When Arthur Found Out - Present - Part A

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The fics set in the present - do not vote in this post!

Story I (PG - 4850 words)

They were lined up in two rows outside the castle in the courtyard. Camelot’s king and prince, along with the prince’s manservant, pushed to their knees by the immortal soldiers directly in front of Morgause and Morgana - sisters now bonded, ready to take reign of the kingdom.
Behind them, subdued into like position, were his knights and friends - Lancelot, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan and Percival.

Thank heavens Gwen had been made to stay behind with Gaius at the castle of the ancient kings. Arthur did not think he could bear to have seen Guinevere on her knees, awaiting execution.

They had attempted to retake the castle and rescue his father from the dungeons, but Morgause’s immortal army, fuelled by the magical power of the Cup of Life, had been too much for them and they were quickly over-powered. Lancelot, with Merlin, had been unable to get to the Cup of Life to overturn it, to dispel the enchantment maintaining the immortality of the soldiers and were taken, roughly, and brought out with the rest of them.

“Did you really think, Arthur, that you stood a chance against us?” Morgana said with a sneer. She gave a derisive laugh. “You are more foolish than I ever gave you credit for.”

Morgana’s words barely registered. Arthur was still reeling from the revelation that Morgana, whom he had known most of his life, was actually his half-sister. And this fact paled by comparison with the discovery that Morgana seemed to have magic and somehow had been swept up into some kind of evil collusion with Morgause, the sinister sorceress.

Arthur stared ahead in steady resolve. He would not let Morgana get to him. Not now. Not just before his impending death. It was bad enough that his heart was heavy with the knowledge of his failure. He had failed them. All of them. His father, his knights, Gwen, Gaius, the citizens of Camelot, and Merlin. Especially Merlin who had believed in him more than anyone should. Believed that he would become a great king, perhaps the greatest king of all.

“I’m sorry Merlin,” he said to his manservant, his friend, who was on his knees next to him.

From the corner of his eye - because he had to maintain his stare ahead or risk losing it - Arthur thought he saw Merlin raise his head and look at him. He hoped Merlin could forgive him, just as he hoped they all could forgive him for failing them. But it was important to Arthur especially that Merlin forgave him for not living up to his destiny, for taking those around him for granted, for allowing the evils of sorcery to destroy all these innocent, young lives.

For a moment, Arthur thought Merlin might say something to help ease his conscience, to make him feel at peace, before the cold, hard blades of the swords sliced across their necks. But Merlin remained uncharacteristically silent, perhaps finally at a loss to find the words to soothe his prince.

But then suddenly he heard Merlin’s voice beside him, loud and strong, uttering strange words that were drawn out and beseeching, as though he were calling out to someone or something.

“O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd’hup ‘anakes!”

There was a sudden rush in the sky. A great dark figure came towards them. It swooped down, breathing fire, carving a path of flames between the sisters and the kneeling knights.

The Great Dragon.

The Dragon’s appearance set chaos and confusion alight among the soldiers, giving Arthur enough opportunity to act. He rolled to the side, hooked his foot around the ankle of the soldier tasked to execute him, taking him to the ground, and relieved the soldier of his sword. In their own fashion, his knights did the same, taking advantage of the spreading havoc to gain an upper hand.

Arthur grabbed hold of his father’s shoulders and pulled him up from the ground. Merlin was at his side, helping him, taking over the care of the king so that Arthur could more freely wield the sword and defend them from the soldiers who had not succumbed to panic at the Dragon’s attack. He had to get his father and the rest of them out of here. He did his best to keep the living dead soldiers around him at bay, directing Merlin to urge his father, who was still weak and in shock, toward the relative safety of the woods beyond. His knights fought valiantly - Gwaine had secured two swords and looked almost as though he was having a bit of fun - and Arthur began to have a kernel of hope that they would survive this to fight another day.

But that hope quickly dimmed when an ominous-looking solider wielding a brilliantly-bladed sword came at him full force, intent on destroying him. Arthur blocked the attack with the sword in his hand but the soldier, fuelled by the power of his invincibility, struck hard and strong, forcing Arthur back. He lost his footing and struggled to maintain his stance, using all his strength to push back against the soldier’s onslaught. Though his will was strong, his might was no match for the soldier who seemed to gather more and more strength from the brilliant bladed sword. Arthur was forced to one knee and the sword was knocked from his hand, away from his reach.

This was it. Time to die.

