Fic: Merlin; G/PG; Equilibrium - Chapter 5
Title: Equilibrium (5/9 + Epilogue)
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: G/PG
Wordcount: This part: 4110, Overall ~44000
Pairing/Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Percival (OC), Nimueh, The Slash Dragon (before they broke up)
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, nor any of the characters. The version of Arthurian legend this was inspired by/based on belongs to the Beeb.
Warnings: Vague corruption of Arthurian Legend
Spoilers: Up to the Gates of Avalon
Author’s Note: Many thanks to wrennette for the beta work. Back to normal length chapters again. Sorry for the wait, I wasn’t expecting the Christmas holidays to be so distracting. ^_^;;
Summary: In this part: Percival meets with Nimueh and discovers more of what she is planning, but he is in too far to back out. Meanwhile Merlin goes to ask a friend for some advice.
Previous Chapters: 1| 2| 3| 4|
Percival. The voice was inside his head, calling his name, his real name. The first time had occurred when the servant he had found to replace the real Arthur’s manservant had been trying to tidy Arth- his chambers. He had frozen completely, convinced that the young man knew who he was. One look at the gormless serving boy, who was wiping his nose down his sleeve with an expression of ignorant bliss, put paid to that idea.
Percival. It called again. We need to speak, Percival.
It was a woman’s voice: a voice he recognised. He paused for a second, replaying the words inside his mind. The enchantress, she had obviously come to ask for her repayment. He sighed. She had come through on her part of the deal, so it was only fair. It was not as though he could back out.
Say you are going hunting. Alone. Ride out to the Eastern gate and then take the road to the North. I will be waiting in the forest. Then there was silence and he was alone again, apart from the sniffing idiot in the corner.
“I’m going hunting,” he informed the lad and strode over to the door. He was growing used to the new body with its strange muscles and way of moving. It was even quite nice to walk with his head held high through the corridors, rather than bowing to everyone who passed and shuffling along, hunched into some kind of mutant.
“Yes sire,” the boy said, bowing deeply. He had a sudden urge to force him upright again. He had wanted proper deference, but now he had it, it made him uncomfortable. Respect was all well and good, but the grovelling and fawning that everybody displayed was just as irritating as being treated like a dog. Well… not quite as irritating. Not at all as irritating really. He had no idea why he was complaining. This was everything he had ever wanted.
***
“Gaius?” Merlin called as he walked back into the physician’s chambers. The older man was nowhere to be seen and he walked in with a sigh, wondering where Arthur had got to. It probably was not safe for him to be out by himself, when the Prince attempted to control his new body he tended to overcompensate and no doubt he would end up on his back looking up at any opponents, plus, the attitude, while completely acceptable for a Prince, to most people, anyway, would stand out on an ordinary citizen.
“Arthur?” he called. There was a strange noise from Gaius small library above him. It sounded like someone had started to speak but then been choked up. Without even thinking he ran towards the noise, taking the steps two at a time. “Arthur!” he called again, there was no response.
He was more than a little panicked as he searched between the bookcases. He had thought that here, at least, the Prince would be safe, but apparently he was still at the mercy of…
His thought process was severed brutally as he rounded the last bookcase and looked down. Arthur was apparently, only at the mercy of books, ladders and his own incompetence.
If he had still seen Arthur as the peasant from the morning, then no doubt the glare and slight embarrassed blush would not have been so hilarious but, for some reason, seeing the Prince, half buried in books, his legs tangled up in the ladder, struggling to lever himself up and disentangle himself from the mess of paper and wood was more than he could handle. It might have just been relief that the young man was still alive and able to glare at him, but his amusement bubbled up inside him and he let out a peal of laughter that merely served to increase the weight of Arthur’s glare. No doubt that would earn him a good couple of weeks of ‘training practise’ when this was all sorted out, otherwise known as ‘quality time involving Merlin getting whacked with a large stick’. Arthur strained to pull his legs out again and gritted his teeth together. Make that a very large stick.
“Would you like some help?” he asked cheekily, leaning lightly against one of the other bookcases.
“Do I look like I need help?” Arthur growled at him. Merlin forced himself to swallow down his laughter and bit his lips together, although there was no stopping the grin that was spreading across his face.
“Do you want me to answer that?” He inquired lightly, still not moving to the Prince’s aid. It was rare that a situation like this occurred, and Arthur was in no position to make his life miserable at the moment. He might as well enjoy having the Prince at his mercy for once. Arthur strained again and one of the books quivered slightly before slipping into a slightly less convenient place.
“Why are you just standing there?” Arthur demanded after a second.
“Oh, so you do need help?” he asked standing up straight again and taking a step forward. “What were you trying to do anyway?” He knelt down and began to tug some of the more tightly wedged books out from between the ladder and Arthur’s legs. After he had moved a couple of the tomes, the Prince was able to wriggle free. Merlin allowed himself another chuckle at that. He had never seen Arthur with quite that little elegance before.
