Merlin - Realms [Part 5]
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
Merlin feared he was about to go off on another sulk about not getting to be the hero or some such thing that would really seem counterproductive at this point, but was saved by a knock on the door drawing everyone’s attentions. It was Morgana, and she brought a guest.
“Hello, Emrys,” Aglain greeted him. He looked serene as ever in his simple robes, forgoing the usual showiness the court sorcerers preferred. With a nod at Gaius, he offered, “Perhaps I can be of assistance with that wound?”
Gaius stepped aside gratefully. “It would be an honour to have one with your healing Gifts assist,” he replied. As a not quite quiet aside to Merlin, he explained, “His talents far outweigh even mine. You would do well to allow his help.”
Even with Gaius’ words, Aglain did not approach until he had Merlin’s blessing. He was hesitant, but nodded, not wishing to offend an obvious ally. “Please, do not feel obligated to do so,” Merlin told him. “You are a guest and already helping us, you should not have to do more simply because I could not duck properly.”
Aglain smiled, calm exuding from his very being to the point Merlin swore even the last bits of turbulent magic within him from the altercation finally settled and flowed smoothly once more. “It is not a bother to help one in need,” he insisted. He took Gaius’ place at Merlin’s side, wetting a bit of linen to dab at the blood seeping down the pale skin. His touch was warm in the coolness of the room and some of the angry burn seemed to dissipate from even just that. Aglain paused though, setting aside the linen to ask, “You have guilt, why?”
It took Merlin a moment to realise the voice was solely in his head and not spoken aloud. Specifically for Arthur to hear as Merlin’s reasons would cause nothing but questions he was not certain he wished to answer quite yet. Concentrating to use his mind and not his lips to reply, Merlin told him, “I watched you die from wounds I was not able to treat, from wounds caused by my very presence. It seems unfair for you to care for me now when I could not then.”
Aglain’s soft chuckle echoed in response though Merlin was certain he was the only one to hear it. “As I am alive and well enough to make the decision to offer my services to you, I can promise you that the person you saw was not me. It may have looked like me, may even have sounded like me, but he was a different man from a different world.”
“And yet he died because of my choices,” Merlin replied.
“And you have paid your penance and helped many others in repayment for simply trying to help your friend,” Aglain told him, not unkindly. “Do not feel guilt, young Emrys. Simply use that lesson to guide your future actions.”
Merlin simply nodded, not knowing what to say, mentally or otherwise, in response to that. He promised himself that he would try harder in the future, to notice not only the world around him and the effect he had on it, but the ramifications of that effect. He had wanted to make certain Morgana was safe. In his rush, he led the danger to her and others paid the cost. He shared that cost through his memories, which was all he thought he had to offer them. Perhaps if those memories served to teach though, himself and anyone who cared to listen, the cost would not be quite so steep.
Aglain smiled at him as though he could read his thoughts even when they were not directed at him, which may have actually been possible, Merlin was not sure. Apparently finding what he needed, voiced or no, he set to work on his task. Merlin felt the magic wash over him, not just brushing against his own, but drawing upon it and tying it in with that of Aglain and what felt to be the very world around him. His side burned hot, but without actual pain, and Merlin swore he saw it glow the same colour as the light in the Druid’s eyes before everything slowly faded back to normal.
When he was done, Aglain picked up the piece of damp linen and dabbed at the wound once more. Only it was not really a wound anymore. All that remained was a thin red line, very slightly puckered like a recent scar, but the swelling and hint of infection was gone completely, and the skin around the line was as pale as the rest of him.
“You will still need to rest, at least for the night,” Aglain said as he stood and wiped his hands clean. “We can visit what was found in the morning, when there is both light and a new energy to the day.”
“What was found?” James asked. He offered the other man a chair from the table, but he declined.
“It was the Suaimhneas as we thought, but not in the way we had thought,” Aglain replied. He held up his hand to forestall the questions and explained, “Our emissary spoke to his contact within that group and found that, yes, there were several who prefer to commune in that area. He also discovered they have had visitors as of late and that, though these visitors claim to be of their kind, their ways are not quite like their own.”
“Do you think they came from the other side? Or that they could be using your people for their hospitality?” Arthur asked. His eyes kept tracing Merlin’s healed wound, but he had clearly been listening and paying attention all along.
“The Suaimhneas are not known for their hospitality,” Morgana answered, reminding them of her presence. “They prefer their own company or none at all. They will help those in need, but send them on their way as soon as they are ready. They wish to commune with nature in peace and that peace usually does not involve a great deal of people.”
“There was something else,” Aglain spoke. Certain he had the others’ attention, he said, “Our emissary stated that he believed his contact was hiding something based upon his unusual behaviour and the not letting him further investigate. He scryed for a reason upon his return, but was only able to see one thing clearly. He fears the obfuscation of the rest may be deliberate.” He reached into the folds of his long robes and pulled out a piece of parchment. He unfolded it to reveal a sketched image of the portal in all its glory, and what looked to be a man passing through it.
“The only person to pass through our portal to the other side was James,” Morgana insisted. “Others returned through it, but no one else has left since Merlin brought his charge with days ago.”
“I cannot explain why he saw what he saw, I can only tell you what he claims to have seen,” Aglain told her and she instantly subsided. Merlin knew Morgana would be the last one to question what someone claimed to have seen in a vision, on this side or any other, especially after her own dreams had been called into question so much in the past.
“So you wish to question them, these Suaimhneas, further tomorrow?” Arthur guessed.
“I wish for an alternative opinion,” Aglain amended. “We are working off of solely what is known to us; our expectations shaped by the world around us. What our seer reports does not fit this world, or at least what we know of it. Now it is possible that whatever we are being prevented from seeing is causing this change, but it is also possible that the simple act of prevention is the source.”
“You want an outside view, someone who has seen both worlds, to see if they notice a difference,” Merlin guessed.
“And preferably one who is magically inclined,” Aglain admitted.
Before Merlin could even widen his eyes at the obvious implication in front of Arthur, let alone bumble for a reason why Aglain would make such a request in his presence, Morgana smoothly stepped in and covered for him with a prim, “Of course. I have seen both realms and would be happy to assist.”
Aglain offered a questioning look in return while Merlin stuttered, “And Arthur and I could go with you to see if there’s anything familiar to us that you may not have seen on our side during your brief time there.”
Within his mind, he heard Morgana warn, “We all have secrets, do not cost him his. The price may very well be his life.”
“Of course, my apologies,” Aglain replied in the same echoing tone. “I had forgotten that what we take for granted here is denied on the other side. I will try my best not to make such an error again.” Merlin was confused enough with a single other voice in his mind, let alone two, but tried not to show anything outwardly.
“Will you be ready for travel come morning?” Arthur asked, reminding Merlin that not all could hear their inner dialogue. He gestured to Merlin’s wound, or lack thereof, and had the same inscrutable look on his face as before.
Merlin knew that, under normal circumstances, he would be able to weasel whatever was bothering Arthur out of him over the course of a day or so. He also knew that they did not have that luxury at this time. Right now, for all intents and purposes, Arthur was distracted. It likely had something to do with his mother and possibly all the changes he was discovering on this side, but there was still something more that Merlin could not put his finger on. He did not question Arthur’s prowess in an actual battle; the prince’s focus would be insurmountable. What he had to ask though, was if that focus would be too great, ignoring possibly vitally important clues, as a way of overcompensating for whatever else was on his mind.
He also knew that Arthur was waiting for an answer. “I’ll be fine,” he insisted. At Arthur’s doubting eyebrow, he huffed, “Bit tired, bit sore, but nothing a good meal and a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
Arthur, of course, overcompensated for that as well, going so far as to suggest they forgo the planned dinner with the king and queen and dine in their chambers to allow Merlin more of a chance to rest. Morgana, bless her heart, saw right through that and managed to cut Arthur off before his mother hen routine got out of hand. They and Aglain would dine with her in her chambers while the maids and guards were given a chance to set Merlin’s room to rights. Far less stress than dining with the monarchy, who she insisted would understand, yet still more productive than hiding away when there were still details to be worked out about the following day’s schedule.
Dinner was, of course, divine, and also had the added benefit of neither Morgana nor Aglain attempting to hold multiple conversations with Merlin, both verbally and not. Well, mostly anyway. Once Aglain needed clarification as to a not so subtle comment about Merlin being seen only as a servant on the other side, and once Morgana politely advised Merlin that he had spilled soup on his tunic. Given that it was the same tunic from earlier that was already stained with his blood as he was not given a chance to change prior to his meal, Merlin was not overly concerned.
