An Eternity to Realise Our Dreams, Part IV
For author's notes, etc, see the Master Post.
Part I, Part II, Part III
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Reasoning that telling Gaius about his conversation with Morgana would only make him worry further, Merlin keeps it to himself. He figures he's made the right decision when Gaius spends the next morning in an irritable mood, going so far as to shout at Merlin for knocking a wooden bowl off the workbench and onto the floor. Merlin picks it up and carefully sets it on a shelf where it'll be out of his way before glancing at Gaius, who has stopped chopping herbs.
"I'm sorry, Merlin. I seem to be out of sorts today."
Merlin shrugs. "At least you're not throwing things at me," he says, making Gaius chuckle weakly.
"No, I suppose not." He sighs, sounding every day of his old age. "I haven't been able to discover anything useful in my books yet, and it's frustrating, not to mention potentially fatal."
"I could help," Merlin offers, feeling slightly guilty when Gaius looks surprised. "I should have offered before, I know. Sorry."
"You don't like going through one dusty book after another," Gaius says dryly. "I imagine most people your age are the same. If you do truly want to help, though, I will gladly give you some books to search through once you've finished your rounds."
"I'll ask Arthur if he can spare me for the afternoon." Merlin waits until Gaius resumes chopping the herbs before continuing with his own tasks, keeping a wary eye on the physician. He receives a few sharp comments, but keeps working, hoping that they're just another symptom of whatever is going on in Camelot, and not Gaius' real opinion of how well he does the tasks given to him. Surely it doesn't really matter how finely he chops willow bark for the headache potions?
He's glad of the respite when he's finally sent to deliver the physician's remedies to those that have requested them, and spends as long as he can out in the town before going in search of Arthur and requesting to spend an entire afternoon poring over musty tomes with Gaius. Not that he can tell Arthur that, of course. Making his way through the castle corridors, he tries to think of a good lie to tell in place of the truth.
--
Arthur is mildly suspicious when Merlin asks for the afternoon off from his duties in order to help Gaius make enough remedies for an outbreak of illness, not least because he's heard no reports of such a thing from any part of the kingdom, but it suits his own plans for the rest of the day to have Merlin be elsewhere. He agrees, with what he hopes is the usual amount of comments about how he's sure he can cope without Merlin's pathetic help for a few hours, and tells him to take the rest of the day off for good measure.
The surprise on Merlin's face is almost enough for Arthur to think he's overdone it, but then he nods, gives his thanks and hurries off. Relieved, Arthur waits until he's well out of sight before making his way down through the castle to where Camelot's records are kept. He'd sent a servant down earlier, to see if the historian was in residence, and had discovered that Geoffrey would be out all afternoon on various errands. Likely collecting more reports to cram into the already overflowing shelves, Arthur thinks, and it's something for which he's grateful; as knowledgeable as Geoffrey is, Arthur would rather do this himself, without one of his father's councillors standing at his side and remarking on each thing he gathers from the records.
Pushing open the heavy door that leads into the large chamber, Arthur glances around at the rows of shelves, haphazardly filled with all manners of papers, books and scrolls. If there is a system to the disorder he can see, then it's one known only to Geoffrey, which is going to make what he wants to do rather more difficult, but he isn't going to wait until the historian returns; not only would that defeat the point of coming down here while Geoffrey is out, but it could lead to some questions that he doesn't have an answer for yet. He carefully picks his way to where Geoffrey's desk sits covered in yet more papers, and reasons that the most recent reports from the kingdom will be on there, or at least nearby, so that's where he plans to start.
Plumes of dust rise as Arthur begins to sort through the clutter on the desk, being careful not to knock into it as he moves once he notices that it's missing a leg and the broken-off stump is balancing on a bucket. The more papers he looks through, the more it becomes clear that something isn't right in Camelot. Normally the reports that get sent by various officials from around the land are sparse, generally a sheet long and covering the basic day-to-day running of the villages and towns under Uther's protection.
The ones he's finding, slowly, are much thicker, fixed together with thread sewn roughly through pages filled with varied kinds of handwriting. He searches through a couple of shelves until he finds a map of Camelot with the locations of major settlements marked on it, and tries to find a report matching to each one. By the time he's managed to gather enough for a mostly-complete view of what's going on he's covered in dust and collected several paper cuts, not to mention begun to develop a form of respect for the scribes and librarians who always manage to find the right papers when they're needed in a far shorter time than he has.
Arthur is just stacking what he needs into a pile to return to his rooms with when Geoffrey returns, carrying yet another bundle of papers in his arms. He stops short when he sees Arthur, covering his slightly shocked expression with a bow and a polite, "My lord." Apparently at a loss for what to say next, he clears his throat and moves to place his burden on the desk. Noticing the papers Arthur holds, his eyebrows lift slightly. "Can I help you with something, Sire?"
"I've found everything I need." Stepping carefully back to the door, Arthur has a thought. Turning back, he asks, "If I needed anything clarifying from these reports, who would I speak to?"
"That would be myself, Sire, or your father. For greater detail you would, of course, need to speak to the official who wrote the specific report."
Arthur nods. "Thank you. I'll return these once I'm done with them."
Geoffrey waves a hand. "Keep them as long as you need them, Sire. It is your prerogative, after all." Once on his way back to his chambers, Arthur thinks about paper cuts and dust that gets into his eyes like the worst raised by a march during summer. Poring over endless reports of taxes, petty grievances and the other minutiae of a kingdom is not something that has ever appealed to him, but he knows from his father that it is a vital part of being a ruler, and he thinks that perhaps this is a good place to begin learning.
--
Twilight has drawn in by the time Arthur finishes reading the last of what he gathered from Geoffrey's library, the light fading sooner than is normal for the time of year. He frowns at the darkening sky visible through the window, all too aware that the reports mention the very same thing. A far cry from their usual calm records of daily life, each and every one contains, along with the usual details of tithes and the like, accounts of strange weather causing the crops to wither, animals acting against their usual nature and occurrences where a recently repaired building has suddenly collapsed. The amount of crimes committed has increased too, so it seems; far more reports contain worries about bandits and thieves than is apparently normal, or so a notation in Geoffrey's neat hand indicates.
Then there are the descriptions of things that can only, to Arthur's mind at least, have been caused by magic. Storms that spring up from clear skies to destroy crops and scatter herds, but occur only over one particular area. He reads testimonies from eyewitnesses interviewed by town officials that speak of stepping out from underneath storms, from pouring rain to sunny skies, as if there is a boundary that the weather will not cross. Such events leave fields flooded and ruined, the harvests rotten within days. Each storm seems to be several villages closer to Camelot, Arthur notes with a frown.
Such things are not natural, and neither are the beasts that have been spotted. Reading through the reports, Arthur is reminded of the strange blue creature he and his knights hunted. The descriptions before him are similar in that all the creatures they tell of may once have been ordinary animals, but had been warped by some force into things that none recognised. Some detail horns and claws on animals which previously had neither, or great increases in size and ferocity, and then there come the ones which read as if they were created by mixing more than one animal to get something entirely new and dangerous.
To his mind there is only one explanation for such happenings, and for the problems Camelot is facing as a whole: magic. Troubled by the conclusion, although not especially surprised, Arthur rises and takes a torch from the wall, holding it to the low fire until it catches, still deep in thought as he touches it to the rest of the torches around his chambers. His immediate reaction is to tell his father, to show him the reports and explain his reasoning - not that it would need much doing, the evidence is plain to see. He makes no move to seek out Uther, however, remaining where he is, a deep frown still marring his features.
A question he had asked Geoffrey earlier returns to him as he stares at the heap of papers in front of him, and it makes his frown clear slightly. After a moment's debate he comes to a decision, gathering the reports up and leaving his rooms, retracing his steps back down to the library.
--
Although it is late, Geoffrey is still at work when Arthur pushes the door open, sitting at his cluttered desk with the light of a well-protected lamp illuminating the book in front of him. Again, he looks surprised at seeing Arthur there, perhaps more so considering it is the second time in one day, but he recovers swiftly and stands. "My lord?"
"I came to return these," Arthur says, motioning with the sheaf of reports in his hand. He hesitates, feeling slightly awkward; he and Geoffrey have never had much to do with each other, but if anyone can answer his questions, it is without doubt the historian. "I also came to ask some questions."
"I will help in any way I can, Sire. What is it you wish to know?"
"I want," Arthur begins slowly, wondering how to phrase his question, "to know how magic was dealt with before my father's reign."
Geoffrey looks taken aback, unable to conceal his surprise this time. "My lord, I hardly think-"
"This is in confidence, of course," he adds. "I simply wish to better understand how Camelot treated those who can use magic before the Purges." When Geoffrey still looks uncertain, Arthur sighs. "Surely there is nothing wrong with teaching the Crown Prince the history of what will be my own kingdom one day?"
Nodding slowly, Geoffrey says, "If you are certain, Sire, then I shall do my best to answer anything you ask of me."
"Thank you." Removing a stack of books from a chair that Geoffrey indicates, Arthur sits down, Geoffrey following suit after a moment's indecision. Leaning back in his chair, the historian looks thoughtful, looking at the stack of shelves surrounding them as if searching for a place to begin. Arthur waits as patiently as he can, aware that men like Geoffrey are not to be rushed, but barely stifled a sigh of relief all the same when the older man speaks.
"Magic, in many ways, is like that knife," he begins, pointing to the one hanging at Arthur's belt. "On its own it's just a piece of shaped metal, with the potential for many different uses. In the hands of someone who knows how to use it, yes, it can be a weapon. Or, it can be used as a healer's tool, or a cook's utensil. Good things."
"But how did we prevent people from using it as a weapon, in that case?"
"The same way as we continue to stop everyone else: the laws," Geoffrey answers, tone scholarly and instructive; Arthur is forcibly reminded of the tutors he had as a child, and has to remind himself that this is important, something he wants to know, to stop himself yawning in reaction. He frowns.
"I still don't see how you can be sure, though. It's in a sorcerer's nature, or a sorceress', to cause dissent and-"
"That is the judgement of your father," Geoffrey says, his tone turning careful. "Before the problems faced by Camelot during his rule, most magic users were peaceable for the most part, although of course there have always been those who seeks to cause strife."
"Then what did the laws say about the use of magic when committing a crime?"
"The punishments were made to fit the crime, not the way in which it is committed. A man who used magic to make his neighbours crops wither and die would have received the same punishment as a man who set fire to a gathered harvest, because the end result is the same."
"What about for more serious crimes?"
Geoffrey raises his eyebrows in a manner curiously similar to Gaius, displaying disapproval without actually saying anything. "You don't consider destroying a man's crop a serious crime, Sire?"
"You know what I mean. Murder, that sort of thing."
"The punishment for murder is death, the same as it is now, regardless of whether or not magic was used. It used to be that the only time the punishments differed was if someone used magic repeatedly in a malicious way, even when fined or punished by the sheriffs." Pausing, Geoffrey looks thoughtful. "In cases such as those, I believe their magic was taken from them by the Court mages, although I would need to check the histories to be completely sure."