“I was bored, I was looking for something to read,” he said.
“And you thought you’d pull the entire top shelf down on top of yourself?” Merlin commented, stacking the books up while Arthur righted the ladder.
“It’s this ridiculous body,” Arthur complained, “it can’t do anything right!” he huffed a little before kneeling back down to help Merlin with the books.
“Don’t worry about it, I can handle them,” Merlin said automatically.
“I’m not going to throw them all over myself, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Arthur snapped. He was once again in full Prince mode and Merlin groaned to himself. Apparently the humiliation of being found in one of his clumsy moments was going to make the man more unreasonable than usual.
“That’s not what I meant,” he quickly said, “not that I’m not pleased you’re helping - you did make the mess after all - but you don’t usually help me. I am your servant.”
“Not at the moment, you’re not.” Merlin looked up at him sharply, but Arthur was glaring at the books as though they were responsible for his current predicament. There was no clue as to what he was thinking, other than irritation, and probably still embarrassment.
“Well, technically I am because it wasn’t you who fired me, so… I suppose I still work for you,” he summed up, and then it was his turn to avoid Arthur’s gaze as the Prince stared at him in bemusement.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly me at the moment,” he waved a hand at himself and smirked wryly.
“Look the same to me,” Merlin said equably, making sure to look Arthur in the eye as he said it. There was a moment where they stared at each other before Merlin, desperate to break the strange tension in the room stood up abruptly and brushed himself down.
“Well… what are we going to do about this then?” he asked. He turned and headed back to the steps, hearing Arthur’s footsteps as he followed him onwards.
“I don’t know…” the Prince admitted, and Merlin had never heard him sound so defeated. “If I knew who he was - the man I’d swapped bodies with, then maybe…”
“What?” Merlin asked.
“I recognise myself, I’m sure I do, I just… can’t remember where from.” When they got to the bottom of the stairs he immediately headed for the mirror on the table and stared at his reflection.
“I’m sure it’ll come to you,” Merlin said, as supportively as he could.
“It had better,” Arthur commented to himself, turning his face this way and that to get a better idea. He left his comment there, but they both could hear the otherwise that followed.
“I… have an idea,” Merlin said and Arthur looked up from the mirror for a second in query. “I’ll tell you if it pans out,” he headed for the door at a jog, pausing only to turn as he grabbed the door handle. “Stay here, okay?”
“Like I have anywhere else to go,” the Prince said acidly. Merlin just shrugged before disappearing out of the door far quicker than Arthur would have expected. “Right… stuck here, with nothing to do… again.” He muttered. The Prince looked back down at his reflection and glared at it. “Where do I know you from?”
***
If someone had told Percival that it would take the Prince of Camelot half an hour and four servants to get ready for a hunting trip, he would have laughed in their face. Of course, that had been before he had been subjected to the rigmarole of horse preparation and equipment checking and the insistence that he be dressed for riding; the argument about whether or not he should go alone had lasted for more than five minutes and that had been with him trying to be regal and commanding. It was as though he could not breathe without someone telling him how to do it properly or making sure he did not choke on his own tongue.
He was so relieved when he was finally allowed to leave the castle (very slowly because he had only ridden a horse three times before, and every one of those times had ended up with him face first in the mud) that he almost forgot the Sorceress’s instructions, but he caught himself just in time and made sure to go North from the Eastern gate, riding into the woods.
He felt as though every eye in Camelot was on him as he rode away and, when he darted small looks back, he was sure he could see people on the battlements looking out at him.
When he made it over the crest of the first hill and was finally out of sight of the castle he almost fell out of his saddle as he relaxed. The horse, seeming to sense that he was not its usual master, began to prance slightly and settled into a bouncing trot. In alarm he tightened his legs around the animal which only sped it up. He was thrown from the saddle in barely a minute’s time.
The air rushed from his lungs as he hit the ground though he was fairly certain that none of his bones had broken. Groaning, he managed to turn himself over, spitting out the mouthful of dirt he had somehow managed to gather during the fall.
The horse had stopped and was standing in the middle of the road staring at him placidly. It knew, he could tell it knew. Maybe animals could see through the spell or something, or maybe he was just that bad at riding. He glared at the animal as he pushed himself to his feet and remembered the twin stares of it and its master as he stood in front of them on the road.
“I’m not worthless,” he muttered to himself. The horse merely hmphed and pawed at the ground with one foreleg. “Fine…” he did not mount it though, but walked along side it, one hand caught in the reigns. If he came across anyone he was not sure what he would say, but there was no other choice, he did not want to end up on the ground again.
