Passage
Title: Passage
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Light Arthur/Gwen
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, Gaius.
Summary: As usual, saving Camelot comes with a price.
Word Count: 5474
Prompts: #17 Tradition; #18 Gold
Arthur couldn't help but smile, despite the circumstances. It was a small, secret thing, stolen while his manservant's gaze was shifted away. He was still standing after three days of Merlin's best pestering, and admitted to feeling a bit smug about it.
"All we have are stories. No sense getting scrambled over a minstrel's tale."
"Minstrels sing of dragons, sire. They're real enough."
"But they don't pull the sun across the sky or steal babes from their cots."
"No, they just tear cities into ruins. Definitely harmless, then." Merlin's tone was light, but Arthur didn't miss the way his gaze faded into the distance, remembering. Suddenly, this sport seemed a bit less...sporting.
"We'll be as cautious as haste allows - oh, we're here."
It was a bit anticlimactic. Arthur had been on his share of quests and he'd been expecting something a bit...more.
"Are you sure we're in the right place?" It wasn't really a question; they could both see the simple carving on the weather-beaten stone. Merlin simply enjoyed mocking Arthur's sense of direction.
"It bears the mark. This must be the door." He dismounted and knelt to examine the rock-strewn depression. The stones had been rounded by the wind, and the sparse soil was studded with tor-grass and clover.
"Looks more like a...hole."
Arthur began scratching at the moss obscuring the design. Behind him, Merlin slid to the ground and grabbed the horses' reins, no doubt readying another sarcastic remark. He'd been against this venture from the start, despite Gaius's insistence that the tomb held their only hope of combating the blight. Arthur had teased him relentlessly for his supposed cowardice, but there was no heat behind the words. It wasn't fear that weighted Merlin's steps; he had proven his courage more times than Arthur could count. The truth behind his reluctance would emerge eventually. In the meantime, Arthur had a kingdom to protect.
A close examination of the stone revealed nothing, and Arthur turned to see if Merlin had any brilliant ideas. But Merlin wasn't paying him any heed, his head cocked to the side as though listening to something. Before Arthur could question him, the darkness came, slipping between one breath and the next. It lasted forever and no time at all: an endless, moonless night carried on a whisper.
The rolling hills around them didn't disappear; they simply weren't. A dim stone cavern replaced the open sky and the wind died, shrouding them in a silence so deep it seemed to weight the stale air. When Arthur drew his sword, the sound of the steel sliding against the scabbard didn't generate a single echo.
"Merlin?" The muffled sound of his own voice sent a sharp shiver down his spine. He tried to eye his friend while keeping his blade between them and the dark. "Are you all right?"
Merlin groaned, hands to his head as though trying to block something out. "I told you...this was...a bad idea."
"Don't be such a girl. Look, here's the door. We'll be home by breakfast."
The darkness sprawled in every direction except one: forward. Two enormous doors of polished granite rose up before them, extending beyond the sight afforded by the sourceless light that illuminated the immediate area. Arthur swallowed his uneasiness and grabbed one of the gargantuan pulls, intending to test his strength against the weight of the door.
As soon as his skin touched the surface, it seemed as though the ceiling caved in. Massive stones dropped to either side, forcing Arthur back a few steps. He threw an arm up to shield his eyes, and when he dropped it, he saw that the stones were actually statues - or creatures? They were made of stone, but they moved with the fluidity of life, stretching bat-like wings to block the door.
"Without blood, you may not pass." The voice ground out in a rumble that rattled Arthur's ribcage. He stifled an urge to backpedal. The creatures resembled humans, but their muscled arms and legs ended in vicious claws, and their eyes glowed with the light of sorcery.
"What does that mean? Whose blood?" Merlin asked, stepping up beside his king. He was squinting, as though fighting a headache, but his voice was steady and his back straight.
"Lifeblood. This is the price that must be paid. Two will approach; one will enter."
Arthur looked at Merlin, and saw his own confusion and defiance mirrored. But before he could challenge the monstrous guardians, Merlin tilted his head speculatively and asked them their names.
"What?" Arthur hissed. "This isn't a country harvest dance! You can't reason with-"
"Anwur," the creature ground out. "My brother is called Orsi."
Arthur was pretty sure his mouth was open. He was also pretty sure he couldn't help it. Though there was little expression on the creatures' stone faces, the growling voice sounded almost as surprised as Arthur felt.
"I am...Merlin. This is Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot."
The king in question eyed Merlin askance and made a note to ridicule him for apparently forgetting his own name. Nevertheless, he had to admit that this parley was going better than expected.
"The once and future king is known to us."
"He seeks to save his people. Why do you demand their blood?"
The answer, when it came, was surprising in its unabashed simplicity.
"It is tradition."
"Tradition, is it?" Arthur frowned and felt the slow burn begin, spreading through his limbs like molten steel. "Forcing people to murder each other?"
"This is our home, human." Anwur's thunderous voice took on a threatening anger. "If you wish no blood spilled, then do not seek to enter it."
"You don't defend your home; you condone slaughter!"
"You live here?" Merlin's cordial interjection caused three pairs of eyes to slide his way. "Seems a bit...fusty."
The fiery eyes blinked once. "Our realm is greater than what can be seen here."
"So why this chamber? What's so special about it?"
"It is tradition."
"Yes, you said. But why? What are you guarding?"
Silence. Arthur looked from the impassive stone faces to Merlin's open one. Curiosity got the better of him, and he allowed the belligerent set of his shoulders to fade. If his mouthy servant managed to talk his way past these behemoths...well. That would be something to tell the children. Perhaps he could have Geoffrey set it to verse.
"We have executed this duty for many generations," the one called Anwur ground out. "The price must be paid."
"Why?"
"It is as it has always been."
"There are scrolls in that room that could save Camelot. Can you not permit our entrance in order to save the lives of thousands of people?"
"We do not set the price."
"Of course. You don't bleed. You couldn't enter if you wanted to." A pause as he thought this over, and then that head tilt Arthur had come to know and loathe. "You don't know what's in there, do you?"
Stone tails whipped back and forth in a silent frenzy. It was the only sign of agitation the creatures showed. Arthur sympathized. Merlin's nattering could erode one's patience like water carving stone. He was surprised to find that it was rather entertaining when one wasn't on the receiving end. But his mirth quickly faded in the face of their failure to gain entrance. If the guardians could not be forced, they were left with...no. It was unthinkable.
