thoughts running through his head at the moment, and how similar they were to the time Merlin first met this version of Uther, and feared any utterance would lead to his death at the stake.
“I have been advised that you have gifted our lands with an assassin this visit, how very kind of you,” Uther frowned. Now this tone was familiar, and could have come from either version of the king, reminding Merlin once again of the similarities between the realms.
Only he knew that this Uther was different, that he would let Merlin have his say before he would cut him off or dismiss him, and that he was far less likely to toss Merlin in the dungeons just because he did not like what he had to offer or, possibly, his mood had changed in the time it took the younger man to speak.
“From what I can tell, this was no gift of mine,” Merlin challenged, taking a step forward. He felt the breeze at his arm as Arthur tried instinctively to hold him back, but pressed on. “The assassins, plural mind you, were seen both entering and exiting our realm through the portal. One can only assume that, if they did not originate from here, that they may have found a safe haven somewhere within these borders.”
He spared a glance at Arthur now, saw the prince’s eyes wide with surprise that Merlin would dare speak to his father in such a manner and possibly that Merlin even had the confidence to do so. Merlin was tempted to remind him that this was not his father, despite what appearances might tell him, but found it was not necessary.
Uther chuckled, and Merlin really did not think he would ever forget the incredulous expression on Arthur’s face. “Very true, Master Emrys,” Uther conceded. He waved his hand towards the mess on the table before him and continued, “We are rapidly discovering evidence to support this theory as well. Just this morning we received a message from an emissary that may be of interest to you.”
Morgana stood, a servant quickly appearing to move her chair to the side and out of her way as she approached. Her dark gown flowed behind her and she looked to Merlin with fondness and Arthur with curiosity. Apparently deciding that her inquiry could be better served later, she began, “Aglain has sent a courier from the primary Druid camp. They have come across strange occurrences in the woods to the north of our lands.”
“We have had similar reports on our side,” Merlin mused, remembering Arthur’s findings from his patrol.
“They are investigating,” Morgana reported as though he had not interrupted. “So far, they have found only the hints of a presence of others, but these hints are enough to cause concern.”
“Why?” Merlin asked. It could be simple hunters, or roving travellers, or even merchants on their way to the city. It was common enough, and usually did not mean some evil presence lurked in the shadows. Yes, the Druids knew their lands better than most, but even they should be the first to admit the possibility of simplicity over elaborate plotting. Then again, when one lived with the land, one learned the natural rhythms of that land, and if they were sensing that something was off based upon that connection, it may hold more weight than a crumpled bit of grass.
Morgana raised a carefully shaped eyebrow and explained, “Because the hints they found are all symbols and portents usually associated with the Suaimhneas.”
Merlin’s head shot up with that, and he knew Arthur’s did so as well at his side. It was James, however, that asked, “Can they be certain?”
Morgana did the royal version of a shrug which was not really a shrug at all but did serve to indicate she felt the likelihood was there. “The Suaimhneas are hermits, at least according to what we know of them. Druids who found the Druids too immersed in the outside world and wanted nothing more than to commune with nature and magic and find their inner peace for themselves. They are not much more than legend now as they are so rarely seen, but their reported knowledge of plants, herbs, and magic is unparalleled as you have found in the texts even on your side.”
“But if they are not much more than legend, how can you be certain?” Arthur asked.
“We cannot,” she replied, addressing him directly for the first time. “Which is why the matter is being investigated as I have already stated. Their symbols and sigils have been found, but their actual presence has not. Aglain and his people are searching for further evidence and hope to report back no later than this evening.”
She looked as though she wished to continue, but paused and cocked her head to the side as though something tickled the very edge of her senses. The room itself grew quiet, either out of long practice of reading her signals or sensing something themselves.
Merlin turned his head to the left as the heavy door behind Uther opened near soundlessly. He knew instantly who it was, and not just because every single advisor and nobleman stood as one only to bow their heads low in reverence.
“My queen,” Uther greeted her, standing and offering his arm to lead her fully into the room.
Ygraine curtsied daintily and allowed the action, looking resplendent in robes of fine silk and lace, a delicate coronet threaded through her pale hair. She nodded in the direction of the advisors, but her eyes instantly fell upon Merlin and held his gaze. She released her husband’s arm to gracefully glide over to the visitors, looking first to Merlin and then to Arthur and back again.
Merlin steadfastly tried to ignore Arthur’s shock at his side. He had warned him of the royal family, he was certain of it. The only problem was, he did not specifically remember mentioning his mother. Perhaps Gaius’ drought was more powerful than he thought? Perhaps Arthur would not kill him outright but take pity on his obviously addled state?
Pushing that to the side for now, Merlin concentrated on proper decorum and offered both a slightly stilted bow and a murmured, “Your highness.”
“Master Emrys,” Ygraine returned the greeting and the action with a great deal more grace. She frowned at him, however, keen eyes flitting to his side and then back up to his no doubt pale features. “You were injured?”
Merlin nodded, knowing there was no point in hiding it as she could find out more about the injury than he himself could with just the snap of her fingers. “Gaius’ treatments are, as always, effective though, and I am healing as well as can be expected,” he assured her.
The fingers snapped anyway, and a nobleman who wore the colours of the southern border instantly offered his chair. “Sit before you tire yourself, Merlin,” she commanded. She sounded so much like Arthur in that instant, that he was half expecting her to add the words “you idiot” and a gentle shove and not the offer of her own arm as though he needed delicate escorting.
The same nobleman took his arm instead and guided him to the chair, not releasing him until he was convinced he was seated properly. From his new position, Merlin could more clearly see Arthur’s expression of disbelief and he winced not from the pain of his injury, but in anticipation of the tableau about to unfold before him.
Ygraine was no fool. She arched one delicate eyebrow before turning her attentions to Arthur, looking him up and down appraisingly before asking, “This is him; this is the Pendragon son, is it not?” Her hand hovered before her, as though wanting to touch and yet afraid the action would cause the vision to melt away.
“It is,” Merlin confirmed. The room filled with hushed conversations, some excited and some fearful, all silenced by a single wave of Morgana’s hand.
Ygraine stepped closer, the queen suddenly uncertain but far from undignified as she told Arthur, almost apologetically, “You are the son I never had.”
“And you are the mother I never knew,” Arthur replied. He took her hand and kissed it as he would a visiting princess’s, his touch lingering to border on improper for anyone other than family, before reluctantly lowering his hands to his side.