The soldier took aim and thrust the sword at his chest. Arthur waited for the searing pain but felt nothing. Only then did he realize that Merlin had somehow inserted himself between Arthur and the soldier, acting as a human shield, catching the brilliant blade in his side. Arthur watched with utter horror as the soldier pulled back the blade, its tip full of blood, then geared up for a second attempt at Arthur.

To his surprise, he saw Merlin lift and reach out his hand, exerting a force with just a movement, a force so powerful that it knocked the soldier back several yards. Merlin collapsed then, falling back onto Arthur.

Lancelot must have seen what had happened and rushed toward them.

“The sword, Lancelot,” Merlin mumbled, his breathing laboured.

Lancelot apparently understood Merlin because he snatched up the brilliantly bladed sword that had pierced Merlin and swung it at the nearest soldier. Arthur watched as the soldier exploded with a poof and crumbled to dust right before his eyes.

Lancelot continued to wield the “magic” sword, striking at soldiers in their path, as Gwaine and Leon helped Arthur move a wounded Merlin and his battle-shocked father to safety. Once in the woods and on horseback, they traced the path back to the ancient kings’ castle (Gwaine insisted on carrying Merlin on his horse) where Gaius could (hopefully) tend to Merlin. Arthur refused to think about it, instead focusing on the revelations that had unexpectedly presented themselves.

Merlin had summoned the Dragon.

Arthur had not defeated the Great Dragon.

The Dragon obeyed Merlin’s commands.

Merlin was a dragon lord?

Merlin had used magic to immobilize the soldier.

That magic had been very powerful.

Merlin knew the brilliantly bladed sword could destroy the immortal soldiers.

Where had the sword come from?

Lancelot had not been surprised by Merlin’s use of magic.

Lancelot knew Merlin was a sorcerer.

Arthur glanced quickly back at the group of knights, ragged, worn, and worried. Had any of the others known? Leon? Gwaine?

Merlin had saved their lives by calling the Dragon. Had he not, they would surely have been executed.

Merlin had risked his life to rescue Arthur’s father - a man who hated magic and sorcerers.

Merlin had sacrificed himself for Arthur, putting himself in harm’s way, taking the blow that had been meant for Arthur.

Gwen and Gaius came out to meet them when they arrived back at the castle fortress.

“What happened?” Gaius asked, his expression turning to concern when he saw Merlin on horseback slumped behind Gwaine.

Arthur quickly dismounted. “Merlin is injured,” he told the old physician. “Took a blade to his side.” Gaius cast him a worried glance and Arthur suddenly felt guilty. Merlin was like a son to Gaius. And Arthur had failed to keep that son safe.

Lancelot helped Gwaine ease Merlin carefully from the horse and, together, they carried him into the castle. Gaius followed behind, muttering about herbs and medicines that might be useful to stop the bleeding. Gwen locked eyes with Arthur, her expression full of concern, before turning and ducking into the castle to help Gaius tend to Merlin.

His father touched and squeezed his shoulder as he made his way into the old castle, saying “I owe you my life, son. Thank you.”

Arthur said nothing but went about securing his horse as Leon and Elyan did the same with their own and Lancelot’s. Arthur then moved to Gwaine’s horse to secure it. He kept his eyes on the horse’s mane and reins, pretending not to notice the red smear of blood on the brown saddle.

It was not he whom his father owed his life.

Leon and Elyan each put a hand to his shoulder in support as they passed by going into the castle. Arthur stayed outside for a bit with the horses, needing some time alone to help settle his mind. When he did finally go inside, he avoided the others, seeking solitude in an empty chamber.

He needed to think and did not believe he could do that properly watching Gaius hovering over a dying Merlin, doing all he could to bring him back to life.

Morgana was right. He had been a fool. Those around him, whom he had trusted, had kept secrets from him, had lied to him. His father had taken in Morgana as his ward, knowing all along that she was his daughter. Morgana, who had always been like a sister to him, had conspired with Morgause to take over Camelot and to destroy him. And Merlin - his faithful servant and friend - had magic but had never bothered to tell Arthur that he was a sorcerer. Lancelot had known. So had Gaius, obviously. Merlin had trusted them with his secret. Maybe he had trusted Gwaine with it too, but not Arthur. Merlin had lied about the Great Dragon. He knew how to speak to the Dragon and could summon and command it. How many other secrets had Merlin kept from him?

A half hour had passed when Gwen found him in the chamber, alone with his thoughts.

“Is it true?” she asked him. “Elyan says Merlin has magic.”