Leaning forward, truly interested now, Arthur inquires, "And if they found other ways to continue their crimes?"
"Then they were be punished according to the laws, the same as before." Though his tone is serious, Arthur can detect sadness there as well, and wonders if Geoffrey lost friends when the laws changed. He continues, in a far dryer and neutral tone, emotions carefully hidden. "The laws of Camelot used to compensate for the fact that magic was tolerated, and acted in just the same way as they do now."
Resting his elbows in his knees, Arthur stares down at the intricately tooled leather cover of a book resting between his feet and sits contemplating what he has heard for a while. After a moment or two he is aware of Geoffrey moving around again, shuffling papers and making more notes, leaving him to this thoughts. There's something beginning to niggle at the back of his mind, something being pulled forward by the talk of magic, and he isn't sure he likes what it's threatening to coalesce into.
He takes his leave of Geoffrey rather abruptly, barely remembering to thank the old man before he strides out into the dim hallway. Without conscious thought his feet take him the long way back, through corridors and walkways, Arthur barely registering those he passes along the way. By the time he reaches the door of his chambers the thought has become solid, along with the anger that has been slowly rising as each piece fell into place. Slamming the door behind him with such force that the wood shakes on its hinges, Arthur stands in his chambers, unable to focus his gaze on anything.
The urge to have a weapon in his hand wells up so strongly he has crossed the room and pulled his sword half from its scabbard before he registers what he's done, looking at the lethal blade and imagining himself-With an effort of will Arthur slides the sword safely back into the sheath, trying to focus on the pure, emotional anger and not the destructive anger that would have him act without thought or reason.
He understands now, in the part of him that isn't blind with rage, how Uther could have made mistakes when it comes to magic. He automatically shies away from using that word, from admitting that his father has made mistakes, has been wrong, but after a long moment of struggling with years of loyalty he has to admit that it's the only word that fits. Reeling from this, the tactician in him withdraws from being rash, begins to think with the detachment of the battlefield.
It seems as if there is a puzzle in his head, the pieces scattered throughout his mind, and all it needed was for Geoffrey to lay the first piece down in the right place for all the rest to gather around it and form an entire picture. A series of memories spreads before his eyes; his natural balance inexplicably gone as he tripped over everything in his path, an orb of strange blue light guiding him to safety, a snake emerging from a shield, something half-glimpsed through shining water. And more than that, things he's been told, like how he must be the luckiest man in the kingdom, to still be alive after so many wounds that on any other would be fatal. Things he's overheard, whispered rumours amongst his knights of how Lancelot's sword flamed blue before he killed the griffin.
In his head, these pieces have never meant much until this moment, but now...now he can't help but see that they all began when Merlin arrived in Camelot. Before that day, there were no strange events where not everything added up, no situations which ended with Arthur pulled to safety by someone who wouldn't admit to it. It all makes a horrific sort of sense, now that he's been given that push he needed to see it. The rage begins to overwhelm the rational part of him, and for an instant he's tempted to let it, to allow it to consume him and make him seek out Merlin, to hold a sword to his throat and demand to know why he's lied for so long, kept this not insignificant detail from Arthur for all this time.
He makes do with giving his chair a violent shove, the resounding crash as it hits the floor cutting through the tumult of emotions running through him and having the grounding effect of making him feel like a child in the midst of a temper tantrum. Leaning on the table, hands gripping the edge until his knuckles turn white, Arthur forces himself to consider it from Merlin's side. It isn't as difficult as he first imagines, once the flood of anger has abated somewhat; perhaps it has something to do with his part in the rescuing of the Druid boy, but the will to remain secret and hidden no longer makes him think of sneaking sorcery and treachery.
Instead, he thinks of the determination to survive under the rule of a king who orders even those suspected of aiding a magic user imprisoned, or worse. All the same, it is still hard to pull himself entirely away from a life spent hearing of the evil intents of all who wield magic, and how Camelot must be rid of its corrupting influences if it is to prosper. Edwin comes to the front of his mind as he struggles with all he has been taught, but this time Arthur tries to consider it from the false physician's side, tries to understand how a man could be driven to such lengths by the deaths of his parents on Uther's orders.
It dawns on him, gradually, that these are his people, regardless of whether or not he is actually sitting on the throne. His father is a good king, that is something he knows right through to his bones, but now that Arthur has forced himself to look at things from a different perspective, he sees how already people are starting to look to him for guidance. It has become common for petitioners ask for him by name, rather than request an audience with his father, and People had stood vigil for him when he was sick from the poisoned bite, so he's been told. He isn't King, not yet, but already he is seeing the beginning of his rule.
As the night wears on Arthur paces up and down, turning everything over in his head; his anger, all the things that have been impressed upon him from when he was a child and which now stand on insecure foundations, Merlin's lies, when he might have used his magic, and more than that, why he might have used it.
Just before dawn he stops in front of the window, struck by the memory of Merlin's stricken face when his friend Will had claimed to be the sorcerer. He recognises the expression now for what it was; fear, certainly, but also gratitude for such a final act, and no little amount of love as well. Feeling slightly more settled, he finally kicks his boots off and flings himself down onto the bed, hoping for an hour or so of sleep before he goes see Merlin.
--
Merlin feels the wards jangling and feels the urge to hide, Arthur's anger almost tangible, but he grits his teeth and carries on. He's chopping herbs for Gaius when the workroom door flies open to admit Arthur, and his knife goes flying as Arthur grabs his arm, dragging him from the table up the steps to his small chamber. Merlin stumbles through, barely catching himself from falling headlong into the opposite wall, so forceful are Arthur's movements.
"Arthur, what-" Merlin flinches as Arthur flings the door closed.
"Shut up." His tone is angry, jaw clenched and shoulders set. "You have been lying to me, Merlin, from the very day you arrived here."
Merlin's eyes go wide. "I don't-" He flinches again as Arthur slams a hand against the wooden planks of the door, rattling it on its hinges. "What did you expect," he asks instead, looking away. "When we met you were throwing knives at a servant for the sake of amusement; nothing about you made me think you were anything but your father's son, and your father-"
"Is a man blinded by his hatred for something he cannot understand or control, I know. But regardless of that he would do anything to protect Camelot, and I am the same. You should have trusted me."
"Why?" Merlin demands, voice low. "It wasn't just my life at risk; my mother would have been suspected, and all who know me in Ealdor-"
"Did it never occur to you," Arthur snarls, "that Ealdor isn't part of Camelot? Even had I seen your friend Will call down the wind, I could not have done anything except ban him from ever entering Camelot. Perhaps my father would have been stricter, regardless of our relationship with Mercia, but I do not want to be the same man as my father, not if I can help it."
"Honestly?" Merlin asks, anger rising. "No, I never thought about that. I was too scared in case anything happened to them because of me to consider the details." Exhaling hard, he looks at Arthur, who is watching him with a set jaw and tense shoulders. "I've spent my entire life hearing about how anyone suspected of helping or hiding a sorcerer was imprisoned or killed; when it comes to magic, Uther is irrational, and I couldn't take the chance."
"And after we became friends?" Arthur's voice has lost some of its harshness, but it's still cold, full of tightly controlled fury. "You've trusted me with your life; why not your magic? It amounts to the same thing, surely."
His anger fading as quickly as it rose, Merlin moves to lean against the rough wood of the beam rising from floor to ceiling, feeling in need of the support it offers him. Letting his head tilt back, he shuts his eyes against the ice in Arthur's expression. "You're still the King's son," he points out, "and every time I thought it would be safe to tell you, something happened to make me think it wasn't the right moment after all. Like your father thanking me for helping keep Camelot safe from magic." A laugh that threatens to become hysterical bubbles in his throat, and he keeps it silent only with a strong effort of will.
There is silence in the small room for a while, only broken by their breathing and the muffled sounds of Gaius moving around. Merlin wonders what he's doing, besides worrying about what's going on in his room, and attempts to distract him from Arthur's continued and slightly ominous quiet by trying to work out what each noise means. It doesn't really work, and by the time Arthur clears his throat Merlin is practically vibrating with tension.
"Look," Arthur starts, and Merlin glances up at when he notes that there is a lot less anger in his voice than there was previously, although the neutral tone still shakes slightly with suppresses emotions. "I'm angry with you, and I have been since last night when I finally worked it out. You lied to me, and you kept lying long after we became friends. I broke laws for you. I trusted you, more to the point, and you didn't see fit to return that trust. But-"
"I wanted-" Arthur holds up a hand, and Merlin stops.
"Let me finish, Merlin. I was going to say, I understand why you felt you couldn't give me that trust. I thought about it a lot last night, once I'd stopped wanting to have you arrested and thrown in the dungeons."
"For- for having magic?"
Arthur rolls his eyes, the hint of a faint smile on his lips. "For thinking I'm a complete idiot."
"But did you think about it?" Merlin asks quietly, and holds his breath as Arthur glances away. He lets it out when Arthur nods, just the once, tight and jerky.
"Honesty, Merlin." Arthur looks up at him, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze. "We can carry on as...well, as whatever we are right now only if we're honest with each other. That's not going to happen if you don't trust me."
Merlin frowns, wanting desperately to just agree and finish the conversation, but he knows that he can't. "What about you being angry with me? I thought..." he doesn't end the sentence, isn't sure what would happen if he tells Arthur that he didn't expect to be trusted after all this, but has the instinct to know that it wouldn't be a good reaction.
"I am angry, but I still, for whatever reasons, trust you. I'm not sure how quick I would be to tell someone with duties and loyalties like mine a secret like yours." He folds his arms and looks at Merlin, who blinks back at him.
"I- okay," he manages to say, swallowing hard and wondering what he's done to deserve this acceptance, because he's certainly done enough to deserve the anger. "I'll be-honest with you."
"Right." Arthur lets his arms drop to his sides, some of the tension slipping away from him. Merlin can still see the anger in the lines at the corners of his eyes, and the way his hands clench and unclench every couple of minutes or so, but it isn't being directed directly at him any more, and for that he's grateful. He waits for Arthur to pull the door open and follows him down to where Gaius has given up any pretence of working and is standing waiting for them, worry on his face.
"Merlin-" he starts, looking from one to the other, uncertainty clear in his voice.
"He knows," Merlin says, feeling slightly foolish as he does so. It sounds so...simple, a matter of considerable weight dealt with in so few words.
"And I'm surprised more people don't," Arthur says, moving to stand beside Merlin, his tone slightly mocking. "If he goes around being as obvious as I believe he's been, I'm astounded that he's still alive."
"Hey, if it weren't for me, you'd have been killed by magic more times than you've been stabbed with a sword!"