It took him a lot longer to get to the forest walking along side the horse than it would have done had he been able to ride properly, but he got there eventually and, this time, the Sorceress appeared as soon as he made it inside the trees.
“Hello sire,” she said, and if he had not been staring at her eyes, he would have noted the cutting sarcasm in her voice.
“What do you want?” he asked, unable to drag his eyes away from hers. It was as though, every time he saw her she captured some part of his soul.
“Just a favour, Percival,” she said. Her voice was soothing, like the slight breeze that trickled through the leaves above him and she moved with that same, gentle, grace. Step by step, she came towards him, a smile slowly spreading across her face until she was standing less than a foot from him. She was the embodiment of pride in that moment: her chin tilted upwards as she stared him down, her posture was not that of a fugitive, but of a queen. It was hard to imagine her living outside of civilisation. “Barely anything,” she assured him, “and nothing you’ll miss.”
“What is it?” he asked again. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but he could not tell if that was due to her proximity or the slight unease that had appeared at the back of his mind.
“Percival,” she reached out a hand and it hovered over his jumping heart. He looked down at it for a second, small and delicate fingers splayed open. The palm was barely any distance from his shirt - Arthur’s shirt - but he could not feel the heat from it - in fact, where her hand lingered the warmth seemed to leave his body as though she were frozen and sucking the heat from him. He swallowed and looked back up into her eyes and the presentiment of alarm was all but forgotten. “Relax - the hardest part is over.”
“You said you just wanted to talk to someone,” Percival said, recalling their previous conversation. Her words from earlier had seemed so innocent, but her smile seemed to have an edge to it that she had not previously seen.
“And I do… just a little conversation, but I can’t go inside Camelot, so you’ll have to bring him to me…” she looked around behind him, frowning slightly. “I thought he might have come this time.”
“You told me to come alone,” Percival told her and she nodded.
“I didn’t think that he would listen,” she seemed distracted, but shook the distant expression from her face again and looked at him once more, staring into him. “No matter, one more day is hardly a lot of time. I have waited a long time for this.”
“Who is he?”
“No one of importance, really,” she said, “just an old acquaintance.”
“Who?” he asked again.
“The Prince’s manservant - your manservant. Merlin, his name is.” Percival shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, remembering his actions earlier that day. “What?” she asked, her expression suddenly twisting into one of irritation and power. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “What did you do?” she asked, and her voice was as cold as her hand, and it reminded Percival of being out in a storm when the thunder shook everything and the clouds gathered overhead.
“I…” he began, she took another step forward so that she was barely inches from him, her eyes flashing like lightning. “He was suspicious, I had to fire him…” the words spilled out from him in a rush and he could feel her anger radiating off her.
“You fired him?” she asked. They stood there, nose to nose, for a second, and Percival felt as though the woman were a lot taller than she was. Her presence seemed to extend far outside of her body. The tension gathered for long seconds of silence, Percival preparing for the pain that was sure to come. Sorcerers did not let you off lightly when you wronged them. But then she was laughing and he could breathe again.
Her laughter cut into the air brutally, and it was not as beautiful as he had thought it would be. It was harsh and dark and there was an undercurrent of something not entirely human to it.
“Fine, we’ll just have to work out another way to get him here.” She twirled around and the connection between them was lost. Percival sagged in Arthur’s body as his muscles relaxed from a tension he had not known they were holding. He risked a glance down at his hands and they were shivering. As she turned again and faced him he balled them into fists to stop their movement; it was a gesture that felt natural, although he was sure he had never used it before.
“You say he was suspicious,” she said from where she stood. Her voice was just as low as before, but he could still hear it just as clearly. “Did he know that you were not the Prince?” she asked. Percival shrugged. “What did he say?”
“I can’t remember…” She hissed at him in agitation.
“Well, we’ll have to find some way of getting him out here…”
“What do you want him for?” Percival asked. Some reserve of courage inside him that he had not even known he had opened up and prompted him to ask questions to which he was sure he did not want to know the answers.
“I told you, we need to talk,” she said vaguely.
“You didn’t tell me why,” he pushed again.
“That is none of your concern,” the Sorceress said, effectively ending the conversation. “What about the Prince?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Percival said with a shrug. “I haven’t seen him.” She lost some of her composure as he said that, staring at him, her mouth open in alarm.
“You’re sure - he would look like you did before I performed the spell.” Percival shook his head and she cursed under her breath in a language he could not understand. “Is that a problem? I thought if he stayed out of, it would be a good thing.”
“Arthur is not the sort of man to stand back as someone usurps his position. I had expected him to take himself out of the equation; I did not think he would have the brains to work on this subtly.” Percival watched as she pondered the question for a moment, clearly thrown by this unexpected development.
“What did you expect to happen?” he asked nervously.