Merlin stepped towards the door, and this time the living statues drew back their wings, allowing him to approach the door he could not open. Arthur watched, nonplussed, as Merlin put his hand and then his head to the polished surface. His face was intent, as though he were listening. Holding that pose for several moments, he finally pulled away, and it seemed as though something clung to his skin for a moment as he stepped back. Arthur couldn't say what it was. A shadow, maybe. A trick of the light. Except it was something, because the portal changed. Light swirled across the surface like smoke, arising from nowhere and fading away out of sight. Letters appeared across the broad expanse of stone: curving lines of molten gold that bathed the cavern in a fierce radiance.
"What sorcery is this?" The words echoed Arthur's thoughts exactly, but they came from the second creature, which had remained silent throughout this odd parley. The luminous eyes were set on Merlin, who was examining the inscription with interest.
"The only sorcery I see here is yours." Arthur's sword arm rose as promptly as ever, despite the impossibility of harming such fell creatures with an ordinary blade. Simple courage had always stood him in good stead against magical threats in the past.
"This is not of our making." Anwur's voice betrayed the same bafflement as Orsi's. "The rituals do not speak of this."
"They're telling the truth, Arthur." Merlin didn't look away from the script, his eyes scanning slowly even as he spoke. "They're just one part of the protections Iamus put in place here."
A cold thought settled in Arthur's mind. "I thought Gaius said this Iamus was a man of...mundane learning."
"Perhaps he used magic also. Before the ban, many wise men studied sorcery alongside the material arts."
Arthur didn't ask the obvious questions: whether the blight was magical in nature; whether magic would be required to restore his kingdom's food supply. He refused to contemplate it. He had gone against his own law once, when he thought his need was great enough to justify his hypocrisy. Never again. Instead, he forced a lightness he did not feel. "So you can read that, then? It doesn't look like any writing I've ever seen."
"It's very old. Older than anything men have built or thought or said." Merlin's voice had taken on that utterly calm quality that sent not entirely unpleasant chills down Arthur's spine. It was a side of Merlin that he had seen only a handful of times, and which he had blissfully and repeatedly forgotten. This was the unaccountably wise Merlin, the Merlin who seemed to know things obscured from the sight of other men. Arthur wasn't sure what disturbed him more: the impossibly audacious claims Merlin made at times like this, or the fact that Arthur inevitably found himself believing them. When that fey light shone in Merlin's eyes, it invariably meant that something terrible and wonderful was about to happen.
"Maybe it was a mistake to come here. I'm sure Gaius will-"
"No. This is how it had to be. How it will always be. Look, 'blade of a king, blood of a servant.' Your blade, Arthur. My blood."
The words were ice, cracking through the air and freezing Arthur's heart in his chest. Protests crowded his throat, but he couldn't make his mouth form the words. It was Merlin for God's sake.
The stone guardians reacted to the words in a different way, squaring their backs against the door and extending their clawed hands to the floor in front of them. A series of great grinding impacts pounded through the chamber as the rock beneath their claws rose up, growing like a living thing. It followed the creatures' rising hands like a hound on a scent, and shaped itself into a thick chopping block.
"The price must be paid," Anwur rumbled.
Arthur regarded Merlin incredulously. He expected - needed - to see his rejection of this ridiculous transaction mirrored in the other man's face, but instead he saw only a horrible resignation. Merlin almost smiled, but in his eyes was a terrible sadness.
"I do not bow to the whims of sorcery," Arthur insisted.
"Not even to save Camelot?"
"We'll find another way."
"And if I deserve it?"
"Don't be stupid." He tried for arrogant disdain, but the words came out as more of a plea. He wanted his Merlin back: loyal, clumsy, utterly innocuous. Who was this grim stranger?
Blue eyes locked with Arthur's, Merlin brought a cupped hand to his mouth. Arthur wanted to look away - wanted to run away - but he just stood dumbly by as his servant's exhalation caught fire, swirling like dragon's breath in his palm. An answering blaze shone from his eyes as he drew his hand away. The flame whirled and danced, forming into the shape of a galloping horse, its fiery mane streaming behind it in exquisite detail.
"Stop it," he whispered, but he could not even hear the words over the roaring in his ears as everything came crashing down around him.
"I have violated your law. We both know the penalty."
"No..."
"I've used magic within the borders of your kingdom. Repeatedly. I've cured the sick, turned aside swords. I've battled Morgause and Morgana in secret. I loosed the dragon on Camelot. I killed your uncle. And..." The fatalistic pride had faded, Merlin's tone growing more somber until he paused for what seemed an eternity. The flames of his magic died as though snuffed out by Death itself.
"And your father."
Arthur didn't remember what happened after that. Somehow the world was just white, and then Merlin was beneath him, the pulse in his throat beating against Arthur's hand as he pinned him to the granite block. The king's other arm was raised, his blade ready to slice through the skinny neck and bite into the stone below.
It was a recapitulation of the last time he had raised his sword in anger, only this time there was no one to talk him out of it. Merlin didn't offer any words in his own defense, no explanation of why he would defend Uther from Arthur's blade only to have him assassinated later. But who could fathom the plots of sorcerers? How many times had Arthur been fooled by their apparent acts of loyalty? Why did nothing ever make sense?
The sword fell.
* * *
When the king arrived in Camelot, he spoke to no one until he entered Gaius's chambers. Yet he saw that news of his approach had preceded him, for the court physician's face was a still mask. Arthur could imagine what the old man was thinking: that perhaps the guards were mistaken, or perhaps Merlin had been sent on some errand and elected to go on foot. Just because the king returned alone with a riderless horse didn't mean...couldn't mean...
Arthur's sympathy was tempered by a vague suspicion. Had Gaius known? Was he a willing accomplice in Merlin's crimes? Or had he been fooled like the rest of them? Arthur decided that he didn't want to know. He'd already lost one friend, and Gaius's grief would be punishment enough for whatever part he may have played. He handed over the scroll he'd retrieved from the tomb, and watched the carefully schooled expression slip as the silence between them lengthened.
"Sire...?"
"I'm sorry, Gaius. I'm truly..." Arthur swallowed.
"He can't be gone." The words were a stricken whisper, all the more heartbreaking for their discordance. Arthur had thought nothing could shake the indefatigable physician. He faced death with calm professionalism every day, kept calm when the entire kingdom was at risk. To see his spirit crushed was as disheartening as watching the city itself fall.
Arthur opened his mouth to disclose Merlin's treachery, but the desolation in Gaius's slumped figure changed his mind. "We would not have the scroll were it not for him. He saved the kingdom." Those last words echoed strangely in Arthur's mind, and he had to swallow hard as he realized the truth of them.
"Of course, I'll...I will get started right away."
The king nodded and turned, unable to watch Gaius's dazed, wooden movements. The man would grieve quietly, and continue serving his king, but Arthur knew he would never be the same. A piece of him had left with his boy, and would not return until Merlin did.