"You can only be killed once, Merlin, and I'll have you know that-"
"Ahem,“ interrupts Gaius, obviously recovering his wits. "As thankful as I am that Merlin's secret is safe with you, my lord, could we possibly continue this conversation with the door shut?"
The door flies shut with a loud bang, although nobody moves. Arthur stares in shock at Merlin, who looks back with an equally shocked but also slightly scared expression at his action. Within a moment Arthur is standing in front of Merlin, making sure to look the other man directly in the eyes as he says in a low voice tinged again with anger: "I am not my father, Merlin."
Neither of them moves until Gaius clears his throat again, jerking a step away from each other as though burned. "Had we not better apply ourselves to the task at hand?" Gaius inquires, lifting his eyebrows. Merlin nods, swallowing hard. Gaius wonders if either of them realise they're leaning into each other slightly, as if they need the closeness.
"Do you know something of what has befallen Camelot?" Arthur asks, his self-control mostly restored as he focuses on the problem at hand.
"There's not much that I have been able to discover, but what I've gleaned from accounts in my books - although they were on a much smaller scale - it is my belief that someone has tampered with Time itself."
"How can someone affect Time," Arthur asks, incredulous. "Isn't it one of those things that cannot be altered? Like the path of the sun, or the seasons?"
"I had assumed so," Gaius admits, "but according to the sorcerers of old it was once possible to change the way Time flows. I believe that this is what has happened here, on a much larger scale than they wrote about."
"Over the entire kingdom, instead of a specific person or place?" Arthur glances at Merlin, clearly surprised.
"You know about this sort of thing?"
"I'm not entirely useless," he replies, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. "And magic is easier than looking after you, at least."
"Very funny."
"Sire, Merlin," says Gaius disapprovingly. "Considering the dire straits some of the villages seem to be in, don't you think this is the time to work out who is behind it all, not snipe at each other?" He nods his approval as they keep quiet, waiting for him to continue. "Good. Now, This isn't a natural occurrence-"
"Obviously."
"My lord, pardon my impertinence, but you're not precisely qualified to interrupt." Gaius frowns at Arthur, who looks apologetic and motions for him to continue. "In certain instances, I would have you know, magic can warp Time in a small area, making it dangerous for humans to travel there and affecting the local wildlife so that we end up with the so called 'monsters' your people have been reporting."
"But that's not what's happening here," Merlin says, and looks impatient when Arthur glares at him for interrupting, fearing Gaius will stop the much-needed explanation. "The changes are so great, and they go so far back, that someone did this deliberately."
Gaius nods heavily. "My conclusion also. Somebody wants to harm Camelot, my lord, and it's someone with an immense amount of power under their control."
"What do you mean, so far back?"
"People's destinies are sometimes laid out in front of them, as a path that they must follow no matter what their choices in life. What's happening now is that those destinies are changing; I saw our first meeting almost change, and who knows what might have happened if that had altered."
"I might have ended up with a better servant," or maybe something else instead. He thinks he sees the words in Merlin's eyes, though, and turns away to address Gaius instead, uncomfortable in the face of things he could keep better hidden. Merlin ducks his head to hide his own smile.
"Merlin, do you remember what you did back in March, with the plants?"
Merlin frowns, thinking. "Um."
"Searching out those that were sickly after the winter, and giving them some of your magic?"
"Oh. Yes. What of it?"
"I believe that a similar process might be useful in finding the source of our problems. If you can find a single plant in the forest, you should be able to find the traces of their magic in a place where none should be evident." Gaius glances at Arthur as he speaks, and Arthur realises that he's still unsure about Arthur's claim that he won't tell Uther about Merlin's magic. Perhaps Merlin isn't sure either, but then Arthur is coming to understand that Merlin is a better liar than he's ever thought possible.
"I can try." Merlin looks dubious, like his faith in his own abilities is limited. "But it might take me a while; I still don't know how I did it before, and they might have shielded themselves against being found."
"It's taken two months to work out this much, Merlin; even if you can't find them this way, it's something else we've tried."
"Have you any idea who it might be?" Arthur asks. Gaius replies in the negative, saying:
"No one I've read about had this sort of power, and apparently the patience it takes to work something like this is rarely found in sorcerers."
"What about a sorceress?" Arthur suggests. "There is one who might have the power."
"It's not her," Merlin replies.
"But how can we be sure? She hasn't troubled us for some time, and you said it yourself you-"
"She's dead," Merlin says flatly. Gaius looks at him with an odd expression.
"Dead? How?"
"She was killed."
Arthur frowns. There's something eluding him here. "To kill one as powerful as she seemed to be would require a lot of magic, and great control over it. Could her killer be the one we're looking for?"
"No." Gaius says it as if it's not up for discussion, but Arthur's never been one to back down.
"Can you be certain? I don't see how we can disregard any possibilities, especially with the good of Camelot at stake here. Gaius, if you know who killed her, it is your duty to tell me so that we might investigate the likelihood that they are behind these changes!"
"It was me," a voice says. Arthur almost doesn't recognise it as Merlin's, so different is it. Deeper and older, somehow, with an edge to it Arthur thinks he wouldn't want to test.
"You?"
"Yes," Merlin says harshly. "Me. When you were bitten by the Questing Beast, she provided an antidote in return for my life. Except she decided she would rather have me alive, and tried to take the lives of those I hold most dear instead."
Arthur swallows hard. "So you killed her?"
"The balance required a life for yours, and I protect the people I love." The walls seem to close around them as Merlin speaks, his eyes ringed with gold. Arthur finds it difficult to breathe, wondering what he did to deserve the protection of such a person, and desperately hopes he never comes to stand opposed to Merlin if this is what he can do without thinking.
Gaius breaks the moment with a slight cough, his eyes far too understanding. "There will be time for that later," is all he says, and Arthur is glad to see he isn't the only one with pink cheeks. "Now, I have something which might help you, Merlin. Let me see..." He makes his way up the ladder to the level containing the rest of his books, muttering under his breath about his old bones and shouldn't one of them be doing this instead.
Arthur studies Merlin's profile as intently as Merlin seems to be studying the table, still wondering what exactly it is about him that makes Arthur want to do anything to see his wide smile, and make sure it stays on Merlin's face.
"Merlin, catch." Merlin's head comes up in time to snatch a small cloth pouch out of the air before it hits him, giving Gaius a startled look. He pulls the pouch's drawstrings apart and lets a large blue stone fall into his palm, smooth-edged and so brightly coloured it almost glows.
"What do I do with this?"
"It's lapis lazuli, from the Far East. It'll help you focus on what you're looking for, because trying to follow the path of someone else's magic is going to be like getting hold of a greasy weasel."
Arthur feels the urge to laugh at Gaius' choice of words, glancing at Merlin to find him biting his lip almost bloody to stop himself doing the same. Gaius starts to climb back down the ladder, turning his back to them, and Merlin leans over to whisper, "Don't laugh. And don't ask. He gets grumpy if you do."
Arthur can well believe it.
"I think, my lord, that you had better go away and stop distracting Merlin so he can get on with trying to find whoever is behind this, yes?"
"That isn't a question, is it?"
Gaius smiles, as if Arthur's said something highly intelligent. Merlin snorts with laughter. "It's his second, less subtle way of getting rid of people, right after 'can you go and get me some water'."
"Ah. In that case, I'll be leaving. Remove my distracting presence, as you say," he says. He addresses Gaius but his eyes are on Merlin, catching the slight smirk his words bring. "I expect to be told at once if you discover anything."
"Of course. Sire," Merlin answers, and if his smirk widens on the title, only Arthur sees it. Or hopes he does.
Gaius looks as if he's about to start making 'shoo' gestures, so Arthur nods to them both and gets out while he still has a shred of self control and his dignity left. He mulls over the conversation as he makes his way to the stables, intent on riding an extra patrol to a village claiming to be plagued by the same blue boar-things he'd thought he'd put paid to.
The low sense of guilt he used to feel for wanting Merlin, for wanting someone who was really the only close friend he's ever had, has been slowly fading, pushed away by the growing feeling that Merlin has the same view towards him. It's a tenuous sense, given body merely by the odd moment between them, a glimpse of something on Merlin's face, or an exchange that holds more weight than it should do. Without consciously thinking about it, the remaining guilt is rapidly becoming darker, blended with a desire so powerful it feels dirty as he thinks of Merlin being powerful enough to kill the sorceress- as he thinks of Merlin killing anyone, honestly, and gods he wants to see Merlin using his magic in battle.
He doesn't care about the last bit of guilt, not when he can imagine it, the rush of action and clash of swords, seeing Merlin in the middle of it all, untouched by anything (anyone) as he raises his hands and-what? What would Merlin do? Fire, maybe, raging across the battle, leaving Camelot's men untouched and the rest as piles of ash and molten armour? Or would he call down lightning, taking his time, maybe wearing that mocking smile Arthur remembers every single time he's seen on Merlin's face
Arthur rides out still thinking of Merlin, the knights he takes with him keeping their distance out of worry the expression on Arthur's face means he's spoiling for a fight with anyone, not just whatever is attacking the village.
--
Gaius settles himself back at the worktable, resuming his tasks as Merlin stares down at the chunk of stone in his hand. It warms up slowly, its vibrant colour reminding him of something, the knowledge just on the edge of his memory. The sounds of Gaius' knife rhythmically chopping herbs fades away as he reaches for it, frustrated when the memory skitters away from his reaching thoughts. Then the he tilts the stone and the blue comes alive as it catches a ray of weak sunlight, almost seeming to glow, and everything coalesces.
He remembers the blue flowers at the equinox, and how every time he'd seen a hint of the strange magic wreaking havoc in Camelot it had had a blue tinge. His fingers tighten around the lapis lazuli and a grin spreads across his face, because now he knows that this is all the work of one person and one spell. With a lighter heart he tries to follow Gaius' instructions, but now the stone gets in the way as he tries to remember how he sent his magic out through the forest and replicate it, holding him to reality when he needs to break away and see things in a much larger scale.
Then Gaius says something about Arthur when he's trying to focus, and suddenly Merlin can see Arthur like he's there, riding in front of a group of knights on the road away from Camelot.
The shock of it sends him back into his body with a jolt, eyes flying open as he gasps. When he can focus again without feeling nauseous Merlin sees Gaius watching him with a curious mix of pride and uncertainty, his own work lying discarded in front of him. "Um." He wonders what he looked like, to provoke the expression on Gaius' face, but the physician simply shakes his head and returns to his work.
"If you ever take the time to learn how to use that magic of yours properly, Merlin, you'll be one hell of a sorcerer."
"And also more likely to get myself caught and killed."
Gaius's mouth quirks, almost a smile but not quite. "It'd probably be easier to hide it, if you didn't keep suddenly discovering new abilities like that."
Merlin ducks his head and looks at the stone he's still holding, tossing it from one hand to the other. "That could come in very useful, though," he answers, and hopes to hell the uses he's thinking about aren't the same ones as Gaius.