“I thought he would fight, as he always does, sword first… I thought…”
“He’d kill me?” Percival asked with horror.
“That would not be necessary, but an attempt on the Prince’s life is punishable by death, and who would believe the ramblings of a madman,” her voice was almost too low for him to hear, and he was not sure whether she had intended to say the words or not, but they left him reeling.
“You wanted the Prince to be executed?” he asked incredulously. She shook her head and looked at him with a cunning smile that no longer looked as beautiful on her face as it once had.
“You are the Prince now, Percival, and there can only be one Prince…” she paused for a second, waiting for her words to sink in. “If Arthur succeeds in whatever he is up to, and believe me, he is planning something, then you will die. If anyone discovers the truth then you will be executed. You have to take him out of the equation before he can get rid of you.”
“But…” Percival began. He had never wanted to kill anyone. He had just wanted the arrogant man to be taken down a peg or two.
“It’s him or you, Percival,” she said, her eyes challenging him. “Do you want to die?”
“No,” he said automatically, “but…”
“I’ve seen people executed, Percival,” she said savagely, stalking towards him like the wolf. “My friends, my family, they fell to Uther’s unjust laws. It was not pleasant. Do you want that to happen to you?”
“No,” he whispered, but the sense of unease had expanded at the back of his brain into fully formed horror.
“Then the only way is to find Arthur and deal with him…” He nodded dumbly, fear sitting in his chest and despair in his mind. There was no way out of this, now; not that he could see. He sighed deeply. What had he got himself into?
“It’s me or him,” he muttered to himself. She nodded with a smug smile.
“Find Arthur and bring Merlin to me,” she said. He closed his eyes tightly, to try and block out the world, hoping that when he opened them again he would be back in the Inn, asleep on the job. There was a gust of wind, and when he finally opened his eyes he was still where he had been before and a quick look down assured him that he was still dressed in the Prince’s body, but the Sorceress had gone, disappeared.
“Find Arthur, bring Merlin,” he muttered to himself before turning round and heading for the road. The Prince’s horse bumped its nose gently against his cheek in comfort as he walked past and he patted it absentmindedly. “There’s no good way out of this, is there?” he asked of no one in particular, but even the silence seemed to be mocking him.
***
The guards who were on dragon duty were never very alert, Merlin had learnt from lengthy experience. They lazed, they drank, they played dice and told ribald stories and jokes. It was never more than a couple of minutes’ work to get past them and down the stairs and sometimes he did not even need magic.
As it happened, tonight was one of the nights when he did. A slight spell made them fall asleep for long enough for him to slip past and grab a torch before making his way down the dark steps to the dragon’s cage.
“Hello?!” he yelled into the seemingly never-ending series of caves. “Look, you have to help…” The rush of wings as the dragon flew towards him, always took him by surprise and he took a step back from the edge as air rushed by him, afraid that he might lose his footing and fall down into the darkness. He was fairly certain that, if that happened, the dragon would catch him - after all, destiny required him to be alive and mostly in one piece if the giant lizard was to be believed - but there was still a part of him that did not wish to test that theory.
“What do you want help with now, little warlock?” the dragon asked, lowering its head to look at him more closely. Merlin always forgot how large it was in between these conversations.
“It’s Arthur… as usual,” he said, a little bitterly. “He’s… not himself.”
“That is hardly something I should be worried about,” the Dragon said and rose on its back legs as though about to fly away.
“No… I mean he’s really not himself,” said Merlin emphatically, “Someone swapped appearances with him and the person that everyone thinks is Arthur isn’t and I’m the only one who can see the real Arthur, although Gaius knows who he is, but I don’t know how to switch them back again without finding Nimueh and breaking her spell, except I can’t find her and I need to know if there’s another way… please, you’ve got to help.”
“I cannot tell you the answers you seek,” the dragon said ponderously, its tail twitching to and fro in a hypnotic rhythm. “But you must help the Prince reclaim the throne, or your destiny, and his, is lost.”
“I already know that!” Merlin yelled in exasperation. “I need to know how to find Nimueh, can’t you tell me that? I tried a spell earlier, but it didn’t work.”
“The Sorceress is hidden.”
“Precisely… so - can you help?”
“You do not need my help,” the Dragon told him, spreading its leathery wings.
“Yes I do!” Merlin insisted.
“The answers you need are already nearby. Trust in your shared destiny, nothing is completely lost while you and Arthur are together,” it said with its usual enigmatic riddling before swooping away into the darkness, the chain on its leg rattling slightly, a reminder that it was not here merely for his convenience.
Merlin stared into the darkness for a little while longer, wondering whether to shout after the Dragon that it would be his fault if they both ended up dead, but he restrained himself and settled for muttering insults about useless lizards and their inability to speak in a straight line.
“Trust in your shared destiny,” he muttered bitterly. “Is that all he ever says?”