* * *
Weeks stretched into months, and Camelot survived. Arthur did not ask what went into the concoction that Gaius distributed to the landholders. Whatever secrets the scroll contained, they worked: the blight receded, and the year's harvest was substantial enough to last the people another harsh winter. Arthur spun the wheels of court, soothing tempers and addressing petitions. It wasn't that he made a conscious effort to avoid the court physician. He was just...busy.
He found his way to the battlements every day, and in the unrelenting west wind, he would vow to talk to the old man. But he was never sure what he wanted to explain, and somehow he never made it to the physician's quarters. He could not decide if the truth was better or worse than the lie he had told. He would look over the city and try to remember every word Merlin spoke that day, blue eyes so clear in his thoughts that it was like a waking dream.
The day that Gwen sought him out, velvet streaming behind her like a banner in the fierce wind, he realized that what he was feeling was doubt, and a terrible guilt. He had lied to those closest to him, lied to his people. It had seemed the right choice at the time; it had seemed a kindness. But without someone to share the truth, it turned to poison in his mind. He woke up every morning aching to unburden himself, but he had cast out the one person he felt he could trust with anything. The fact that Gwen was not that person sent a shudder of shame through him.
"It's always so beautiful up here." His queen looked out over the city, and its fires were reflected in her eyes. Arthur trembled at the thought of what he would see reflected if she knew the truth about Merlin. When she turned to catch his gaze, he looked away. "A bit nippy, though. Are you coming inside anytime soon or should I have someone bring you a tent?"
"Just thinking."
"Well, don't think too hard. We wouldn't want you hurting yourself." It was so much like what Merlin would have said that he snapped his head around to look at her. She returned his gaze knowingly. "I know you miss him. And I know there's something you won't tell me, or anyone. And I'm not asking you to. But Arthur...this can't keep on."
He looked back over the ordered streets and the shadowed roofs of tradesmen and merchants. Just at the edge of sight, the dark shape of the encircling wall was visible. He had always believed that wall to be upheld by more than stone and mortar.
"You're right," he said, and began the long walk to Gaius's door.
* * *
Outwardly, he looked the same, Arthur thought. He greeted his king deferentially, as he always had. He still wore the same modest robes, his hands smudged with ink, his quarters a miasma of herbal fragrances. But to Arthur's eyes, Gaius still looked...diminished. And the king knew exactly where the blame lay.
"I...I've come to confess, I suppose. And as I think you have more right to know the truth than anyone..." He stopped and looked away from the confusion on the other man's face. For a heartbeat he considered dropping the subject, but the memories rose in his mind as though demanding to be let free.
"It's about Merlin."
There was no sound, of course. But something crashed through the room nevertheless. Arthur felt like a boy, trying to explain actions that could not be justified. He had never felt like less of a king and he was beginning to think that, without Merlin, he wasn't one. But there was no going back now, so he began talking, the words rushing out of him like a venom too long withheld. He spoke of the tomb of Iamus, and the strange creatures that guarded it. He told the story in as much shameful detail as he could bear: Merlin's confession and his own blinding rage and the sword shaking in his hand...
Merlin held his gaze, waiting. No shame. No fear. Just a fathomless sorrow. Arthur trembled and stared, looking for the enemy in his servant's eyes. Somehow, he could not find it. His vision blurred and he blinked the wetness out of his eyes, his grip on his sword hilt loosening until the blade fell, slipping to the floor. His jaw was clenched so tightly that he could not speak, but he had no words in any case. With one hand, he hauled Merlin to his feet, bringing his other arm around in a furious punch that sent the smaller man spinning to the floor.
Merlin spit blood and looked up at the stone guardians from his knees. "Satisfied?"
Over the rushing in his ears, Arthur heard again the grinding of stone on stone. The doors of the tomb were opening inward, framed on either side by Anwur and Orsi, who had each dropped to one knee. They spoke in rumbling unison, as though reciting from memory. "Only the once and future king may pass this threshold. He shall be known not by the strength of his blade, but by the mercy in his heart."
"Well, go on. We have to get the scroll back to Gaius," Merlin insisted with his typical insolence. Arthur looked at him incredulously until the false cheer drained away. "I'm sorry, Arthur. It was the only way."
"Is it true?" he whispered. "Did you do all the things you said?"
"I..."
It was the all the answer required, and they both knew it. Arthur turned on his heel and marched into the tomb. The scroll was not hard to find, resting atop a sculpted sarcophagus. There were other treasures, but he ignored them. His limbs felt light and heavy at the same time, giving him a dream-like sensation of floating through the world without touching it. He marched back out and retrieved his sword, feeling Merlin's eyes on him with every movement. The sudden appearance of a rough-hewn stone staircase barely penetrated the fog around Arthur's mind. He marched out, and his servant scrambled to follow.
When they returned to the surface, everything was as before. The bitter taste of magic sullied Arthur's tongue and he kept a white-knuckled grip on his blade. There was no sign of the stairs they had just climbed: only the slight, grassy depression and the weathered stone marker. Merlin's uncertainty was like a pressure against his skin and he wasn't sure what he was going to say until he said it.
"You have committed treason against the crown. You are not to return to Camelot upon pain of death."
Arthur didn't look at Merlin, or wait for a response. He gathered the horses' reins and galloped away, leaving the person he had trusted more than any other alone on the vast heath.
Gaius had long ago turned his back to his king, standing hunched over his table with his head bowed. It was easier that way. For both of them, Arthur supposed. Despite the horrible gravity of the situation, he felt a mad giddiness now that the truth lay out in the open. He had achieved a terrible clarity.
"It's like one of your logic puzzles, isn't it? Merlin and magic don't make sense, because Merlin is loyal and magic is treason. So. One of those statements is false. But I fear I've questioned the wrong premise."
Silence stretched between them for long moments before Gaius turned and walked over to Arthur, raising a hand as he went. For a moment, Arthur thought he was going to strike him, and it seemed so natural and fitting that he didn't even move to defend himself. But the wizened fingers merely grasped his cheek in a brief echo of the tenderness he'd shown when Arthur was a boy. A moment later, Gaius was gone, leaving the king alone with the darkness and his memories.
* * *
It was one of the smallest hamlets in Camelot, little more than a handful of buildings clustered around a crossroad. Arthur made it a point to be familiar with every acre of land under his banner, but even he had rarely visited this place. Merchants stopped here, not kings. It didn't even merit the attention of a lord; there was a magistrate, empowered by the crown to mete out minor justice in the king's name, but no men-at-arms and certainly no knights.