He ignores Gaius' mutterings and closes his eyes again, feeling first for the stone and then for his magic, smiling to himself as he feels his mind start to fly.
--
It's late when Arthur returns, late enough that the stablehands are asleep and there's no one to greet them as they clatter back into Camelot. He tends to his own horse, glad to have some form of work to do that isn't killing a nest of strange blue boars things while the corpses of the people they've been feasting on lie not twenty feet away, and wishes he felt tired enough to go to bed and let the slaughter fade from his mind.
Then Merlin crashes into him just as he's about to shut the door to his chambers, barely dodging the solid wood and skidding against Arthur. "I found them!"
Arthur doesn't answer for a moment, too taken up by the feeling of Merlin pressed tight against him, warm and entirely too solid for someone that skinny. His hands have landed on Merlin's slim hips, practically spanning their entire width, and he can feel Merlin's every inhale and exhale against his own chest. Merlin's hands are braced on his shoulders, the only thing stopping their noses - or lips, he allows himself to concede - colliding.
"Found who?" he finally asks, proud that his voice only shakes a little.
Merlin doesn't move away, seemingly oblivious to their positions. Maybe he is; Arthur wouldn't be surprised, looking at the way Merlin's eyes spark gold every few seconds. "The person who cast the spell!"
Oh. Right. That. "Wait, what spell?"
Merlin's hands flatten against Arthur's shoulders, moving to curl over them as Merlin looks at his neck and sighs, his hips tilting to one side as he orders his thoughts. At least, that's what Arthur hopes he's doing. "I was looking for signs of foreign magic, right? Evidence that someone else had used their powers in Camelot - magic tends to stick around once it's been used, except it doesn't do anything. Usually."
"Should that 'usually' be something I need to be concerned with?"
"Oh, no," Merlin shakes his head, eyes still bright and fixed on Arthur. "Well, right now you do, but not otherwise. It's to do with-"
He seems about to go into a long explanation of how magic works, which Arthur suspects won't make any sense at all, and since he's rapidly loosing higher brain functions he interrupts. "Merlin! The spell, tell me about it."
"Sorry. Well, I was looking for other magics, only when I looked I almost got blinded because all I could see was my magic, everywhere, sort of laid over Camelot like a blanket. Except I know I haven't used that much magic, even when I was fighting Nimueh-" A shadow comes into Merlin's eyes as he says her name, and Arthur tightens his hands on his hips. Merlin's eyes darken further as he takes in how close they are for seemingly the first time, gifting Arthur with a coy look that makes his mouth go dry. "Anyway, it's covering everything, and with Gaius' help I worked out what happened."
"Which was?" Arthur asks, and doesn't try to keep his voice level. Merlin grins.
"Someone used my magic to cast a spell from the Wild Magic over the entire kingdom, and they were sneaky about it. If Gaius hadn't remembered the bloody pollen then I wouldn't have been able to track them."
"What does pollen have to do with it?"
"It carried the spell into Camelot, because for some reason they couldn't come here and cast it themselves, and it's how they managed to get close enough to me to use my magic without me knowing." Merlin frowns as he says it, and Arthur wonders how he feels about that. It is, however, a conversation for another night.
"Can you guide us to wherever they're hiding?" he asks, pulling away to let his head clear somewhat so he can plan.
"Yes," Merlin answers with confidence. "Now I know what their magic is like, I can follow it." His frown deepens as he says: "It feels familiar, although I can't think where from."
"Is it important you remember?"
Merlin lifts his eyebrows, expression surprised. "Of course it's important. Would you go into battle without as much information as possible about who you're fighting?"
"What I meant was," Arthur says with a scowl, "is you not being able to remember going to affect anything?"
"I don't know," Merlin retorts, exasperated, "because I can't remember where I've felt this magic before. If I could, then I might have a better idea of what we can expect once we find whoever this is. I might also be able to work out who it is," he adds, voice frustrated.
"Keep trying." He glares at Arthur, who ignores it. "Right now we'd better try and get some sleep; we should be off first thing tomorrow." He wants to leave now, the energy humming through his body needing an outlet other than the warlock in front of him, but knows Merlin will most likely object-
"Actually, it'd be better if we left right away. I get the feeling that the spell is almost done, and the gods only know what the finale of all this is going to be."
"What about-"
"Gaius will make your excuses to Uther, and Morgana knows."
Arthur carefully doesn't ask why it's important that Morgana knows where they're going, and feels himself matching Merlin's sharp smile with one of his own. "Fine. Go and get the horses ready; I'll meet you there after I've got my armour."
Merlin shakes his head. "You won't need it."
"You can't be serious."
"This will be a battle of magic, Arthur, not steel." He shrugs, already turning to leave. "You can bring a sword, if it makes you feel better."
Which is how Arthur comes to be riding out of Camelot again, in the dead of night, feeling slightly under-prepared without his chainmail or shield but at the same time oddly sure that whoever it is they're about to confront, Merlin will be able to not only match but surpass their powers.
--
They ride for hours through the pitch-dark forest until a grey light starts seeping through the trees, Merlin guiding them with bright gold eyes and the occasional quiet word until they crest a ridge and see the mountains ahead. Merlin holds up a hand, pulling his horse to a stop.
"They're close?" Arthur asks, and looks around. There's no sign of another person having camped here, even, but Merlin is dismounting.
"I don't- the trail of magic ends here, but it's like something is blocking it, not like it just stops."
Arthur swings himself down to the ground, joining Merlin on the crest of the ridge to look out at the faint signs of the dawn rising over the mountain peaks. "Could they have hidden from you?"
Merlin shakes his head, absently holding the blue stone up for Arthur to see. "Not with this. I can see magic strongly without it, but with it...there's no way they could've stopped me from seeing any traces whatsoever."
"Then-" he starts, but Merlin suddenly puts fingers to his lips and says:
"Shh, let me-"
Arthur watches as Merlin seems to listen intently, head cocked to one side as if the wind itself is speaking to him, and whatever it tells him makes his eyes glow such a rich gold that Arthur is reminded of Uther's crown, burnished and deep-coloured. He stands still and tries not to break Merlin's concentration, barely breathing until Merlin turns that fey look on him and smiles.
"I found them." His hands are warm as he takes Arthur's, and Arthur wonders how this must look to an outsider, his cloak whipped by the wind to flutter around them both, the Crown Prince of Camelot held fast by the loose grip and startling eyes of a slim young man. "Trust me?"
"If that isn't a double-edged question, I can't hold a sword," Arthur says, and tightens his grip on Merlin. "Yes, for which I expect to be severely punished."
"Not if it goes our way," Merlin tells him, then asks, with an expression Arthur wants to know where he learnt and who from; "Unless you want to be?"
And that's something Arthur should think about, maybe, or not, but Merlin chooses that moment to start bloody glowing, the gold in his eyes spreading to his skin and then to Arthur's, flowing over them both like water. Arthur feels a sharp tug and closes his eyes against the ensuing feeling of falling down, down, miles and miles until he isn't sure which way is up, isn't sure of anything except Merlin's hands and Merlin's face inches from his own.
Then he can't even see that, can't see for the black.
--
Waking up is painful. Merlin's head feels not unlike that time in the forest, like he's been shoved back into his own body without really fitting. He reaches for his magic without thinking, and feels it much closer to the surface than it usually is, flooding through him and eager to be used. His headache lifts within an instant, along with his slight soreness from riding for so long and any tiredness he'd been feeling.
Merlin opens his eyes to see Arthur lying next to him, flat on his back with his hands folded on his stomach and sword bare on the grass, easy to hand, staring up at the sky. He's awake, that much Merlin can tell, and appears to be unharmed. He sits up carefully, legs stretched out in front of him like Arthur, although he feels in perfect health. "Arthur?"
"There's no one here, and considering you're about as good defending yourself while unconscious as you are when awake, I though I'd better stay here instead of scouting further afield."
"Right," Merlin says dryly. "Did you miss the part where I pulled us through Time?"
Arthur looks up at him, frowning slightly. "Is that what you did? Because I don't remember much of an explanation before you...well, before you did whatever it was!"
"I asked if you trusted me!" Merlin shies backwards as Arthur pushes himself up, leaning in close, but can't go any further because Arthur has an arm around his waist and one hand on the back of his neck, looking at him with an intensity that takes Merlin's breath away.
"And I do trust you, gods help me, but for me to keep doing it you've got to tell me what you're going to do. Otherwise it could cause all sorts of problems, tactical and personal, and-"
"Tactical?" Merlin interrupts.
"I'm going to need your help in battle," Arthur tells him, voice too soft for the words. "And while killing doesn't seem to be a problem for you, defending yourself is."
"And you're going to do that, are you? Keep me safe while I kill for you?"
"Yes," Arthur says, like it's not negotiable. Maybe it isn't; Merlin doesn't feel the inclination to want to test it, doesn't think he ever will.
"I can do more than just kill with my magic," he says, and it isn't in the least surprised when Arthur rolls his eyes.
"I know that; you've proven it more times than I likely know about." Arthur speaks with only a touch of irony, for which Merlin is thankful, not really wanting to go into all that right now.
"We need to carry on," is what he says instead of the hundred other things in his head, and feels Arthur bite back equally as many comments to nod gently. "Oh, wait. Can I-" without finishing, or waiting for Arthur to reply, Merlin reaches out to gently touch Arthur's temple.
Arthur doesn't flinch, but he goes very still. "What was that?"
"You'll be able to see magic now. It'll make it easier for you to follow what happens."
"I..." Arthur pauses, then shakes his head roughly. "You know, I'm not going to argue. Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Merlin accepts the hand Arthur reaches down to him with a wry smile, pulling himself up and taking stock of where they are as Arthur slides his sword back into his sheath. He can feel the buzz of magic under his skin, knows that the next step is going to be almost too easy.
"Ready?"
"For what?" Arthur asks with a hint of sarcasm, but his hand is tight on his sword's hilt and he shifts his weight slightly, ready for action.
"I'm going to tell them we're here."
"Won't they already know?"
"Probably," Merlin says, gathering his magic. This time he can feel himself glowing as well as see it, the buzz growing to feel like false fire licking over his skin, tingling and hot but not burning or destructive. "But this will make them show themselves."
The magic spreads out from him in a great pool of light, and suddenly Merlin remembers this happening before, like his magic remembers being used the way his body is starting to remember sword patterns. This much pure magic being shown is a challenge, making certain his abilities will not be underestimated and forcing the figure behind Camelot's suffering to show themselves or risk being destroyed; Merlin sends the implication that if they don't answer he will rip control of the spell from them and turn them to dust as he fixes things, pushing the thought out in amongst his magic.
He can feel it the instant they're no longer alone, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and the rasp of Arthur's sword being half-drawn. Merlin lets his magic flow back into him, opening his eyes to realise why the foreign magic tainting all of his visions had felt so familiar. Even so, he needs Arthur's half shocked, half-confused exclamation to make it real.
