Fic - Merlin - A Terrible Cost (Part 1)
So I started this fic a few days after the last episode of series 1 of Merlin had aired - so yep a while ago - at first it was an unimanginable mess and I owe a huge debt to such_heights who kicked it into shape with an amazing beta. THANK YOU.
WARNINGS - It is my aim to post warnings for major triggers on all my fics - however, as I am aware not everyone wishes to see warnings, I have placed them underneath the grey block below, to see the text, please highlight. For a full list of the things I warn for and for further explanation of my warning policy please head here.
Title: A Terrible Cost
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Merlin, Morgana, Gwen and Nimue mostly. Pretty much gen, though there may be occasionally shippy bit slipping in.
Rating: Teen
Contains: (skip) Violence, Sacrifice, Magic Discovered, Morgana is Manipulative, Riding to the Rescue, Destiny and Visions, Choices and Doubts, An Old Song, Ghostly Guardians, A Sword and A Stone, An Unlikely Partnership
Length: Somewhere over 13,000 words
Notes: Beta'd by the forever lovely
such_heights
Download Link (complete story, word file): http://www.box.net/shared/0h1zu1h1gq
Summary: An alternate ending for Le Morte D'Arthur - basically based on the question of what would have happened if the other three members of the fantastic foursome had realised that Merlin was in danger and ridden out to the rescue...
The images come faster and faster.
Arthur dead.
Uther screaming his rage at the world. His curses flying like arrows. Piercing the guilty and the innocent alike. The streets of Camelot flowing with blood.
Arthur dead.
The fires. Such terrible fires. And Merlin. His hands black and dirty. His eyes lifeless.
And Arthur dead.
Somewhere else, away from the nightmare land, a choice is made, a new path taken, a decision set in stone and the dream shifts.
It changes.
It is not Arthur dead now. He stands tall and proud and as cold as a statue.
Merlin lies dead on stone. An altar she sees a moment later. A strange sort of sacrifice and yet not, for perhaps he alone is innocent. And for a moment she thinks perhaps this is what was meant to be.
But then she sees Arthur again - an unforgiving statue and around him the fires burn and the blood flows and Camelot crumbles. Falls around him. Destroyed and destroying.
She calls out in the dream and he turns, still lifeless, and in Arthur’s face she sees Uther’s eyes and Uther’s hatred. It terrifies her, scaring her into wakefulness.
Morgana struggled from her sheets, gasping against the dream and against the cold of the morning. She felt trapped and lost for a moment, unsure of where she was.
It was only Gwen’s warm, reassuring hands that settled her as they released her from the tangle of her bedding.
“Shhh…” Gwen murmured, one hand brushing the sweat from her brow. “It was just a nightmare.”
But a true one, Morgana thought, the memories of the day before rushing back to her. The image of Uther, Arthur in his arms, enough to bring the tears that refused to fall back to her eyes.
But Gwen’s face was soft and happy, tired but relieved, warm despite the cold grey light that seeped into the room.
“Arthur is going to get better,” Gwen told her and Morgana believed her instantly. Gwen would never offer false hope.
“How?” she asked.
“Merlin found a cure, this morning.” Gwen still sounded happy but Morgana saw a shadow of concern and doubt cross her maid’s eyes as she mentioned Merlin, and the new dream and the new fear came rushing back to her.
The memories crowded in, pushing her farther away from Gwen’s happiness, her own relief falling away.
* * * * *
Fire blossomed from Nimue’s fingers. For a moment the stones stood brightly etched in the darkness, ominous sentinels, and then the fire hit Merlin in the chest, burning through him and flinging him to the ground and the image was lost.
He could not see. Could not breathe. Could not fear. Could not hope.
For a moment he thought this was death and then the world began to return. It was sound he heard first. It always was. The sound of magic.
A deafening roar of power and hunger, wild and dark and without mercy, screaming inside him. Taking control - granting him strength and fear in equal parts.
Somewhere above him and a long way away he heard Nimue speak.
“Pity, together we could have ruled the world.”
He pulled himself to his knees, finding air in his lungs again, and light creeping grey around the corners of his eyes. Then he forced himself to his feet. Nimue had already turned away, returning to Gaius.
Above him he could feel the skies twisting, centring on him, and coming to his wordless summons.
“You should not have killed my friend,” he told her, his voice almost crackling with the power.
She turned sharply, surprise in her eyes and the magic lunged inside him, like a taut string breaking, snapping through his hands and lashing against Nimue with a sharp clear note, pinning her to her altar.
Merlin moved quickly towards her, the power of the heavens still clinging to his fingertips, knowing instinctively that with one touch, he could push all that force, all that white fire, through her.
As he reached her his fingers grazed her neck and she shuddered beneath them.
He was ready. Ready to do it - ready to rid himself of another enemy. Another threat to Arthur.
“Do it Merlin,” she suddenly hissed at him, “Kill me - my life for Arthur’s. Save yourself.”
And he paused.
He could feel warmth along his side, remnants perhaps of Nimue’s fire. And he could hear Gaius’s laboured breathing. Both sharp and clear and distinctly drawn, unexpected in the madness of the moment before. And he could smell smoke, smoke and dust and the kitchens of Camelot - the smell of sweet pastries.
Nimue was gone and Edwin was before him. Broken and tempting and burning with hatred and passion and talent.
And the axe turned and sank, sickeningly into flesh still alive and yet already dead and he saw Edwin fall…
Merlin was back in the ruins and Nimue smiled and shuddered beneath his hands and his magic, both longed for her life.
Horror settled upon him and the magic froze within him. Nimue breathed deeply for the first time since he had touched her. His hand still rested on her throat, but the power was gone - the rage was gone.
Beside them he felt Gaius move, trying to touch him, his fingers barely stirring the material of Merlin’s trousers. Releasing Nimue he bent to the old man. Gaius’ face was creased with pain and concern.
Gently, instinctively, Merlin’s hand brushed his eyes pressing him into a painless sleep and he sank back against the altar.
He could feel Nimue watching him.
“Do it, Merlin. Someone’s life must be taken - why not mine?” She asked.
“I’m not a killer,” he murmured, too soft for her to hear. There had to be another path.
He had a moment’s fleeting image of an old woman, deep in mourning for her slaughtered son being torn away in a fury of wind and smoke. The first witch he had ever seen.
So soon after the first execution.
He had found that spell once, towards the back of Gaius’ book. It had seemed devilishly complicated then but he remembered it still.
He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Gaius, settling him firmly, whispering the unfamiliar words - feeling the spell’s leash finally settling around his power once again, commanding it, controlling it.
The first wisps of smoke began to gather around them, turning.
“Merlin?”
The noise struck him like the flat edge of a sword, deafening and terrible, ripping through his body and mind as the wind gathered and he was plunged into darkness.
Only Nimue’s last words following him into the howling magic.
“Arthur will die.”
For a long, deathly moment he thought he had lost them both, for they seemed trapped in the storm, but then....
Merlin’s mind shuddered as he emerged from the blackness. He fell roughly, hitting something hard, Gaius suddenly heavy in his arms. He still felt lost for a moment, his eyes unseeing but suddenly and painfully they cleared, leaving him feeling nauseous and hurt.
He had not been able to take them far, not as far as he would have wished. The water of the lake lapped perilously close to Gaius’ feet, and he pulled him away from its deathly chill and clinging fog.
Gaius did not stir, but then he shouldn’t, not for hours yet.
Merlin sank to the ground beside him, his head in his hands as rain began to patter down around them, soaking him and chilling him through until he didn’t know whether it was the pain or the cold that was making his whole body shake.
He had to return, he knew that.
And he would die. The way he felt now it was almost a relief.
Almost.
The grief he had been holding back could no longer wait. There was no magic left in him now. No destiny. He was just young and cold and lost and scared and about to die.
His breathing was harsh and deep and desperate, adding to his pain.