***
On to Chapter 6
-
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: G/PG
Wordcount: This part: 4110, Overall ~44000
Pairing/Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Percival (OC), Nimueh, The Slash Dragon (before they broke up)
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, nor any of the characters. The version of Arthurian legend this was inspired by/based on belongs to the Beeb.
Warnings: Vague corruption of Arthurian Legend
Spoilers: Up to the Gates of Avalon
Author’s Note: Many thanks to wrennette for the beta work. Back to normal length chapters again. Sorry for the wait, I wasn’t expecting the Christmas holidays to be so distracting. ^_^;;
Summary: In this part: Percival meets with Nimueh and discovers more of what she is planning, but he is in too far to back out. Meanwhile Merlin goes to ask a friend for some advice.
Previous Chapters: 1| 2| 3| 4|
Percival. The voice was inside his head, calling his name, his real name. The first time had occurred when the servant he had found to replace the real Arthur’s manservant had been trying to tidy Arth- his chambers. He had frozen completely, convinced that the young man knew who he was. One look at the gormless serving boy, who was wiping his nose down his sleeve with an expression of ignorant bliss, put paid to that idea.
Percival. It called again. We need to speak, Percival.
It was a woman’s voice: a voice he recognised. He paused for a second, replaying the words inside his mind. The enchantress, she had obviously come to ask for her repayment. He sighed. She had come through on her part of the deal, so it was only fair. It was not as though he could back out.
Say you are going hunting. Alone. Ride out to the Eastern gate and then take the road to the North. I will be waiting in the forest. Then there was silence and he was alone again, apart from the sniffing idiot in the corner.
“I’m going hunting,” he informed the lad and strode over to the door. He was growing used to the new body with its strange muscles and way of moving. It was even quite nice to walk with his head held high through the corridors, rather than bowing to everyone who passed and shuffling along, hunched into some kind of mutant.
“Yes sire,” the boy said, bowing deeply. He had a sudden urge to force him upright again. He had wanted proper deference, but now he had it, it made him uncomfortable. Respect was all well and good, but the grovelling and fawning that everybody displayed was just as irritating as being treated like a dog. Well… not quite as irritating. Not at all as irritating really. He had no idea why he was complaining. This was everything he had ever wanted.
***
“Gaius?” Merlin called as he walked back into the physician’s chambers. The older man was nowhere to be seen and he walked in with a sigh, wondering where Arthur had got to. It probably was not safe for him to be out by himself, when the Prince attempted to control his new body he tended to overcompensate and no doubt he would end up on his back looking up at any opponents, plus, the attitude, while completely acceptable for a Prince, to most people, anyway, would stand out on an ordinary citizen.
“Arthur?” he called. There was a strange noise from Gaius small library above him. It sounded like someone had started to speak but then been choked up. Without even thinking he ran towards the noise, taking the steps two at a time. “Arthur!” he called again, there was no response.
He was more than a little panicked as he searched between the bookcases. He had thought that here, at least, the Prince would be safe, but apparently he was still at the mercy of…
His thought process was severed brutally as he rounded the last bookcase and looked down. Arthur was apparently, only at the mercy of books, ladders and his own incompetence.
If he had still seen Arthur as the peasant from the morning, then no doubt the glare and slight embarrassed blush would not have been so hilarious but, for some reason, seeing the Prince, half buried in books, his legs tangled up in the ladder, struggling to lever himself up and disentangle himself from the mess of paper and wood was more than he could handle. It might have just been relief that the young man was still alive and able to glare at him, but his amusement bubbled up inside him and he let out a peal of laughter that merely served to increase the weight of Arthur’s glare. No doubt that would earn him a good couple of weeks of ‘training practise’ when this was all sorted out, otherwise known as ‘quality time involving Merlin getting whacked with a large stick’. Arthur strained to pull his legs out again and gritted his teeth together. Make that a very large stick.
“Would you like some help?” he asked cheekily, leaning lightly against one of the other bookcases.
“Do I look like I need help?” Arthur growled at him. Merlin forced himself to swallow down his laughter and bit his lips together, although there was no stopping the grin that was spreading across his face.
“Do you want me to answer that?” He inquired lightly, still not moving to the Prince’s aid. It was rare that a situation like this occurred, and Arthur was in no position to make his life miserable at the moment. He might as well enjoy having the Prince at his mercy for once. Arthur strained again and one of the books quivered slightly before slipping into a slightly less convenient place.
“Why are you just standing there?” Arthur demanded after a second.
“Oh, so you do need help?” he asked standing up straight again and taking a step forward. “What were you trying to do anyway?” He knelt down and began to tug some of the more tightly wedged books out from between the ladder and Arthur’s legs. After he had moved a couple of the tomes, the Prince was able to wriggle free. Merlin allowed himself another chuckle at that. He had never seen Arthur with quite that little elegance before.