"Mordred?"
----
Part V
Part I, Part II, Part III
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Reasoning that telling Gaius about his conversation with Morgana would only make him worry further, Merlin keeps it to himself. He figures he's made the right decision when Gaius spends the next morning in an irritable mood, going so far as to shout at Merlin for knocking a wooden bowl off the workbench and onto the floor. Merlin picks it up and carefully sets it on a shelf where it'll be out of his way before glancing at Gaius, who has stopped chopping herbs.
"I'm sorry, Merlin. I seem to be out of sorts today."
Merlin shrugs. "At least you're not throwing things at me," he says, making Gaius chuckle weakly.
"No, I suppose not." He sighs, sounding every day of his old age. "I haven't been able to discover anything useful in my books yet, and it's frustrating, not to mention potentially fatal."
"I could help," Merlin offers, feeling slightly guilty when Gaius looks surprised. "I should have offered before, I know. Sorry."
"You don't like going through one dusty book after another," Gaius says dryly. "I imagine most people your age are the same. If you do truly want to help, though, I will gladly give you some books to search through once you've finished your rounds."
"I'll ask Arthur if he can spare me for the afternoon." Merlin waits until Gaius resumes chopping the herbs before continuing with his own tasks, keeping a wary eye on the physician. He receives a few sharp comments, but keeps working, hoping that they're just another symptom of whatever is going on in Camelot, and not Gaius' real opinion of how well he does the tasks given to him. Surely it doesn't really matter how finely he chops willow bark for the headache potions?
He's glad of the respite when he's finally sent to deliver the physician's remedies to those that have requested them, and spends as long as he can out in the town before going in search of Arthur and requesting to spend an entire afternoon poring over musty tomes with Gaius. Not that he can tell Arthur that, of course. Making his way through the castle corridors, he tries to think of a good lie to tell in place of the truth.
--
Arthur is mildly suspicious when Merlin asks for the afternoon off from his duties in order to help Gaius make enough remedies for an outbreak of illness, not least because he's heard no reports of such a thing from any part of the kingdom, but it suits his own plans for the rest of the day to have Merlin be elsewhere. He agrees, with what he hopes is the usual amount of comments about how he's sure he can cope without Merlin's pathetic help for a few hours, and tells him to take the rest of the day off for good measure.
The surprise on Merlin's face is almost enough for Arthur to think he's overdone it, but then he nods, gives his thanks and hurries off. Relieved, Arthur waits until he's well out of sight before making his way down through the castle to where Camelot's records are kept. He'd sent a servant down earlier, to see if the historian was in residence, and had discovered that Geoffrey would be out all afternoon on various errands. Likely collecting more reports to cram into the already overflowing shelves, Arthur thinks, and it's something for which he's grateful; as knowledgeable as Geoffrey is, Arthur would rather do this himself, without one of his father's councillors standing at his side and remarking on each thing he gathers from the records.
Pushing open the heavy door that leads into the large chamber, Arthur glances around at the rows of shelves, haphazardly filled with all manners of papers, books and scrolls. If there is a system to the disorder he can see, then it's one known only to Geoffrey, which is going to make what he wants to do rather more difficult, but he isn't going to wait until the historian returns; not only would that defeat the point of coming down here while Geoffrey is out, but it could lead to some questions that he doesn't have an answer for yet. He carefully picks his way to where Geoffrey's desk sits covered in yet more papers, and reasons that the most recent reports from the kingdom will be on there, or at least nearby, so that's where he plans to start.
Plumes of dust rise as Arthur begins to sort through the clutter on the desk, being careful not to knock into it as he moves once he notices that it's missing a leg and the broken-off stump is balancing on a bucket. The more papers he looks through, the more it becomes clear that something isn't right in Camelot. Normally the reports that get sent by various officials from around the land are sparse, generally a sheet long and covering the basic day-to-day running of the villages and towns under Uther's protection.
The ones he's finding, slowly, are much thicker, fixed together with thread sewn roughly through pages filled with varied kinds of handwriting. He searches through a couple of shelves until he finds a map of Camelot with the locations of major settlements marked on it, and tries to find a report matching to each one. By the time he's managed to gather enough for a mostly-complete view of what's going on he's covered in dust and collected several paper cuts, not to mention begun to develop a form of respect for the scribes and librarians who always manage to find the right papers when they're needed in a far shorter time than he has.
Arthur is just stacking what he needs into a pile to return to his rooms with when Geoffrey returns, carrying yet another bundle of papers in his arms. He stops short when he sees Arthur, covering his slightly shocked expression with a bow and a polite, "My lord." Apparently at a loss for what to say next, he clears his throat and moves to place his burden on the desk. Noticing the papers Arthur holds, his eyebrows lift slightly. "Can I help you with something, Sire?"
"I've found everything I need." Stepping carefully back to the door, Arthur has a thought. Turning back, he asks, "If I needed anything clarifying from these reports, who would I speak to?"
"That would be myself, Sire, or your father. For greater detail you would, of course, need to speak to the official who wrote the specific report."
Arthur nods. "Thank you. I'll return these once I'm done with them."
Geoffrey waves a hand. "Keep them as long as you need them, Sire. It is your prerogative, after all." Once on his way back to his chambers, Arthur thinks about paper cuts and dust that gets into his eyes like the worst raised by a march during summer. Poring over endless reports of taxes, petty grievances and the other minutiae of a kingdom is not something that has ever appealed to him, but he knows from his father that it is a vital part of being a ruler, and he thinks that perhaps this is a good place to begin learning.
--
Twilight has drawn in by the time Arthur finishes reading the last of what he gathered from Geoffrey's library, the light fading sooner than is normal for the time of year. He frowns at the darkening sky visible through the window, all too aware that the reports mention the very same thing. A far cry from their usual calm records of daily life, each and every one contains, along with the usual details of tithes and the like, accounts of strange weather causing the crops to wither, animals acting against their usual nature and occurrences where a recently repaired building has suddenly collapsed. The amount of crimes committed has increased too, so it seems; far more reports contain worries about bandits and thieves than is apparently normal, or so a notation in Geoffrey's neat hand indicates.
Then there are the descriptions of things that can only, to Arthur's mind at least, have been caused by magic. Storms that spring up from clear skies to destroy crops and scatter herds, but occur only over one particular area. He reads testimonies from eyewitnesses interviewed by town officials that speak of stepping out from underneath storms, from pouring rain to sunny skies, as if there is a boundary that the weather will not cross. Such events leave fields flooded and ruined, the harvests rotten within days. Each storm seems to be several villages closer to Camelot, Arthur notes with a frown.
Such things are not natural, and neither are the beasts that have been spotted. Reading through the reports, Arthur is reminded of the strange blue creature he and his knights hunted. The descriptions before him are similar in that all the creatures they tell of may once have been ordinary animals, but had been warped by some force into things that none recognised. Some detail horns and claws on animals which previously had neither, or great increases in size and ferocity, and then there come the ones which read as if they were created by mixing more than one animal to get something entirely new and dangerous.
To his mind there is only one explanation for such happenings, and for the problems Camelot is facing as a whole: magic. Troubled by the conclusion, although not especially surprised, Arthur rises and takes a torch from the wall, holding it to the low fire until it catches, still deep in thought as he touches it to the rest of the torches around his chambers. His immediate reaction is to tell his father, to show him the reports and explain his reasoning - not that it would need much doing, the evidence is plain to see. He makes no move to seek out Uther, however, remaining where he is, a deep frown still marring his features.
A question he had asked Geoffrey earlier returns to him as he stares at the heap of papers in front of him, and it makes his frown clear slightly. After a moment's debate he comes to a decision, gathering the reports up and leaving his rooms, retracing his steps back down to the library.
--
Although it is late, Geoffrey is still at work when Arthur pushes the door open, sitting at his cluttered desk with the light of a well-protected lamp illuminating the book in front of him. Again, he looks surprised at seeing Arthur there, perhaps more so considering it is the second time in one day, but he recovers swiftly and stands. "My lord?"
"I came to return these," Arthur says, motioning with the sheaf of reports in his hand. He hesitates, feeling slightly awkward; he and Geoffrey have never had much to do with each other, but if anyone can answer his questions, it is without doubt the historian. "I also came to ask some questions."
"I will help in any way I can, Sire. What is it you wish to know?"
"I want," Arthur begins slowly, wondering how to phrase his question, "to know how magic was dealt with before my father's reign."
Geoffrey looks taken aback, unable to conceal his surprise this time. "My lord, I hardly think-"
"This is in confidence, of course," he adds. "I simply wish to better understand how Camelot treated those who can use magic before the Purges." When Geoffrey still looks uncertain, Arthur sighs. "Surely there is nothing wrong with teaching the Crown Prince the history of what will be my own kingdom one day?"
Nodding slowly, Geoffrey says, "If you are certain, Sire, then I shall do my best to answer anything you ask of me."
"Thank you." Removing a stack of books from a chair that Geoffrey indicates, Arthur sits down, Geoffrey following suit after a moment's indecision. Leaning back in his chair, the historian looks thoughtful, looking at the stack of shelves surrounding them as if searching for a place to begin. Arthur waits as patiently as he can, aware that men like Geoffrey are not to be rushed, but barely stifled a sigh of relief all the same when the older man speaks.
"Magic, in many ways, is like that knife," he begins, pointing to the one hanging at Arthur's belt. "On its own it's just a piece of shaped metal, with the potential for many different uses. In the hands of someone who knows how to use it, yes, it can be a weapon. Or, it can be used as a healer's tool, or a cook's utensil. Good things."
"But how did we prevent people from using it as a weapon, in that case?"
"The same way as we continue to stop everyone else: the laws," Geoffrey answers, tone scholarly and instructive; Arthur is forcibly reminded of the tutors he had as a child, and has to remind himself that this is important, something he wants to know, to stop himself yawning in reaction. He frowns.
"I still don't see how you can be sure, though. It's in a sorcerer's nature, or a sorceress', to cause dissent and-"
"That is the judgement of your father," Geoffrey says, his tone turning careful. "Before the problems faced by Camelot during his rule, most magic users were peaceable for the most part, although of course there have always been those who seeks to cause strife."
"Then what did the laws say about the use of magic when committing a crime?"
"The punishments were made to fit the crime, not the way in which it is committed. A man who used magic to make his neighbours crops wither and die would have received the same punishment as a man who set fire to a gathered harvest, because the end result is the same."
"What about for more serious crimes?"
Geoffrey raises his eyebrows in a manner curiously similar to Gaius, displaying disapproval without actually saying anything. "You don't consider destroying a man's crop a serious crime, Sire?"
"You know what I mean. Murder, that sort of thing."
"The punishment for murder is death, the same as it is now, regardless of whether or not magic was used. It used to be that the only time the punishments differed was if someone used magic repeatedly in a malicious way, even when fined or punished by the sheriffs." Pausing, Geoffrey looks thoughtful. "In cases such as those, I believe their magic was taken from them by the Court mages, although I would need to check the histories to be completely sure."