Arthur's decision to personally address the magistrate's petition had won him no friends at court. Even his own knights had barely masked their confusion when they found out the king would ride with them. Arthur had lobbed some inspiring words at them, but of course his own motives were more complicated than a simple desire to uphold chivalric values. Whispers were already circulating, and though none of them would come close to the truth, it was a matter he would have to address eventually. Arthur knew from hard experience that a false rumor could do as much damage as a true one. Agravaine, for all his treachery, had been right about that much.
"Sire," the magistrate whispered when Arthur entered his modest (by Camelot's standards) two-story inn. The king sighed inwardly, resigning himself to an evening of trembling subservience. He had never missed Merlin's insolence so much as he did just then.
"Kieon, was it?"
"Yes, sire."
"Sit with me." He gestured to one of the rough-hewn tables, but made sure the move was an imperious one. Men like Kieon didn't want their view of royalty overturned in one day. It was enough that the king himself had deemed the town's troubles important enough for his attention. If said king shared a tankard with him, he might very well lose the power of speech. Arthur settled into one of the rickety chairs as though he owned the place, and watched calmly as Kieon slowly perched on the bench across from him. "You said they come only at night?"
"Yes, sire."
"How many have died?"
"Two, sire. Young Mary and the blacksmith, Glenn."
"This was the first night?"
"Yes, sire."
"No deaths since then?"
"No, sire."
"And did anyone actually see these creatures attack Mary and Glenn?"
"Sire?"
"Did anyone watch this happen, or did you simply find the bodies in the morning?"
For the first time, the magistrate hesitated, looking Arthur almost directly in the eye. "Well, sire, I didn't see the creatures myself. I've heard them. Terrible, terrible sounds. Like no animal that walks or crawls."
"Who has seen them?"
"Mary's sister. Blythe. She said she heard a sound like demon screaming from the depths of hell, and a dark winged shape. When she went into the yard, her sister was..."
"I see. Thank you, Kieon. You've been very helpful."
"Yes, sire." The man's wide eyes followed Arthur out of the tavern, but the king quickly put it from his mind. Nightfall was not far off, and it was a tricky business sneaking off into the woods when one was surrounded by knights and servants. He strolled across the commons, watching his men carry out their instructions. Well, most of his men. Gwaine was chatting up a barmaid; the ale-soaked sellsword liked a woman who could pour a tankard in exotic positions.
Yes, Gwaine would do nicely.
* * *
A short time later, Arthur left the vociferous complaints of jealous husbands behind and trotted beneath the shadowed trees. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for - it found him, in point of fact. A dark winged shape, eyes glowing with the fierce light of sorcery, descended from the trees in a rush, landing with all the weight of its lithic bulk. "Arthur Pendragon," it intoned. Arthur recognized the deep voice of Anwur.
"I thought I might find you here. It seems you've been giving the locals a bit of a scare."
"Our roost is nearby. We have hunted the dark creatures, but more arrive every night. The Old Man thinks we should follow them to their roost."
"The Old Man?"
"You have much to discuss. Come." He turned and began slipping between the grey-white trunks with an unaccountable grace. Arthur followed, watching the dip and bob of the great stone wings, folded across the massive shoulders like a strange cape.
"The people of the village blame you for the attacks."
"We did not reach them in time the first night. We take turns guarding the palisade now. None have broken through, but their numbers grow."
They followed no path that Arthur could see (a fact which had him spitting spider silk more than once) and a quarter of an hour passed before they reached their destination. The foliage thinned, opening to a small glade. They were close now to the hill called the Sleeping Giant, and on the far side of the clearing, the ground grew steep and rocky. On one of the tumbled bones of the mountain, a old man in a red robe sat cross-legged, poring over a battered book. Arthur was about to comment on the lack of reading light when he recognized the wizened features and tremendous beard, and everything flew out of his mind at once. When he came back to himself, he found that he had crossed the distance between them, that his sword was drawn and trembling against the man's throat. The creatures of stone watched from the darkness, but seemed content to take their cue from the sorcerer.
Arthur looked into resigned blue eyes and remembered the day his father died, as well as the day Merlin confessed to the deed. He'd come alone because he'd been looking for answers, hoping that the world was not as dark as it seemed. Now he wondered if what he really wanted was vengeance. Just a bit more pressure and it would be blood for blood. Justice for a slaughtered king. The moments stretched into a weighty silence, and all Arthur heard was the sound of his own heartbeat crashing against his ears.
His hesitation should have cost him his life. But no lightning blazed forth from the spindly hands. No unnatural wind hurtled Arthur backwards. The sorcerer simply waited, and the king (though he could not say why) had the strongest feeling that this man would acquiesce to any punishment he decided to mete out. But he was caught by those eyes, arrested by his own recognition of the man he had come to find.
"Merlin?" It came out as a broken whisper, more a plea than a question.
The old man's lips moved a few times before he spoke, his voice husky with regret. "I tried, Arthur. I swear to you, I tried. And I failed you. For that I am so sorry."
Arthur found that it was easy to believe him. When he'd been a dark-robed stranger, when the wound was so raw and so fresh, it was impossible to see anything but betrayal. Now he just felt tired. He let the belligerent tension drain away, his expression softening. "Take off that ridiculous disguise. You look like a mad hermit."
A sly smile spread slowly over Merlin's face, at odds with the tears still brimming in those deceptively bright eyes. "Does this mean the period of my exile is over?"
"Well, you've hardly obeyed the terms of that exile, now have you?"
"On the contrary. Merlin hasn't set foot in Camelot since that day."
"Gluing whiskers to your face doesn't make you a different person."
"I feel like a different person," he mused, stretching his limbs gingerly. "My back creaks louder than a double-axled wagon and I can't seem to stop eating lentils."
"For someone who is so concerned about the size of other people's belts, you do chatter on about food."
Arthur tried to remain nonchalant, but when the old man whispered a few words and became his Merlin, he had to catch his breath. There was no flash of light or thunderous report; he simply...shifted. And when he doubled over in a coughing fit, Arthur realized that it hadn't been an illusion but a real transformation of Merlin's body. The thought was a bit disturbing, and he groped for his customary lazy arrogance.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
After a few frog-like attempts at speech, Merlin expressed an opinion about the king's anatomical measurements. "You don't know how many times my skill has saved your life."
"I've got along fine since the famine," he lied.
"Really! Then I suppose you know that Lord Ousden has been meeting with-"
"Southron warlords, yes. I've told you before, Merlin: I'm not completely helpless." Arthur turned and began walking back through the trees. "Are we going to stand here all night gossiping like magpies or are we going to take of these, er...what exactly are these creatures attacking the village?"
Merlin grinned and jogged to his side.