But Arthur would live and somehow the future would be better. That was enough.
He pressed a kiss to Gaius’ sodden forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he told him and then pulled himself to his feet.
Merlin allowed the magic to gather around him slowly, barely aware of the words as he spoke them, they were drowned by the sound of the darkness, the feel of the wind and the smell of the smoke.
The pain was even worse this time as he re-emerged into the ruins. He bent double with it for a second, and then the force of it pushed him backwards against hard rock. It was one of the standing stones.
He slid to the ground, his arms gathered around himself, trying to hold the agony inside.
“You returned,” he heard Nimue say and then suddenly, unexpectedly, a soft hand pressed against his cheek and he looked up into her sorrowful eyes.
“My life for Arthur’s,” he told her.
“So be it.”
“What must I do?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Stay on the altar. In the morning, as the first sun hits these stones, the old religion will take you.”
* * * * *
Gwen couldn’t help but wonder when her natural reaction to problems had become to turn to Arthur.
She’d gone to find Merlin and instead had found him and Gaius missing and Hunith so wrapped in grief that she had barely been able to speak. Hunith had tried to offer her a weak, empty excuse for their absence.
Gwen had gone straight to Arthur’s rooms.
She paused outside the door to the bed chamber. It was open slightly and she could see Arthur practicing his sword work inside.
As she watched he turned deftly from a thrust, twisting his sword to bring it back into place. Even when she had been busy disliking him, Gwen had liked to watch Arthur fight. He was graceful and controlled - she’d heard people compare his fighting to dancing and she supposed that was what they had meant - but it wasn’t like dancing not really. Because it was fierce and determined and resourceful, instinctive, impulsive and intelligent, reckless and strategic…
She caught herself, embarrassed to realise how long she had just been stood staring at him, distracted. She certainly hadn’t come here to gaze at Arthur.
As she raised her hand to knock, he pressed forward again into an attack against an imaginary foe. Suddenly as he pushed his arm into a high blow he winced, dropping the sword with a loud clash of stone and metal.
Gwen hesitated, watching as he rubbed his shoulder, cursing.
He was still hurt - still ill and weak. She couldn’t worry him yet; not while what he needed was rest and peace.
She would go to Morgana instead.
* * * * * *
The room was empty, silent and lonely.
Morgana took Gwen’s hand and squeezed it gently and then let it go again. Gwen was obviously scared and Morgana would do anything in her power to remove that fear.
“I’ll try to talk to her,” she promised and then climbed the stairs slowly to Merlin’s room.
The last time she’d been there Gwen had been asleep in the bed. Broken. Now Hunith was in her place, tangled up in herself. She didn’t seem to notice Morgana.
She picked her way through the mess and pushing one of Merlin’s shirts aside, knelt by Hunith’s feet.
“Hunith, what happened?”
Hunith just shook her head.
“Where are they? Where did he go, Hunith?” Morgana asked. “Please. Tell us and we will save him.”
Hunith remained silent for a little longer and then finally looked up into Morgana’s eyes.
“Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to let them make a choice… a terrible… pay a terrible price. Even if it breaks you.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t say.”
Morgana held her eyes a moment longer and then looked away. The pain in them was too familiar. Instead her gaze settled on a book, lying just beneath Merlin’s bed, not far from where her own fingers rested against the floor. It was old and heavy and out of place in the room. Vivid amidst the normalcy and mess.
“No,” Hunith said softly and looking up Morgana saw that she was also staring at the strange book. “Please.”
“It’s all right,” Morgana told her, not sure quite what she was saying or what she was promising.
She pulled the book closer and then opening it, gently began to turn its pages.
It was a book of magic.
Merlin was a wizard.
It was not exactly a shock; she had suspected there was something about Merlin since he had helped her with the druid boy, though she had thought for a time that perhaps it had been Will he thought of then. Now there was numbness in learning the truth. And a yearning.
Perhaps he could take her visions away, or let her understand them better. Change them. Teach her. Perhaps he could share her fear. Her joy.
“It’s not his fault,” Hunith said quietly and Morgana looked back up at her, tearing her eyes from the books entrancing pages. “He was just born like it, he can’t stop. I know that people think magic is evil but he’s just Merlin. Just my son.”
A tear fell down her trembling cheek as she said his name and for a moment Morgana could only nod in mute, unexpressed, understanding.
“Tell me how to save him?” she said finally.
Hunith smiled, tight and joyless, the tears back under control.
“I don’t think you can. He made a deal with Nimue, to save Arthur’s life. He’s gone, to the Isle of the Blessed, he’s… he’s going to die. To save Arthur. He’s going to die.”
The cold ran through Morgana and all she could do was pull Hunith to her, holding her as hard as she could manage. Hunith didn’t cry or respond, but she didn’t resist either. And as she held her, Morgana’s emotions hardened, becoming something she could use.
“I will save him,” she whispered and then standing quickly, she moved to the door.
She paused for a moment longer. She had not intended to cross Uther again, had not meant to fight him, to hide from him - but she did not mean to let those she cared for die.
“Gwen, I need you to fetch Arthur,” she called at last and the girl looked up at her, worried but trusting. She left to do as she asked without question.
“Tell him nothing yet,” Morgana called after her.
She turned back for a moment; Hunith was knelt on the floor, carefully hiding the book again. Morgana didn’t think she truly believed her, but she had no time now.
She descended back into Gaius’ rooms and began to destroy them. Overturning what she could, sweeping the contents of the desk across the floor, ripping and tangling Gaius’ bed clothes. It must look as if there had been a fight.
She did not know what Arthur would do if he learned that Merlin had bargained with magic. He cared so deeply for Uther’s opinions and favour, it blinded him to so much else.
As she worked, memories from her dream returned - memories of Arthur’s cold eyes and fleeting images of a mountain and a forest and a lake with ruins at its centre.
She had heard of the Isle. Uther had sent several miserable quests there determined to destroy the heart of magic, but few of the knights had returned and none had succeeded.
At last she finished. She found a piece of charcoal in the wreckage she had created, and carefully, doing her best to match Gaius’s writing - so familiar since her childhood, she wrote one word upon the wall. Blessed.
Straightening, she looked around the broken room.
That was how Arthur found her. Gwen stood slightly behind him and Morgana saw her eyes widen in shock but knew that she would not betray her. She trusted her too much. Sometimes she feared that Gwen’s faith had been cruelly misplaced.
“What the hell has happened?” Arthur asked angrily.
“Merlin and Gaius have been taken,” she told him, keeping her voice carefully empty of emotion.
“What?”
There was a pause and then Gwen spoke.
“A serving girl said she heard sounds of men arguing in here earlier, voices she didn’t know, and when I came to find out what was wrong, I found the room like this.”
Morgana was thankful for the quick lie. Arthur turned to Gwen.
“Did she say how many men?”
“Three or four,” Gwen replied after only a moment’s hesitation. “She just thought they were unhappy with Gaius’ treatment…”
Morgana saw Arthur’s fist tighten as his eyes searched the room and then saw them settle on the writing on the wall, his face paled and he met Morgana’s eyes again.
“Blessed?”
“Your father will not let you go - especially not now,” she told him.
“Then I won’t tell him.”
In a second he had turned and was gone from the room.
* * * * *
“He is not worth your death,” Nimue told him with cold certainty.
Merlin refused to look at her; the stone of the altar was wet and gritty beneath his hands. His head was aching, tight points of lance like pain, spearing him behind his eyes.
“You don’t know him like I do. You can’t see him like…”
“Perhaps it is you who do not see him clearly,” she interrupted.
“He will become a great man.” It was more to reassure himself than to convince her. There was no hope of that. In this grey wet place there seemed little hope of anything.
“Is this rain necessary?” he asked.
“You tore the skies open, everything has its cost,” she answered.