“I am so sorry for your suffering,” Ygraine told him, palm now cupping his cheek.
Arthur shook his head, and Merlin noticed the way he ever so subtly leaned into the touch. “She gave everything she had for me. Though I miss the idea of what she could have been, I cannot miss what I never had.”
Ygraine swiped her thumb over the arch of his cheekbone, as if wiping away a nonexistent tear. “I never made such a sacrifice,” she admitted, voice tinged with sorrow. “Though I have often wondered what the world would have been like if I had. The portal has given us a glimpse into that world, but you have gifted me with the knowledge that I would have produced a man I would have been proud to call son.”
The silence that followed was broken by Morgana, who offered, “I have shared tales of your battles with our queen. The fighting prowess Merlin has spoken of, and James as well, and even the small glimpses I myself witnessed while a guest of your side, though you never saw me.”
“You bring honour to the Pendragon name,” Uther announced, and Merlin watched Arthur swallow heavily at the proclamation.
Matters, as always, returned to the formal issues of state and the personal and emotional subjects were pushed aside to deal with at a later time. They discussed the potential ramifications of an assassin or group of assassins travelling through the portal and jurisdiction and possible punishments to any and all caught aiding and abetting the guilty parties. This, of course, led to discussions of the differences and similarities in the legal processes of both realms. Uther was only slightly surprised to find his counterpart ruled with far less input from his nobles and with far more of an iron fist, but he had previously heard bits and pieces from both Morgana and Merlin himself, so Merlin doubted it truly came as a shock to him.
Then again, perhaps Merlin was not the best one to make judgments on others or their state of mind given his own mind’s lack of focus and concentration. He tried to follow the conversation, really he did, but he found he could care less about granary taxes and the funding of mobile armies and how they differed between the realms. It was not until he felt a hand at his shoulder and had to blink to see more than just Lord Ableman in front of him that he realised he was both slumping in his chair and tilting slightly to the side.
“You are not yet well, Master Emrys” James told him, and Merlin was embarrassed to find he currently had the full attentions of the court. “You should return to your rooms to rest.”
“You will need your energy in the coming days,” Morgana announced, and he could not tell if she was simply supporting James’ decision or if she had seen something within her visions.
He looked to Arthur, who simply asked, “Haven’t you been warned about sleeping in Council meetings in the past?” There was no heat to his tone though, and he was already standing from the chair he had been offered some time ago and holding out his arm to help Merlin to his feet.
“Go rest,” Ygraine bade. She looked to the rest of the Council pointedly and added, “I’m sure the pressing issues of an overabundance of grain can wait for another day?”
There were murmurs of agreement and Uther officially called for a recess, reminding everybody that there was nothing more they could truly do until they had additional information and that, in truth, they had simply been indulging their own curiosity about the other side. Merlin found himself pulled to his feet, hand instantly going to his side and promises of more of Gaius’ tonic awaiting him in his rooms. He was too tired and too pained to truly protest, so he said his goodbyes and shuffled away, Arthur at his side and James at his back.
He did not have the energy to change out of the finery he had been gifted with, and barely managed to pull off his boots before he collapsed to the bed, letting the softness of the pillows take his weight. Arthur poked him until he sat up enough to take a dose of whatever Gaius had left him and force a few biscuits into him, and then he surrendered to the unconscious that had been tempting him for far too long.
When he next awoke, the sun was low in the sky again and Arthur sat alone at the table. He looked up when Merlin stretched and held out a cup of something that turned out to be water. When Merlin wiped the few stray drops from his lips, he expected Arthur to lay into him about withholding information or possibly his brain-addled incompetence, but instead Arthur only offered a sorrowful quirk of his lips and said, “I wish I had known her.”
“Arthur,” Merlin swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat despite the drink. “I did not mean to keep-”
“I know you didn’t,” Arthur cut him off. He poked at the table, either playing with a splinter or attempting to create one, and said, “I could be angry, but what is the point? I was gifted with the knowledge that, somewhere, my mother is alive and well and beautiful and strong and everything I could hope her to be.” His hand stilled and Merlin had to strain to hear him whisper, “And that she is all of that because she chose not to have me.”
“Arthur!” Merlin protested, but it was too late. Arthur stood and made his way to the door and simply walked out, leaving Merlin barefoot and aching inside.
By the time Merlin made it to the door, feet still cold against the stone, Arthur was nowhere in sight. It was fairly obvious he wished to be alone, but Merlin questioned the sense in that decision. He sighed and wiped his hands across his face before deciding there were better places to be than standing only partially dressed in the middle of the draughty passageway.
He trudged back inside and settled down at the table after pulling a blanket from the bed over his shoulders to ward off the remaining chill. He poked at the fruits left out and sipped at some tepid tea and thought about how best to get Arthur to understand that this was not his fault and this was but one possibility of what life would have been like had his mother made a different choice. He and Gaius had discussed this very thing when the portal first appeared, about how a single choice may lead to another and then to another and how any and all of these could lead to worlds entirely different from what they knew now.
He knew Arthur’s moods though, and knew this was probably not the best time to bring up the subject, even if Arthur had not stormed off to sulk in private. Arthur needed to work through this on his own for a bit, at least enough for his gut emotional response to die down, before he would be ready to talk and possibly reach an understanding that he could cope with, if not like.
His thoughts had moved on to just how a supposedly peaceful and quiet group such as the Suaimhneas could possibly be tied in to the possibility of assassins and death and whether such a change would have occurred on this side or his own when he heard the door creak open behind him. There was the soft and slightly hesitant brush of footfalls against the rug and Merlin did not bother to look up as he asked, “Are you ready to talk then? Or at least share company while we wait for news?”
When he was only answered with silence, he feared Arthur’s sulk had reached epic proportions. “Look,” he sighed. “We do not even have to discuss your family, on either side. We can talk about hunting and your love for shooting tiny furry creatures for all I care, just come and share some tea and I can see if we can get something stronger for you with our meal,” he offered.
When there was still no answer, he huffed and turned slightly in his chair to look over his shoulder to discover that it was not Arthur at his door, but it was someone else he recognised.
“Traitor!” the man with the scar and the cloak accused. His blade rose high in the air in preparation of attack and Merlin’s eyes instantly found the green against the gleam of metal.