Leaning forward, truly interested now, Arthur inquires, "And if they found other ways to continue their crimes?"
"Then they were be punished according to the laws, the same as before." Though his tone is serious, Arthur can detect sadness there as well, and wonders if Geoffrey lost friends when the laws changed. He continues, in a far dryer and neutral tone, emotions carefully hidden. "The laws of Camelot used to compensate for the fact that magic was tolerated, and acted in just the same way as they do now."
Resting his elbows in his knees, Arthur stares down at the intricately tooled leather cover of a book resting between his feet and sits contemplating what he has heard for a while. After a moment or two he is aware of Geoffrey moving around again, shuffling papers and making more notes, leaving him to this thoughts. There's something beginning to niggle at the back of his mind, something being pulled forward by the talk of magic, and he isn't sure he likes what it's threatening to coalesce into.
He takes his leave of Geoffrey rather abruptly, barely remembering to thank the old man before he strides out into the dim hallway. Without conscious thought his feet take him the long way back, through corridors and walkways, Arthur barely registering those he passes along the way. By the time he reaches the door of his chambers the thought has become solid, along with the anger that has been slowly rising as each piece fell into place. Slamming the door behind him with such force that the wood shakes on its hinges, Arthur stands in his chambers, unable to focus his gaze on anything.
The urge to have a weapon in his hand wells up so strongly he has crossed the room and pulled his sword half from its scabbard before he registers what he's done, looking at the lethal blade and imagining himself-With an effort of will Arthur slides the sword safely back into the sheath, trying to focus on the pure, emotional anger and not the destructive anger that would have him act without thought or reason.
He understands now, in the part of him that isn't blind with rage, how Uther could have made mistakes when it comes to magic. He automatically shies away from using that word, from admitting that his father has made mistakes, has been wrong, but after a long moment of struggling with years of loyalty he has to admit that it's the only word that fits. Reeling from this, the tactician in him withdraws from being rash, begins to think with the detachment of the battlefield.
It seems as if there is a puzzle in his head, the pieces scattered throughout his mind, and all it needed was for Geoffrey to lay the first piece down in the right place for all the rest to gather around it and form an entire picture. A series of memories spreads before his eyes; his natural balance inexplicably gone as he tripped over everything in his path, an orb of strange blue light guiding him to safety, a snake emerging from a shield, something half-glimpsed through shining water. And more than that, things he's been told, like how he must be the luckiest man in the kingdom, to still be alive after so many wounds that on any other would be fatal. Things he's overheard, whispered rumours amongst his knights of how Lancelot's sword flamed blue before he killed the griffin.
In his head, these pieces have never meant much until this moment, but now...now he can't help but see that they all began when Merlin arrived in Camelot. Before that day, there were no strange events where not everything added up, no situations which ended with Arthur pulled to safety by someone who wouldn't admit to it. It all makes a horrific sort of sense, now that he's been given that push he needed to see it. The rage begins to overwhelm the rational part of him, and for an instant he's tempted to let it, to allow it to consume him and make him seek out Merlin, to hold a sword to his throat and demand to know why he's lied for so long, kept this not insignificant detail from Arthur for all this time.
He makes do with giving his chair a violent shove, the resounding crash as it hits the floor cutting through the tumult of emotions running through him and having the grounding effect of making him feel like a child in the midst of a temper tantrum. Leaning on the table, hands gripping the edge until his knuckles turn white, Arthur forces himself to consider it from Merlin's side. It isn't as difficult as he first imagines, once the flood of anger has abated somewhat; perhaps it has something to do with his part in the rescuing of the Druid boy, but the will to remain secret and hidden no longer makes him think of sneaking sorcery and treachery.
Instead, he thinks of the determination to survive under the rule of a king who orders even those suspected of aiding a magic user imprisoned, or worse. All the same, it is still hard to pull himself entirely away from a life spent hearing of the evil intents of all who wield magic, and how Camelot must be rid of its corrupting influences if it is to prosper. Edwin comes to the front of his mind as he struggles with all he has been taught, but this time Arthur tries to consider it from the false physician's side, tries to understand how a man could be driven to such lengths by the deaths of his parents on Uther's orders.
It dawns on him, gradually, that these are his people, regardless of whether or not he is actually sitting on the throne. His father is a good king, that is something he knows right through to his bones, but now that Arthur has forced himself to look at things from a different perspective, he sees how already people are starting to look to him for guidance. It has become common for petitioners ask for him by name, rather than request an audience with his father, and People had stood vigil for him when he was sick from the poisoned bite, so he's been told. He isn't King, not yet, but already he is seeing the beginning of his rule.
As the night wears on Arthur paces up and down, turning everything over in his head; his anger, all the things that have been impressed upon him from when he was a child and which now stand on insecure foundations, Merlin's lies, when he might have used his magic, and more than that, why he might have used it.
Just before dawn he stops in front of the window, struck by the memory of Merlin's stricken face when his friend Will had claimed to be the sorcerer. He recognises the expression now for what it was; fear, certainly, but also gratitude for such a final act, and no little amount of love as well. Feeling slightly more settled, he finally kicks his boots off and flings himself down onto the bed, hoping for an hour or so of sleep before he goes see Merlin.
--
Merlin feels the wards jangling and feels the urge to hide, Arthur's anger almost tangible, but he grits his teeth and carries on. He's chopping herbs for Gaius when the workroom door flies open to admit Arthur, and his knife goes flying as Arthur grabs his arm, dragging him from the table up the steps to his small chamber. Merlin stumbles through, barely catching himself from falling headlong into the opposite wall, so forceful are Arthur's movements.
"Arthur, what-" Merlin flinches as Arthur flings the door closed.
"Shut up." His tone is angry, jaw clenched and shoulders set. "You have been lying to me, Merlin, from the very day you arrived here."
Merlin's eyes go wide. "I don't-" He flinches again as Arthur slams a hand against the wooden planks of the door, rattling it on its hinges. "What did you expect," he asks instead, looking away. "When we met you were throwing knives at a servant for the sake of amusement; nothing about you made me think you were anything but your father's son, and your father-"
"Is a man blinded by his hatred for something he cannot understand or control, I know. But regardless of that he would do anything to protect Camelot, and I am the same. You should have trusted me."
"Why?" Merlin demands, voice low. "It wasn't just my life at risk; my mother would have been suspected, and all who know me in Ealdor-"
"Did it never occur to you," Arthur snarls, "that Ealdor isn't part of Camelot? Even had I seen your friend Will call down the wind, I could not have done anything except ban him from ever entering Camelot. Perhaps my father would have been stricter, regardless of our relationship with Mercia, but I do not want to be the same man as my father, not if I can help it."
"Honestly?" Merlin asks, anger rising. "No, I never thought about that. I was too scared in case anything happened to them because of me to consider the details." Exhaling hard, he looks at Arthur, who is watching him with a set jaw and tense shoulders. "I've spent my entire life hearing about how anyone suspected of helping or hiding a sorcerer was imprisoned or killed; when it comes to magic, Uther is irrational, and I couldn't take the chance."
"And after we became friends?" Arthur's voice has lost some of its harshness, but it's still cold, full of tightly controlled fury. "You've trusted me with your life; why not your magic? It amounts to the same thing, surely."
His anger fading as quickly as it rose, Merlin moves to lean against the rough wood of the beam rising from floor to ceiling, feeling in need of the support it offers him. Letting his head tilt back, he shuts his eyes against the ice in Arthur's expression. "You're still the King's son," he points out, "and every time I thought it would be safe to tell you, something happened to make me think it wasn't the right moment after all. Like your father thanking me for helping keep Camelot safe from magic." A laugh that threatens to become hysterical bubbles in his throat, and he keeps it silent only with a strong effort of will.
There is silence in the small room for a while, only broken by their breathing and the muffled sounds of Gaius moving around. Merlin wonders what he's doing, besides worrying about what's going on in his room, and attempts to distract him from Arthur's continued and slightly ominous quiet by trying to work out what each noise means. It doesn't really work, and by the time Arthur clears his throat Merlin is practically vibrating with tension.
"Look," Arthur starts, and Merlin glances up at when he notes that there is a lot less anger in his voice than there was previously, although the neutral tone still shakes slightly with suppresses emotions. "I'm angry with you, and I have been since last night when I finally worked it out. You lied to me, and you kept lying long after we became friends. I broke laws for you. I trusted you, more to the point, and you didn't see fit to return that trust. But-"
"I wanted-" Arthur holds up a hand, and Merlin stops.
"Let me finish, Merlin. I was going to say, I understand why you felt you couldn't give me that trust. I thought about it a lot last night, once I'd stopped wanting to have you arrested and thrown in the dungeons."
"For- for having magic?"
Arthur rolls his eyes, the hint of a faint smile on his lips. "For thinking I'm a complete idiot."
"But did you think about it?" Merlin asks quietly, and holds his breath as Arthur glances away. He lets it out when Arthur nods, just the once, tight and jerky.
"Honesty, Merlin." Arthur looks up at him, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze. "We can carry on as...well, as whatever we are right now only if we're honest with each other. That's not going to happen if you don't trust me."
Merlin frowns, wanting desperately to just agree and finish the conversation, but he knows that he can't. "What about you being angry with me? I thought..." he doesn't end the sentence, isn't sure what would happen if he tells Arthur that he didn't expect to be trusted after all this, but has the instinct to know that it wouldn't be a good reaction.
"I am angry, but I still, for whatever reasons, trust you. I'm not sure how quick I would be to tell someone with duties and loyalties like mine a secret like yours." He folds his arms and looks at Merlin, who blinks back at him.
"I- okay," he manages to say, swallowing hard and wondering what he's done to deserve this acceptance, because he's certainly done enough to deserve the anger. "I'll be-honest with you."
"Right." Arthur lets his arms drop to his sides, some of the tension slipping away from him. Merlin can still see the anger in the lines at the corners of his eyes, and the way his hands clench and unclench every couple of minutes or so, but it isn't being directed directly at him any more, and for that he's grateful. He waits for Arthur to pull the door open and follows him down to where Gaius has given up any pretence of working and is standing waiting for them, worry on his face.
"Merlin-" he starts, looking from one to the other, uncertainty clear in his voice.
"He knows," Merlin says, feeling slightly foolish as he does so. It sounds so...simple, a matter of considerable weight dealt with in so few words.
"And I'm surprised more people don't," Arthur says, moving to stand beside Merlin, his tone slightly mocking. "If he goes around being as obvious as I believe he's been, I'm astounded that he's still alive."
"Hey, if it weren't for me, you'd have been killed by magic more times than you've been stabbed with a sword!"
"You can only be killed once, Merlin, and I'll have you know that-"
"Ahem,“ interrupts Gaius, obviously recovering his wits. "As thankful as I am that Merlin's secret is safe with you, my lord, could we possibly continue this conversation with the door shut?"