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Light Arthur/Gwen
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, Gaius.
Summary: As usual, saving Camelot comes with a price.
Word Count: 5474
Prompts: #17 Tradition; #18 Gold
Arthur couldn't help but smile, despite the circumstances. It was a small, secret thing, stolen while his manservant's gaze was shifted away. He was still standing after three days of Merlin's best pestering, and admitted to feeling a bit smug about it.
"All we have are stories. No sense getting scrambled over a minstrel's tale."
"Minstrels sing of dragons, sire. They're real enough."
"But they don't pull the sun across the sky or steal babes from their cots."
"No, they just tear cities into ruins. Definitely harmless, then." Merlin's tone was light, but Arthur didn't miss the way his gaze faded into the distance, remembering. Suddenly, this sport seemed a bit less...sporting.
"We'll be as cautious as haste allows - oh, we're here."
It was a bit anticlimactic. Arthur had been on his share of quests and he'd been expecting something a bit...more.
"Are you sure we're in the right place?" It wasn't really a question; they could both see the simple carving on the weather-beaten stone. Merlin simply enjoyed mocking Arthur's sense of direction.
"It bears the mark. This must be the door." He dismounted and knelt to examine the rock-strewn depression. The stones had been rounded by the wind, and the sparse soil was studded with tor-grass and clover.
"Looks more like a...hole."
Arthur began scratching at the moss obscuring the design. Behind him, Merlin slid to the ground and grabbed the horses' reins, no doubt readying another sarcastic remark. He'd been against this venture from the start, despite Gaius's insistence that the tomb held their only hope of combating the blight. Arthur had teased him relentlessly for his supposed cowardice, but there was no heat behind the words. It wasn't fear that weighted Merlin's steps; he had proven his courage more times than Arthur could count. The truth behind his reluctance would emerge eventually. In the meantime, Arthur had a kingdom to protect.
A close examination of the stone revealed nothing, and Arthur turned to see if Merlin had any brilliant ideas. But Merlin wasn't paying him any heed, his head cocked to the side as though listening to something. Before Arthur could question him, the darkness came, slipping between one breath and the next. It lasted forever and no time at all: an endless, moonless night carried on a whisper.
The rolling hills around them didn't disappear; they simply weren't. A dim stone cavern replaced the open sky and the wind died, shrouding them in a silence so deep it seemed to weight the stale air. When Arthur drew his sword, the sound of the steel sliding against the scabbard didn't generate a single echo.
"Merlin?" The muffled sound of his own voice sent a sharp shiver down his spine. He tried to eye his friend while keeping his blade between them and the dark. "Are you all right?"
Merlin groaned, hands to his head as though trying to block something out. "I told you...this was...a bad idea."
"Don't be such a girl. Look, here's the door. We'll be home by breakfast."
The darkness sprawled in every direction except one: forward. Two enormous doors of polished granite rose up before them, extending beyond the sight afforded by the sourceless light that illuminated the immediate area. Arthur swallowed his uneasiness and grabbed one of the gargantuan pulls, intending to test his strength against the weight of the door.
As soon as his skin touched the surface, it seemed as though the ceiling caved in. Massive stones dropped to either side, forcing Arthur back a few steps. He threw an arm up to shield his eyes, and when he dropped it, he saw that the stones were actually statues - or creatures? They were made of stone, but they moved with the fluidity of life, stretching bat-like wings to block the door.
"Without blood, you may not pass." The voice ground out in a rumble that rattled Arthur's ribcage. He stifled an urge to backpedal. The creatures resembled humans, but their muscled arms and legs ended in vicious claws, and their eyes glowed with the light of sorcery.
"What does that mean? Whose blood?" Merlin asked, stepping up beside his king. He was squinting, as though fighting a headache, but his voice was steady and his back straight.
"Lifeblood. This is the price that must be paid. Two will approach; one will enter."
Arthur looked at Merlin, and saw his own confusion and defiance mirrored. But before he could challenge the monstrous guardians, Merlin tilted his head speculatively and asked them their names.
"What?" Arthur hissed. "This isn't a country harvest dance! You can't reason with-"
"Anwur," the creature ground out. "My brother is called Orsi."
Arthur was pretty sure his mouth was open. He was also pretty sure he couldn't help it. Though there was little expression on the creatures' stone faces, the growling voice sounded almost as surprised as Arthur felt.
"I am...Merlin. This is Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot."
The king in question eyed Merlin askance and made a note to ridicule him for apparently forgetting his own name. Nevertheless, he had to admit that this parley was going better than expected.
"The once and future king is known to us."
"He seeks to save his people. Why do you demand their blood?"
The answer, when it came, was surprising in its unabashed simplicity.
"It is tradition."
"Tradition, is it?" Arthur frowned and felt the slow burn begin, spreading through his limbs like molten steel. "Forcing people to murder each other?"
"This is our home, human." Anwur's thunderous voice took on a threatening anger. "If you wish no blood spilled, then do not seek to enter it."
"You don't defend your home; you condone slaughter!"
"You live here?" Merlin's cordial interjection caused three pairs of eyes to slide his way. "Seems a bit...fusty."
The fiery eyes blinked once. "Our realm is greater than what can be seen here."
"So why this chamber? What's so special about it?"
"It is tradition."
"Yes, you said. But why? What are you guarding?"
Silence. Arthur looked from the impassive stone faces to Merlin's open one. Curiosity got the better of him, and he allowed the belligerent set of his shoulders to fade. If his mouthy servant managed to talk his way past these behemoths...well. That would be something to tell the children. Perhaps he could have Geoffrey set it to verse.
"We have executed this duty for many generations," the one called Anwur ground out. "The price must be paid."
"Why?"
"It is as it has always been."
"There are scrolls in that room that could save Camelot. Can you not permit our entrance in order to save the lives of thousands of people?"
"We do not set the price."
"Of course. You don't bleed. You couldn't enter if you wanted to." A pause as he thought this over, and then that head tilt Arthur had come to know and loathe. "You don't know what's in there, do you?"
Stone tails whipped back and forth in a silent frenzy. It was the only sign of agitation the creatures showed. Arthur sympathized. Merlin's nattering could erode one's patience like water carving stone. He was surprised to find that it was rather entertaining when one wasn't on the receiving end. But his mirth quickly faded in the face of their failure to gain entrance. If the guardians could not be forced, they were left with...no. It was unthinkable.