They remained in silence for a time. Since he had returned they had stayed mostly in silence, just listening to the rain pounding around them. Each raindrop measuring the passage of time. He sat, waiting on the altar. She stood, watching.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” she asked suddenly.
“I…” he started, but did not have an answer.
“You have killed before. Many times.”
He had. Killing was easy, horribly easy and easy to justify. There were always people who deserved to die. Nimue had been no different.
He’d never even thought of it. Not until he’d seen Morgana so ready to kill Uther, so like himself and so unable to do it… in the end. Unable to spoil herself that way.
Since then he’d begun to see their faces when he slept, those he’d killed, saw their deaths. Sometimes he saw them in the day. Something small and strange and unimportant would remind him. Mostly he could ignore it, just keep himself busy and they would go away. The memories.
But when Nimue had challenged him to kill her, he’d been suddenly reluctant to add another face, even a deserving one, to the parade. Especially hers.
“Arthur will become Uther,” Nimue said unexpectedly, interrupting his thoughts.
Merlin felt the flash of anger inside him.
“He’s not like that,” he told her. “He cares about his people…”
“You presume that Uther doesn’t? Or didn’t?” she challenged him. “Yes, Arthur cares about his people, but he cares more about his pride and his father’s acceptance. Even once Uther has gone he will still long for that love. He will still try to earn it.”
There was truth in it and Merlin could not immediately reply. He believed in Arthur above anything else, but faith was not always strong, not always unchallenged.
“Do you want to know what I see in Arthur?” Nimue continued. “Arrogance, anger, fear, pride… a man who will bully just to impress others. A killer - so fast to land that fatal blow and so slow to regret it.”
It was an unfair judgement. Unfair with the sharp edge of truth.
“He’s better than that,” he tried to interrupt but Nimue continued.
“When I looked into him, I saw Uther’s fear of magic - the same fear that has caused the needless deaths of hundreds of our people. Have you told him of your magic, warlock? Have you trusted this great man of yours? Does he know that you can call down the very heavens to fight on your side?”
Merlin saw Will in his mind again and the distaste in Arthur’s eyes as he had looked on his funeral pyre. He held his tongue.
“I thought not. Arthur may replace Uther on the throne but only the name will change. Is that truly worth throwing your life away?”
He met her eyes at last, she was watching him intently.
“Does he care for you?” she asked, a strange sense of urgency in her questions now. “Will he miss you? When he learns you are gone, will he forget? Or show forgiveness? Vengeance? Mercy? Would the pain drive him to battle? In every other choice he has reached for a sword… would this be different?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped, wishing to stem the flow of words. “Why do you care?”
“What will Arthur do when he finds love and loses it?”
“I don’t know,” he told her again.
“I have seen a future…”
* * * * *
“Fetch my horse and armour,” Arthur called to a groom as he skidded down the stairs, taking them three at a time.
The boy gave him a surprised, horrified look for a moment and then scuttled away.
Arthur couldn’t believe that someone would dare to take Merlin.
It was probably a mistake; they’d probably wanted Gaius and just taken Merlin because he got in the way. But that didn’t matter, Merlin was his servant and he’d be damned if he’d let someone take him, even if it were an accident.
Somebody would pay with blood for this.
He paced impatiently. It had been a frustrating day. He had been starting to think everyone had gone mad.
His father was organising a feast and giving out gifts and fancies. Half his knights had visited him with even more awed looks in their eyes than normal, which he was used to, but usually only when he’d done something incredibly brave. The worst were the maids and servants, who were speaking around him in hushed voices as if he had died… except Gwen, of course.
The whole thing was maddening. Yes, he had got hurt and yes, it had been bad. He could feel that. His shoulder ached and icy pain shuddered through his body at regular intervals. But no one had died.
It would be a relief to escape the castle. A relief to have something to fight against. He ignored the biting ache in his shoulder that warned he was not fit yet.
He also tried to ignore the small insistent voice hidden somewhere in his mind that told him there was something false in what Morgana had said - some strange untruth. Merlin was in trouble, that’s what mattered - and Gaius.
He tried to forget Merlin’s last visit. It had felt like an odd, secret, goodbye.
As he turned again to search for his horse arriving he saw Morgana and Gwen hurrying down the steps after him.
They both wore travelling cloaks. Gwen was carrying a saddle bag.
“You’re not coming,” he told Morgana firmly as Gwen disappeared, presumably to fetch their horses.
“And you know the way to the Isle of the Blessed?” she replied mockingly.
“I’ll work it out. You’ll just slow me down… get in my way…”
“You can’t just storm into this, Arthur; running in with a drawn sword isn’t enough against magic. And we can fight too, remember.”
“I’m not discussing this, Morgana.”
“Neither am I.”
Arthur was about to argue but Morgana spoke again.
“We care about Merlin too.”
“I don’t… this isn’t about that. I wouldn’t let any of my people be taken,” he told her, annoyed.
“That’s why you’ll take Gwen and I with you. My father used to take me close to the Isle before his death, you need me to get you there, and then you can save him.”
Arthur sighed in frustration. As little as he wanted to admit it, Morgana was right. He could see Gwen and the groom approaching with the horses and another hurrying from a side door with his armour.
He ached to be gone already.
“I don’t have time for this,” he groaned. “Fine - you can show me to the Isle, but from there the fight is mine.”
* * * * *
The mountains stood before them, their shape clear - silhouetted against the sunset, towering above them and dwarfing them as if someone had taken part of her dream and painted it into reality. It made Morgana shiver.
She turned from the image - it made the place seem false and nightmarish.
Gwen looked tired and Arthur was staring across the meadow, consternation written clearly on his face. He glanced back the way they had come towards the jagged gap in the cliff that had allowed them entry to the thin stretch of forest beyond the mountain.
He dismounted quickly, passed the reins to Gwen and wandered slightly from them, crouching down.
“We should go on,” Morgana told him, ignoring her twinge of unease.
“You said this was the only route to Blessed?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she replied, hiding her uncertainty. She had only vague memories of a map and the tales of broken knights.
“Then Gaius must have been wrong. They can’t be going to the Isle.” Arthur straightened quickly. “At least not immediately.”
“No!” Morgana replied too sharply, panic gripping her. They could not turn back now.
“Only one horse has passed this way, two at the most - though not at the same time. I thought maybe they’d ridden wide of us and that was why I could see no sign of them, but here…”
“But…” she began to argue.
“Morgana, four, maybe five men on horseback would have left some trace. We should turn back, if they are on foot we have missed them, if not we shall need to find which way they travelled.”
He seized his horses reins again, flinging himself into the saddle and turning its head to face the way they had come.
Gwen shot her a worried look.
“Arthur, stop,” Morgana called after him.
He stopped his horse again, turning it so he could look at her and for a moment she found herself unable to speak. Unsure of what to say. It was an unsettling, unfamiliar feeling.
“What, Morgana?” He sounded tired and angry and exasperated. “I’m never wrong… not with this.”
“There were no men,” she said as she saw him pull the reins again. “I lied.”
He stared at her horrified for a second and then turned to look at Gwen.
“But…”
“Gwen only said what she did because I asked her too. I made up the men and destroyed Gaius’ rooms but they are both in danger.”
“Why?” he asked. “What danger? Why lie?”
“I was not sure what you would do if I told you the truth.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence. Well, what is it?”
Even Gwen was watching her now - waiting for her to find an answer that would not damn Merlin, one way or another.
“I overheard Gaius and Merlin arguing. He… he traded his life to save yours, he dealt with a witch.”
She saw the shock on Arthur’s face - the pain and the anger and Uther’s darkness - she could only imagine how much worse it would have been if she had revealed the truth about Merlin.
“What!”
“I think Gaius went to take his place, Merlin followed…” Morgana tried to explain but Arthur wasn’t listening.
“How could he be so stupid?” Arthur was shouting now, his horse skittered beneath him, clearly concerned by its masters anger or invigorated. Arthur dismounted and let its reins fall loose.