“You are quiet, Arthur Pendragon,” Aglain commented as the dishes from the main course were cleared and goblets of mulled wine and platters of sweets took their place. “Are you contemplating a strategy for tomorrow?”
Arthur shook his head and quirked his lips in a shallow shadow of a smile. “Contemplating, but not about strategy,” he admitted. He leaned back in his chair and held his goblet in his hands, turning it to and fro and watching the dark liquid stain the inside, but had yet to actually drink any. “The strategy will present itself when the facts of the situation allow.”
Merlin understood what he meant, and was fairly certain the others did as well. They were to investigate and observe tomorrow, something that was difficult to plan for. You hoped for the best and expected the worst and kept your weapons at the ready, be they sword or the magic within you. Given that there were known assassins that they had the potential to be dealing with, he was rather hoping for more than one sword, but the situation would be as the situation would be, and they would handle things as they were presented. In the meantime, he relished the fact he was being allowed the wine, something Arthur had frowned at, but did not dare refuse him after the day’s events.
“Then what troubles you?” Aglain asked. It was the question Merlin himself wanted the answers to, but did not have the courage to actually come out and ask. A glance to Morgana showed even she dared not delve into his mind without his permission, though it was entirely possible she could not. There were some people naturally immune to her Gifts, but he had a feeling that, immunity or no, she would still refrain. Arthur deserved his private moments. When those private moments interfered with the task at hand, directly or no, then it would be time to intervene.
Merlin did not really expect Arthur to say anything. Maybe he would sip his wine and stall, or maybe he would come up with something small and insignificant in an attempt to appease just enough for everyone to back off. He was quite surprised when Arthur said simply, “The differences.”
“Between the realms?” Morgana guessed.
Arthur set his goblet down and nodded. He pursed his lips together for a moment before he blurted, “There are so many and they are so obvious and yet everything is so very similar to home.” A wave to Merlin and he explained, “I know Merlin as my simple-minded and oddly loyal servant, and yet here he is treated with the rights and respects of an ambassador or nobleman. Things that I have been taught to take for granted, like the inherent evil of all magic, are either inconsequential or downright disproved here.”
“Magic is not evil,” Morgana insisted. She had picked up a sweet, but set it aside as she explained, “It is simply what you use it for. Think of a blade: it can either save a life or take one. The person who holds that blade makes that choice; they decide upon the act and, with it, the consequences.”
“I know that,” Arthur sighed. At the multiple raised eyebrows he received, he amended that to, “Or at the very least I am learning that. But you must understand that how I was raised varies so drastically from everything I am seeing here. Sorcerers were to be hunted and killed, assumed evil even if they had never raised a finger against the king. Here, I watched a man use magic to heal, baubles that my father would have burned worn freely and, inexplicably, protect instead of harm.” He turned to Aglain and admitted, “I saw your body, run through with a bolt from one of my men’s crossbows because you had kidnapped Morgana, and yet now I dine with you as an equal.”
“But I am alive,” Aglain said, trying to use the same logic he had used on Merlin on Arthur.
Merlin suspected it was not going to work, at least not well, and took a hearty swallow of his wine before he admitted something he thought he would take to his grave. “Aglain and the Druids did not kidnap Morgana. She went to them in hopes of learning how to use the Gift she was given. She returned in an effort to save not only the lives of the Druids that took her in, but the lives of every single person from Camelot itself that your father was rounding up to have slaughtered.” He said it as fast as he could to be over with it, but also tried his very best to say it as calm as he could so as to not to raise hackles or make the situation worse than it already was.
Arthur closed his eyes and Merlin knew it pained him to be told this, to know his surrogate sister willingly left for the enemy, only to return to serve them as well. He also knew it pained Arthur that Merlin had known this all along and yet kept it hidden from him. He only hoped that Arthur understood why and that, perhaps, one day he would be willing to accept it.
“My father ordered those people to be captured so that magic would not take Morgana the way it took my mother,” he whispered. His eyes clenched tighter for a moment before he opened them and allowed Merlin to see the anguish within. “Maybe it’s different here. Maybe magic is inherently evil at home just as my father claims it to be. Maybe here it is used more as a force of good to counteract that evil, a sense of balance in the grand scheme of things. But I cannot believe that something that stole my mother from... that cost her...”
Arthur trailed off, the words lost in his surge of emotion, and Aglain took the opportunity to speak. “It comes down to knowledge,” he offered. “The knowledge of the price of magic, and of the consequences of its actions. I do not believe your mother would have left you behind after struggling to bring you into this world if given the choice. She was not given the knowledge she needed; she was not advised of the consequences of her actions.”
“Queen Ygraine was offered a similar choice,” Morgana told them, and Merlin’s ears perked up, never having heard such a thing before. “She was offered the chance to birth a child of her own, a true heir of the ruling king and queen of Camelot.” Morgana shook her head sorrowfully, the woman had become so much like her own mother in so many ways. “She knew the price of magic though, a cost for a cost, and she feared that cost would be far too high for her to pay. She and Uther deliberated over it for quite some time until finally Uther decided he could not take the risk that the cost would be his queen, his love. They invited my father to this castle as he was a dear friend of Uther’s and my mother had already passed. Ygraine had practically adopted me prior to my own father’s death. They made the best out of an awful situation and this was the result. I am sorry that dear Ygraine never held her own child in her hands, but I am grateful for all the times she had the chance to hold me.”
“Without your mother’s death, your father never grew to hate magic, never blamed it for her lost,” Merlin whispered, fitting the pieces together. “There was no Great Purge, no raids of the Druid camps or mass executions.”
“No insistence upon the evils of magic brought about by his own grief,” Morgana added.
“No fighting back against him and his men, no grudges or curses like some self-fulfilling prophecy, proving to him that he was right because they challenged him now,” Merlin explained, knowing his words could be seen as treason, and he too could be executed, only this time the risk was not simply for being who he was born to be.
“No me,” Arthur finished for them.
Morgana shook her head, dark curls sliding across her silk-clad shoulders. “You are not to blame for your father’s corruption,” she insisted. “Whoever did not tell your parents the true cost of their desire is at fault.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I have it good authority that person has paid the price quite severely for her actions,” Merlin offered.
Almost instantly he heard joint demands for the name of the witch that would do such a thing blare within his mind. He had barely thought the name when he heard Aglain’s disbelieving, “Nimeuh? The Fallen Priestess? That she could do such a thing is not inconceivable, but gives credence to her fall.”
“A sorceress that powerful - how can you be certain she will not return?” Morgana demanded. She took a sip of her wine, actions far too jerky to be graceful and refined, but it served to cover her clearly doubting expression. It was still disconcerting to see her drink while it sounded like she was carrying on a conversation though, and Merlin did not think he would ever fully get used to that.
“Because she really did not look like she was coming back after I hit her with that lightning bolt?” he tried. He bit his lip in both an effort not to speak aloud, and in preparation for the backlash.
The expressions turned from doubting to near shock. “We will be discussing this at a later time,” Morgana stated, eyes narrowed, and Merlin was fairly certain Aglain wished to be witness to that conversation.
It was a good thing that Arthur was so distracted with his own thoughts that he did not see the emotions playing about the faces of the others. It would have been obvious that they were carrying on a conversation without him, and that would have led to far more questions than Merlin’s tired mind could handle that night. “Not tonight though?” he asked hopefully. His body sagged in his chair and, true to Aglain’s earlier prediction, he longed for sleep, feeling exhausted despite the lack of a full day’s worth of chores. He was fairly certain the source was more than the few sips of wine he had been allowed, though he was just as certain that those sips probably did not help.
“Later,” Morgana agreed and he knew it was more than a promise. She set down her goblet and nodded daintily in Merlin’s direction, drawing Arthur’s attention first to her and then to his friend. “You appear quite spent from today’s events; perhaps it is time to call this meal to an end to allow you to rest?”
Merlin looked up at her gratefully, even though he swore he could feel Arthur’s protective instincts hone in on him once more. “How are you feeling?” the prince asked, suddenly closer, fingertips brushing Merlin’s arm before the back of his hand graced his forehead. “You do not feel feverish, though you look like a ghoul with those shadows under your eyes.”
“I feel like a ghoul,” Merlin admitted. He pushed himself to his unsteady feet and bowed slightly towards both Morgana and Aglain, surprised when the action involved only minor discomfort. “With your leave?”