Merlin stepped towards the door, and this time the living statues drew back their wings, allowing him to approach the door he could not open. Arthur watched, nonplussed, as Merlin put his hand and then his head to the polished surface. His face was intent, as though he were listening. Holding that pose for several moments, he finally pulled away, and it seemed as though something clung to his skin for a moment as he stepped back. Arthur couldn't say what it was. A shadow, maybe. A trick of the light. Except it was something, because the portal changed. Light swirled across the surface like smoke, arising from nowhere and fading away out of sight. Letters appeared across the broad expanse of stone: curving lines of molten gold that bathed the cavern in a fierce radiance.
"What sorcery is this?" The words echoed Arthur's thoughts exactly, but they came from the second creature, which had remained silent throughout this odd parley. The luminous eyes were set on Merlin, who was examining the inscription with interest.
"The only sorcery I see here is yours." Arthur's sword arm rose as promptly as ever, despite the impossibility of harming such fell creatures with an ordinary blade. Simple courage had always stood him in good stead against magical threats in the past.
"This is not of our making." Anwur's voice betrayed the same bafflement as Orsi's. "The rituals do not speak of this."
"They're telling the truth, Arthur." Merlin didn't look away from the script, his eyes scanning slowly even as he spoke. "They're just one part of the protections Iamus put in place here."
A cold thought settled in Arthur's mind. "I thought Gaius said this Iamus was a man of...mundane learning."
"Perhaps he used magic also. Before the ban, many wise men studied sorcery alongside the material arts."
Arthur didn't ask the obvious questions: whether the blight was magical in nature; whether magic would be required to restore his kingdom's food supply. He refused to contemplate it. He had gone against his own law once, when he thought his need was great enough to justify his hypocrisy. Never again. Instead, he forced a lightness he did not feel. "So you can read that, then? It doesn't look like any writing I've ever seen."
"It's very old. Older than anything men have built or thought or said." Merlin's voice had taken on that utterly calm quality that sent not entirely unpleasant chills down Arthur's spine. It was a side of Merlin that he had seen only a handful of times, and which he had blissfully and repeatedly forgotten. This was the unaccountably wise Merlin, the Merlin who seemed to know things obscured from the sight of other men. Arthur wasn't sure what disturbed him more: the impossibly audacious claims Merlin made at times like this, or the fact that Arthur inevitably found himself believing them. When that fey light shone in Merlin's eyes, it invariably meant that something terrible and wonderful was about to happen.
"Maybe it was a mistake to come here. I'm sure Gaius will-"
"No. This is how it had to be. How it will always be. Look, 'blade of a king, blood of a servant.' Your blade, Arthur. My blood."
The words were ice, cracking through the air and freezing Arthur's heart in his chest. Protests crowded his throat, but he couldn't make his mouth form the words. It was Merlin for God's sake.
The stone guardians reacted to the words in a different way, squaring their backs against the door and extending their clawed hands to the floor in front of them. A series of great grinding impacts pounded through the chamber as the rock beneath their claws rose up, growing like a living thing. It followed the creatures' rising hands like a hound on a scent, and shaped itself into a thick chopping block.
"The price must be paid," Anwur rumbled.
Arthur regarded Merlin incredulously. He expected - needed - to see his rejection of this ridiculous transaction mirrored in the other man's face, but instead he saw only a horrible resignation. Merlin almost smiled, but in his eyes was a terrible sadness.
"I do not bow to the whims of sorcery," Arthur insisted.
"Not even to save Camelot?"
"We'll find another way."
"And if I deserve it?"
"Don't be stupid." He tried for arrogant disdain, but the words came out as more of a plea. He wanted his Merlin back: loyal, clumsy, utterly innocuous. Who was this grim stranger?
Blue eyes locked with Arthur's, Merlin brought a cupped hand to his mouth. Arthur wanted to look away - wanted to run away - but he just stood dumbly by as his servant's exhalation caught fire, swirling like dragon's breath in his palm. An answering blaze shone from his eyes as he drew his hand away. The flame whirled and danced, forming into the shape of a galloping horse, its fiery mane streaming behind it in exquisite detail.
"Stop it," he whispered, but he could not even hear the words over the roaring in his ears as everything came crashing down around him.
"I have violated your law. We both know the penalty."
"No..."
"I've used magic within the borders of your kingdom. Repeatedly. I've cured the sick, turned aside swords. I've battled Morgause and Morgana in secret. I loosed the dragon on Camelot. I killed your uncle. And..." The fatalistic pride had faded, Merlin's tone growing more somber until he paused for what seemed an eternity. The flames of his magic died as though snuffed out by Death itself.
"And your father."
Arthur didn't remember what happened after that. Somehow the world was just white, and then Merlin was beneath him, the pulse in his throat beating against Arthur's hand as he pinned him to the granite block. The king's other arm was raised, his blade ready to slice through the skinny neck and bite into the stone below.
It was a recapitulation of the last time he had raised his sword in anger, only this time there was no one to talk him out of it. Merlin didn't offer any words in his own defense, no explanation of why he would defend Uther from Arthur's blade only to have him assassinated later. But who could fathom the plots of sorcerers? How many times had Arthur been fooled by their apparent acts of loyalty? Why did nothing ever make sense?
The sword fell.
* * *
When the king arrived in Camelot, he spoke to no one until he entered Gaius's chambers. Yet he saw that news of his approach had preceded him, for the court physician's face was a still mask. Arthur could imagine what the old man was thinking: that perhaps the guards were mistaken, or perhaps Merlin had been sent on some errand and elected to go on foot. Just because the king returned alone with a riderless horse didn't mean...couldn't mean...
Arthur's sympathy was tempered by a vague suspicion. Had Gaius known? Was he a willing accomplice in Merlin's crimes? Or had he been fooled like the rest of them? Arthur decided that he didn't want to know. He'd already lost one friend, and Gaius's grief would be punishment enough for whatever part he may have played. He handed over the scroll he'd retrieved from the tomb, and watched the carefully schooled expression slip as the silence between them lengthened.
"Sire...?"
"I'm sorry, Gaius. I'm truly..." Arthur swallowed.
"He can't be gone." The words were a stricken whisper, all the more heartbreaking for their discordance. Arthur had thought nothing could shake the indefatigable physician. He faced death with calm professionalism every day, kept calm when the entire kingdom was at risk. To see his spirit crushed was as disheartening as watching the city itself fall.
Arthur opened his mouth to disclose Merlin's treachery, but the desolation in Gaius's slumped figure changed his mind. "We would not have the scroll were it not for him. He saved the kingdom." Those last words echoed strangely in Arthur's mind, and he had to swallow hard as he realized the truth of them.
"Of course, I'll...I will get started right away."
The king nodded and turned, unable to watch Gaius's dazed, wooden movements. The man would grieve quietly, and continue serving his king, but Arthur knew he would never be the same. A piece of him had left with his boy, and would not return until Merlin did.