Gwen, dismounting quickly, caught them again. A moment later Morgana followed their example and pressed her own reins into Gwen’s waiting hand.
Arthur was pacing angrily, cursing, more to himself than to them.
“He only wished to save your life,” she tried to reason with him.
“I don’t care. He’s an idiot. He knows the penalty for dealing with magic - my father will have his…”
“So he should have left you to die?”
“Yes… no… When my father learns…”
“Uther will think it was a price worth paying,” Morgana argued.
“You believe that?” Arthur laughed. “Whether he thinks the cost was worthwhile or not, it will not stop him executing Merlin. The deed is done but there can be no exceptions to the punishment…”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s the only way to keep magic out, to keep Camelot safe… if we forgive some, let them get away with… magic would gain a hold.”
“Is that Uther talking or you?”
“Is there a difference? What do you think, Morgana? That I do not care as much for my people as my father?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Arthur turned from her in disgust but it did not seem the right moment to explain that she believed he cared much more deeply for the people of Camelot than Uther did now. Merlin was what mattered; she needed to break him from his anger.
Arthur stood in silence for a moment and then turned back to them with a grimace.
“We will return to Camelot,” he said bitterly.
“You do not mean that,” Gwen said softly, her shock clear.
“Is that your choice?” Morgana spat at him, not waiting for an answer. “You will leave Merlin to his fate? Let the witch deal out your father’s punishment? Let him die.”
“I will not go against my father.”
“You did for the druid boy - you helped him. Why is this different?”
“He was a child, he didn’t have a choice. Merlin knew what he was doing...”
“What if none of them had a choice?” Morgana interrupted him.
“What? None of who?”
“All those people that your father executed? What if they didn’t have a choice?”
“What are you talking about, Morgana?” Arthur’s exasperation was clear. “They chose to use magic.”
Her heart was pounding. A tight, cornered, living thing in her chest. Desperate for escape. She almost did not ask, almost did not want the answer, almost feared it but it was not in her to give way to fear and she needed to know.
“You were born a prince, you can never change that. What if it is the same for those who do magic? What if they are born with it? What if it chooses them? Should they die for that? Should they die for some trick of fate? For some unsought curse? What if Gwen was born with magic? Or Merlin? What if I were?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s not… Why are we even talking about this?”
“Why does Uther fear magic?” She knew she was pressing him too hard, but could not stop. “Why must he destroy it?”
“I don’t know, Morgana! I don’t know the answers.”
Morgana saw the shadow of real pain in his eyes for a second, a pain she had not seen before and did not understand, pain and anger. And then turning, he stalked a few feet away, staring across the shadowed meadow. She let him stand in silence and turned herself to look at Gwen.
Gwen looked worried and frightened but smiled, bravely, as she met Morgana’s eyes. Morgana moved closer and squeezed her arm.
“We will camp here for the night,” Arthur said at last, “It’s too dark to go on.”
If we go on, did not need to be added.
* * * * *
Nimue did not tell Merlin what future she had seen. Instead, she drifted into silence and for impatient seconds the only noise was the sound of the rain. He could not find the words to fight her and his mind wandered.
He did not want to think about what she had said about Arthur or how closely it had matched his own first judgement. Arthur was better than that, or would be. He knew it.
And the dragon had said…
That thought no longer had the power to reassure him.
“Then in the dark he sought her out and desperately he cried
‘Don’t fear,’ she begged, ‘Our destiny may still be brushed aside’
And then she swept his tears away and took him by the hand
‘Word has come the Questing Beast was seen within this land…”
The words filtered into Merlin’s consciousness slowly, mixing with the rain, drifting in and out of it. It was only the mention of the Questing Beast that really caught his attention.
Nimue was singing. Or almost singing, a strange sort of chanting lilting prayer.
“Together we will find the den,
For our sweet love vow’s sake,
We’ll hunt the beast through field and glen
And this future we shall break…”
“What song is that?” Merlin asked, his curiosity winning against his desire not to interrupt.
“An old story,” she said. “It was famous once.”
“I don’t recognise it,” he told her.
“No? It may not have reached your home and I doubt it is sung in Camelot now,” she sounded weary and sad. “It would not be to Uther’s taste.”
“Why?”
“It’s the tale of a prince and a witch who fall in love and vow to stay together. A great destiny is laid on each that they will achieve wondrous things but only if they stay apart. Together they seek the Questing Beast, fight many foes and cross many dangers until at last they find it and then they live together for many years, laying their great destinies aside.”
She spoke without wistfulness, with a strange detachment that added strength and truth to the words and for a while Merlin did not answer letting the words sink inside him.
“Did they do the right thing?” He asked at last.
“Who knows,” Nimue laughed. “Why? Is a destiny troubling you, warlock?”
“No… I… yes,” he admitted. It was no use lying, she seemed to see through him and the doubt was gnawing at his soul. “I was told it was my destiny to protect Arthur, but the… one who told me that, I found out that he’s just been using me. What if it was another lie? Just another way to make me do what he wished?”
“I see. Is that why you came?” she said softly, but did not wait for an answer. “Here is some advice. Destinies are only what you make of them. Some come to pass because it is what is doomed to happen. But others don’t. Are they lies? Is it because people fight them? Because the future can change? I don’t know.
“But I do know that some only become truth because the people they are laid upon act how they believe they should. That’s the true power of a prophecy.”
“So you don’t think it is true?” It hurt to say. Hurt that her opinion on this mattered to him.
“I think it matters little if it’s true or not, it only matters how you act towards it.”
“But… what good is my magic if this isn’t my destiny? Why do I have it? What use is it?” he demanded.
“Why does that matter? Do you ask why someone can sing or laugh or wield a sword? It is a gift.”
He couldn’t answer her. So many bad things had happened because of his magic. He thought of his mother sick and injured and wrapped in pain. There had to be a greater reason.
“All you need to ask yourself,” she said, leaning closer to him, “is do you protect Arthur because of your destiny, or would you anyway? You could still turn aside from this path. Choose a new future.”
It should have been an easy answer and in one way it was, Merlin was ready to lay down his life for Arthur, destiny or not.
But he hadn’t always felt like that: he’d loathed Arthur. Had it only been the dragon’s words that had made him save him again and again until it had become habit? There had not seemed to be another choice at the time.
“Arthur will not be like Uther,” Merlin told her at last. “He is worth it.”
She smiled at him for a second and he knew she had felt his hesitation. His own doubt that still lingered despite the one certainty that, worth it or not, he could not let Arthur die.
“And yet you don’t trust him with your secret,” Nimue pressed him.
“That’s different. Uther is king. If I tell him and Uther catches me, Arthur would suffer.” He had told himself that enough in the dark of the night, had wished that it were that alone that always stilled his tongue.
“Nothing will change when Arthur takes the throne - he wants nothing more than to be his father.”
“His intentions are good,” he snapped at her. “All he needs is someone to remind him sometimes.”
“And who will remind him once you are gone?”
The question pierced him. A sharper pain than the magic still running through him. He had tried not to think of not being by Arthur’s side. He swallowed, collecting his answer slowly.
“Morgana will,” he told her. “She always challenges him.”
“Morgana? She is steeped in magic as far as you and I, Merlin, you have seen it. And he will learn it and he will never trust her again.”
He breathed deeply. The images Nimue was painting all to clear.
“Then Gwen will,” he told her firmly.
Sweet, uncomplicated Gwen - she was already half in love with Arthur, he could see it, she would stay beside him and guide him - and if Merlin’s faith in Arthur sometimes wavered. His faith in Gwen never did.
Nimue looked confused for a second and then laughed - deep and throatily.
“The serving girl? You believe he will listen to a servant?”
“Yes,” he told her, the certainty settling into him, “he listens to me.”