The door flies shut with a loud bang, although nobody moves. Arthur stares in shock at Merlin, who looks back with an equally shocked but also slightly scared expression at his action. Within a moment Arthur is standing in front of Merlin, making sure to look the other man directly in the eyes as he says in a low voice tinged again with anger: "I am not my father, Merlin."
Neither of them moves until Gaius clears his throat again, jerking a step away from each other as though burned. "Had we not better apply ourselves to the task at hand?" Gaius inquires, lifting his eyebrows. Merlin nods, swallowing hard. Gaius wonders if either of them realise they're leaning into each other slightly, as if they need the closeness.
"Do you know something of what has befallen Camelot?" Arthur asks, his self-control mostly restored as he focuses on the problem at hand.
"There's not much that I have been able to discover, but what I've gleaned from accounts in my books - although they were on a much smaller scale - it is my belief that someone has tampered with Time itself."
"How can someone affect Time," Arthur asks, incredulous. "Isn't it one of those things that cannot be altered? Like the path of the sun, or the seasons?"
"I had assumed so," Gaius admits, "but according to the sorcerers of old it was once possible to change the way Time flows. I believe that this is what has happened here, on a much larger scale than they wrote about."
"Over the entire kingdom, instead of a specific person or place?" Arthur glances at Merlin, clearly surprised.
"You know about this sort of thing?"
"I'm not entirely useless," he replies, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. "And magic is easier than looking after you, at least."
"Very funny."
"Sire, Merlin," says Gaius disapprovingly. "Considering the dire straits some of the villages seem to be in, don't you think this is the time to work out who is behind it all, not snipe at each other?" He nods his approval as they keep quiet, waiting for him to continue. "Good. Now, This isn't a natural occurrence-"
"Obviously."
"My lord, pardon my impertinence, but you're not precisely qualified to interrupt." Gaius frowns at Arthur, who looks apologetic and motions for him to continue. "In certain instances, I would have you know, magic can warp Time in a small area, making it dangerous for humans to travel there and affecting the local wildlife so that we end up with the so called 'monsters' your people have been reporting."
"But that's not what's happening here," Merlin says, and looks impatient when Arthur glares at him for interrupting, fearing Gaius will stop the much-needed explanation. "The changes are so great, and they go so far back, that someone did this deliberately."
Gaius nods heavily. "My conclusion also. Somebody wants to harm Camelot, my lord, and it's someone with an immense amount of power under their control."
"What do you mean, so far back?"
"People's destinies are sometimes laid out in front of them, as a path that they must follow no matter what their choices in life. What's happening now is that those destinies are changing; I saw our first meeting almost change, and who knows what might have happened if that had altered."
"I might have ended up with a better servant," or maybe something else instead. He thinks he sees the words in Merlin's eyes, though, and turns away to address Gaius instead, uncomfortable in the face of things he could keep better hidden. Merlin ducks his head to hide his own smile.
"Merlin, do you remember what you did back in March, with the plants?"
Merlin frowns, thinking. "Um."
"Searching out those that were sickly after the winter, and giving them some of your magic?"
"Oh. Yes. What of it?"
"I believe that a similar process might be useful in finding the source of our problems. If you can find a single plant in the forest, you should be able to find the traces of their magic in a place where none should be evident." Gaius glances at Arthur as he speaks, and Arthur realises that he's still unsure about Arthur's claim that he won't tell Uther about Merlin's magic. Perhaps Merlin isn't sure either, but then Arthur is coming to understand that Merlin is a better liar than he's ever thought possible.
"I can try." Merlin looks dubious, like his faith in his own abilities is limited. "But it might take me a while; I still don't know how I did it before, and they might have shielded themselves against being found."
"It's taken two months to work out this much, Merlin; even if you can't find them this way, it's something else we've tried."
"Have you any idea who it might be?" Arthur asks. Gaius replies in the negative, saying:
"No one I've read about had this sort of power, and apparently the patience it takes to work something like this is rarely found in sorcerers."
"What about a sorceress?" Arthur suggests. "There is one who might have the power."
"It's not her," Merlin replies.
"But how can we be sure? She hasn't troubled us for some time, and you said it yourself you-"
"She's dead," Merlin says flatly. Gaius looks at him with an odd expression.
"Dead? How?"
"She was killed."
Arthur frowns. There's something eluding him here. "To kill one as powerful as she seemed to be would require a lot of magic, and great control over it. Could her killer be the one we're looking for?"
"No." Gaius says it as if it's not up for discussion, but Arthur's never been one to back down.
"Can you be certain? I don't see how we can disregard any possibilities, especially with the good of Camelot at stake here. Gaius, if you know who killed her, it is your duty to tell me so that we might investigate the likelihood that they are behind these changes!"
"It was me," a voice says. Arthur almost doesn't recognise it as Merlin's, so different is it. Deeper and older, somehow, with an edge to it Arthur thinks he wouldn't want to test.
"You?"
"Yes," Merlin says harshly. "Me. When you were bitten by the Questing Beast, she provided an antidote in return for my life. Except she decided she would rather have me alive, and tried to take the lives of those I hold most dear instead."
Arthur swallows hard. "So you killed her?"
"The balance required a life for yours, and I protect the people I love." The walls seem to close around them as Merlin speaks, his eyes ringed with gold. Arthur finds it difficult to breathe, wondering what he did to deserve the protection of such a person, and desperately hopes he never comes to stand opposed to Merlin if this is what he can do without thinking.
Gaius breaks the moment with a slight cough, his eyes far too understanding. "There will be time for that later," is all he says, and Arthur is glad to see he isn't the only one with pink cheeks. "Now, I have something which might help you, Merlin. Let me see..." He makes his way up the ladder to the level containing the rest of his books, muttering under his breath about his old bones and shouldn't one of them be doing this instead.
Arthur studies Merlin's profile as intently as Merlin seems to be studying the table, still wondering what exactly it is about him that makes Arthur want to do anything to see his wide smile, and make sure it stays on Merlin's face.
"Merlin, catch." Merlin's head comes up in time to snatch a small cloth pouch out of the air before it hits him, giving Gaius a startled look. He pulls the pouch's drawstrings apart and lets a large blue stone fall into his palm, smooth-edged and so brightly coloured it almost glows.
"What do I do with this?"
"It's lapis lazuli, from the Far East. It'll help you focus on what you're looking for, because trying to follow the path of someone else's magic is going to be like getting hold of a greasy weasel."
Arthur feels the urge to laugh at Gaius' choice of words, glancing at Merlin to find him biting his lip almost bloody to stop himself doing the same. Gaius starts to climb back down the ladder, turning his back to them, and Merlin leans over to whisper, "Don't laugh. And don't ask. He gets grumpy if you do."
Arthur can well believe it.
"I think, my lord, that you had better go away and stop distracting Merlin so he can get on with trying to find whoever is behind this, yes?"
"That isn't a question, is it?"
Gaius smiles, as if Arthur's said something highly intelligent. Merlin snorts with laughter. "It's his second, less subtle way of getting rid of people, right after 'can you go and get me some water'."
"Ah. In that case, I'll be leaving. Remove my distracting presence, as you say," he says. He addresses Gaius but his eyes are on Merlin, catching the slight smirk his words bring. "I expect to be told at once if you discover anything."
"Of course. Sire," Merlin answers, and if his smirk widens on the title, only Arthur sees it. Or hopes he does.
Gaius looks as if he's about to start making 'shoo' gestures, so Arthur nods to them both and gets out while he still has a shred of self control and his dignity left. He mulls over the conversation as he makes his way to the stables, intent on riding an extra patrol to a village claiming to be plagued by the same blue boar-things he'd thought he'd put paid to.
The low sense of guilt he used to feel for wanting Merlin, for wanting someone who was really the only close friend he's ever had, has been slowly fading, pushed away by the growing feeling that Merlin has the same view towards him. It's a tenuous sense, given body merely by the odd moment between them, a glimpse of something on Merlin's face, or an exchange that holds more weight than it should do. Without consciously thinking about it, the remaining guilt is rapidly becoming darker, blended with a desire so powerful it feels dirty as he thinks of Merlin being powerful enough to kill the sorceress- as he thinks of Merlin killing anyone, honestly, and gods he wants to see Merlin using his magic in battle.
He doesn't care about the last bit of guilt, not when he can imagine it, the rush of action and clash of swords, seeing Merlin in the middle of it all, untouched by anything (anyone) as he raises his hands and-what? What would Merlin do? Fire, maybe, raging across the battle, leaving Camelot's men untouched and the rest as piles of ash and molten armour? Or would he call down lightning, taking his time, maybe wearing that mocking smile Arthur remembers every single time he's seen on Merlin's face
Arthur rides out still thinking of Merlin, the knights he takes with him keeping their distance out of worry the expression on Arthur's face means he's spoiling for a fight with anyone, not just whatever is attacking the village.
--
Gaius settles himself back at the worktable, resuming his tasks as Merlin stares down at the chunk of stone in his hand. It warms up slowly, its vibrant colour reminding him of something, the knowledge just on the edge of his memory. The sounds of Gaius' knife rhythmically chopping herbs fades away as he reaches for it, frustrated when the memory skitters away from his reaching thoughts. Then the he tilts the stone and the blue comes alive as it catches a ray of weak sunlight, almost seeming to glow, and everything coalesces.
He remembers the blue flowers at the equinox, and how every time he'd seen a hint of the strange magic wreaking havoc in Camelot it had had a blue tinge. His fingers tighten around the lapis lazuli and a grin spreads across his face, because now he knows that this is all the work of one person and one spell. With a lighter heart he tries to follow Gaius' instructions, but now the stone gets in the way as he tries to remember how he sent his magic out through the forest and replicate it, holding him to reality when he needs to break away and see things in a much larger scale.
Then Gaius says something about Arthur when he's trying to focus, and suddenly Merlin can see Arthur like he's there, riding in front of a group of knights on the road away from Camelot.
The shock of it sends him back into his body with a jolt, eyes flying open as he gasps. When he can focus again without feeling nauseous Merlin sees Gaius watching him with a curious mix of pride and uncertainty, his own work lying discarded in front of him. "Um." He wonders what he looked like, to provoke the expression on Gaius' face, but the physician simply shakes his head and returns to his work.
"If you ever take the time to learn how to use that magic of yours properly, Merlin, you'll be one hell of a sorcerer."
"And also more likely to get myself caught and killed."
Gaius's mouth quirks, almost a smile but not quite. "It'd probably be easier to hide it, if you didn't keep suddenly discovering new abilities like that."
Merlin ducks his head and looks at the stone he's still holding, tossing it from one hand to the other. "That could come in very useful, though," he answers, and hopes to hell the uses he's thinking about aren't the same ones as Gaius.
He ignores Gaius' mutterings and closes his eyes again, feeling first for the stone and then for his magic, smiling to himself as he feels his mind start to fly.