“I was bored, I was looking for something to read,” he said.
“And you thought you’d pull the entire top shelf down on top of yourself?” Merlin commented, stacking the books up while Arthur righted the ladder.
“It’s this ridiculous body,” Arthur complained, “it can’t do anything right!” he huffed a little before kneeling back down to help Merlin with the books.
“Don’t worry about it, I can handle them,” Merlin said automatically.
“I’m not going to throw them all over myself, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Arthur snapped. He was once again in full Prince mode and Merlin groaned to himself. Apparently the humiliation of being found in one of his clumsy moments was going to make the man more unreasonable than usual.
“That’s not what I meant,” he quickly said, “not that I’m not pleased you’re helping - you did make the mess after all - but you don’t usually help me. I am your servant.”
“Not at the moment, you’re not.” Merlin looked up at him sharply, but Arthur was glaring at the books as though they were responsible for his current predicament. There was no clue as to what he was thinking, other than irritation, and probably still embarrassment.
“Well, technically I am because it wasn’t you who fired me, so… I suppose I still work for you,” he summed up, and then it was his turn to avoid Arthur’s gaze as the Prince stared at him in bemusement.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly me at the moment,” he waved a hand at himself and smirked wryly.
“Look the same to me,” Merlin said equably, making sure to look Arthur in the eye as he said it. There was a moment where they stared at each other before Merlin, desperate to break the strange tension in the room stood up abruptly and brushed himself down.
“Well… what are we going to do about this then?” he asked. He turned and headed back to the steps, hearing Arthur’s footsteps as he followed him onwards.
“I don’t know…” the Prince admitted, and Merlin had never heard him sound so defeated. “If I knew who he was - the man I’d swapped bodies with, then maybe…”
“What?” Merlin asked.
“I recognise myself, I’m sure I do, I just… can’t remember where from.” When they got to the bottom of the stairs he immediately headed for the mirror on the table and stared at his reflection.
“I’m sure it’ll come to you,” Merlin said, as supportively as he could.
“It had better,” Arthur commented to himself, turning his face this way and that to get a better idea. He left his comment there, but they both could hear the otherwise that followed.
“I… have an idea,” Merlin said and Arthur looked up from the mirror for a second in query. “I’ll tell you if it pans out,” he headed for the door at a jog, pausing only to turn as he grabbed the door handle. “Stay here, okay?”
“Like I have anywhere else to go,” the Prince said acidly. Merlin just shrugged before disappearing out of the door far quicker than Arthur would have expected. “Right… stuck here, with nothing to do… again.” He muttered. The Prince looked back down at his reflection and glared at it. “Where do I know you from?”
***
If someone had told Percival that it would take the Prince of Camelot half an hour and four servants to get ready for a hunting trip, he would have laughed in their face. Of course, that had been before he had been subjected to the rigmarole of horse preparation and equipment checking and the insistence that he be dressed for riding; the argument about whether or not he should go alone had lasted for more than five minutes and that had been with him trying to be regal and commanding. It was as though he could not breathe without someone telling him how to do it properly or making sure he did not choke on his own tongue.
He was so relieved when he was finally allowed to leave the castle (very slowly because he had only ridden a horse three times before, and every one of those times had ended up with him face first in the mud) that he almost forgot the Sorceress’s instructions, but he caught himself just in time and made sure to go North from the Eastern gate, riding into the woods.
He felt as though every eye in Camelot was on him as he rode away and, when he darted small looks back, he was sure he could see people on the battlements looking out at him.
When he made it over the crest of the first hill and was finally out of sight of the castle he almost fell out of his saddle as he relaxed. The horse, seeming to sense that he was not its usual master, began to prance slightly and settled into a bouncing trot. In alarm he tightened his legs around the animal which only sped it up. He was thrown from the saddle in barely a minute’s time.
The air rushed from his lungs as he hit the ground though he was fairly certain that none of his bones had broken. Groaning, he managed to turn himself over, spitting out the mouthful of dirt he had somehow managed to gather during the fall.
The horse had stopped and was standing in the middle of the road staring at him placidly. It knew, he could tell it knew. Maybe animals could see through the spell or something, or maybe he was just that bad at riding. He glared at the animal as he pushed himself to his feet and remembered the twin stares of it and its master as he stood in front of them on the road.
“I’m not worthless,” he muttered to himself. The horse merely hmphed and pawed at the ground with one foreleg. “Fine…” he did not mount it though, but walked along side it, one hand caught in the reigns. If he came across anyone he was not sure what he would say, but there was no other choice, he did not want to end up on the ground again.
It took him a lot longer to get to the forest walking along side the horse than it would have done had he been able to ride properly, but he got there eventually and, this time, the Sorceress appeared as soon as he made it inside the trees.