He pushed himself to his feet only to find the blanket tangled around him hindering the move. The knife was arcing downward towards him though, so he threw himself to the side, shoulder connecting with the floor for one brief jarring moment before he was able to roll free of both the blanket and the continued attack. Hands now free, he held them before him, feeling the magic in his blood and in the air, wondering why he had not noticed it before when it was so obvious now.
Another swing and another dodge and Merlin really did not want to continue this game, not when he clearly did not have the upper hand with his injuries and sluggishness. The fire came to his palms with nary a whisper and cascaded towards the assassin who was able to block the first bout but not the second and whose cloak was soon lit with flames.
Another incantation, this one not Merlin’s, and the fire was out and the cloak lay on the floor in a smouldering mess. The man’s hand was on him now, trying to hold him in place while he brought the knife down. Merlin pushed him off both physically and magically and flung the blade as far away from him as possible while he was distracted. The man reached for his fallen weapon anyway, but decided against it when the rush of footsteps echoed down the hallway and into the room. “This is not over,” he growled before using what Merlin was now thinking of as his default transportation spell to disappear just as the guards burst into the room.
James was only moments behind, but reached Merlin first while the others dealt with the cloak and the weapon, heeding the words of caution not to touch the residue. “Are you alright?” he demanded, checking Merlin over for injury.
“Fine,” Merlin wheezed. He waved a hand in the direction of the lingering smoke and sizzle and lamented, “But he got away.”
James’ hand brushed against the slice in his side and Merlin staggered from the burst of pain. The knight’s fingers came away stained red and he shook his head as he offered, “Perhaps not so fine?” He glanced around the room and asked, “Where is your prince?”
Figuring it was probably best not to say Arthur was off sulking, Merlin told him, “He needed time and space to cope with everything he learned today.”
“He left you alone while you slept?” James asked, aghast. He looked to the crumpled blanket to the cloak to the knife in horror.
Merlin shook his head and tried to reassure him. “No, he waited until I woke up,” he insisted. Trying to get him to focus on a more pressing threat than leaving a perfectly capable sorcerer to deal with a sorcerer, he added, “But we need to make sure this was the only attack. He prefers the parapet on the eastern tower when he needs to think. Please, go make certain he’s safe?”
It was not as easy as that though, as James refused to leave Merlin alone, even with his own trusted guards. He ordered one to send Sir Owen and Sir Erion to check on Arthur after explaining their rooms were the closest, and then ordered another to seek out Gaius to come tend to Merlin’s reopened wound.
That is how Arthur found him upon his return: sitting on the edge of the bed, bare feet dangling, stained shirt hiked up while Gaius tried to stop the bleeding. “Merlin?” Arthur demanded, rushing the last few steps into the room. “What happened?”
Merlin saw James open his mouth and knew the knight was likely about to forget Arthur’s role as prince on the other side if his expression had anything to do with it, and cut him off with, “One of the assassins got in. He attacked, I evaded, but he got away.” He really hoped Arthur did not notice the singe marks or smell of burnt cloth that lingered in the room and, if he did, would assume it involved one of the candelabras and not a magical source.
Given Arthur’s usual responses, he expected at least a comment about his own fighting prowess, or lack thereof, and so was surprised when Arthur instead crouched at the side of the bed, fingers hovering towards the wound before settling lightly on Merlin’s knee. “I am so sorry,” he breathed.
“It’s not your fault,” Merlin shrugged, going for nonchalant but getting chided by Gaius when the movement aggravated his injury.
“I left you alone with a known threat still at large,” Arthur countered and James seemed oddly calmed by his words.
“I’m not completely inept,” Merlin huffed, not appreciating the implication. “I managed to fight him off just fine on my own, you know.”
“But you should not have had to,” Arthur whispered, his grip on Merlin’s knee tightening for a moment before releasing.
Live Journal Links:
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Dreamwidth Links:
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
This entry was originally posted at http://cat-77.dreamwidth.org/343217.html. Current comments
Genre: pre-slash: Arthur/Merlin, tiny bit of het: Gwen/Lancelot
Rating: R for violence
Length: ~45,000 words - Complete
Spoilers: Through Series 2, AU after the end of Series 2
Warnings: Violence, death of minor original characters
Synopsis: A portal has opened in Gaius’ rooms between Merlin’s realm and one very much like it, only on the other side magic was never banned and can be used freely without pain of death. Needless to say, Merlin has fallen through this portal more than once.
Author’s Notes: OMG, it’s done! Oh-so-many thanks to the awesome threnodyjones for the beta job on this monster, and to all the excellent cheerleaders over at
camelot_fleet for their support as I tried to wrap this up for the Finish-a-thon. This ended up far longer than originally intended, but tells the tale I wanted to get out, so I hope people are willing to give it a chance.
Secondary Notes: Suaimhneas = Irish for quiet, peaceful.
Synopsis: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Live Journal Links:
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Dreamwidth Links:
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
When he finally awoke, he was far more comfortable than he thought he had any right to be. His head was pillowed on something soft, and something smooth and cool rested against his skin. There was a dull throbbing ache in his side, but nothing like the sharp agony from before.
He prised his eyes open to find himself surrounded by silks and satins in hues of blue, the orange glow of a setting sun filtering in through the stained glass windows to his left. That same light cast odd shadows on the slouched form of Arthur in a heavy wooden chair to his right. The prince had apparently managed to remove some of his armour, but had retained his hauberk even in the sanctity of the castle.
Arthur perked up when he saw him glance in his direction, sitting up a bit straighter only to lean over the side of the bed to needlessly check Merlin’s temperature, the back of his hand feeling chilled against Merlin’s temple for a moment before he commented, “Took you long enough to wake up.”
Merlin licked his lips, tasting the sticky residue of the drug he had been given. “It’s that tonic of Gaius’. Makes me sleep like the dead,” he explained. He wondered if there was any water available, and if he could talk Arthur into getting some for him.
“Yeah, thank you for the warning that he was going to be here,” Arthur said with narrowed eyes. “I thought it was our own Gaius until I realised he did not recognise me. Do I even want to know who else is here? Or who this mysterious ‘Lady’ is that you don’t want me to meet?”
Merlin tried to push himself up into more of a sitting position, but regretted the action when the ache reawakened into something far more severe. With Arthur’s help he managed though, slightly embarrassed to find he wore no tunic or nightshirt beneath the sheet, only white bandages with the faintest tinge of red.