Arthur had stood as well and was at Merlin’s elbow before either were formally dismissed. Times were set to gather the next day, and Morgana offered Arthur more than training gear should he so desire. He demurred, but did not outright refuse, and Merlin was left to question how much was his desire for protection, and how much was his fear that the gear could be used to control him given his underlying fear of magic and his apparent belief that every single thing in this kingdom was tainted with that power. It was not true, not really, though he had to admit magic’s reach in this world far surpassed even his own wishes for his own world, and he wondered just how much further it would go if given the chance.
When they finally made it back to Merlin’s newly scrubbed room, Arthur insisted on helping Merlin remove his ruined tunic and replace it with a fine nightshirt, despite the protest that he was perfectly capable of completing such a task himself. When both had prepared for sleep, Merlin lay on his back, gazing up at the velvet canopy and wondering what the next day might hold for them. Arthur took up his previous position at his side, only this time the hand did not rest atop Merlin’s wrist, but rather reached across, fingertips almost brushing Merlin’s hip. A glance showed that Arthur’s palm was centred above the nearly healed wound, the heat from the touch both warm and reassuring at the same time.
Even though he knew Arthur was still awake from the stiff set of his shoulders, no doubt waiting for Merlin to say something about his unusual behaviour, Merlin stayed quiet and purposefully shut his eyes. Arthur was both offering and accepting comfort in his own way and, quite frankly, after a day full of magic and assassins, Merlin did not have it in him to turn down the offer. Instead, he drifted off to sleep with images of gold and red and blood and steel flitting through his mind. He felt a warmth at his side, and another centred above his heart, and he rather hoped it was more than the latest talisman at work.
He awoke the next morning surprised to find Arthur in nearly the same place he had been in the night before. The hand had curved slightly, almost the hint of an embrace, but the whole sensation remained protective and, as odd as it sounded within his own mind, it made him feel safer knowing both that Arthur was there and that he was behaving in such a manner.
He lay there for a while, simply enjoying the moment. He was surrounded by comfort, his body held barely the faintest twinge of soreness, and he felt cared for in every sense of the word. Eventually he needed to move though, and so he rolled slightly to the side, expecting Arthur to either feign sleep or to quickly remove his hand with some weak excuse. Instead, he found Arthur wide awake, blue eyes boring into him, watching his every shift and adjustment.
Not knowing what else to do, Merlin cleared his throat and offered a slightly weak, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Arthur said in reply. He shifted his grip ever so slightly, the palm of his hand lightly sliding over what would have been Merlin’s wound. “How are you feeling?” he asked, eyes flitting down to Merlin’s side and then back up to meet his gaze.
“Much better,” Merlin replied, and it was the truth. He had no idea why he nearly stuttered saying two simple words, however.
Arthur nodded, hair catching on the pillow and releasing to stand at the oddest of angles. “Good,” was all he said.
Merlin had no idea if he intended to say more, or they were to fall into an awkward silence that would make them both uncomfortable, but a knock on the door dissolved the moment and returned them to the present and its no doubt pressing matters.
Arthur removed his hand, but looked reluctant to do so, and Merlin called for whoever it was to enter, figuring if they made it past the guards and actually knocked they were likely not an assassin out for their blood. James entered and did not even raise an eyebrow at the fact neither man had made it out of bed yet that morning. He did cast a glance at the dagger Arthur had somehow obtained, but let it pass when Arthur sheepishly set it aside.
The men got ready for the day and shared a light breakfast before they were escorted to the armoury upon Morgana’s orders. Merlin was, at the very least, to be awarded a shirt of chain mail, and Arthur was to be allowed to choose something more than the light armour of his practice gear should he so desire.
Arthur protested it was not necessary, right up until he saw what was on offer. The metal was finely wrought with delicate designs etched into the goget and pauldron. Merlin watched as his gloved fingertip traced the fine lines, brows furrowed as if trying to place something familiar. “These patterns...” he said, but trailed off, unsure of how to phrase what he was going to say.
“Our smith is the best in the land,” Morgana boasted proudly. She was not yet fully dressed in her own armour, but had her hair piled atop her head in a series of braids and knots to keep it out of the way on their journey and was dressed in preparation for the layers she would be adding.
“I will send your regards to my father,” a new voice joined in.
Time seemed to stop as both Merlin and Arthur turned as one towards the voice, Merlin with a wide grin and Arthur with a look of disbelief. “Gwen!” Merlin wrapped his arms around her in greeting. He pulled back slightly to take in her travelling ensemble and asked hopefully, “You will be joining us?”
“Of course,” Morgana replied for her. “You know by now that she goes wherever I go, or near enough anyway.” Merlin had not forgotten, not really, it was just that Gwen did not usually bother with the day to day politics of the castle, preferring to keep herself busy in other ways that usually involved at least some time at her father’s forge. He had yet to see her this trip, however, and so he was unsure if she was busy with other duties or simply otherwise detained.
“Guinevere?” Arthur asked, voice no more than a whisper.
“Only my brother calls me that,” Gwen scoffed good-naturedly. She stepped up beside Arthur and nodded her approval at his interest. “It’s a fine piece and should fit you well.”
Arthur kept staring at her though, no longer interested in the armour, seeming crushed when she showed no signs of recognition. Merlin cleared his throat slightly and explained to Morgana and James, “Gwen is Morgana’s maid in our realm, I think I told you that before. Arthur and Morgana were raised near brother and sister, so he knows her well on our side.”
Morgana nodded in understanding. “Gwen began as my maid here as well, but has grown to so much more,” she told Arthur. “Her father could deny her nothing as Uther so rarely denies me. When I insisted on learning the sword, she learned as well. Her father pieced together armour for her, and for me, and soon she became more of a bodyguard outside these castle walls. I would be lost without her, truly, and was beside myself wishing to speak to the Gwen in your realm during my visit.”
Gwen smiled politely and curtsied slightly, or at least as much as she could given that she was wearing trousers and not a skirt. She wore a heavy leather vest over a simple tunic very similar to what Morgana herself was currently wearing. Merlin knew from experience that a light hauberk would be added, as well as a belt for at least a sword if not more. He also knew that she would choose what she thought best for him to wear and that he would dare not question that judgment.
She looked at him critically now, head cocked slightly to the side and a few stray curls escaping her no-nonsense bun. “That one,” she decided, pointing to a piece off to the side. “I can help with the buckles if you need. I trust you are just as abysmal with a sword as you were before?” she teased lightly.
“I’ve gotten much better!” Merlin insisted. “Arthur insists on his version of training and I even got in a hit deep enough to leave a mark just last week.”
“That’s because I tripped over a root trying to make sure you did not disembowel yourself with your sword,” Arthur rolled his eyes, earning a chuckle from more than one person present.
Merlin scowled, knowing he had been getting better, regardless of what Arthur liked to tell people, but did not press the issue as whatever odd emotion or doubt Arthur had been feeling seemed to be gone and he was learning to celebrate the small victories at this point.
Gwen walked up to Arthur next and took in his training ensemble with a sniff. “Good enough for a practice field, but I am not letting you out of this castle with a sword like that.” She motioned to the beat up thing at Arthur’s side that barely held an edge any more. It worked well for banging around to teach offensive and defensive moves, but it would hardly be the best thing in a fight unless sheer brunt force was on his side.
“Really?” Arthur asked, clearly amused.
“Really,” she agreed with a twitch of her lips. She pulled a blade from the stand near the door, tested its weight, and offered it to him crosswise. “Try this instead.”
To say it was a fine blade would be an understatement, and both Arthur and Merlin knew it. Arthur swung it in a wide arc to check its balance, then held it close to examine the bevel. “It will do,” he said, clearly impressed.
The twitch became a smirk and she offered another curtsey before moving back over to Merlin. She handed him one that was slightly smaller and easier to handle and said with false seriousness, “Do try not to stab yourself, okay?”
“I will try my best,” Merlin agreed, setting the blade off to the side to shrug into the hauberk first instead.
The others took that as their sign and readied themselves as well. Gwen pulled the buckles tighter on Merlin’s gear, but acquiesced to his insistence upon seeing to Arthur’s himself. He did so from long practice, knowing to keep that catch a little looser, and that buckle a little tighter, and soon enough everyone had everything in place, though Morgana pulled his talisman free to sit above the links of chains and offered only a, “Trust me,” in explanation.
Gwen was settling both a dirk and a sword about her belt when another visitor graced them with his presence. Already in armour, but features unmistakable, Lancelot took Merlin’s offered hand only to pull him into an embrace in greeting. “It has been too long, friend,” he smiled as he released him.