“Hello sire,” she said, and if he had not been staring at her eyes, he would have noted the cutting sarcasm in her voice.
“What do you want?” he asked, unable to drag his eyes away from hers. It was as though, every time he saw her she captured some part of his soul.
“Just a favour, Percival,” she said. Her voice was soothing, like the slight breeze that trickled through the leaves above him and she moved with that same, gentle, grace. Step by step, she came towards him, a smile slowly spreading across her face until she was standing less than a foot from him. She was the embodiment of pride in that moment: her chin tilted upwards as she stared him down, her posture was not that of a fugitive, but of a queen. It was hard to imagine her living outside of civilisation. “Barely anything,” she assured him, “and nothing you’ll miss.”
“What is it?” he asked again. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but he could not tell if that was due to her proximity or the slight unease that had appeared at the back of his mind.
“Percival,” she reached out a hand and it hovered over his jumping heart. He looked down at it for a second, small and delicate fingers splayed open. The palm was barely any distance from his shirt - Arthur’s shirt - but he could not feel the heat from it - in fact, where her hand lingered the warmth seemed to leave his body as though she were frozen and sucking the heat from him. He swallowed and looked back up into her eyes and the presentiment of alarm was all but forgotten. “Relax - the hardest part is over.”
“You said you just wanted to talk to someone,” Percival said, recalling their previous conversation. Her words from earlier had seemed so innocent, but her smile seemed to have an edge to it that she had not previously seen.
“And I do… just a little conversation, but I can’t go inside Camelot, so you’ll have to bring him to me…” she looked around behind him, frowning slightly. “I thought he might have come this time.”
“You told me to come alone,” Percival told her and she nodded.
“I didn’t think that he would listen,” she seemed distracted, but shook the distant expression from her face again and looked at him once more, staring into him. “No matter, one more day is hardly a lot of time. I have waited a long time for this.”
“Who is he?”
“No one of importance, really,” she said, “just an old acquaintance.”
“Who?” he asked again.
“The Prince’s manservant - your manservant. Merlin, his name is.” Percival shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, remembering his actions earlier that day. “What?” she asked, her expression suddenly twisting into one of irritation and power. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “What did you do?” she asked, and her voice was as cold as her hand, and it reminded Percival of being out in a storm when the thunder shook everything and the clouds gathered overhead.
“I…” he began, she took another step forward so that she was barely inches from him, her eyes flashing like lightning. “He was suspicious, I had to fire him…” the words spilled out from him in a rush and he could feel her anger radiating off her.
“You fired him?” she asked. They stood there, nose to nose, for a second, and Percival felt as though the woman were a lot taller than she was. Her presence seemed to extend far outside of her body. The tension gathered for long seconds of silence, Percival preparing for the pain that was sure to come. Sorcerers did not let you off lightly when you wronged them. But then she was laughing and he could breathe again.
Her laughter cut into the air brutally, and it was not as beautiful as he had thought it would be. It was harsh and dark and there was an undercurrent of something not entirely human to it.
“Fine, we’ll just have to work out another way to get him here.” She twirled around and the connection between them was lost. Percival sagged in Arthur’s body as his muscles relaxed from a tension he had not known they were holding. He risked a glance down at his hands and they were shivering. As she turned again and faced him he balled them into fists to stop their movement; it was a gesture that felt natural, although he was sure he had never used it before.
“You say he was suspicious,” she said from where she stood. Her voice was just as low as before, but he could still hear it just as clearly. “Did he know that you were not the Prince?” she asked. Percival shrugged. “What did he say?”
“I can’t remember…” She hissed at him in agitation.
“Well, we’ll have to find some way of getting him out here…”
“What do you want him for?” Percival asked. Some reserve of courage inside him that he had not even known he had opened up and prompted him to ask questions to which he was sure he did not want to know the answers.
“I told you, we need to talk,” she said vaguely.
“You didn’t tell me why,” he pushed again.
“That is none of your concern,” the Sorceress said, effectively ending the conversation. “What about the Prince?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Percival said with a shrug. “I haven’t seen him.” She lost some of her composure as he said that, staring at him, her mouth open in alarm.
“You’re sure - he would look like you did before I performed the spell.” Percival shook his head and she cursed under her breath in a language he could not understand. “Is that a problem? I thought if he stayed out of, it would be a good thing.”
“Arthur is not the sort of man to stand back as someone usurps his position. I had expected him to take himself out of the equation; I did not think he would have the brains to work on this subtly.” Percival watched as she pondered the question for a moment, clearly thrown by this unexpected development.
“What did you expect to happen?” he asked nervously.
“I thought he would fight, as he always does, sword first… I thought…”
“He’d kill me?” Percival asked with horror.