The sometimes was added automatically in his mind. But now he was sure, Arthur would listen to Gwen.
“I wish I had your faith, warlock,” Nimue told him, but did not argue.
PART 2
WARNINGS - It is my aim to post warnings for major triggers on all my fics - however, as I am aware not everyone wishes to see warnings, I have placed them underneath the grey block below, to see the text, please highlight. For a full list of the things I warn for and for further explanation of my warning policy please head here.
Title: A Terrible Cost
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Merlin, Morgana, Gwen and Nimue mostly. Pretty much gen, though there may be occasionally shippy bit slipping in.
Rating: Teen
Contains: (skip) Violence, Sacrifice, Magic Discovered, Morgana is Manipulative, Riding to the Rescue, Destiny and Visions, Choices and Doubts, An Old Song, Ghostly Guardians, A Sword and A Stone, An Unlikely Partnership
Length: Somewhere over 13,000 words
Notes: Beta'd by the forever lovely
such_heights
Download Link (complete story, word file): http://www.box.net/shared/0h1zu1h1gq
Summary: An alternate ending for Le Morte D'Arthur - basically based on the question of what would have happened if the other three members of the fantastic foursome had realised that Merlin was in danger and ridden out to the rescue...
The images come faster and faster.
Arthur dead.
Uther screaming his rage at the world. His curses flying like arrows. Piercing the guilty and the innocent alike. The streets of Camelot flowing with blood.
Arthur dead.
The fires. Such terrible fires. And Merlin. His hands black and dirty. His eyes lifeless.
And Arthur dead.
Somewhere else, away from the nightmare land, a choice is made, a new path taken, a decision set in stone and the dream shifts.
It changes.
It is not Arthur dead now. He stands tall and proud and as cold as a statue.
Merlin lies dead on stone. An altar she sees a moment later. A strange sort of sacrifice and yet not, for perhaps he alone is innocent. And for a moment she thinks perhaps this is what was meant to be.
But then she sees Arthur again - an unforgiving statue and around him the fires burn and the blood flows and Camelot crumbles. Falls around him. Destroyed and destroying.
She calls out in the dream and he turns, still lifeless, and in Arthur’s face she sees Uther’s eyes and Uther’s hatred. It terrifies her, scaring her into wakefulness.
Morgana struggled from her sheets, gasping against the dream and against the cold of the morning. She felt trapped and lost for a moment, unsure of where she was.
It was only Gwen’s warm, reassuring hands that settled her as they released her from the tangle of her bedding.
“Shhh…” Gwen murmured, one hand brushing the sweat from her brow. “It was just a nightmare.”
But a true one, Morgana thought, the memories of the day before rushing back to her. The image of Uther, Arthur in his arms, enough to bring the tears that refused to fall back to her eyes.
But Gwen’s face was soft and happy, tired but relieved, warm despite the cold grey light that seeped into the room.
“Arthur is going to get better,” Gwen told her and Morgana believed her instantly. Gwen would never offer false hope.
“How?” she asked.
“Merlin found a cure, this morning.” Gwen still sounded happy but Morgana saw a shadow of concern and doubt cross her maid’s eyes as she mentioned Merlin, and the new dream and the new fear came rushing back to her.
The memories crowded in, pushing her farther away from Gwen’s happiness, her own relief falling away.
* * * * *
Fire blossomed from Nimue’s fingers. For a moment the stones stood brightly etched in the darkness, ominous sentinels, and then the fire hit Merlin in the chest, burning through him and flinging him to the ground and the image was lost.
He could not see. Could not breathe. Could not fear. Could not hope.
For a moment he thought this was death and then the world began to return. It was sound he heard first. It always was. The sound of magic.
A deafening roar of power and hunger, wild and dark and without mercy, screaming inside him. Taking control - granting him strength and fear in equal parts.
Somewhere above him and a long way away he heard Nimue speak.
“Pity, together we could have ruled the world.”
He pulled himself to his knees, finding air in his lungs again, and light creeping grey around the corners of his eyes. Then he forced himself to his feet. Nimue had already turned away, returning to Gaius.
Above him he could feel the skies twisting, centring on him, and coming to his wordless summons.
“You should not have killed my friend,” he told her, his voice almost crackling with the power.
She turned sharply, surprise in her eyes and the magic lunged inside him, like a taut string breaking, snapping through his hands and lashing against Nimue with a sharp clear note, pinning her to her altar.
Merlin moved quickly towards her, the power of the heavens still clinging to his fingertips, knowing instinctively that with one touch, he could push all that force, all that white fire, through her.
As he reached her his fingers grazed her neck and she shuddered beneath them.
He was ready. Ready to do it - ready to rid himself of another enemy. Another threat to Arthur.
“Do it Merlin,” she suddenly hissed at him, “Kill me - my life for Arthur’s. Save yourself.”
And he paused.
He could feel warmth along his side, remnants perhaps of Nimue’s fire. And he could hear Gaius’s laboured breathing. Both sharp and clear and distinctly drawn, unexpected in the madness of the moment before. And he could smell smoke, smoke and dust and the kitchens of Camelot - the smell of sweet pastries.
Nimue was gone and Edwin was before him. Broken and tempting and burning with hatred and passion and talent.
And the axe turned and sank, sickeningly into flesh still alive and yet already dead and he saw Edwin fall…
Merlin was back in the ruins and Nimue smiled and shuddered beneath his hands and his magic, both longed for her life.
Horror settled upon him and the magic froze within him. Nimue breathed deeply for the first time since he had touched her. His hand still rested on her throat, but the power was gone - the rage was gone.
Beside them he felt Gaius move, trying to touch him, his fingers barely stirring the material of Merlin’s trousers. Releasing Nimue he bent to the old man. Gaius’ face was creased with pain and concern.
Gently, instinctively, Merlin’s hand brushed his eyes pressing him into a painless sleep and he sank back against the altar.
He could feel Nimue watching him.
“Do it, Merlin. Someone’s life must be taken - why not mine?” She asked.
“I’m not a killer,” he murmured, too soft for her to hear. There had to be another path.
He had a moment’s fleeting image of an old woman, deep in mourning for her slaughtered son being torn away in a fury of wind and smoke. The first witch he had ever seen.
So soon after the first execution.
He had found that spell once, towards the back of Gaius’ book. It had seemed devilishly complicated then but he remembered it still.
He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Gaius, settling him firmly, whispering the unfamiliar words - feeling the spell’s leash finally settling around his power once again, commanding it, controlling it.
The first wisps of smoke began to gather around them, turning.
“Merlin?”
The noise struck him like the flat edge of a sword, deafening and terrible, ripping through his body and mind as the wind gathered and he was plunged into darkness.
Only Nimue’s last words following him into the howling magic.
“Arthur will die.”
For a long, deathly moment he thought he had lost them both, for they seemed trapped in the storm, but then....
Merlin’s mind shuddered as he emerged from the blackness. He fell roughly, hitting something hard, Gaius suddenly heavy in his arms. He still felt lost for a moment, his eyes unseeing but suddenly and painfully they cleared, leaving him feeling nauseous and hurt.
He had not been able to take them far, not as far as he would have wished. The water of the lake lapped perilously close to Gaius’ feet, and he pulled him away from its deathly chill and clinging fog.
Gaius did not stir, but then he shouldn’t, not for hours yet.
Merlin sank to the ground beside him, his head in his hands as rain began to patter down around them, soaking him and chilling him through until he didn’t know whether it was the pain or the cold that was making his whole body shake.
He had to return, he knew that.
And he would die. The way he felt now it was almost a relief.
Almost.
The grief he had been holding back could no longer wait. There was no magic left in him now. No destiny. He was just young and cold and lost and scared and about to die.
His breathing was harsh and deep and desperate, adding to his pain.
But Arthur would live and somehow the future would be better. That was enough.
He pressed a kiss to Gaius’ sodden forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he told him and then pulled himself to his feet.