“That’s why I asked James to keep you away from the others until I had a chance to explain,” he told Arthur in his somewhat raspy voice. “Gaius was unavoidable as he is the Healer here, but I figured you would want explanations more than surprises.”
Arthur nodded, but did not press the issue. Instead, he stood and stretched and began to pace the somewhat opulent room. “They definitely seem to favour you here,” he commented with a wave to the fine fabrics and woodwork that surrounded them. “I think this was Lord Breckenwith’s chamber during his last visit back home, though I do not recall him ever having an affinity for silk.”
Merlin rolled his eyes at the gentle teasing, knowing full well who decorated the chamber and her feelings on Merlin’s personal tastes. He felt that such commentary could quite possibly be used as a gentle lead in to introduce just who all was here on this side and the rolls they played, but had barely opened his mouth before there was a knock on the heavy oak door.
Arthur, of course, reached for his sword, despite the fact that they were guests in a place near enough to home and the only threat thus far had been one they had brought with them through the portal. At Merlin’s hoarse call, James appeared, arm neatly bandaged beneath his crisp linen shirt.
“Ah, good, you are awake, Master Emrys,” he greeted him. “We had hoped as much, but know how you do not always take to the tonics.”
He strode in further and tilted his head to someone behind him to do the same. A serving boy that was perhaps half the age of Merlin followed, arms laden with a platter of covered dishes. He set the platter down on the table at the foot of the bed, brown eyes wide when he took in the sight of Arthur still brandishing his sword. Arthur sheepishly lowered it and set it aside and the boy quietly asked, “Did you need help with your hauberk, sir? I can have one of the seamstresses search for alternate clothing if you so desire.”
Arthur looked down at his training ensemble and shook his head. “I am fine,” he told the boy, moving back to his chair at the side of the bed. Merlin was not fooled; he knew that Arthur had just wanted rights to the location before James took it for himself.
James gave a wry grin to let Merlin know he knew the true reason for the positioning as well. He did not seem to mind though as uncovered the dishes with his good arm and let the tantalizing smells waft in their direction. “I believe you liked these, if memory serves correctly,” he said, gesturing to the meats and breads. With a wave to the room around him, he added, “And I hope you do not mind, but we put you in the same room as your last visit. We thought something at least a little familiar would be better than waking to the unknown.”
“It is appreciated,” Merlin agreed, though he could not help but glance repeatedly over to the table and its burden. When his stomach growled loud enough for the others to hear, he knew the game was up.
He reached to remove the blanket and swing his feet to the side, but was stopped by a glare from Arthur, who chided, “Oh, for... stay there and I will get it for you.” The prince left his special little chair and stalked over to the table muttering something about pulling stitches and ripping open wounds, and possible something about incompetence.
Merlin rolled his eyes, trusting Gaius’ work to hold steady, especially when it involved more than simple thread. It was James’ turn to scold, however, as he said, “You should not be on your feet quite yet, Master Emrys. Give your injury a chance to heal before you rush off again.” He handed Merlin a goblet of what appeared to be simple tea. It felt like an elixir upon his throat though, and he hoped both his smile and downing of the contents showed his appreciation.
“Rush off and do something stupid,” Arthur guessed, earning a foul look from James. Merlin knew the words were not said in actual insult however, as the tone was too fond and paired with the gift of a plateful of his favourites that only looked vaguely pre-tasted.
James pulled over a second chair and encouraged Arthur to partake of the meal as well, though he still seemed upset at the way Arthur spoke to Merlin. He updated them both on the efforts to locate the attacker and on the finalization of an antidote for the poison. One guard was killed, and another wounded similarly to Merlin, but there was no trace of the poison in any of the wounds, which led to the conclusion that either only the smaller blades were treated or the poison needed to be reapplied regularly for full effectiveness. Given that it was found on items simply left out for others to happen across in their own realm, Arthur was of the belief that it was simply applied as needed, and neither James nor Merlin could find fault with that argument.
Arthur also expressed concern over being in this realm for too long as he feared his absence would rouse his father’s suspicions and possibly his wrath. Merlin tried to remind him about time working differently between the two realms, but understood how it really did not make a lot of sense unless you experienced it for yourself, which was something Arthur would not be able to do until their return.
Arthur also tried repeatedly to dig for information about the ways and wants of this other side. He asked questions, but not the right ones. He seemed to think only the differences and the acceptance of magic were the important things, and Merlin wanted to stress the similarities and the fact that, just because something was acceptable did not make it the norm. It was hard to concentrate though, and Merlin doubted it was just from the lingering effects of Gaius’ tonic.
“Did you drug me, James?” he asked. His head lolled back against the pillows and he had the distinct feeling that his words were slurred.
Arthur immediately went on the defensive, but James shook his head. “No, but Gaius himself made that tea, so it is entirely possible he did,” he admitted. Arthur subsided only slightly and James began to clear away the dishes, adding, “It is likely for the best though. You need to rest, Master Emrys, and we both know the chances of that happening.”
Arthur snorted, and this time not just at the title. “Merlin never listens to what he is told,” he agreed. There was the slightest hint to his tone that Merlin recognised as falsely congenial. He was pretending to be at ease, but was still concerned about the drugging, likely because he also consumed the food. He should know by now that Gaius always preferred to enhance the liquids as they absorbed his various tinctures best.
“That is true enough,” James concurred. “But that failure to listen has served us well in the past.” At Arthur’s questioning look, he continued, “We had drawn up plans and set our army in motion, only to have to backtrack because Master Emrys had a thought and that thought led us to the true culprit. Mind you, the way he determined that culprit was by nearly being captured by him and run through, but it all ended well at the close of the day.”
“Took him out and saved you all,” Merlin yawned, remembering the day in question. There was fire and lightning and magic that flowed through him so free and uninhibited. The rush had been incredible, but also reminded him how easy it would be to fall under magic’s control and lose his own control in the process.
“Of course you did,” Arthur said in an obviously placating tone. He even went so far as to pat him on the knee like he would a small, and possibly infirm, child.
Merlin frowned, but could not fully conjure the energy to glare. “Save you all the time, so why not them?” he muttered. His eyes were drifting shut again, and he was having trouble picking up the various expressions Arthur wore, so he could not tell what his reaction was without words.