“Much like you in readying yourself this morning,” Gwen teased. “What caused the delay?”
“Your father,” he replied good-naturedly. He pulled her close and placed a kiss atop her curls. “He was not satisfied with the repairs to my pauldron and wanted to make further adjustments. I distracted him by reminding him Elyan was to watch Galahad during our absence and he rushed to check on your brother and his grandson.”
Merlin laughed as he knew Elyan loved his nephew, but was not always the most trustworthy when caring for him. The toddler was usually returned filthy, but unharmed, with fingers and lips stained with sweets.
He turned to see Arthur taking in the scene with wide eyes. He was not certain if it was due to the open displays of affection, or the fact Lancelot wore the colours of Camelot and clearly served its crown. “Lancelot is a knight here, much like he tried to be in our realm. He and Gwen were married not long after the gryphon incident.”
“But he is not a nobleman,” Arthur spluttered, though Merlin knew that was probably the least of Arthur’s concerns.
Morgana snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “That hardly matters when you save the king and queen, not to mention their ward,” she explained. “He is a loyal and determined fighter, and a fine addition to our knights.”
“I did not mean any disrespect,” Arthur insisted, regaining some of his usual decorum. “The Lancelot in our realm saved my life as well, though my father banished him for pretending to be something he was not.” He shook his head. “Much like Merlin has said, repeatedly mind you, there are so many similarities here, yet so many differences as well. It is difficult to wrap one’s mind around at times, though I shall endeavour to do my best.” He offered Lancelot a bow in apology and Lancelot offered his hand in return.
“There are no hard feelings, believe me, sire,” he said, offering his own bow. “I was surprised as many that King Uther honoured my request. I can only hope that I continue to serve him and the crown of Camelot to the best of my abilities.”
Merlin tried to hide a grin at Arthur’s instinctive reaction to being called “sire” and the fact it was possibly the first time he had been done so during his visit. The straightened shoulders, the slight tilt of the head, all ingrained in him from an early age, to be certain. He wanted to give Lancelot a thumbs up for a moment well-played, but knew the knight did not mean it as such, and it was just his own inborn sense of decorum that was expressing itself, likely without conscious thought.
With everyone situated and properly armed, they left for the stables where horses were readied and mounted in quick fashion. Aside from James and Lancelot, two other knights Merlin vaguely recognised were assigned to their troupe named Arain and Efraran, and Aglain awaited them there as well, forgoing any armament as was his way. Uther and Ygraine saw them off, and Merlin caught the slight flicker of sorrow in Arthur’s eyes when he saw the woman he would have called mother tuck something sweet into Morgana’s saddlebag, and the man he called father pat her horse on the flank the way he so often did Arthur’s when he left for any sort of patrol or battle.
The journey was relatively quiet, and the scenery very familiar. Merlin swore he felt it when they passed through the wards placed around the town and outlying fields and, by Morgana’s answering smirk, he was fairly certain who placed them there. It was odd though, to pass by the meadow where Gaius tended to cultivate various herbs and find a smattering of homes there instead, or to cross the creek on a bridge made of stone instead of wood.
His mind kept wondering what other little changes lurked behind the bushes and the brambles and, if Arthur’s expression was anything to go by, he was not the only one pursuing that line of thought. Arthur offered him a wry turn of his lips that told Merlin that he had been both caught contemplating Arthur’s reaction and that he was likely on the correct track for that contemplation.
Aglain called for a halt at the edge of a thicket and the party dismounted, leaving one of the knights to both watch the horses and play sentry. He led the way through the brush and they walked a fair distance before they came upon a small clearing. To the side was small hut, possibly smaller than Merlin’s own room back at the castle, runes and herbs adorning the lintel of the simple wooden door.
Aglain paused outside that door, head tilted to the side in consternation. “This is the home of Eloran,” he explained. “But his wards are inactive and he is not responding to any requests.”
Merlin waved off Arthur’s mouthed question of how Aglain could request when he had not made a sound, and whispered back, “Not all speech is spoken.”
“Oh, that’s incredibly helpful,” Arthur huffed. He spun in a circle to fully take in their surroundings and must have spotted something as he headed off to the side to investigate.
Merlin was torn between following him and checking with Aglain, who had now opened the door to the hut to peer inside. The room was empty, everything neat and tidy and in its place, but Merlin did not dwell on that for long as Arthur now had his sword drawn and was pulling back some foliage to examine something on the forest floor.
“They are peaceful people,” Morgana chided. “Greeting them with weapons drawn will not get us very far.”
Merlin was going to point out that this was in direct contrast to the fact she insisted they were all well-armed on this little outing, not to mention hunting possible assassins, but found it unnecessary as Arthur lowered his sword and agreed, “No, it will not get us very far at all.”
Merlin recognised that tone and was at his side in a moment. Through the leaves and the branches he saw exactly what Arthur meant. There was a body crumpled on the ground, green cloak askew, and dark blood staining the earth beneath it.
“Eloran, I presume?” Arthur asked as Aglain approached.
Aglain crouched beside the body and offered a small prayer, cupping the pale cheek before closing the lifeless eyes. “Yes,” he confirmed, voice tinged with sorrow. He rose but did not look away from his fallen friend as he said, “He was a good man. There would have been no reason for such violence.”
“Unless someone was afraid he was going to reveal something they wanted to keep hidden,” Arthur guessed.
Aglain nodded, but something still seemed off in Merlin’s mind. He touched the green woollen cloak and examined the silver embroidery. “Is this standard amongst the Suaimhneas?” he asked.
“The runes vary but, yes, the colours and style are correct,” Aglain confirmed.
Merlin looked about him and knew more than one person wanted to know what he was going on about this time. “It’s the wrong hue,” he explained. “The assassins wore a very similar style, but the green was different and they used gold instead of silver along the hem.”
“A difference between the realms,” Morgana supposed.
“Which would support the idea that whoever it is came from your world to seek refuge in ours,” James added. “But why kill the one offering you refuge?”
While they mused on that bit of information, Lancelot called from further up a rough path, “I believe I have found something!”
Merlin followed the others and trudge along the barely formed trail to where the knight waited. “What is it?” James asked, already peering at the area around them.
“This path leads to a small clearing where is something there you need to see. There are several footprints, some that simply stop and others that seem to begin from nowhere,” Lancelot explained.
Merlin shared a look with Arthur and then with Morgana at the implication of the words. The three of them pushed forward and reached the edge of the area before the others. Gwen arrived soon enough, however, and pulled Morgana between herself and James for safety’s sake, much to the Lady’s frustration.
“It’s another portal,” Morgana announced, reminding Merlin that not everyone could see the things.
He stepped forward, only Arthur’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder keeping him back, and took in the sight. Part of him was not surprised that another portal could exist. It would explain the strange disturbances, the ability of the assassins to travel between the realms without the need to trespass Morgana’s castle, and how the Suaimhneas of this realm came upon the travellers.
What he was surprised at was its size. It was so very small, barely a fourth the size of the portal in Gaius’ room, and that was when it was at its smallest. It also did not glow red as he had expected, but the same gold as the one he knew so well, though perhaps a little dimmer, a little less vibrant in some way than the one back home.
There was a noise at the far side of the clearing, and Arthur pulled Merlin back and ducked him down low as to not be seen. Gwen and James were doing the same for Morgana, and Lancelot, Arain, and Aglain tucked themselves along the treeline but safely out of view.
Merlin peered through the bush the best he could to see two men approach, green cloaks trimmed in gold. “Thomas should be back by now,” one complained. He shifted two stones that had blended in with the detritus and the portal flared brighter, nearly large enough now for a person to walk through.
“We must realise that he could have been captured, or worse,” the second man pointed out. He clapped the other man on the shoulder and said, “Do not fail as he has; twice he has travelled with unacceptable results. Find the Pendragon son and make him pay as his father has made us pay with our children’s lives.”
The first man nodded and took both a vial and a dagger from the second and hid them in the folds of his cloak. The two chanted in a guttural language and the portal changed from gold to red, shimmering bright against the green of the forest.
“I will not let our brothers down,” the first man promised.
“I should hope not,” the second one replied, no hint of humour to his tone. “They stand waiting for word of your success; the attack hinges on Uther’s distraction and grief over the loss of his son.”
There were not further words of goodbye, only the first man nodding in understanding and stepping through to the other side. The second waited a moment as the portal returned to gold, the colour reflected in his own eyes. He shifted the stones back into place and glanced around almost nervously. Apparently satisfied that nothing was out of sorts, he disappeared back into the shadows of the woods on the other side of the clearing.