Arthur nodded. “He summoned the Great Dragon, Gwen.” He gave a short laugh. “Apparently I did not deliver it a fatal blow as Merlin claimed. It is very much alive. It responds to him, obeys him.”

Gwen put a hand on his arm, intended to soothe him.

“I watched him exert a forceful blow to a soldier,” Arthur continued. “With just a raise of his hand. It was magic. Really powerful magic. And it seemed almost effortless for him.” Arthur shook his head. “I can’t believe, Gwen, all these years...I never knew.”

They heard voices coming from the next chamber and moved in that direction.

“You say it was this sword that pierced Merlin and destroyed the immortal soldiers?” he heard Gaius asking.

Lancelot was nodding. “Merlin said it was forged in a dragon’s breath.”

“Where did it come from?”

Lancelot shrugged then looked toward Arthur as he and Gwen came into view. Arthur did not have the answer. He had never seen the sword before today.

The others gathered around Gaius and Lancelot, glancing at the sword Lancelot was holding out.

“I know that sword,” his father said unexpectedly. “It is the sword I used to defeat the Black Knight.” Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Merlin said he had had it made special for Arthur.”

Now Arthur raised an eyebrow. This was the first he had heard about Merlin having a sword made for him. Another secret, he supposed.

“Yes,” Gwen now spoke up. “I remember. Merlin had come to me at that time and asked for the strongest sword my father had ever made. I recognize the hilt now but the blade is far more brilliant than I remember.”

“From the fire of Dragon’s breath, I imagine,” Gaius said wisely. “Which means this sword has magical properties and explains why it is able to destroy the living dead.” He glanced at Merlin who was on the ground, resting. “I suspect it may also be the reason Merlin is still alive, though just barely.”

“The Cup of Life,” Leon said suddenly and they all looked at him. “It brought me back from the brink of death when I drank from it,” he explained. “Perhaps it could do the same for Merlin.”

“We should go back then and get the cup,” said Gwaine decisively, already getting prepared to head out.

“The Cup is dangerous,” the king asserted. “It needs to be destroyed.”

“Not before Merlin drinks from it,” Gwaine countered stubbornly. He looked toward Arthur for support.

“My father’s right,” Arthur said, ignoring Gwaine’s hard stare. “The Cup needs to be destroyed. Or at least overturned to break the immortality enchantment. That’s our first task. We won’t have any hope of getting the Cup to save Merlin unless we destroy Morgause’s army.” He still could not bring himself to say Morgana’s name in conjunction with Morgause. Arthur looked at Lancelot. “We’ll need to use that sword to get to the cup.”

“Let’s go then!” Gwaine said urgently.

Arthur could appreciate Gwaine’s urgency but none of them were in any shape to head out again just yet. “We need to rest for a bit,” he told the group, “and plan a strategy. It’s the only way we’ll have a chance of success.” Without meaning to, he looked toward Merlin’s form on the ground and added silently, It’s the only way we’ll save Merlin.

Arthur discussed with the five knights a strategy aimed at making their way into the castle once again, finding and securing the Cup. His father, slowly coming to his senses and becoming more and more himself, listened but offered no advice, allowing Arthur to take charge of his men. Gaius, with Gwen’s help, continued to administer to Merlin, who lapped in and out of consciousness, seeming to be getting no better but also no worse.

“Now we rest,” Arthur told them. “Two hours at most. Then we’ll ride out.”

Still anxious to get moving, Gwaine forced himself to drop to the ground, resting his back against the stone wall. “Hope that Dragon made some of our work easy,” he commented, closing his eyes, his hand on the hilt of the sword beside him.

Lancelot, Leon, Elyan and Percival all took up spots near Gwaine. When all was said and done, Arthur could say with certainty that these five men were the strongest and bravest he had ever known.

His father also took up station with the knights, surprising Arthur, who had wondered about the state of his emotional health. This could not be easy for Uther Pendragon. He had been betrayed by someone he had loved and had doted on, a daughter he had never claimed as his but had loved as one all the same. And now Morgana threatened to take away his kingdom and to destroy the king - her father - and his rightful heir - Arthur. Uther Pendragon had faced and beaten many foes in his time, but Arthur understood that this was one foe he might not be able to bear to beat.

Arthur looked for a resting spot a slight distance away from the others, needing solitude once again. He settled in a dark hallway only a few yards from where Gaius tended to Merlin but, shrouded by the darkness, Arthur felt certain the old physician would remain unaware of his  proximity. Arthur closed his eyes and listened.