James seemed to understand, or at least felt for him, and offered, “Why don’t we leave the sleeping man alone?”
“Not asleep yet,” Merlin protested, but knew his words would be ignored, if they were even understood.
“You will be soon enough,” James assured him. He helped Merlin get settled and tucked a new talisman in his hand, which made Merlin quite belatedly realise his previous one had been removed, likely by Gaius. “Our Lady fears the last one did all it could offer and more, and requests you use this one,” he whispered.
“Liked the last one, it was good,” Merlin protested, right up until the charm touched his skin. His very being seemed to respond to it and its energy seemed to meld directly with everything he ever was. “This one’s warm, comfortable,” he commented, knowing he was being contrary and not fully caring. He felt the gentle pull of power in the last one, but this one was like an enhancement to his own energy, while still somehow being separate and protective of that same energy. He did not fully understand it, but he did rather like it.
“She said she saw a vision and knew it would be the right one for you,” James agreed. He took a blanket from the end of the bed and spread that atop the thin sheet, offering a final comment of, “Magic borne of magic; you are doubly blessed.”
Merlin spared a thought of what Arthur would think of such things, but figured he would find out soon enough. He had been fine with the last one, but how far would that acceptance stretch? He decided there may be a delay in that discovery as he overheard Arthur arguing with James in hushed tones that no separate room was necessary, and that he would stay here to watch over Merlin as much, if not more so, than some random bauble.
James was protesting, but not enough to win the squabble, and it was not long before Merlin heard an overly dramatic sigh and a relenting, “As you wish then, so long as it does not disturb Master Emrys’ rest.”
There was the familiar almost tinkling sound of the links of the hauberk shifting against each other as the armour was removed, and the thud of boots hitting the stone floor, slightly muffled from what were likely the plush rugs that Morgana preferred. A little more dithering about, and there was the slight dip of the mattress as Arthur settled upon it. A shift as blankets we adjusted, and then there was the feeling of a warm and callused hand resting lightly atop his wrist. He vaguely wondered if he needed to worry about stabbing himself with the sword that was undoubtedly nearby in the middle of the night, but settled for a final yawn and a whispered, “Goodnight, Arthur.”
“Just... go to sleep, Merlin,” Arthur replied, but notably did not remove his hand.
With a final smile at the thought of Arthur being Arthur, prat and all, Merlin surrendered to sleep.
He awoke to the smells of even more food, the absence of Arthur at his side, and absolutely no mention of the protectiveness from the night before. The sun was back, as was James, and he and Arthur had apparently been carrying on a conversation of some sort while Merlin remained dead to the world. They seemed amiable enough about it, but one never could tell with nobles, especially with nobles of the Pendragon family, so Merlin knew he should probably approach the situation cautiously and feel it out around the edges before diving in and destroying any truce they may have formed.
Of course, that went right out the proverbial window when he attempted his usual morning stretch and his side reminded him of his activities from the day before.
He did not think he made a noise, but he must have because both men were instantly there, one checking the bandage while the other checked on him and he really could not tell who was who through the haze. He felt a cup at his lips and dutifully drank and hoped whatever it held was as fast-acting as the rest of Gaius’ wares.
“Is this going to put me to sleep again?” he muttered when he could find the words.
“I should hope not,” James replied, setting the cup off to the side. “You are wanted in the Council chambers as soon as you are ready. There has been a development that may prove quite enlightening.”
Merlin knew that this meant two very important things. The first was that it was to be an official review in front of as many members of the court as currently present in Camelot. The second was that it was time to reveal to Arthur just who those members of the court were, and the roles they played.
Somehow he doubted this was going to go over well.
“Clothing?” he asked, knowing it would be provided. Though there were some notable differences in this realm, one did not appear in front of the Council half-naked or wearing only bloodstained and torn cloth unless it was a truly dire emergency. Mixed that with the fact Morgana had tried to get him to take several tunics back with him last time and he had declined knowing he would not be able to explain the sudden newfound wealth away, and he figured there was a very good chance his needs would be provided for.
“Over here,” James replied, motioning to the small armoire in the room. He opened the door and pulled out a tunic and a pair of trousers at random, and Merlin could see the fine embroidery along the hems from where he lay.
He dressed with the assistance of both men, joking to Arthur about the role reversal though Arthur only offered the faintest of smirks at the jibe. He shoved his feet into his usual boots only to have them properly tightened before he could wave off the attentions. Finally, he was allowed to the table where he pulled together a quick breakfast of bread and cheese washed down with more tea.
“Okay,” he said around a bite of crusty bread. “Some very important things you need to know if you are going to attend this Council meeting with me,” he addressed Arthur.
“I have attended Council meetings before,” Arthur reminded him, and Merlin could hear the eye roll in his tone even if he refrained from actually doing it.
“Not like this,” he shook his head. “The chamber is set up much like ours, but the sides will be lined with known sorcerers as well as noblemen. You will be able to tell them apart by their robes and usually some sort of pageantry that they will insist upon but is likely totally unnecessary. Do try not to run them through.”
Arthur tensed slightly, but nodded and motioned for Merlin to continue. He could only imagine what it would be like to be raised to think magic was the be-all and end-all of evil, and then to have to willingly walk into a room full of it and do absolutely nothing about it.
As much as for a distraction from that thought as for the sake of expediency, Merlin continued, “You will recognise the royal family. You must remember that they will not recognise you.” With a breath to steady himself, he figured he might as well get the worst of it over with and rushed to explain, “Morgana is a ward of the court here as she is at home. She is the Lady of whom I have been speaking of.”
“Morgana?” Arthur asked, blinking as he took in this piece of information. He shook his head. “But you said, or at least strongly implied...”
“That she has magic? Yes,” Merlin finished for him. He bit his lip at the expected outburst, but found Arthur was more overwhelmed than anything else. He could see him trying to fit the pieces together, but his bias against magic so clearly stood in the way. “Think about our Morgana at home, and the dreams she always went on about, the dreams that were like visions and kept her from her rest.”
Arthur looked up at him, a hint of realization dawning upon his featured. “But those were...”
“Those were dimmed with droughts that Gaius has been giving her since she first came into her Gift,” Merlin finished bluntly. He knew he revealed too much, of Gaius’ involvement and knowledge and of his own complacency in the deception. “The Gaius of our realm did not want to take the risk that your father’s hatred of magic would encompass even his own ward, even for something she herself could not control. He hid this from your father, and he hid this from Morgana herself. I discovered it only because she spoke to me of her visions, and of how often they came true.”