Merlin allowed the magic to gather around him slowly, barely aware of the words as he spoke them, they were drowned by the sound of the darkness, the feel of the wind and the smell of the smoke.
The pain was even worse this time as he re-emerged into the ruins. He bent double with it for a second, and then the force of it pushed him backwards against hard rock. It was one of the standing stones.
He slid to the ground, his arms gathered around himself, trying to hold the agony inside.
“You returned,” he heard Nimue say and then suddenly, unexpectedly, a soft hand pressed against his cheek and he looked up into her sorrowful eyes.
“My life for Arthur’s,” he told her.
“So be it.”
“What must I do?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Stay on the altar. In the morning, as the first sun hits these stones, the old religion will take you.”
* * * * *
Gwen couldn’t help but wonder when her natural reaction to problems had become to turn to Arthur.
She’d gone to find Merlin and instead had found him and Gaius missing and Hunith so wrapped in grief that she had barely been able to speak. Hunith had tried to offer her a weak, empty excuse for their absence.
Gwen had gone straight to Arthur’s rooms.
She paused outside the door to the bed chamber. It was open slightly and she could see Arthur practicing his sword work inside.
As she watched he turned deftly from a thrust, twisting his sword to bring it back into place. Even when she had been busy disliking him, Gwen had liked to watch Arthur fight. He was graceful and controlled - she’d heard people compare his fighting to dancing and she supposed that was what they had meant - but it wasn’t like dancing not really. Because it was fierce and determined and resourceful, instinctive, impulsive and intelligent, reckless and strategic…
She caught herself, embarrassed to realise how long she had just been stood staring at him, distracted. She certainly hadn’t come here to gaze at Arthur.
As she raised her hand to knock, he pressed forward again into an attack against an imaginary foe. Suddenly as he pushed his arm into a high blow he winced, dropping the sword with a loud clash of stone and metal.
Gwen hesitated, watching as he rubbed his shoulder, cursing.
He was still hurt - still ill and weak. She couldn’t worry him yet; not while what he needed was rest and peace.
She would go to Morgana instead.
* * * * * *
The room was empty, silent and lonely.
Morgana took Gwen’s hand and squeezed it gently and then let it go again. Gwen was obviously scared and Morgana would do anything in her power to remove that fear.
“I’ll try to talk to her,” she promised and then climbed the stairs slowly to Merlin’s room.
The last time she’d been there Gwen had been asleep in the bed. Broken. Now Hunith was in her place, tangled up in herself. She didn’t seem to notice Morgana.
She picked her way through the mess and pushing one of Merlin’s shirts aside, knelt by Hunith’s feet.
“Hunith, what happened?”
Hunith just shook her head.
“Where are they? Where did he go, Hunith?” Morgana asked. “Please. Tell us and we will save him.”
Hunith remained silent for a little longer and then finally looked up into Morgana’s eyes.
“Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to let them make a choice… a terrible… pay a terrible price. Even if it breaks you.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t say.”
Morgana held her eyes a moment longer and then looked away. The pain in them was too familiar. Instead her gaze settled on a book, lying just beneath Merlin’s bed, not far from where her own fingers rested against the floor. It was old and heavy and out of place in the room. Vivid amidst the normalcy and mess.
“No,” Hunith said softly and looking up Morgana saw that she was also staring at the strange book. “Please.”
“It’s all right,” Morgana told her, not sure quite what she was saying or what she was promising.
She pulled the book closer and then opening it, gently began to turn its pages.
It was a book of magic.
Merlin was a wizard.
It was not exactly a shock; she had suspected there was something about Merlin since he had helped her with the druid boy, though she had thought for a time that perhaps it had been Will he thought of then. Now there was numbness in learning the truth. And a yearning.
Perhaps he could take her visions away, or let her understand them better. Change them. Teach her. Perhaps he could share her fear. Her joy.
“It’s not his fault,” Hunith said quietly and Morgana looked back up at her, tearing her eyes from the books entrancing pages. “He was just born like it, he can’t stop. I know that people think magic is evil but he’s just Merlin. Just my son.”
A tear fell down her trembling cheek as she said his name and for a moment Morgana could only nod in mute, unexpressed, understanding.
“Tell me how to save him?” she said finally.
Hunith smiled, tight and joyless, the tears back under control.
“I don’t think you can. He made a deal with Nimue, to save Arthur’s life. He’s gone, to the Isle of the Blessed, he’s… he’s going to die. To save Arthur. He’s going to die.”
The cold ran through Morgana and all she could do was pull Hunith to her, holding her as hard as she could manage. Hunith didn’t cry or respond, but she didn’t resist either. And as she held her, Morgana’s emotions hardened, becoming something she could use.
“I will save him,” she whispered and then standing quickly, she moved to the door.
She paused for a moment longer. She had not intended to cross Uther again, had not meant to fight him, to hide from him - but she did not mean to let those she cared for die.
“Gwen, I need you to fetch Arthur,” she called at last and the girl looked up at her, worried but trusting. She left to do as she asked without question.
“Tell him nothing yet,” Morgana called after her.
She turned back for a moment; Hunith was knelt on the floor, carefully hiding the book again. Morgana didn’t think she truly believed her, but she had no time now.
She descended back into Gaius’ rooms and began to destroy them. Overturning what she could, sweeping the contents of the desk across the floor, ripping and tangling Gaius’ bed clothes. It must look as if there had been a fight.
She did not know what Arthur would do if he learned that Merlin had bargained with magic. He cared so deeply for Uther’s opinions and favour, it blinded him to so much else.
As she worked, memories from her dream returned - memories of Arthur’s cold eyes and fleeting images of a mountain and a forest and a lake with ruins at its centre.
She had heard of the Isle. Uther had sent several miserable quests there determined to destroy the heart of magic, but few of the knights had returned and none had succeeded.
At last she finished. She found a piece of charcoal in the wreckage she had created, and carefully, doing her best to match Gaius’s writing - so familiar since her childhood, she wrote one word upon the wall. Blessed.
Straightening, she looked around the broken room.
That was how Arthur found her. Gwen stood slightly behind him and Morgana saw her eyes widen in shock but knew that she would not betray her. She trusted her too much. Sometimes she feared that Gwen’s faith had been cruelly misplaced.
“What the hell has happened?” Arthur asked angrily.
“Merlin and Gaius have been taken,” she told him, keeping her voice carefully empty of emotion.
“What?”
There was a pause and then Gwen spoke.
“A serving girl said she heard sounds of men arguing in here earlier, voices she didn’t know, and when I came to find out what was wrong, I found the room like this.”
Morgana was thankful for the quick lie. Arthur turned to Gwen.
“Did she say how many men?”
“Three or four,” Gwen replied after only a moment’s hesitation. “She just thought they were unhappy with Gaius’ treatment…”
Morgana saw Arthur’s fist tighten as his eyes searched the room and then saw them settle on the writing on the wall, his face paled and he met Morgana’s eyes again.
“Blessed?”
“Your father will not let you go - especially not now,” she told him.
“Then I won’t tell him.”
In a second he had turned and was gone from the room.
* * * * *
“He is not worth your death,” Nimue told him with cold certainty.
Merlin refused to look at her; the stone of the altar was wet and gritty beneath his hands. His head was aching, tight points of lance like pain, spearing him behind his eyes.
“You don’t know him like I do. You can’t see him like…”
“Perhaps it is you who do not see him clearly,” she interrupted.
“He will become a great man.” It was more to reassure himself than to convince her. There was no hope of that. In this grey wet place there seemed little hope of anything.
“Is this rain necessary?” he asked.
“You tore the skies open, everything has its cost,” she answered.
They remained in silence for a time. Since he had returned they had stayed mostly in silence, just listening to the rain pounding around them. Each raindrop measuring the passage of time. He sat, waiting on the altar. She stood, watching.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” she asked suddenly.