At first, all he could hear was the faint sound of Gaius’ ministering. Then, after a short while, mumbled sounds floated down the hall, followed by Gaius’ soft admonition, “Shh, Merlin, be quiet. Talking takes up too much energy.”

Merlin uttered what sounded like a protest and Arthur found himself straining to hear Merlin’s voice - just a snippet even - so he could pretend Merlin was nattering as usual and everything was all right.

“I didn’t want him to find out this way,” he heard Merlin say to Gaius. “I had no choice, Gaius. I could not let him die.”

“Shh, Merlin, shh,” Gaius was saying.

“If I die, Gaius, I need to know Arthur will be safe. Don’t let him risk his life for me. He cannot die, Gaius, he cannot die...”

“Shh, now. Rest, boy.”

Arthur dropped his head to his knee, despairing. He thought about Merlin - always at his side, never wavering, following loyally and often blindly, sometimes grumbling and complaining but there. Always there.

Arthur had been a fool. And not because it had somehow escaped him that his manservant had magic. But because he had taken for granted and had overlooked so very often the one person he trusted unconditionally, despite the secrets, the one who would give his own  life for him without a moment’s hesitation, the one Arthur now understood had made his life truly complete.

Merlin was the best of them and Arthur had never even once acknowledged how much he owed the boy. And now Merlin could very well die and never know how much his friendship and loyalty and sacrifice meant to Arthur.

Arthur hung his head and let the tears fall freely under the cover of darkness. He told himself it was exhaustion finally getting the better of him because royal princes and warrior knights did not cry, especially in despair over their manservants.

It was just shy of two hours later when Gwaine awoke him. Arthur was bleary-eyed and disoriented but managed to shake it off quickly.

They were all ready - including Gwen, Gaius and even Merlin who was looking like death but was up on his feet, being supported by Gwaine and Lancelot.

“Wait a minute--” Arthur began to protest, looking from Gwen to Gaius to Merlin.

“I’m coming with you,” Merlin stated, his voice an octave above a whisper. “I can help. My magic,” he corrected, “can help.”

Arthur looked at Gwaine and Lancelot.

“I have seen Merlin do the most amazing things,” said Lancelot in support. “We could use his help.”

“And he could always speak Dragon to even out the odds,” Gwaine added.

Arthur considered for a moment then had to concede that, if they were to have any chance at success, they needed Merlin. He needed Merlin - as he had always had.

“I will attend to Merlin as needed, sire,” said Gaius and Arthur could tell by the firm set of the old man’s face that he would not be swayed otherwise. That left only Gwen to try to talk some sense to.

“We are all going, Arthur Pendragon,” Gwen told him resolutely, “so there is no use arguing about it.”

Arthur was clearly outnumbered. “Well, then, I guess we are all off to Camelot,” he said. “I’ll take Gwen and Merlin can ride with Gwaine. That should leave a horse for Gaius. Lancelot, you’ve got the sword?”

Lancelot gave the sword over to Arthur, bowing his head slightly, and said, “It is your sword, my lord. You must be the one to wield it.”

Arthur took the sword somewhat hesitantly, gripping it for the first time. It certainly felt right in his hand, as though it had been truly made for him. It was definitely a formidable weapon. It had the power to destroy the Black Knight and to turn immortal soldiers to dust. But its brilliant blade was also responsible for the wound in Merlin’s side though, as Gaius claimed, its magical origin may also be what was keeping the young warlock alive. Certainly a strike to the abdomen with such a blade would have been fatal to anyone else, anyone not endowed with magic himself.

He gave Lancelot the sword he had picked up in exchange for the “magic” one, noticing the smile spreading across Merlin’s death-pale face. Merlin was happy that he had taken the sword. And this gave Arthur strength to face the daunting task ahead of them.

Get the Cup. Destroy the Immortal Army. Save Merlin.

Nothing could be more simple.

**

It turned out the Dragon had made some of their work a little easier. The Great Dragon was no longer present, but it had left a fiery trail about the castle which, no doubt, had required Morgause to regroup and redeploy her immortal army. This made it easier to get into the castle but Arthur and his group of knights now faced the prospect of meeting up with more of the undead soldiers on route to the Cup.

They had changed their strategy somewhat now that Merlin and the others were with them. Using the magic sword, Arthur, flanked by Lancelot and Gwaine, would carve a path to the room where the Cup was located. Leon, Percival, Elyan and his father were to fight their way in like fashion, with the help of Merlin and whatever magic he had the strength to conjure up. Gwen and Gaius were to remain in the periphery, Gwen accompanying Arthur’s group and Gaius accompanying Merlin in the event that Merlin needed assistance.