“So the Morgana here is a seer?” Arthur guessed, the word seeming almost painful for him to pronounce.
Merlin shook his head. “She’s so much more than that,” he corrected. “Her Gift was never reined in, but nurtured and allowed to flourish. She was taught how to control it instead of suppress it, and learned so much more in the process.”
“Without your birth, she is also the sole heir to the throne of Camelot,” James added for him. Merlin spared him a glance. He had been getting to that part, really he had, but thought he would ease into it, or possibly avoid it until the last possible moment. There was enough for Arthur to take in right now that the addition of the fact his surrogate sister stood to inherit the lands promised to be his might just be a little too much for him to handle.
Arthur though, proved that he was a prince, through and through. And possibly someone who understood the woman he was raised with. He straightened slightly and offered, “Then we best not keep her delegation waiting, you know how tetchy she can be when she doesn’t get her way.”
Merlin agreed, but it was actually Arthur himself who caused the delay. He knew of proper court decorum, had been raised on it really, and knew that walking in on a Council session clad only in his practice gear would not make the best of first impressions. He had scrubbed down previously, but now donned one of the tunics James offered, insisting on keeping his belt and sword though, something neither James nor Merlin really questioned. Merlin figured it was better than storming in fully armed and guessed that either James felt the same or was accustomed to the quirks of royalty and warriors by now and expected no less.
Clothed properly and with enough of Gaius’ tea in him to dull the persistent ache in his side, he let James lead the way to the chamber while Arthur followed at his side. It was an odd feeling, really. Arthur was, in a sense, deferring to Merlin; the prince following his servant instead of the other way around. This was Merlin’s place though, he was the known and had rights, and Arthur was but his guest as far as this realm was concerned. Perhaps he could be seen as a visiting prince or dignitary if given the chance, but this was not his home, no matter how much it looked the part.
The door opened to the chamber and it was exactly how Merlin pictured it to be. The nobles lined either side of the long table, parchment and scrolls spread about, half in robes with elaborate golden embroidery and half in the usual finer cloths of the upper caste. Morgana sat in the seat usually reserved for Arthur, and offered a smile and nod at his arrival. The king sat at the head of the table, only glancing up when their presence was announced, and he gestured for them to approach.
“Master Emrys,” Uther greeted him with not a hint of derision to his tone.
“Your highness,” Merlin replied in turn. He offered a little bow and tried not to wince when the action pulled at his wound. He could feel Arthur tense at his side and could only imagine the thoughts running through his head at the moment, and how similar they were to the time Merlin first met this version of Uther, and feared any utterance would lead to his death at the stake.
“I have been advised that you have gifted our lands with an assassin this visit, how very kind of you,” Uther frowned. Now this tone was familiar, and could have come from either version of the king, reminding Merlin once again of the similarities between the realms.
Only he knew that this Uther was different, that he would let Merlin have his say before he would cut him off or dismiss him, and that he was far less likely to toss Merlin in the dungeons just because he did not like what he had to offer or, possibly, his mood had changed in the time it took the younger man to speak.
“From what I can tell, this was no gift of mine,” Merlin challenged, taking a step forward. He felt the breeze at his arm as Arthur tried instinctively to hold him back, but pressed on. “The assassins, plural mind you, were seen both entering and exiting our realm through the portal. One can only assume that, if they did not originate from here, that they may have found a safe haven somewhere within these borders.”
He spared a glance at Arthur now, saw the prince’s eyes wide with surprise that Merlin would dare speak to his father in such a manner and possibly that Merlin even had the confidence to do so. Merlin was tempted to remind him that this was not his father, despite what appearances might tell him, but found it was not necessary.
Uther chuckled, and Merlin really did not think he would ever forget the incredulous expression on Arthur’s face. “Very true, Master Emrys,” Uther conceded. He waved his hand towards the mess on the table before him and continued, “We are rapidly discovering evidence to support this theory as well. Just this morning we received a message from an emissary that may be of interest to you.”
Morgana stood, a servant quickly appearing to move her chair to the side and out of her way as she approached. Her dark gown flowed behind her and she looked to Merlin with fondness and Arthur with curiosity. Apparently deciding that her inquiry could be better served later, she began, “Aglain has sent a courier from the primary Druid camp. They have come across strange occurrences in the woods to the north of our lands.”
“We have had similar reports on our side,” Merlin mused, remembering Arthur’s findings from his patrol.
“They are investigating,” Morgana reported as though he had not interrupted. “So far, they have found only the hints of a presence of others, but these hints are enough to cause concern.”
“Why?” Merlin asked. It could be simple hunters, or roving travellers, or even merchants on their way to the city. It was common enough, and usually did not mean some evil presence lurked in the shadows. Yes, the Druids knew their lands better than most, but even they should be the first to admit the possibility of simplicity over elaborate plotting. Then again, when one lived with the land, one learned the natural rhythms of that land, and if they were sensing that something was off based upon that connection, it may hold more weight than a crumpled bit of grass.
Morgana raised a carefully shaped eyebrow and explained, “Because the hints they found are all symbols and portents usually associated with the Suaimhneas.”
Merlin’s head shot up with that, and he knew Arthur’s did so as well at his side. It was James, however, that asked, “Can they be certain?”
Morgana did the royal version of a shrug which was not really a shrug at all but did serve to indicate she felt the likelihood was there. “The Suaimhneas are hermits, at least according to what we know of them. Druids who found the Druids too immersed in the outside world and wanted nothing more than to commune with nature and magic and find their inner peace for themselves. They are not much more than legend now as they are so rarely seen, but their reported knowledge of plants, herbs, and magic is unparalleled as you have found in the texts even on your side.”
“But if they are not much more than legend, how can you be certain?” Arthur asked.
“We cannot,” she replied, addressing him directly for the first time. “Which is why the matter is being investigated as I have already stated. Their symbols and sigils have been found, but their actual presence has not. Aglain and his people are searching for further evidence and hope to report back no later than this evening.”
She looked as though she wished to continue, but paused and cocked her head to the side as though something tickled the very edge of her senses. The room itself grew quiet, either out of long practice of reading her signals or sensing something themselves.