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/343492.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
Merlin feared he was about to go off on another sulk about not getting to be the hero or some such thing that would really seem counterproductive at this point, but was saved by a knock on the door drawing everyone’s attentions. It was Morgana, and she brought a guest.
“Hello, Emrys,” Aglain greeted him. He looked serene as ever in his simple robes, forgoing the usual showiness the court sorcerers preferred. With a nod at Gaius, he offered, “Perhaps I can be of assistance with that wound?”
Gaius stepped aside gratefully. “It would be an honour to have one with your healing Gifts assist,” he replied. As a not quite quiet aside to Merlin, he explained, “His talents far outweigh even mine. You would do well to allow his help.”
Even with Gaius’ words, Aglain did not approach until he had Merlin’s blessing. He was hesitant, but nodded, not wishing to offend an obvious ally. “Please, do not feel obligated to do so,” Merlin told him. “You are a guest and already helping us, you should not have to do more simply because I could not duck properly.”
Aglain smiled, calm exuding from his very being to the point Merlin swore even the last bits of turbulent magic within him from the altercation finally settled and flowed smoothly once more. “It is not a bother to help one in need,” he insisted. He took Gaius’ place at Merlin’s side, wetting a bit of linen to dab at the blood seeping down the pale skin. His touch was warm in the coolness of the room and some of the angry burn seemed to dissipate from even just that. Aglain paused though, setting aside the linen to ask, “You have guilt, why?”
It took Merlin a moment to realise the voice was solely in his head and not spoken aloud. Specifically for Arthur to hear as Merlin’s reasons would cause nothing but questions he was not certain he wished to answer quite yet. Concentrating to use his mind and not his lips to reply, Merlin told him, “I watched you die from wounds I was not able to treat, from wounds caused by my very presence. It seems unfair for you to care for me now when I could not then.”
Aglain’s soft chuckle echoed in response though Merlin was certain he was the only one to hear it. “As I am alive and well enough to make the decision to offer my services to you, I can promise you that the person you saw was not me. It may have looked like me, may even have sounded like me, but he was a different man from a different world.”
“And yet he died because of my choices,” Merlin replied.
“And you have paid your penance and helped many others in repayment for simply trying to help your friend,” Aglain told him, not unkindly. “Do not feel guilt, young Emrys. Simply use that lesson to guide your future actions.”
Merlin simply nodded, not knowing what to say, mentally or otherwise, in response to that. He promised himself that he would try harder in the future, to notice not only the world around him and the effect he had on it, but the ramifications of that effect. He had wanted to make certain Morgana was safe. In his rush, he led the danger to her and others paid the cost. He shared that cost through his memories, which was all he thought he had to offer them. Perhaps if those memories served to teach though, himself and anyone who cared to listen, the cost would not be quite so steep.
Aglain smiled at him as though he could read his thoughts even when they were not directed at him, which may have actually been possible, Merlin was not sure. Apparently finding what he needed, voiced or no, he set to work on his task. Merlin felt the magic wash over him, not just brushing against his own, but drawing upon it and tying it in with that of Aglain and what felt to be the very world around him. His side burned hot, but without actual pain, and Merlin swore he saw it glow the same colour as the light in the Druid’s eyes before everything slowly faded back to normal.
When he was done, Aglain picked up the piece of damp linen and dabbed at the wound once more. Only it was not really a wound anymore. All that remained was a thin red line, very slightly puckered like a recent scar, but the swelling and hint of infection was gone completely, and the skin around the line was as pale as the rest of him.
“You will still need to rest, at least for the night,” Aglain said as he stood and wiped his hands clean. “We can visit what was found in the morning, when there is both light and a new energy to the day.”
“What was found?” James asked. He offered the other man a chair from the table, but he declined.
“It was the Suaimhneas as we thought, but not in the way we had thought,” Aglain replied. He held up his hand to forestall the questions and explained, “Our emissary spoke to his contact within that group and found that, yes, there were several who prefer to commune in that area. He also discovered they have had visitors as of late and that, though these visitors claim to be of their kind, their ways are not quite like their own.”
“Do you think they came from the other side? Or that they could be using your people for their hospitality?” Arthur asked. His eyes kept tracing Merlin’s healed wound, but he had clearly been listening and paying attention all along.
“The Suaimhneas are not known for their hospitality,” Morgana answered, reminding them of her presence. “They prefer their own company or none at all. They will help those in need, but send them on their way as soon as they are ready. They wish to commune with nature in peace and that peace usually does not involve a great deal of people.”
“There was something else,” Aglain spoke. Certain he had the others’ attention, he said, “Our emissary stated that he believed his contact was hiding something based upon his unusual behaviour and the not letting him further investigate. He scryed for a reason upon his return, but was only able to see one thing clearly. He fears the obfuscation of the rest may be deliberate.” He reached into the folds of his long robes and pulled out a piece of parchment. He unfolded it to reveal a sketched image of the portal in all its glory, and what looked to be a man passing through it.
“The only person to pass through our portal to the other side was James,” Morgana insisted. “Others returned through it, but no one else has left since Merlin brought his charge with days ago.”
“I cannot explain why he saw what he saw, I can only tell you what he claims to have seen,” Aglain told her and she instantly subsided. Merlin knew Morgana would be the last one to question what someone claimed to have seen in a vision, on this side or any other, especially after her own dreams had been called into question so much in the past.
“So you wish to question them, these Suaimhneas, further tomorrow?” Arthur guessed.
“I wish for an alternative opinion,” Aglain amended. “We are working off of solely what is known to us; our expectations shaped by the world around us. What our seer reports does not fit this world, or at least what we know of it. Now it is possible that whatever we are being prevented from seeing is causing this change, but it is also possible that the simple act of prevention is the source.”
“You want an outside view, someone who has seen both worlds, to see if they notice a difference,” Merlin guessed.
“And preferably one who is magically inclined,” Aglain admitted.
Before Merlin could even widen his eyes at the obvious implication in front of Arthur, let alone bumble for a reason why Aglain would make such a request in his presence, Morgana smoothly stepped in and covered for him with a prim, “Of course. I have seen both realms and would be happy to assist.”
Aglain offered a questioning look in return while Merlin stuttered, “And Arthur and I could go with you to see if there’s anything familiar to us that you may not have seen on our side during your brief time there.”
Within his mind, he heard Morgana warn, “We all have secrets, do not cost him his. The price may very well be his life.”
“Of course, my apologies,” Aglain replied in the same echoing tone. “I had forgotten that what we take for granted here is denied on the other side. I will try my best not to make such an error again.” Merlin was confused enough with a single other voice in his mind, let alone two, but tried not to show anything outwardly.
“Will you be ready for travel come morning?” Arthur asked, reminding Merlin that not all could hear their inner dialogue. He gestured to Merlin’s wound, or lack thereof, and had the same inscrutable look on his face as before.
Merlin knew that, under normal circumstances, he would be able to weasel whatever was bothering Arthur out of him over the course of a day or so. He also knew that they did not have that luxury at this time. Right now, for all intents and purposes, Arthur was distracted. It likely had something to do with his mother and possibly all the changes he was discovering on this side, but there was still something more that Merlin could not put his finger on. He did not question Arthur’s prowess in an actual battle; the prince’s focus would be insurmountable. What he had to ask though, was if that focus would be too great, ignoring possibly vitally important clues, as a way of overcompensating for whatever else was on his mind.
He also knew that Arthur was waiting for an answer. “I’ll be fine,” he insisted. At Arthur’s doubting eyebrow, he huffed, “Bit tired, bit sore, but nothing a good meal and a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
Arthur, of course, overcompensated for that as well, going so far as to suggest they forgo the planned dinner with the king and queen and dine in their chambers to allow Merlin more of a chance to rest. Morgana, bless her heart, saw right through that and managed to cut Arthur off before his mother hen routine got out of hand. They and Aglain would dine with her in her chambers while the maids and guards were given a chance to set Merlin’s room to rights. Far less stress than dining with the monarchy, who she insisted would understand, yet still more productive than hiding away when there were still details to be worked out about the following day’s schedule.
Dinner was, of course, divine, and also had the added benefit of neither Morgana nor Aglain attempting to hold multiple conversations with Merlin, both verbally and not. Well, mostly anyway. Once Aglain needed clarification as to a not so subtle comment about Merlin being seen only as a servant on the other side, and once Morgana politely advised Merlin that he had spilled soup on his tunic. Given that it was the same tunic from earlier that was already stained with his blood as he was not given a chance to change prior to his meal, Merlin was not overly concerned.