--
It's late when Arthur returns, late enough that the stablehands are asleep and there's no one to greet them as they clatter back into Camelot. He tends to his own horse, glad to have some form of work to do that isn't killing a nest of strange blue boars things while the corpses of the people they've been feasting on lie not twenty feet away, and wishes he felt tired enough to go to bed and let the slaughter fade from his mind.
Then Merlin crashes into him just as he's about to shut the door to his chambers, barely dodging the solid wood and skidding against Arthur. "I found them!"
Arthur doesn't answer for a moment, too taken up by the feeling of Merlin pressed tight against him, warm and entirely too solid for someone that skinny. His hands have landed on Merlin's slim hips, practically spanning their entire width, and he can feel Merlin's every inhale and exhale against his own chest. Merlin's hands are braced on his shoulders, the only thing stopping their noses - or lips, he allows himself to concede - colliding.
"Found who?" he finally asks, proud that his voice only shakes a little.
Merlin doesn't move away, seemingly oblivious to their positions. Maybe he is; Arthur wouldn't be surprised, looking at the way Merlin's eyes spark gold every few seconds. "The person who cast the spell!"
Oh. Right. That. "Wait, what spell?"
Merlin's hands flatten against Arthur's shoulders, moving to curl over them as Merlin looks at his neck and sighs, his hips tilting to one side as he orders his thoughts. At least, that's what Arthur hopes he's doing. "I was looking for signs of foreign magic, right? Evidence that someone else had used their powers in Camelot - magic tends to stick around once it's been used, except it doesn't do anything. Usually."
"Should that 'usually' be something I need to be concerned with?"
"Oh, no," Merlin shakes his head, eyes still bright and fixed on Arthur. "Well, right now you do, but not otherwise. It's to do with-"
He seems about to go into a long explanation of how magic works, which Arthur suspects won't make any sense at all, and since he's rapidly loosing higher brain functions he interrupts. "Merlin! The spell, tell me about it."
"Sorry. Well, I was looking for other magics, only when I looked I almost got blinded because all I could see was my magic, everywhere, sort of laid over Camelot like a blanket. Except I know I haven't used that much magic, even when I was fighting Nimueh-" A shadow comes into Merlin's eyes as he says her name, and Arthur tightens his hands on his hips. Merlin's eyes darken further as he takes in how close they are for seemingly the first time, gifting Arthur with a coy look that makes his mouth go dry. "Anyway, it's covering everything, and with Gaius' help I worked out what happened."
"Which was?" Arthur asks, and doesn't try to keep his voice level. Merlin grins.
"Someone used my magic to cast a spell from the Wild Magic over the entire kingdom, and they were sneaky about it. If Gaius hadn't remembered the bloody pollen then I wouldn't have been able to track them."
"What does pollen have to do with it?"
"It carried the spell into Camelot, because for some reason they couldn't come here and cast it themselves, and it's how they managed to get close enough to me to use my magic without me knowing." Merlin frowns as he says it, and Arthur wonders how he feels about that. It is, however, a conversation for another night.
"Can you guide us to wherever they're hiding?" he asks, pulling away to let his head clear somewhat so he can plan.
"Yes," Merlin answers with confidence. "Now I know what their magic is like, I can follow it." His frown deepens as he says: "It feels familiar, although I can't think where from."
"Is it important you remember?"
Merlin lifts his eyebrows, expression surprised. "Of course it's important. Would you go into battle without as much information as possible about who you're fighting?"
"What I meant was," Arthur says with a scowl, "is you not being able to remember going to affect anything?"
"I don't know," Merlin retorts, exasperated, "because I can't remember where I've felt this magic before. If I could, then I might have a better idea of what we can expect once we find whoever this is. I might also be able to work out who it is," he adds, voice frustrated.
"Keep trying." He glares at Arthur, who ignores it. "Right now we'd better try and get some sleep; we should be off first thing tomorrow." He wants to leave now, the energy humming through his body needing an outlet other than the warlock in front of him, but knows Merlin will most likely object-
"Actually, it'd be better if we left right away. I get the feeling that the spell is almost done, and the gods only know what the finale of all this is going to be."
"What about-"
"Gaius will make your excuses to Uther, and Morgana knows."
Arthur carefully doesn't ask why it's important that Morgana knows where they're going, and feels himself matching Merlin's sharp smile with one of his own. "Fine. Go and get the horses ready; I'll meet you there after I've got my armour."
Merlin shakes his head. "You won't need it."
"You can't be serious."
"This will be a battle of magic, Arthur, not steel." He shrugs, already turning to leave. "You can bring a sword, if it makes you feel better."
Which is how Arthur comes to be riding out of Camelot again, in the dead of night, feeling slightly under-prepared without his chainmail or shield but at the same time oddly sure that whoever it is they're about to confront, Merlin will be able to not only match but surpass their powers.
--
They ride for hours through the pitch-dark forest until a grey light starts seeping through the trees, Merlin guiding them with bright gold eyes and the occasional quiet word until they crest a ridge and see the mountains ahead. Merlin holds up a hand, pulling his horse to a stop.
"They're close?" Arthur asks, and looks around. There's no sign of another person having camped here, even, but Merlin is dismounting.
"I don't- the trail of magic ends here, but it's like something is blocking it, not like it just stops."
Arthur swings himself down to the ground, joining Merlin on the crest of the ridge to look out at the faint signs of the dawn rising over the mountain peaks. "Could they have hidden from you?"
Merlin shakes his head, absently holding the blue stone up for Arthur to see. "Not with this. I can see magic strongly without it, but with it...there's no way they could've stopped me from seeing any traces whatsoever."
"Then-" he starts, but Merlin suddenly puts fingers to his lips and says:
"Shh, let me-"
Arthur watches as Merlin seems to listen intently, head cocked to one side as if the wind itself is speaking to him, and whatever it tells him makes his eyes glow such a rich gold that Arthur is reminded of Uther's crown, burnished and deep-coloured. He stands still and tries not to break Merlin's concentration, barely breathing until Merlin turns that fey look on him and smiles.
"I found them." His hands are warm as he takes Arthur's, and Arthur wonders how this must look to an outsider, his cloak whipped by the wind to flutter around them both, the Crown Prince of Camelot held fast by the loose grip and startling eyes of a slim young man. "Trust me?"
"If that isn't a double-edged question, I can't hold a sword," Arthur says, and tightens his grip on Merlin. "Yes, for which I expect to be severely punished."
"Not if it goes our way," Merlin tells him, then asks, with an expression Arthur wants to know where he learnt and who from; "Unless you want to be?"
And that's something Arthur should think about, maybe, or not, but Merlin chooses that moment to start bloody glowing, the gold in his eyes spreading to his skin and then to Arthur's, flowing over them both like water. Arthur feels a sharp tug and closes his eyes against the ensuing feeling of falling down, down, miles and miles until he isn't sure which way is up, isn't sure of anything except Merlin's hands and Merlin's face inches from his own.
Then he can't even see that, can't see for the black.
--
Waking up is painful. Merlin's head feels not unlike that time in the forest, like he's been shoved back into his own body without really fitting. He reaches for his magic without thinking, and feels it much closer to the surface than it usually is, flooding through him and eager to be used. His headache lifts within an instant, along with his slight soreness from riding for so long and any tiredness he'd been feeling.
Merlin opens his eyes to see Arthur lying next to him, flat on his back with his hands folded on his stomach and sword bare on the grass, easy to hand, staring up at the sky. He's awake, that much Merlin can tell, and appears to be unharmed. He sits up carefully, legs stretched out in front of him like Arthur, although he feels in perfect health. "Arthur?"
"There's no one here, and considering you're about as good defending yourself while unconscious as you are when awake, I though I'd better stay here instead of scouting further afield."
"Right," Merlin says dryly. "Did you miss the part where I pulled us through Time?"
Arthur looks up at him, frowning slightly. "Is that what you did? Because I don't remember much of an explanation before you...well, before you did whatever it was!"
"I asked if you trusted me!" Merlin shies backwards as Arthur pushes himself up, leaning in close, but can't go any further because Arthur has an arm around his waist and one hand on the back of his neck, looking at him with an intensity that takes Merlin's breath away.
"And I do trust you, gods help me, but for me to keep doing it you've got to tell me what you're going to do. Otherwise it could cause all sorts of problems, tactical and personal, and-"
"Tactical?" Merlin interrupts.
"I'm going to need your help in battle," Arthur tells him, voice too soft for the words. "And while killing doesn't seem to be a problem for you, defending yourself is."
"And you're going to do that, are you? Keep me safe while I kill for you?"
"Yes," Arthur says, like it's not negotiable. Maybe it isn't; Merlin doesn't feel the inclination to want to test it, doesn't think he ever will.
"I can do more than just kill with my magic," he says, and it isn't in the least surprised when Arthur rolls his eyes.
"I know that; you've proven it more times than I likely know about." Arthur speaks with only a touch of irony, for which Merlin is thankful, not really wanting to go into all that right now.
"We need to carry on," is what he says instead of the hundred other things in his head, and feels Arthur bite back equally as many comments to nod gently. "Oh, wait. Can I-" without finishing, or waiting for Arthur to reply, Merlin reaches out to gently touch Arthur's temple.
Arthur doesn't flinch, but he goes very still. "What was that?"
"You'll be able to see magic now. It'll make it easier for you to follow what happens."
"I..." Arthur pauses, then shakes his head roughly. "You know, I'm not going to argue. Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Merlin accepts the hand Arthur reaches down to him with a wry smile, pulling himself up and taking stock of where they are as Arthur slides his sword back into his sheath. He can feel the buzz of magic under his skin, knows that the next step is going to be almost too easy.
"Ready?"
"For what?" Arthur asks with a hint of sarcasm, but his hand is tight on his sword's hilt and he shifts his weight slightly, ready for action.
"I'm going to tell them we're here."
"Won't they already know?"
"Probably," Merlin says, gathering his magic. This time he can feel himself glowing as well as see it, the buzz growing to feel like false fire licking over his skin, tingling and hot but not burning or destructive. "But this will make them show themselves."
The magic spreads out from him in a great pool of light, and suddenly Merlin remembers this happening before, like his magic remembers being used the way his body is starting to remember sword patterns. This much pure magic being shown is a challenge, making certain his abilities will not be underestimated and forcing the figure behind Camelot's suffering to show themselves or risk being destroyed; Merlin sends the implication that if they don't answer he will rip control of the spell from them and turn them to dust as he fixes things, pushing the thought out in amongst his magic.
He can feel it the instant they're no longer alone, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and the rasp of Arthur's sword being half-drawn. Merlin lets his magic flow back into him, opening his eyes to realise why the foreign magic tainting all of his visions had felt so familiar. Even so, he needs Arthur's half shocked, half-confused exclamation to make it real.
"Mordred?"
----
Part V