“I…” he started, but did not have an answer.
“You have killed before. Many times.”
He had. Killing was easy, horribly easy and easy to justify. There were always people who deserved to die. Nimue had been no different.
He’d never even thought of it. Not until he’d seen Morgana so ready to kill Uther, so like himself and so unable to do it… in the end. Unable to spoil herself that way.
Since then he’d begun to see their faces when he slept, those he’d killed, saw their deaths. Sometimes he saw them in the day. Something small and strange and unimportant would remind him. Mostly he could ignore it, just keep himself busy and they would go away. The memories.
But when Nimue had challenged him to kill her, he’d been suddenly reluctant to add another face, even a deserving one, to the parade. Especially hers.
“Arthur will become Uther,” Nimue said unexpectedly, interrupting his thoughts.
Merlin felt the flash of anger inside him.
“He’s not like that,” he told her. “He cares about his people…”
“You presume that Uther doesn’t? Or didn’t?” she challenged him. “Yes, Arthur cares about his people, but he cares more about his pride and his father’s acceptance. Even once Uther has gone he will still long for that love. He will still try to earn it.”
There was truth in it and Merlin could not immediately reply. He believed in Arthur above anything else, but faith was not always strong, not always unchallenged.
“Do you want to know what I see in Arthur?” Nimue continued. “Arrogance, anger, fear, pride… a man who will bully just to impress others. A killer - so fast to land that fatal blow and so slow to regret it.”
It was an unfair judgement. Unfair with the sharp edge of truth.
“He’s better than that,” he tried to interrupt but Nimue continued.
“When I looked into him, I saw Uther’s fear of magic - the same fear that has caused the needless deaths of hundreds of our people. Have you told him of your magic, warlock? Have you trusted this great man of yours? Does he know that you can call down the very heavens to fight on your side?”
Merlin saw Will in his mind again and the distaste in Arthur’s eyes as he had looked on his funeral pyre. He held his tongue.
“I thought not. Arthur may replace Uther on the throne but only the name will change. Is that truly worth throwing your life away?”
He met her eyes at last, she was watching him intently.
“Does he care for you?” she asked, a strange sense of urgency in her questions now. “Will he miss you? When he learns you are gone, will he forget? Or show forgiveness? Vengeance? Mercy? Would the pain drive him to battle? In every other choice he has reached for a sword… would this be different?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped, wishing to stem the flow of words. “Why do you care?”
“What will Arthur do when he finds love and loses it?”
“I don’t know,” he told her again.
“I have seen a future…”
* * * * *
“Fetch my horse and armour,” Arthur called to a groom as he skidded down the stairs, taking them three at a time.
The boy gave him a surprised, horrified look for a moment and then scuttled away.
Arthur couldn’t believe that someone would dare to take Merlin.
It was probably a mistake; they’d probably wanted Gaius and just taken Merlin because he got in the way. But that didn’t matter, Merlin was his servant and he’d be damned if he’d let someone take him, even if it were an accident.
Somebody would pay with blood for this.
He paced impatiently. It had been a frustrating day. He had been starting to think everyone had gone mad.
His father was organising a feast and giving out gifts and fancies. Half his knights had visited him with even more awed looks in their eyes than normal, which he was used to, but usually only when he’d done something incredibly brave. The worst were the maids and servants, who were speaking around him in hushed voices as if he had died… except Gwen, of course.
The whole thing was maddening. Yes, he had got hurt and yes, it had been bad. He could feel that. His shoulder ached and icy pain shuddered through his body at regular intervals. But no one had died.
It would be a relief to escape the castle. A relief to have something to fight against. He ignored the biting ache in his shoulder that warned he was not fit yet.
He also tried to ignore the small insistent voice hidden somewhere in his mind that told him there was something false in what Morgana had said - some strange untruth. Merlin was in trouble, that’s what mattered - and Gaius.
He tried to forget Merlin’s last visit. It had felt like an odd, secret, goodbye.
As he turned again to search for his horse arriving he saw Morgana and Gwen hurrying down the steps after him.
They both wore travelling cloaks. Gwen was carrying a saddle bag.
“You’re not coming,” he told Morgana firmly as Gwen disappeared, presumably to fetch their horses.
“And you know the way to the Isle of the Blessed?” she replied mockingly.
“I’ll work it out. You’ll just slow me down… get in my way…”
“You can’t just storm into this, Arthur; running in with a drawn sword isn’t enough against magic. And we can fight too, remember.”
“I’m not discussing this, Morgana.”
“Neither am I.”
Arthur was about to argue but Morgana spoke again.
“We care about Merlin too.”
“I don’t… this isn’t about that. I wouldn’t let any of my people be taken,” he told her, annoyed.
“That’s why you’ll take Gwen and I with you. My father used to take me close to the Isle before his death, you need me to get you there, and then you can save him.”
Arthur sighed in frustration. As little as he wanted to admit it, Morgana was right. He could see Gwen and the groom approaching with the horses and another hurrying from a side door with his armour.
He ached to be gone already.
“I don’t have time for this,” he groaned. “Fine - you can show me to the Isle, but from there the fight is mine.”
* * * * *
The mountains stood before them, their shape clear - silhouetted against the sunset, towering above them and dwarfing them as if someone had taken part of her dream and painted it into reality. It made Morgana shiver.
She turned from the image - it made the place seem false and nightmarish.
Gwen looked tired and Arthur was staring across the meadow, consternation written clearly on his face. He glanced back the way they had come towards the jagged gap in the cliff that had allowed them entry to the thin stretch of forest beyond the mountain.
He dismounted quickly, passed the reins to Gwen and wandered slightly from them, crouching down.
“We should go on,” Morgana told him, ignoring her twinge of unease.
“You said this was the only route to Blessed?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she replied, hiding her uncertainty. She had only vague memories of a map and the tales of broken knights.
“Then Gaius must have been wrong. They can’t be going to the Isle.” Arthur straightened quickly. “At least not immediately.”
“No!” Morgana replied too sharply, panic gripping her. They could not turn back now.
“Only one horse has passed this way, two at the most - though not at the same time. I thought maybe they’d ridden wide of us and that was why I could see no sign of them, but here…”
“But…” she began to argue.
“Morgana, four, maybe five men on horseback would have left some trace. We should turn back, if they are on foot we have missed them, if not we shall need to find which way they travelled.”
He seized his horses reins again, flinging himself into the saddle and turning its head to face the way they had come.
Gwen shot her a worried look.
“Arthur, stop,” Morgana called after him.
He stopped his horse again, turning it so he could look at her and for a moment she found herself unable to speak. Unsure of what to say. It was an unsettling, unfamiliar feeling.
“What, Morgana?” He sounded tired and angry and exasperated. “I’m never wrong… not with this.”
“There were no men,” she said as she saw him pull the reins again. “I lied.”
He stared at her horrified for a second and then turned to look at Gwen.
“But…”
“Gwen only said what she did because I asked her too. I made up the men and destroyed Gaius’ rooms but they are both in danger.”
“Why?” he asked. “What danger? Why lie?”
“I was not sure what you would do if I told you the truth.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence. Well, what is it?”
Even Gwen was watching her now - waiting for her to find an answer that would not damn Merlin, one way or another.
“I overheard Gaius and Merlin arguing. He… he traded his life to save yours, he dealt with a witch.”
She saw the shock on Arthur’s face - the pain and the anger and Uther’s darkness - she could only imagine how much worse it would have been if she had revealed the truth about Merlin.
“What!”
“I think Gaius went to take his place, Merlin followed…” Morgana tried to explain but Arthur wasn’t listening.
“How could he be so stupid?” Arthur was shouting now, his horse skittered beneath him, clearly concerned by its masters anger or invigorated. Arthur dismounted and let its reins fall loose.