“That would not be necessary, but an attempt on the Prince’s life is punishable by death, and who would believe the ramblings of a madman,” her voice was almost too low for him to hear, and he was not sure whether she had intended to say the words or not, but they left him reeling.
“You wanted the Prince to be executed?” he asked incredulously. She shook her head and looked at him with a cunning smile that no longer looked as beautiful on her face as it once had.
“You are the Prince now, Percival, and there can only be one Prince…” she paused for a second, waiting for her words to sink in. “If Arthur succeeds in whatever he is up to, and believe me, he is planning something, then you will die. If anyone discovers the truth then you will be executed. You have to take him out of the equation before he can get rid of you.”
“But…” Percival began. He had never wanted to kill anyone. He had just wanted the arrogant man to be taken down a peg or two.
“It’s him or you, Percival,” she said, her eyes challenging him. “Do you want to die?”
“No,” he said automatically, “but…”
“I’ve seen people executed, Percival,” she said savagely, stalking towards him like the wolf. “My friends, my family, they fell to Uther’s unjust laws. It was not pleasant. Do you want that to happen to you?”
“No,” he whispered, but the sense of unease had expanded at the back of his brain into fully formed horror.
“Then the only way is to find Arthur and deal with him…” He nodded dumbly, fear sitting in his chest and despair in his mind. There was no way out of this, now; not that he could see. He sighed deeply. What had he got himself into?
“It’s me or him,” he muttered to himself. She nodded with a smug smile.
“Find Arthur and bring Merlin to me,” she said. He closed his eyes tightly, to try and block out the world, hoping that when he opened them again he would be back in the Inn, asleep on the job. There was a gust of wind, and when he finally opened his eyes he was still where he had been before and a quick look down assured him that he was still dressed in the Prince’s body, but the Sorceress had gone, disappeared.
“Find Arthur, bring Merlin,” he muttered to himself before turning round and heading for the road. The Prince’s horse bumped its nose gently against his cheek in comfort as he walked past and he patted it absentmindedly. “There’s no good way out of this, is there?” he asked of no one in particular, but even the silence seemed to be mocking him.
***
The guards who were on dragon duty were never very alert, Merlin had learnt from lengthy experience. They lazed, they drank, they played dice and told ribald stories and jokes. It was never more than a couple of minutes’ work to get past them and down the stairs and sometimes he did not even need magic.
As it happened, tonight was one of the nights when he did. A slight spell made them fall asleep for long enough for him to slip past and grab a torch before making his way down the dark steps to the dragon’s cage.
“Hello?!” he yelled into the seemingly never-ending series of caves. “Look, you have to help…” The rush of wings as the dragon flew towards him, always took him by surprise and he took a step back from the edge as air rushed by him, afraid that he might lose his footing and fall down into the darkness. He was fairly certain that, if that happened, the dragon would catch him - after all, destiny required him to be alive and mostly in one piece if the giant lizard was to be believed - but there was still a part of him that did not wish to test that theory.
“What do you want help with now, little warlock?” the dragon asked, lowering its head to look at him more closely. Merlin always forgot how large it was in between these conversations.
“It’s Arthur… as usual,” he said, a little bitterly. “He’s… not himself.”
“That is hardly something I should be worried about,” the Dragon said and rose on its back legs as though about to fly away.
“No… I mean he’s really not himself,” said Merlin emphatically, “Someone swapped appearances with him and the person that everyone thinks is Arthur isn’t and I’m the only one who can see the real Arthur, although Gaius knows who he is, but I don’t know how to switch them back again without finding Nimueh and breaking her spell, except I can’t find her and I need to know if there’s another way… please, you’ve got to help.”
“I cannot tell you the answers you seek,” the dragon said ponderously, its tail twitching to and fro in a hypnotic rhythm. “But you must help the Prince reclaim the throne, or your destiny, and his, is lost.”
“I already know that!” Merlin yelled in exasperation. “I need to know how to find Nimueh, can’t you tell me that? I tried a spell earlier, but it didn’t work.”
“The Sorceress is hidden.”
“Precisely… so - can you help?”
“You do not need my help,” the Dragon told him, spreading its leathery wings.
“Yes I do!” Merlin insisted.
“The answers you need are already nearby. Trust in your shared destiny, nothing is completely lost while you and Arthur are together,” it said with its usual enigmatic riddling before swooping away into the darkness, the chain on its leg rattling slightly, a reminder that it was not here merely for his convenience.
Merlin stared into the darkness for a little while longer, wondering whether to shout after the Dragon that it would be his fault if they both ended up dead, but he restrained himself and settled for muttering insults about useless lizards and their inability to speak in a straight line.
“Trust in your shared destiny,” he muttered bitterly. “Is that all he ever says?”
***
On to Chapter 6
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