It was far from a brilliant plan but it was the only plan that they had that garnered some chance of success.

They encountered soldiers shortly upon entering the castle. Arthur swung the magic sword and marvelled at how its power was able to turn soldiers into dust. Lancelot and Gwaine did their best to fend off the immortal attackers, setting them up for Arthur’s fatal blow. Behind them, his father and the knights clashed swords with the living dead while Merlin cast spells to help even the odds. All told, it was going better than Arthur had expected which, of course, made him uneasy.

As expected, there was a bevy of soldiers guarding the chamber housing the Cup. Arthur continued on, his focus on destroying the guards and breaching the chamber. Lancelot and Gwaine stayed close - almost too close - making Arthur suspect they were shielding him.

“Spread out,” he commanded. “I’ve got the sword. I can handle this.”

“It is our duty to protect you,” Lancelot responded back, blocking a strike with his sword.

“Now is not the time for worrying about the duty of a knight,” Arthur told him, swinging the brilliantly bladed sword at two soldiers. “We need to get the Cup!”

“You misunderstand, Arthur,” Gwaine interjected, forcing back a soldier with a well-placed boot to the abdomen. “This isn’t about a knight’s duty. We sore an oath to Merlin that we’d keep you safe and that is what we’re going to do.” Gwaine threw a half-grin in Arthur’s direction. “He’d never forgive us otherwise.”

They managed to destroy the guarding soldiers and entered the chamber. The Cup was there, on a pedestal, begging to be overturned.

Arthur moved toward it, sword at the ready, but was halted by the sight of Morgana and Morgause coming out from the shadows.

“Well done,” Morgana congratulated, a smirk playing at her lips. “We did not think you would make it even this far.” She glanced at the sword in Arthur’s hand. “New sword, dear brother?”

His father made a growling sound and lurched forward but Arthur put a hand to his chest to stop him.

“Such a pity,” Morgause scorned. “All this effort and no one is going home with a prize.”

Arthur had no other choice but to make a move even if it was bound to be a futile one. He gripped the sword hilt firmly and rushed forward but wasthrown back by a force expelled from Morgause’s hand. He landed, hard,on the stone floor.

Morgana laughed. “What on earth were you thinking, Arthur?” she mocked him. “This is a victory you will never have. It is time to give up.”

“You should know by now, Morgana,” Arthur replied, “that a Pendragon will never give up!” It was at this time that Merlin directed a force of magic at the sisters, startling them, and the group of knights rushed forward in an effort to create confusion. Though considerably weakened, Merlin maintained a steady onslaught of magic, which Morgause and Morgana deflected easily enough but prevented them from keeping their eyes on the Cup. Arthur shot up and charged at the Cup with his sword, succeeding in knocking it from the pedestal, spilling the blood contents.

He reached for the Cup, its magical properties now within his grasp to save Merlin. But he was once again halted by the force of Morgause’s magic.

The sisters had managed to gain the upper hand and had flung the knights, his father, Gwen and Gaius away from them with the combined force of their magic. Merlin had collapsed just a few feet in front of them, the power of his magic draining what life he still had left in him.

“Well, well,” Morgana commented snidely. “Someone has been keeping secrets.” She took a few steps toward Merlin. “It would seem, Merlin, you and I are alike.”

“I am nothing like you!” Merlin returned, his voice weak but his look fierce.

Morgana smiled unkindly. “That is very unkind of you, Merlin,” she scolded then attempted to appeal. “We could be great together. You, me, Morgause. Free from the tyranny of Uther Pendragon and his son, our magic would thrive and become legendary.”

Merlin was shaking his head and Arthur marvelled at how loyal he was, even at this moment. His father had persecuted Merlin’s kind, had executed magic-folk in great numbers, but Merlin still remained loyal to Camelot, Uther Pendragon’s kingdom, was still loyal to Arthur.

Morgana looked furious. She retook her position beside Morgause and said, “Maybe you would change your mind, Merlin, if your beloved prince was no longer able to sway you". And with that, she raised her hand and directed it at Arthur, her eyes turning gold.

Arthur waited for the blast of magic to hit him, not knowing how to protect himself. But the blast was deflected by Merlin, who seemed to gain sudden strength, most likely out of sheer will. Arthur watched asMerlin summoned all the magical energy he could and directed it at the sisters, effecting a force of magic that was more powerful than Arthur had ever seen. It was both magnificent and terrifying.