“You are quiet, Arthur Pendragon,” Aglain commented as the dishes from the main course were cleared and goblets of mulled wine and platters of sweets took their place. “Are you contemplating a strategy for tomorrow?”
Arthur shook his head and quirked his lips in a shallow shadow of a smile. “Contemplating, but not about strategy,” he admitted. He leaned back in his chair and held his goblet in his hands, turning it to and fro and watching the dark liquid stain the inside, but had yet to actually drink any. “The strategy will present itself when the facts of the situation allow.”
Merlin understood what he meant, and was fairly certain the others did as well. They were to investigate and observe tomorrow, something that was difficult to plan for. You hoped for the best and expected the worst and kept your weapons at the ready, be they sword or the magic within you. Given that there were known assassins that they had the potential to be dealing with, he was rather hoping for more than one sword, but the situation would be as the situation would be, and they would handle things as they were presented. In the meantime, he relished the fact he was being allowed the wine, something Arthur had frowned at, but did not dare refuse him after the day’s events.
“Then what troubles you?” Aglain asked. It was the question Merlin himself wanted the answers to, but did not have the courage to actually come out and ask. A glance to Morgana showed even she dared not delve into his mind without his permission, though it was entirely possible she could not. There were some people naturally immune to her Gifts, but he had a feeling that, immunity or no, she would still refrain. Arthur deserved his private moments. When those private moments interfered with the task at hand, directly or no, then it would be time to intervene.
Merlin did not really expect Arthur to say anything. Maybe he would sip his wine and stall, or maybe he would come up with something small and insignificant in an attempt to appease just enough for everyone to back off. He was quite surprised when Arthur said simply, “The differences.”
“Between the realms?” Morgana guessed.
Arthur set his goblet down and nodded. He pursed his lips together for a moment before he blurted, “There are so many and they are so obvious and yet everything is so very similar to home.” A wave to Merlin and he explained, “I know Merlin as my simple-minded and oddly loyal servant, and yet here he is treated with the rights and respects of an ambassador or nobleman. Things that I have been taught to take for granted, like the inherent evil of all magic, are either inconsequential or downright disproved here.”
“Magic is not evil,” Morgana insisted. She had picked up a sweet, but set it aside as she explained, “It is simply what you use it for. Think of a blade: it can either save a life or take one. The person who holds that blade makes that choice; they decide upon the act and, with it, the consequences.”
“I know that,” Arthur sighed. At the multiple raised eyebrows he received, he amended that to, “Or at the very least I am learning that. But you must understand that how I was raised varies so drastically from everything I am seeing here. Sorcerers were to be hunted and killed, assumed evil even if they had never raised a finger against the king. Here, I watched a man use magic to heal, baubles that my father would have burned worn freely and, inexplicably, protect instead of harm.” He turned to Aglain and admitted, “I saw your body, run through with a bolt from one of my men’s crossbows because you had kidnapped Morgana, and yet now I dine with you as an equal.”
“But I am alive,” Aglain said, trying to use the same logic he had used on Merlin on Arthur.
Merlin suspected it was not going to work, at least not well, and took a hearty swallow of his wine before he admitted something he thought he would take to his grave. “Aglain and the Druids did not kidnap Morgana. She went to them in hopes of learning how to use the Gift she was given. She returned in an effort to save not only the lives of the Druids that took her in, but the lives of every single person from Camelot itself that your father was rounding up to have slaughtered.” He said it as fast as he could to be over with it, but also tried his very best to say it as calm as he could so as to not to raise hackles or make the situation worse than it already was.
Arthur closed his eyes and Merlin knew it pained him to be told this, to know his surrogate sister willingly left for the enemy, only to return to serve them as well. He also knew it pained Arthur that Merlin had known this all along and yet kept it hidden from him. He only hoped that Arthur understood why and that, perhaps, one day he would be willing to accept it.
“My father ordered those people to be captured so that magic would not take Morgana the way it took my mother,” he whispered. His eyes clenched tighter for a moment before he opened them and allowed Merlin to see the anguish within. “Maybe it’s different here. Maybe magic is inherently evil at home just as my father claims it to be. Maybe here it is used more as a force of good to counteract that evil, a sense of balance in the grand scheme of things. But I cannot believe that something that stole my mother from... that cost her...”
Arthur trailed off, the words lost in his surge of emotion, and Aglain took the opportunity to speak. “It comes down to knowledge,” he offered. “The knowledge of the price of magic, and of the consequences of its actions. I do not believe your mother would have left you behind after struggling to bring you into this world if given the choice. She was not given the knowledge she needed; she was not advised of the consequences of her actions.”
“Queen Ygraine was offered a similar choice,” Morgana told them, and Merlin’s ears perked up, never having heard such a thing before. “She was offered the chance to birth a child of her own, a true heir of the ruling king and queen of Camelot.” Morgana shook her head sorrowfully, the woman had become so much like her own mother in so many ways. “She knew the price of magic though, a cost for a cost, and she feared that cost would be far too high for her to pay. She and Uther deliberated over it for quite some time until finally Uther decided he could not take the risk that the cost would be his queen, his love. They invited my father to this castle as he was a dear friend of Uther’s and my mother had already passed. Ygraine had practically adopted me prior to my own father’s death. They made the best out of an awful situation and this was the result. I am sorry that dear Ygraine never held her own child in her hands, but I am grateful for all the times she had the chance to hold me.”
“Without your mother’s death, your father never grew to hate magic, never blamed it for her lost,” Merlin whispered, fitting the pieces together. “There was no Great Purge, no raids of the Druid camps or mass executions.”
“No insistence upon the evils of magic brought about by his own grief,” Morgana added.
“No fighting back against him and his men, no grudges or curses like some self-fulfilling prophecy, proving to him that he was right because they challenged him now,” Merlin explained, knowing his words could be seen as treason, and he too could be executed, only this time the risk was not simply for being who he was born to be.
“No me,” Arthur finished for them.
Morgana shook her head, dark curls sliding across her silk-clad shoulders. “You are not to blame for your father’s corruption,” she insisted. “Whoever did not tell your parents the true cost of their desire is at fault.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I have it good authority that person has paid the price quite severely for her actions,” Merlin offered.
Almost instantly he heard joint demands for the name of the witch that would do such a thing blare within his mind. He had barely thought the name when he heard Aglain’s disbelieving, “Nimeuh? The Fallen Priestess? That she could do such a thing is not inconceivable, but gives credence to her fall.”
“A sorceress that powerful - how can you be certain she will not return?” Morgana demanded. She took a sip of her wine, actions far too jerky to be graceful and refined, but it served to cover her clearly doubting expression. It was still disconcerting to see her drink while it sounded like she was carrying on a conversation though, and Merlin did not think he would ever fully get used to that.
“Because she really did not look like she was coming back after I hit her with that lightning bolt?” he tried. He bit his lip in both an effort not to speak aloud, and in preparation for the backlash.
The expressions turned from doubting to near shock. “We will be discussing this at a later time,” Morgana stated, eyes narrowed, and Merlin was fairly certain Aglain wished to be witness to that conversation.
It was a good thing that Arthur was so distracted with his own thoughts that he did not see the emotions playing about the faces of the others. It would have been obvious that they were carrying on a conversation without him, and that would have led to far more questions than Merlin’s tired mind could handle that night. “Not tonight though?” he asked hopefully. His body sagged in his chair and, true to Aglain’s earlier prediction, he longed for sleep, feeling exhausted despite the lack of a full day’s worth of chores. He was fairly certain the source was more than the few sips of wine he had been allowed, though he was just as certain that those sips probably did not help.
“Later,” Morgana agreed and he knew it was more than a promise. She set down her goblet and nodded daintily in Merlin’s direction, drawing Arthur’s attention first to her and then to his friend. “You appear quite spent from today’s events; perhaps it is time to call this meal to an end to allow you to rest?”
Merlin looked up at her gratefully, even though he swore he could feel Arthur’s protective instincts hone in on him once more. “How are you feeling?” the prince asked, suddenly closer, fingertips brushing Merlin’s arm before the back of his hand graced his forehead. “You do not feel feverish, though you look like a ghoul with those shadows under your eyes.”
“I feel like a ghoul,” Merlin admitted. He pushed himself to his unsteady feet and bowed slightly towards both Morgana and Aglain, surprised when the action involved only minor discomfort. “With your leave?”