* * *
Weeks stretched into months, and Camelot survived. Arthur did not ask what went into the concoction that Gaius distributed to the landholders. Whatever secrets the scroll contained, they worked: the blight receded, and the year's harvest was substantial enough to last the people another harsh winter. Arthur spun the wheels of court, soothing tempers and addressing petitions. It wasn't that he made a conscious effort to avoid the court physician. He was just...busy.
He found his way to the battlements every day, and in the unrelenting west wind, he would vow to talk to the old man. But he was never sure what he wanted to explain, and somehow he never made it to the physician's quarters. He could not decide if the truth was better or worse than the lie he had told. He would look over the city and try to remember every word Merlin spoke that day, blue eyes so clear in his thoughts that it was like a waking dream.
The day that Gwen sought him out, velvet streaming behind her like a banner in the fierce wind, he realized that what he was feeling was doubt, and a terrible guilt. He had lied to those closest to him, lied to his people. It had seemed the right choice at the time; it had seemed a kindness. But without someone to share the truth, it turned to poison in his mind. He woke up every morning aching to unburden himself, but he had cast out the one person he felt he could trust with anything. The fact that Gwen was not that person sent a shudder of shame through him.
"It's always so beautiful up here." His queen looked out over the city, and its fires were reflected in her eyes. Arthur trembled at the thought of what he would see reflected if she knew the truth about Merlin. When she turned to catch his gaze, he looked away. "A bit nippy, though. Are you coming inside anytime soon or should I have someone bring you a tent?"
"Just thinking."
"Well, don't think too hard. We wouldn't want you hurting yourself." It was so much like what Merlin would have said that he snapped his head around to look at her. She returned his gaze knowingly. "I know you miss him. And I know there's something you won't tell me, or anyone. And I'm not asking you to. But Arthur...this can't keep on."
He looked back over the ordered streets and the shadowed roofs of tradesmen and merchants. Just at the edge of sight, the dark shape of the encircling wall was visible. He had always believed that wall to be upheld by more than stone and mortar.
"You're right," he said, and began the long walk to Gaius's door.
* * *
Outwardly, he looked the same, Arthur thought. He greeted his king deferentially, as he always had. He still wore the same modest robes, his hands smudged with ink, his quarters a miasma of herbal fragrances. But to Arthur's eyes, Gaius still looked...diminished. And the king knew exactly where the blame lay.
"I...I've come to confess, I suppose. And as I think you have more right to know the truth than anyone..." He stopped and looked away from the confusion on the other man's face. For a heartbeat he considered dropping the subject, but the memories rose in his mind as though demanding to be let free.
"It's about Merlin."
There was no sound, of course. But something crashed through the room nevertheless. Arthur felt like a boy, trying to explain actions that could not be justified. He had never felt like less of a king and he was beginning to think that, without Merlin, he wasn't one. But there was no going back now, so he began talking, the words rushing out of him like a venom too long withheld. He spoke of the tomb of Iamus, and the strange creatures that guarded it. He told the story in as much shameful detail as he could bear: Merlin's confession and his own blinding rage and the sword shaking in his hand...
Merlin held his gaze, waiting. No shame. No fear. Just a fathomless sorrow. Arthur trembled and stared, looking for the enemy in his servant's eyes. Somehow, he could not find it. His vision blurred and he blinked the wetness out of his eyes, his grip on his sword hilt loosening until the blade fell, slipping to the floor. His jaw was clenched so tightly that he could not speak, but he had no words in any case. With one hand, he hauled Merlin to his feet, bringing his other arm around in a furious punch that sent the smaller man spinning to the floor.
Merlin spit blood and looked up at the stone guardians from his knees. "Satisfied?"
Over the rushing in his ears, Arthur heard again the grinding of stone on stone. The doors of the tomb were opening inward, framed on either side by Anwur and Orsi, who had each dropped to one knee. They spoke in rumbling unison, as though reciting from memory. "Only the once and future king may pass this threshold. He shall be known not by the strength of his blade, but by the mercy in his heart."
"Well, go on. We have to get the scroll back to Gaius," Merlin insisted with his typical insolence. Arthur looked at him incredulously until the false cheer drained away. "I'm sorry, Arthur. It was the only way."
"Is it true?" he whispered. "Did you do all the things you said?"
"I..."
It was the all the answer required, and they both knew it. Arthur turned on his heel and marched into the tomb. The scroll was not hard to find, resting atop a sculpted sarcophagus. There were other treasures, but he ignored them. His limbs felt light and heavy at the same time, giving him a dream-like sensation of floating through the world without touching it. He marched back out and retrieved his sword, feeling Merlin's eyes on him with every movement. The sudden appearance of a rough-hewn stone staircase barely penetrated the fog around Arthur's mind. He marched out, and his servant scrambled to follow.
When they returned to the surface, everything was as before. The bitter taste of magic sullied Arthur's tongue and he kept a white-knuckled grip on his blade. There was no sign of the stairs they had just climbed: only the slight, grassy depression and the weathered stone marker. Merlin's uncertainty was like a pressure against his skin and he wasn't sure what he was going to say until he said it.
"You have committed treason against the crown. You are not to return to Camelot upon pain of death."
Arthur didn't look at Merlin, or wait for a response. He gathered the horses' reins and galloped away, leaving the person he had trusted more than any other alone on the vast heath.
Gaius had long ago turned his back to his king, standing hunched over his table with his head bowed. It was easier that way. For both of them, Arthur supposed. Despite the horrible gravity of the situation, he felt a mad giddiness now that the truth lay out in the open. He had achieved a terrible clarity.
"It's like one of your logic puzzles, isn't it? Merlin and magic don't make sense, because Merlin is loyal and magic is treason. So. One of those statements is false. But I fear I've questioned the wrong premise."
Silence stretched between them for long moments before Gaius turned and walked over to Arthur, raising a hand as he went. For a moment, Arthur thought he was going to strike him, and it seemed so natural and fitting that he didn't even move to defend himself. But the wizened fingers merely grasped his cheek in a brief echo of the tenderness he'd shown when Arthur was a boy. A moment later, Gaius was gone, leaving the king alone with the darkness and his memories.
* * *
It was one of the smallest hamlets in Camelot, little more than a handful of buildings clustered around a crossroad. Arthur made it a point to be familiar with every acre of land under his banner, but even he had rarely visited this place. Merchants stopped here, not kings. It didn't even merit the attention of a lord; there was a magistrate, empowered by the crown to mete out minor justice in the king's name, but no men-at-arms and certainly no knights.