Merlin turned his head to the left as the heavy door behind Uther opened near soundlessly. He knew instantly who it was, and not just because every single advisor and nobleman stood as one only to bow their heads low in reverence.
“My queen,” Uther greeted her, standing and offering his arm to lead her fully into the room.
Ygraine curtsied daintily and allowed the action, looking resplendent in robes of fine silk and lace, a delicate coronet threaded through her pale hair. She nodded in the direction of the advisors, but her eyes instantly fell upon Merlin and held his gaze. She released her husband’s arm to gracefully glide over to the visitors, looking first to Merlin and then to Arthur and back again.
Merlin steadfastly tried to ignore Arthur’s shock at his side. He had warned him of the royal family, he was certain of it. The only problem was, he did not specifically remember mentioning his mother. Perhaps Gaius’ drought was more powerful than he thought? Perhaps Arthur would not kill him outright but take pity on his obviously addled state?
Pushing that to the side for now, Merlin concentrated on proper decorum and offered both a slightly stilted bow and a murmured, “Your highness.”
“Master Emrys,” Ygraine returned the greeting and the action with a great deal more grace. She frowned at him, however, keen eyes flitting to his side and then back up to his no doubt pale features. “You were injured?”
Merlin nodded, knowing there was no point in hiding it as she could find out more about the injury than he himself could with just the snap of her fingers. “Gaius’ treatments are, as always, effective though, and I am healing as well as can be expected,” he assured her.
The fingers snapped anyway, and a nobleman who wore the colours of the southern border instantly offered his chair. “Sit before you tire yourself, Merlin,” she commanded. She sounded so much like Arthur in that instant, that he was half expecting her to add the words “you idiot” and a gentle shove and not the offer of her own arm as though he needed delicate escorting.
The same nobleman took his arm instead and guided him to the chair, not releasing him until he was convinced he was seated properly. From his new position, Merlin could more clearly see Arthur’s expression of disbelief and he winced not from the pain of his injury, but in anticipation of the tableau about to unfold before him.
Ygraine was no fool. She arched one delicate eyebrow before turning her attentions to Arthur, looking him up and down appraisingly before asking, “This is him; this is the Pendragon son, is it not?” Her hand hovered before her, as though wanting to touch and yet afraid the action would cause the vision to melt away.
“It is,” Merlin confirmed. The room filled with hushed conversations, some excited and some fearful, all silenced by a single wave of Morgana’s hand.
Ygraine stepped closer, the queen suddenly uncertain but far from undignified as she told Arthur, almost apologetically, “You are the son I never had.”
“And you are the mother I never knew,” Arthur replied. He took her hand and kissed it as he would a visiting princess’s, his touch lingering to border on improper for anyone other than family, before reluctantly lowering his hands to his side.
“I am so sorry for your suffering,” Ygraine told him, palm now cupping his cheek.
Arthur shook his head, and Merlin noticed the way he ever so subtly leaned into the touch. “She gave everything she had for me. Though I miss the idea of what she could have been, I cannot miss what I never had.”
Ygraine swiped her thumb over the arch of his cheekbone, as if wiping away a nonexistent tear. “I never made such a sacrifice,” she admitted, voice tinged with sorrow. “Though I have often wondered what the world would have been like if I had. The portal has given us a glimpse into that world, but you have gifted me with the knowledge that I would have produced a man I would have been proud to call son.”
The silence that followed was broken by Morgana, who offered, “I have shared tales of your battles with our queen. The fighting prowess Merlin has spoken of, and James as well, and even the small glimpses I myself witnessed while a guest of your side, though you never saw me.”
“You bring honour to the Pendragon name,” Uther announced, and Merlin watched Arthur swallow heavily at the proclamation.
Matters, as always, returned to the formal issues of state and the personal and emotional subjects were pushed aside to deal with at a later time. They discussed the potential ramifications of an assassin or group of assassins travelling through the portal and jurisdiction and possible punishments to any and all caught aiding and abetting the guilty parties. This, of course, led to discussions of the differences and similarities in the legal processes of both realms. Uther was only slightly surprised to find his counterpart ruled with far less input from his nobles and with far more of an iron fist, but he had previously heard bits and pieces from both Morgana and Merlin himself, so Merlin doubted it truly came as a shock to him.
Then again, perhaps Merlin was not the best one to make judgments on others or their state of mind given his own mind’s lack of focus and concentration. He tried to follow the conversation, really he did, but he found he could care less about granary taxes and the funding of mobile armies and how they differed between the realms. It was not until he felt a hand at his shoulder and had to blink to see more than just Lord Ableman in front of him that he realised he was both slumping in his chair and tilting slightly to the side.
“You are not yet well, Master Emrys” James told him, and Merlin was embarrassed to find he currently had the full attentions of the court. “You should return to your rooms to rest.”
“You will need your energy in the coming days,” Morgana announced, and he could not tell if she was simply supporting James’ decision or if she had seen something within her visions.
He looked to Arthur, who simply asked, “Haven’t you been warned about sleeping in Council meetings in the past?” There was no heat to his tone though, and he was already standing from the chair he had been offered some time ago and holding out his arm to help Merlin to his feet.
“Go rest,” Ygraine bade. She looked to the rest of the Council pointedly and added, “I’m sure the pressing issues of an overabundance of grain can wait for another day?”
There were murmurs of agreement and Uther officially called for a recess, reminding everybody that there was nothing more they could truly do until they had additional information and that, in truth, they had simply been indulging their own curiosity about the other side. Merlin found himself pulled to his feet, hand instantly going to his side and promises of more of Gaius’ tonic awaiting him in his rooms. He was too tired and too pained to truly protest, so he said his goodbyes and shuffled away, Arthur at his side and James at his back.
He did not have the energy to change out of the finery he had been gifted with, and barely managed to pull off his boots before he collapsed to the bed, letting the softness of the pillows take his weight. Arthur poked him until he sat up enough to take a dose of whatever Gaius had left him and force a few biscuits into him, and then he surrendered to the unconscious that had been tempting him for far too long.
When he next awoke, the sun was low in the sky again and Arthur sat alone at the table. He looked up when Merlin stretched and held out a cup of something that turned out to be water. When Merlin wiped the few stray drops from his lips, he expected Arthur to lay into him about withholding information or possibly his brain-addled incompetence, but instead Arthur only offered a sorrowful quirk of his lips and said, “I wish I had known her.”