Gwen, dismounting quickly, caught them again. A moment later Morgana followed their example and pressed her own reins into Gwen’s waiting hand.
Arthur was pacing angrily, cursing, more to himself than to them.
“He only wished to save your life,” she tried to reason with him.
“I don’t care. He’s an idiot. He knows the penalty for dealing with magic - my father will have his…”
“So he should have left you to die?”
“Yes… no… When my father learns…”
“Uther will think it was a price worth paying,” Morgana argued.
“You believe that?” Arthur laughed. “Whether he thinks the cost was worthwhile or not, it will not stop him executing Merlin. The deed is done but there can be no exceptions to the punishment…”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s the only way to keep magic out, to keep Camelot safe… if we forgive some, let them get away with… magic would gain a hold.”
“Is that Uther talking or you?”
“Is there a difference? What do you think, Morgana? That I do not care as much for my people as my father?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Arthur turned from her in disgust but it did not seem the right moment to explain that she believed he cared much more deeply for the people of Camelot than Uther did now. Merlin was what mattered; she needed to break him from his anger.
Arthur stood in silence for a moment and then turned back to them with a grimace.
“We will return to Camelot,” he said bitterly.
“You do not mean that,” Gwen said softly, her shock clear.
“Is that your choice?” Morgana spat at him, not waiting for an answer. “You will leave Merlin to his fate? Let the witch deal out your father’s punishment? Let him die.”
“I will not go against my father.”
“You did for the druid boy - you helped him. Why is this different?”
“He was a child, he didn’t have a choice. Merlin knew what he was doing...”
“What if none of them had a choice?” Morgana interrupted him.
“What? None of who?”
“All those people that your father executed? What if they didn’t have a choice?”
“What are you talking about, Morgana?” Arthur’s exasperation was clear. “They chose to use magic.”
Her heart was pounding. A tight, cornered, living thing in her chest. Desperate for escape. She almost did not ask, almost did not want the answer, almost feared it but it was not in her to give way to fear and she needed to know.
“You were born a prince, you can never change that. What if it is the same for those who do magic? What if they are born with it? What if it chooses them? Should they die for that? Should they die for some trick of fate? For some unsought curse? What if Gwen was born with magic? Or Merlin? What if I were?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s not… Why are we even talking about this?”
“Why does Uther fear magic?” She knew she was pressing him too hard, but could not stop. “Why must he destroy it?”
“I don’t know, Morgana! I don’t know the answers.”
Morgana saw the shadow of real pain in his eyes for a second, a pain she had not seen before and did not understand, pain and anger. And then turning, he stalked a few feet away, staring across the shadowed meadow. She let him stand in silence and turned herself to look at Gwen.
Gwen looked worried and frightened but smiled, bravely, as she met Morgana’s eyes. Morgana moved closer and squeezed her arm.
“We will camp here for the night,” Arthur said at last, “It’s too dark to go on.”
If we go on, did not need to be added.
* * * * *
Nimue did not tell Merlin what future she had seen. Instead, she drifted into silence and for impatient seconds the only noise was the sound of the rain. He could not find the words to fight her and his mind wandered.
He did not want to think about what she had said about Arthur or how closely it had matched his own first judgement. Arthur was better than that, or would be. He knew it.
And the dragon had said…
That thought no longer had the power to reassure him.
“Then in the dark he sought her out and desperately he cried
‘Don’t fear,’ she begged, ‘Our destiny may still be brushed aside’
And then she swept his tears away and took him by the hand
‘Word has come the Questing Beast was seen within this land…”
The words filtered into Merlin’s consciousness slowly, mixing with the rain, drifting in and out of it. It was only the mention of the Questing Beast that really caught his attention.
Nimue was singing. Or almost singing, a strange sort of chanting lilting prayer.
“Together we will find the den,
For our sweet love vow’s sake,
We’ll hunt the beast through field and glen
And this future we shall break…”
“What song is that?” Merlin asked, his curiosity winning against his desire not to interrupt.
“An old story,” she said. “It was famous once.”
“I don’t recognise it,” he told her.
“No? It may not have reached your home and I doubt it is sung in Camelot now,” she sounded weary and sad. “It would not be to Uther’s taste.”
“Why?”
“It’s the tale of a prince and a witch who fall in love and vow to stay together. A great destiny is laid on each that they will achieve wondrous things but only if they stay apart. Together they seek the Questing Beast, fight many foes and cross many dangers until at last they find it and then they live together for many years, laying their great destinies aside.”
She spoke without wistfulness, with a strange detachment that added strength and truth to the words and for a while Merlin did not answer letting the words sink inside him.
“Did they do the right thing?” He asked at last.
“Who knows,” Nimue laughed. “Why? Is a destiny troubling you, warlock?”
“No… I… yes,” he admitted. It was no use lying, she seemed to see through him and the doubt was gnawing at his soul. “I was told it was my destiny to protect Arthur, but the… one who told me that, I found out that he’s just been using me. What if it was another lie? Just another way to make me do what he wished?”
“I see. Is that why you came?” she said softly, but did not wait for an answer. “Here is some advice. Destinies are only what you make of them. Some come to pass because it is what is doomed to happen. But others don’t. Are they lies? Is it because people fight them? Because the future can change? I don’t know.
“But I do know that some only become truth because the people they are laid upon act how they believe they should. That’s the true power of a prophecy.”
“So you don’t think it is true?” It hurt to say. Hurt that her opinion on this mattered to him.
“I think it matters little if it’s true or not, it only matters how you act towards it.”
“But… what good is my magic if this isn’t my destiny? Why do I have it? What use is it?” he demanded.
“Why does that matter? Do you ask why someone can sing or laugh or wield a sword? It is a gift.”
He couldn’t answer her. So many bad things had happened because of his magic. He thought of his mother sick and injured and wrapped in pain. There had to be a greater reason.
“All you need to ask yourself,” she said, leaning closer to him, “is do you protect Arthur because of your destiny, or would you anyway? You could still turn aside from this path. Choose a new future.”
It should have been an easy answer and in one way it was, Merlin was ready to lay down his life for Arthur, destiny or not.
But he hadn’t always felt like that: he’d loathed Arthur. Had it only been the dragon’s words that had made him save him again and again until it had become habit? There had not seemed to be another choice at the time.
“Arthur will not be like Uther,” Merlin told her at last. “He is worth it.”
She smiled at him for a second and he knew she had felt his hesitation. His own doubt that still lingered despite the one certainty that, worth it or not, he could not let Arthur die.
“And yet you don’t trust him with your secret,” Nimue pressed him.
“That’s different. Uther is king. If I tell him and Uther catches me, Arthur would suffer.” He had told himself that enough in the dark of the night, had wished that it were that alone that always stilled his tongue.
“Nothing will change when Arthur takes the throne - he wants nothing more than to be his father.”
“His intentions are good,” he snapped at her. “All he needs is someone to remind him sometimes.”
“And who will remind him once you are gone?”
The question pierced him. A sharper pain than the magic still running through him. He had tried not to think of not being by Arthur’s side. He swallowed, collecting his answer slowly.
“Morgana will,” he told her. “She always challenges him.”
“Morgana? She is steeped in magic as far as you and I, Merlin, you have seen it. And he will learn it and he will never trust her again.”
He breathed deeply. The images Nimue was painting all to clear.
“Then Gwen will,” he told her firmly.
Sweet, uncomplicated Gwen - she was already half in love with Arthur, he could see it, she would stay beside him and guide him - and if Merlin’s faith in Arthur sometimes wavered. His faith in Gwen never did.
Nimue looked confused for a second and then laughed - deep and throatily.
“The serving girl? You believe he will listen to a servant?”
“Yes,” he told her, the certainty settling into him, “he listens to me.”
The sometimes was added automatically in his mind. But now he was sure, Arthur would listen to Gwen.
“I wish I had your faith, warlock,” Nimue told him, but did not argue.
PART 2