Arthur's decision to personally address the magistrate's petition had won him no friends at court. Even his own knights had barely masked their confusion when they found out the king would ride with them. Arthur had lobbed some inspiring words at them, but of course his own motives were more complicated than a simple desire to uphold chivalric values. Whispers were already circulating, and though none of them would come close to the truth, it was a matter he would have to address eventually. Arthur knew from hard experience that a false rumor could do as much damage as a true one. Agravaine, for all his treachery, had been right about that much.
"Sire," the magistrate whispered when Arthur entered his modest (by Camelot's standards) two-story inn. The king sighed inwardly, resigning himself to an evening of trembling subservience. He had never missed Merlin's insolence so much as he did just then.
"Kieon, was it?"
"Yes, sire."
"Sit with me." He gestured to one of the rough-hewn tables, but made sure the move was an imperious one. Men like Kieon didn't want their view of royalty overturned in one day. It was enough that the king himself had deemed the town's troubles important enough for his attention. If said king shared a tankard with him, he might very well lose the power of speech. Arthur settled into one of the rickety chairs as though he owned the place, and watched calmly as Kieon slowly perched on the bench across from him. "You said they come only at night?"
"Yes, sire."
"How many have died?"
"Two, sire. Young Mary and the blacksmith, Glenn."
"This was the first night?"
"Yes, sire."
"No deaths since then?"
"No, sire."
"And did anyone actually see these creatures attack Mary and Glenn?"
"Sire?"
"Did anyone watch this happen, or did you simply find the bodies in the morning?"
For the first time, the magistrate hesitated, looking Arthur almost directly in the eye. "Well, sire, I didn't see the creatures myself. I've heard them. Terrible, terrible sounds. Like no animal that walks or crawls."
"Who has seen them?"
"Mary's sister. Blythe. She said she heard a sound like demon screaming from the depths of hell, and a dark winged shape. When she went into the yard, her sister was..."
"I see. Thank you, Kieon. You've been very helpful."
"Yes, sire." The man's wide eyes followed Arthur out of the tavern, but the king quickly put it from his mind. Nightfall was not far off, and it was a tricky business sneaking off into the woods when one was surrounded by knights and servants. He strolled across the commons, watching his men carry out their instructions. Well, most of his men. Gwaine was chatting up a barmaid; the ale-soaked sellsword liked a woman who could pour a tankard in exotic positions.
Yes, Gwaine would do nicely.
* * *
A short time later, Arthur left the vociferous complaints of jealous husbands behind and trotted beneath the shadowed trees. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for - it found him, in point of fact. A dark winged shape, eyes glowing with the fierce light of sorcery, descended from the trees in a rush, landing with all the weight of its lithic bulk. "Arthur Pendragon," it intoned. Arthur recognized the deep voice of Anwur.
"I thought I might find you here. It seems you've been giving the locals a bit of a scare."
"Our roost is nearby. We have hunted the dark creatures, but more arrive every night. The Old Man thinks we should follow them to their roost."
"The Old Man?"
"You have much to discuss. Come." He turned and began slipping between the grey-white trunks with an unaccountable grace. Arthur followed, watching the dip and bob of the great stone wings, folded across the massive shoulders like a strange cape.
"The people of the village blame you for the attacks."
"We did not reach them in time the first night. We take turns guarding the palisade now. None have broken through, but their numbers grow."
They followed no path that Arthur could see (a fact which had him spitting spider silk more than once) and a quarter of an hour passed before they reached their destination. The foliage thinned, opening to a small glade. They were close now to the hill called the Sleeping Giant, and on the far side of the clearing, the ground grew steep and rocky. On one of the tumbled bones of the mountain, a old man in a red robe sat cross-legged, poring over a battered book. Arthur was about to comment on the lack of reading light when he recognized the wizened features and tremendous beard, and everything flew out of his mind at once. When he came back to himself, he found that he had crossed the distance between them, that his sword was drawn and trembling against the man's throat. The creatures of stone watched from the darkness, but seemed content to take their cue from the sorcerer.
Arthur looked into resigned blue eyes and remembered the day his father died, as well as the day Merlin confessed to the deed. He'd come alone because he'd been looking for answers, hoping that the world was not as dark as it seemed. Now he wondered if what he really wanted was vengeance. Just a bit more pressure and it would be blood for blood. Justice for a slaughtered king. The moments stretched into a weighty silence, and all Arthur heard was the sound of his own heartbeat crashing against his ears.
His hesitation should have cost him his life. But no lightning blazed forth from the spindly hands. No unnatural wind hurtled Arthur backwards. The sorcerer simply waited, and the king (though he could not say why) had the strongest feeling that this man would acquiesce to any punishment he decided to mete out. But he was caught by those eyes, arrested by his own recognition of the man he had come to find.
"Merlin?" It came out as a broken whisper, more a plea than a question.
The old man's lips moved a few times before he spoke, his voice husky with regret. "I tried, Arthur. I swear to you, I tried. And I failed you. For that I am so sorry."
Arthur found that it was easy to believe him. When he'd been a dark-robed stranger, when the wound was so raw and so fresh, it was impossible to see anything but betrayal. Now he just felt tired. He let the belligerent tension drain away, his expression softening. "Take off that ridiculous disguise. You look like a mad hermit."
A sly smile spread slowly over Merlin's face, at odds with the tears still brimming in those deceptively bright eyes. "Does this mean the period of my exile is over?"
"Well, you've hardly obeyed the terms of that exile, now have you?"
"On the contrary. Merlin hasn't set foot in Camelot since that day."
"Gluing whiskers to your face doesn't make you a different person."
"I feel like a different person," he mused, stretching his limbs gingerly. "My back creaks louder than a double-axled wagon and I can't seem to stop eating lentils."
"For someone who is so concerned about the size of other people's belts, you do chatter on about food."
Arthur tried to remain nonchalant, but when the old man whispered a few words and became his Merlin, he had to catch his breath. There was no flash of light or thunderous report; he simply...shifted. And when he doubled over in a coughing fit, Arthur realized that it hadn't been an illusion but a real transformation of Merlin's body. The thought was a bit disturbing, and he groped for his customary lazy arrogance.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
After a few frog-like attempts at speech, Merlin expressed an opinion about the king's anatomical measurements. "You don't know how many times my skill has saved your life."
"I've got along fine since the famine," he lied.
"Really! Then I suppose you know that Lord Ousden has been meeting with-"
"Southron warlords, yes. I've told you before, Merlin: I'm not completely helpless." Arthur turned and began walking back through the trees. "Are we going to stand here all night gossiping like magpies or are we going to take of these, er...what exactly are these creatures attacking the village?"
Merlin grinned and jogged to his side.