Arthur had stood as well and was at Merlin’s elbow before either were formally dismissed. Times were set to gather the next day, and Morgana offered Arthur more than training gear should he so desire. He demurred, but did not outright refuse, and Merlin was left to question how much was his desire for protection, and how much was his fear that the gear could be used to control him given his underlying fear of magic and his apparent belief that every single thing in this kingdom was tainted with that power. It was not true, not really, though he had to admit magic’s reach in this world far surpassed even his own wishes for his own world, and he wondered just how much further it would go if given the chance.
When they finally made it back to Merlin’s newly scrubbed room, Arthur insisted on helping Merlin remove his ruined tunic and replace it with a fine nightshirt, despite the protest that he was perfectly capable of completing such a task himself. When both had prepared for sleep, Merlin lay on his back, gazing up at the velvet canopy and wondering what the next day might hold for them. Arthur took up his previous position at his side, only this time the hand did not rest atop Merlin’s wrist, but rather reached across, fingertips almost brushing Merlin’s hip. A glance showed that Arthur’s palm was centred above the nearly healed wound, the heat from the touch both warm and reassuring at the same time.
Even though he knew Arthur was still awake from the stiff set of his shoulders, no doubt waiting for Merlin to say something about his unusual behaviour, Merlin stayed quiet and purposefully shut his eyes. Arthur was both offering and accepting comfort in his own way and, quite frankly, after a day full of magic and assassins, Merlin did not have it in him to turn down the offer. Instead, he drifted off to sleep with images of gold and red and blood and steel flitting through his mind. He felt a warmth at his side, and another centred above his heart, and he rather hoped it was more than the latest talisman at work.
He awoke the next morning surprised to find Arthur in nearly the same place he had been in the night before. The hand had curved slightly, almost the hint of an embrace, but the whole sensation remained protective and, as odd as it sounded within his own mind, it made him feel safer knowing both that Arthur was there and that he was behaving in such a manner.
He lay there for a while, simply enjoying the moment. He was surrounded by comfort, his body held barely the faintest twinge of soreness, and he felt cared for in every sense of the word. Eventually he needed to move though, and so he rolled slightly to the side, expecting Arthur to either feign sleep or to quickly remove his hand with some weak excuse. Instead, he found Arthur wide awake, blue eyes boring into him, watching his every shift and adjustment.
Not knowing what else to do, Merlin cleared his throat and offered a slightly weak, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Arthur said in reply. He shifted his grip ever so slightly, the palm of his hand lightly sliding over what would have been Merlin’s wound. “How are you feeling?” he asked, eyes flitting down to Merlin’s side and then back up to meet his gaze.
“Much better,” Merlin replied, and it was the truth. He had no idea why he nearly stuttered saying two simple words, however.
Arthur nodded, hair catching on the pillow and releasing to stand at the oddest of angles. “Good,” was all he said.
Merlin had no idea if he intended to say more, or they were to fall into an awkward silence that would make them both uncomfortable, but a knock on the door dissolved the moment and returned them to the present and its no doubt pressing matters.
Arthur removed his hand, but looked reluctant to do so, and Merlin called for whoever it was to enter, figuring if they made it past the guards and actually knocked they were likely not an assassin out for their blood. James entered and did not even raise an eyebrow at the fact neither man had made it out of bed yet that morning. He did cast a glance at the dagger Arthur had somehow obtained, but let it pass when Arthur sheepishly set it aside.
The men got ready for the day and shared a light breakfast before they were escorted to the armoury upon Morgana’s orders. Merlin was, at the very least, to be awarded a shirt of chain mail, and Arthur was to be allowed to choose something more than the light armour of his practice gear should he so desire.
Arthur protested it was not necessary, right up until he saw what was on offer. The metal was finely wrought with delicate designs etched into the goget and pauldron. Merlin watched as his gloved fingertip traced the fine lines, brows furrowed as if trying to place something familiar. “These patterns...” he said, but trailed off, unsure of how to phrase what he was going to say.
“Our smith is the best in the land,” Morgana boasted proudly. She was not yet fully dressed in her own armour, but had her hair piled atop her head in a series of braids and knots to keep it out of the way on their journey and was dressed in preparation for the layers she would be adding.
“I will send your regards to my father,” a new voice joined in.
Time seemed to stop as both Merlin and Arthur turned as one towards the voice, Merlin with a wide grin and Arthur with a look of disbelief. “Gwen!” Merlin wrapped his arms around her in greeting. He pulled back slightly to take in her travelling ensemble and asked hopefully, “You will be joining us?”
“Of course,” Morgana replied for her. “You know by now that she goes wherever I go, or near enough anyway.” Merlin had not forgotten, not really, it was just that Gwen did not usually bother with the day to day politics of the castle, preferring to keep herself busy in other ways that usually involved at least some time at her father’s forge. He had yet to see her this trip, however, and so he was unsure if she was busy with other duties or simply otherwise detained.
“Guinevere?” Arthur asked, voice no more than a whisper.
“Only my brother calls me that,” Gwen scoffed good-naturedly. She stepped up beside Arthur and nodded her approval at his interest. “It’s a fine piece and should fit you well.”
Arthur kept staring at her though, no longer interested in the armour, seeming crushed when she showed no signs of recognition. Merlin cleared his throat slightly and explained to Morgana and James, “Gwen is Morgana’s maid in our realm, I think I told you that before. Arthur and Morgana were raised near brother and sister, so he knows her well on our side.”
Morgana nodded in understanding. “Gwen began as my maid here as well, but has grown to so much more,” she told Arthur. “Her father could deny her nothing as Uther so rarely denies me. When I insisted on learning the sword, she learned as well. Her father pieced together armour for her, and for me, and soon she became more of a bodyguard outside these castle walls. I would be lost without her, truly, and was beside myself wishing to speak to the Gwen in your realm during my visit.”
Gwen smiled politely and curtsied slightly, or at least as much as she could given that she was wearing trousers and not a skirt. She wore a heavy leather vest over a simple tunic very similar to what Morgana herself was currently wearing. Merlin knew from experience that a light hauberk would be added, as well as a belt for at least a sword if not more. He also knew that she would choose what she thought best for him to wear and that he would dare not question that judgment.
She looked at him critically now, head cocked slightly to the side and a few stray curls escaping her no-nonsense bun. “That one,” she decided, pointing to a piece off to the side. “I can help with the buckles if you need. I trust you are just as abysmal with a sword as you were before?” she teased lightly.
“I’ve gotten much better!” Merlin insisted. “Arthur insists on his version of training and I even got in a hit deep enough to leave a mark just last week.”
“That’s because I tripped over a root trying to make sure you did not disembowel yourself with your sword,” Arthur rolled his eyes, earning a chuckle from more than one person present.
Merlin scowled, knowing he had been getting better, regardless of what Arthur liked to tell people, but did not press the issue as whatever odd emotion or doubt Arthur had been feeling seemed to be gone and he was learning to celebrate the small victories at this point.
Gwen walked up to Arthur next and took in his training ensemble with a sniff. “Good enough for a practice field, but I am not letting you out of this castle with a sword like that.” She motioned to the beat up thing at Arthur’s side that barely held an edge any more. It worked well for banging around to teach offensive and defensive moves, but it would hardly be the best thing in a fight unless sheer brunt force was on his side.
“Really?” Arthur asked, clearly amused.
“Really,” she agreed with a twitch of her lips. She pulled a blade from the stand near the door, tested its weight, and offered it to him crosswise. “Try this instead.”
To say it was a fine blade would be an understatement, and both Arthur and Merlin knew it. Arthur swung it in a wide arc to check its balance, then held it close to examine the bevel. “It will do,” he said, clearly impressed.
The twitch became a smirk and she offered another curtsey before moving back over to Merlin. She handed him one that was slightly smaller and easier to handle and said with false seriousness, “Do try not to stab yourself, okay?”
“I will try my best,” Merlin agreed, setting the blade off to the side to shrug into the hauberk first instead.
The others took that as their sign and readied themselves as well. Gwen pulled the buckles tighter on Merlin’s gear, but acquiesced to his insistence upon seeing to Arthur’s himself. He did so from long practice, knowing to keep that catch a little looser, and that buckle a little tighter, and soon enough everyone had everything in place, though Morgana pulled his talisman free to sit above the links of chains and offered only a, “Trust me,” in explanation.
Gwen was settling both a dirk and a sword about her belt when another visitor graced them with his presence. Already in armour, but features unmistakable, Lancelot took Merlin’s offered hand only to pull him into an embrace in greeting. “It has been too long, friend,” he smiled as he released him.
“Much like you in readying yourself this morning,” Gwen teased. “What caused the delay?”