“Arthur,” Merlin swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat despite the drink. “I did not mean to keep-”
“I know you didn’t,” Arthur cut him off. He poked at the table, either playing with a splinter or attempting to create one, and said, “I could be angry, but what is the point? I was gifted with the knowledge that, somewhere, my mother is alive and well and beautiful and strong and everything I could hope her to be.” His hand stilled and Merlin had to strain to hear him whisper, “And that she is all of that because she chose not to have me.”
“Arthur!” Merlin protested, but it was too late. Arthur stood and made his way to the door and simply walked out, leaving Merlin barefoot and aching inside.
By the time Merlin made it to the door, feet still cold against the stone, Arthur was nowhere in sight. It was fairly obvious he wished to be alone, but Merlin questioned the sense in that decision. He sighed and wiped his hands across his face before deciding there were better places to be than standing only partially dressed in the middle of the draughty passageway.
He trudged back inside and settled down at the table after pulling a blanket from the bed over his shoulders to ward off the remaining chill. He poked at the fruits left out and sipped at some tepid tea and thought about how best to get Arthur to understand that this was not his fault and this was but one possibility of what life would have been like had his mother made a different choice. He and Gaius had discussed this very thing when the portal first appeared, about how a single choice may lead to another and then to another and how any and all of these could lead to worlds entirely different from what they knew now.
He knew Arthur’s moods though, and knew this was probably not the best time to bring up the subject, even if Arthur had not stormed off to sulk in private. Arthur needed to work through this on his own for a bit, at least enough for his gut emotional response to die down, before he would be ready to talk and possibly reach an understanding that he could cope with, if not like.
His thoughts had moved on to just how a supposedly peaceful and quiet group such as the Suaimhneas could possibly be tied in to the possibility of assassins and death and whether such a change would have occurred on this side or his own when he heard the door creak open behind him. There was the soft and slightly hesitant brush of footfalls against the rug and Merlin did not bother to look up as he asked, “Are you ready to talk then? Or at least share company while we wait for news?”
When he was only answered with silence, he feared Arthur’s sulk had reached epic proportions. “Look,” he sighed. “We do not even have to discuss your family, on either side. We can talk about hunting and your love for shooting tiny furry creatures for all I care, just come and share some tea and I can see if we can get something stronger for you with our meal,” he offered.
When there was still no answer, he huffed and turned slightly in his chair to look over his shoulder to discover that it was not Arthur at his door, but it was someone else he recognised.
“Traitor!” the man with the scar and the cloak accused. His blade rose high in the air in preparation of attack and Merlin’s eyes instantly found the green against the gleam of metal.
He pushed himself to his feet only to find the blanket tangled around him hindering the move. The knife was arcing downward towards him though, so he threw himself to the side, shoulder connecting with the floor for one brief jarring moment before he was able to roll free of both the blanket and the continued attack. Hands now free, he held them before him, feeling the magic in his blood and in the air, wondering why he had not noticed it before when it was so obvious now.
Another swing and another dodge and Merlin really did not want to continue this game, not when he clearly did not have the upper hand with his injuries and sluggishness. The fire came to his palms with nary a whisper and cascaded towards the assassin who was able to block the first bout but not the second and whose cloak was soon lit with flames.
Another incantation, this one not Merlin’s, and the fire was out and the cloak lay on the floor in a smouldering mess. The man’s hand was on him now, trying to hold him in place while he brought the knife down. Merlin pushed him off both physically and magically and flung the blade as far away from him as possible while he was distracted. The man reached for his fallen weapon anyway, but decided against it when the rush of footsteps echoed down the hallway and into the room. “This is not over,” he growled before using what Merlin was now thinking of as his default transportation spell to disappear just as the guards burst into the room.
James was only moments behind, but reached Merlin first while the others dealt with the cloak and the weapon, heeding the words of caution not to touch the residue. “Are you alright?” he demanded, checking Merlin over for injury.
“Fine,” Merlin wheezed. He waved a hand in the direction of the lingering smoke and sizzle and lamented, “But he got away.”
James’ hand brushed against the slice in his side and Merlin staggered from the burst of pain. The knight’s fingers came away stained red and he shook his head as he offered, “Perhaps not so fine?” He glanced around the room and asked, “Where is your prince?”
Figuring it was probably best not to say Arthur was off sulking, Merlin told him, “He needed time and space to cope with everything he learned today.”
“He left you alone while you slept?” James asked, aghast. He looked to the crumpled blanket to the cloak to the knife in horror.
Merlin shook his head and tried to reassure him. “No, he waited until I woke up,” he insisted. Trying to get him to focus on a more pressing threat than leaving a perfectly capable sorcerer to deal with a sorcerer, he added, “But we need to make sure this was the only attack. He prefers the parapet on the eastern tower when he needs to think. Please, go make certain he’s safe?”
It was not as easy as that though, as James refused to leave Merlin alone, even with his own trusted guards. He ordered one to send Sir Owen and Sir Erion to check on Arthur after explaining their rooms were the closest, and then ordered another to seek out Gaius to come tend to Merlin’s reopened wound.
That is how Arthur found him upon his return: sitting on the edge of the bed, bare feet dangling, stained shirt hiked up while Gaius tried to stop the bleeding. “Merlin?” Arthur demanded, rushing the last few steps into the room. “What happened?”
Merlin saw James open his mouth and knew the knight was likely about to forget Arthur’s role as prince on the other side if his expression had anything to do with it, and cut him off with, “One of the assassins got in. He attacked, I evaded, but he got away.” He really hoped Arthur did not notice the singe marks or smell of burnt cloth that lingered in the room and, if he did, would assume it involved one of the candelabras and not a magical source.
Given Arthur’s usual responses, he expected at least a comment about his own fighting prowess, or lack thereof, and so was surprised when Arthur instead crouched at the side of the bed, fingers hovering towards the wound before settling lightly on Merlin’s knee. “I am so sorry,” he breathed.
“It’s not your fault,” Merlin shrugged, going for nonchalant but getting chided by Gaius when the movement aggravated his injury.
“I left you alone with a known threat still at large,” Arthur countered and James seemed oddly calmed by his words.
“I’m not completely inept,” Merlin huffed, not appreciating the implication. “I managed to fight him off just fine on my own, you know.”
“But you should not have had to,” Arthur whispered, his grip on Merlin’s knee tightening for a moment before releasing.
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