“Your father,” he replied good-naturedly. He pulled her close and placed a kiss atop her curls. “He was not satisfied with the repairs to my pauldron and wanted to make further adjustments. I distracted him by reminding him Elyan was to watch Galahad during our absence and he rushed to check on your brother and his grandson.”
Merlin laughed as he knew Elyan loved his nephew, but was not always the most trustworthy when caring for him. The toddler was usually returned filthy, but unharmed, with fingers and lips stained with sweets.
He turned to see Arthur taking in the scene with wide eyes. He was not certain if it was due to the open displays of affection, or the fact Lancelot wore the colours of Camelot and clearly served its crown. “Lancelot is a knight here, much like he tried to be in our realm. He and Gwen were married not long after the gryphon incident.”
“But he is not a nobleman,” Arthur spluttered, though Merlin knew that was probably the least of Arthur’s concerns.
Morgana snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “That hardly matters when you save the king and queen, not to mention their ward,” she explained. “He is a loyal and determined fighter, and a fine addition to our knights.”
“I did not mean any disrespect,” Arthur insisted, regaining some of his usual decorum. “The Lancelot in our realm saved my life as well, though my father banished him for pretending to be something he was not.” He shook his head. “Much like Merlin has said, repeatedly mind you, there are so many similarities here, yet so many differences as well. It is difficult to wrap one’s mind around at times, though I shall endeavour to do my best.” He offered Lancelot a bow in apology and Lancelot offered his hand in return.
“There are no hard feelings, believe me, sire,” he said, offering his own bow. “I was surprised as many that King Uther honoured my request. I can only hope that I continue to serve him and the crown of Camelot to the best of my abilities.”
Merlin tried to hide a grin at Arthur’s instinctive reaction to being called “sire” and the fact it was possibly the first time he had been done so during his visit. The straightened shoulders, the slight tilt of the head, all ingrained in him from an early age, to be certain. He wanted to give Lancelot a thumbs up for a moment well-played, but knew the knight did not mean it as such, and it was just his own inborn sense of decorum that was expressing itself, likely without conscious thought.
With everyone situated and properly armed, they left for the stables where horses were readied and mounted in quick fashion. Aside from James and Lancelot, two other knights Merlin vaguely recognised were assigned to their troupe named Arain and Efraran, and Aglain awaited them there as well, forgoing any armament as was his way. Uther and Ygraine saw them off, and Merlin caught the slight flicker of sorrow in Arthur’s eyes when he saw the woman he would have called mother tuck something sweet into Morgana’s saddlebag, and the man he called father pat her horse on the flank the way he so often did Arthur’s when he left for any sort of patrol or battle.
The journey was relatively quiet, and the scenery very familiar. Merlin swore he felt it when they passed through the wards placed around the town and outlying fields and, by Morgana’s answering smirk, he was fairly certain who placed them there. It was odd though, to pass by the meadow where Gaius tended to cultivate various herbs and find a smattering of homes there instead, or to cross the creek on a bridge made of stone instead of wood.
His mind kept wondering what other little changes lurked behind the bushes and the brambles and, if Arthur’s expression was anything to go by, he was not the only one pursuing that line of thought. Arthur offered him a wry turn of his lips that told Merlin that he had been both caught contemplating Arthur’s reaction and that he was likely on the correct track for that contemplation.
Aglain called for a halt at the edge of a thicket and the party dismounted, leaving one of the knights to both watch the horses and play sentry. He led the way through the brush and they walked a fair distance before they came upon a small clearing. To the side was small hut, possibly smaller than Merlin’s own room back at the castle, runes and herbs adorning the lintel of the simple wooden door.
Aglain paused outside that door, head tilted to the side in consternation. “This is the home of Eloran,” he explained. “But his wards are inactive and he is not responding to any requests.”
Merlin waved off Arthur’s mouthed question of how Aglain could request when he had not made a sound, and whispered back, “Not all speech is spoken.”
“Oh, that’s incredibly helpful,” Arthur huffed. He spun in a circle to fully take in their surroundings and must have spotted something as he headed off to the side to investigate.
Merlin was torn between following him and checking with Aglain, who had now opened the door to the hut to peer inside. The room was empty, everything neat and tidy and in its place, but Merlin did not dwell on that for long as Arthur now had his sword drawn and was pulling back some foliage to examine something on the forest floor.
“They are peaceful people,” Morgana chided. “Greeting them with weapons drawn will not get us very far.”
Merlin was going to point out that this was in direct contrast to the fact she insisted they were all well-armed on this little outing, not to mention hunting possible assassins, but found it unnecessary as Arthur lowered his sword and agreed, “No, it will not get us very far at all.”
Merlin recognised that tone and was at his side in a moment. Through the leaves and the branches he saw exactly what Arthur meant. There was a body crumpled on the ground, green cloak askew, and dark blood staining the earth beneath it.
“Eloran, I presume?” Arthur asked as Aglain approached.
Aglain crouched beside the body and offered a small prayer, cupping the pale cheek before closing the lifeless eyes. “Yes,” he confirmed, voice tinged with sorrow. He rose but did not look away from his fallen friend as he said, “He was a good man. There would have been no reason for such violence.”
“Unless someone was afraid he was going to reveal something they wanted to keep hidden,” Arthur guessed.
Aglain nodded, but something still seemed off in Merlin’s mind. He touched the green woollen cloak and examined the silver embroidery. “Is this standard amongst the Suaimhneas?” he asked.
“The runes vary but, yes, the colours and style are correct,” Aglain confirmed.
Merlin looked about him and knew more than one person wanted to know what he was going on about this time. “It’s the wrong hue,” he explained. “The assassins wore a very similar style, but the green was different and they used gold instead of silver along the hem.”
“A difference between the realms,” Morgana supposed.
“Which would support the idea that whoever it is came from your world to seek refuge in ours,” James added. “But why kill the one offering you refuge?”
While they mused on that bit of information, Lancelot called from further up a rough path, “I believe I have found something!”
Merlin followed the others and trudge along the barely formed trail to where the knight waited. “What is it?” James asked, already peering at the area around them.
“This path leads to a small clearing where is something there you need to see. There are several footprints, some that simply stop and others that seem to begin from nowhere,” Lancelot explained.
Merlin shared a look with Arthur and then with Morgana at the implication of the words. The three of them pushed forward and reached the edge of the area before the others. Gwen arrived soon enough, however, and pulled Morgana between herself and James for safety’s sake, much to the Lady’s frustration.
“It’s another portal,” Morgana announced, reminding Merlin that not everyone could see the things.
He stepped forward, only Arthur’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder keeping him back, and took in the sight. Part of him was not surprised that another portal could exist. It would explain the strange disturbances, the ability of the assassins to travel between the realms without the need to trespass Morgana’s castle, and how the Suaimhneas of this realm came upon the travellers.
What he was surprised at was its size. It was so very small, barely a fourth the size of the portal in Gaius’ room, and that was when it was at its smallest. It also did not glow red as he had expected, but the same gold as the one he knew so well, though perhaps a little dimmer, a little less vibrant in some way than the one back home.
There was a noise at the far side of the clearing, and Arthur pulled Merlin back and ducked him down low as to not be seen. Gwen and James were doing the same for Morgana, and Lancelot, Arain, and Aglain tucked themselves along the treeline but safely out of view.
Merlin peered through the bush the best he could to see two men approach, green cloaks trimmed in gold. “Thomas should be back by now,” one complained. He shifted two stones that had blended in with the detritus and the portal flared brighter, nearly large enough now for a person to walk through.
“We must realise that he could have been captured, or worse,” the second man pointed out. He clapped the other man on the shoulder and said, “Do not fail as he has; twice he has travelled with unacceptable results. Find the Pendragon son and make him pay as his father has made us pay with our children’s lives.”
The first man nodded and took both a vial and a dagger from the second and hid them in the folds of his cloak. The two chanted in a guttural language and the portal changed from gold to red, shimmering bright against the green of the forest.
“I will not let our brothers down,” the first man promised.
“I should hope not,” the second one replied, no hint of humour to his tone. “They stand waiting for word of your success; the attack hinges on Uther’s distraction and grief over the loss of his son.”
There were not further words of goodbye, only the first man nodding in understanding and stepping through to the other side. The second waited a moment as the portal returned to gold, the colour reflected in his own eyes. He shifted the stones back into place and glanced around almost nervously. Apparently satisfied that nothing was out of sorts, he disappeared back into the shadows of the woods on the other side of the clearing.
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