Clearly outmatched, Morgause and Morgana disappeared with some kind of trick of sorcery. Once gone, Merlin disengaged the spell and then collapsed completely.

Arthur snatched up the Cup and scrambled over to Merlin’s body. “Merlin,” he said, putting a hand on the young warlock’shead. “You did it. Now you need to drink from the Cup of Life.”

Merlin did not respond and Arthur feared his friend was already dead. He shook Merlin frantically. “Merlin,” he said urgently, trying to revive him.

Lancelot was suddenly kneeling beside him, a goblet of water in his hand. He poured some water in the Cup of Life. Gwaine was there too. He and Lancelot turned Merlin over and sat him up. Then they helped Arthur tip the contents of the Cup into Merlin’s mouth.

Some of the water trickled out and down Merlin’s chin but Arthur was careful to get as much of the liquid as he could down Merlin’s throat, praying to no one in particular that the power of the Cup would bring Merlin back from the brink of death as it had done for Sir Leon.

He waited expectantly. Nothing happened. He exchanged worried glances with Gwaine and Lancelot. Arthur was about to say something beseeching and excruciatingly sentimental when Merlin began to sputter, coughing up some of the water, but clearly coming around.

“Ugh,” Merlin spat out. “Was there still blood in that cup? Ack, tastes like rat stew.”

Arthur, Gwaine and Lancelot all laughed with relief.

Gwaine clapped Merlin on the shoulder and said, “Welcome back to the land of the living, mate.”

Lancelot smiled at Merlin and Arthur then urged Gwaine away to help tend to the others who were coming around from being knocked nearly unconscious. This left Arthur alone with Merlin.

Merlin looked at Arthur hesitantly, no doubt wondering how things would change now that his magic had been revealed. Arthur gazed back at Merlin with seriousness, resisting the sudden urge to pull Merlin into a hug because, of course, royal princes and warrior knights did not hug their manservants, even if they were really powerful sorcerers and had saved his life a time or two.

“If you think you are going to get out of doing your chores now,” Arthur said to him cheekily, “you are very sadly mistaken.”

Merlin smiled and Arthur marvelled at how bright and infectious his smile was, something he had never really noticed before.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Merlin replied, his smile spreading into a grin.

Story J (G - 3000 words)

(Now)

Arthur hovers somewhere between sleep and awareness. He’s tired, but his mind keeps generating, and summarily rejecting, various plans to retake Camelot, and it’s keeping him awake. He hears someone get up and step over to the cave entrance; knows it’s Merlin by the sound of his footfalls, quiet as they are.

Merlin. He’s been acting strange, lately (or at least, stranger than normal)… and there’s something else to occupy his thoughts. Indeed, he must fall asleep thinking about his friend, because the next thing Arthur knows, someone’s shaking him awake.

His hand goes immediately to the sword at his side even though his mind has already identified the person.

“Merlin.”

Who else?

As sleep slips away Arthur notices that his manservant looks… different. Nervous. Dread pools in his stomach.

“What is it?”

To Arthur’s utter shock, Merlin’s eyes flare a brilliant gold.

“Arthur,” he says, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

(Before)

Merlin’s eyes feel gritty and sore. He rubs them tiredly. He can’t remember the last time he slept. It’s nighttime now, so to all rights he should be sleeping - like everybody else in this cold, cramped cave - but there’s no time to rest. No time to close his eyes and dream of a warm bed and hot food and-

Focus.

He needs to focus. The Fisher King’s vial is pleasantly cool against his slightly fevered skin. It’s been a long few days and he’ll be the first to admit that he’d no knight - his strength is beginning to wane. There’s nothing to be done about it, though. He’ll get some rest when he’s  done with this bloody vial. Honestly, would it have killed the Fisher King to give more specific instructions?

Merlin narrows his eyes and mutters another spell.

The vial remains obstinately unresponsive, glinting smugly at him in the meager candlelight.

“Goddammit,” Merlin growls. He’s not usually one for cursing (his mother raised him right, thank you), but he’s tired. Tired and scared - because he knows that despite Arthur’s pretty speech it’s going to take a lot more than a few brawny men, an old physician, a blacksmith’s daughter, and a scrawny warlock-in-hiding to retake Camelot, no matter how big their hearts are. No matter how big their destiny. He needs the vial to give up its secrets, but every attempt he makes saps a little of his magic and there’s a fine line between spending energy on the artifact while keeping enough in reserve for… whatever it is that the future may hold.

He’s wandering again.

Focus.

Merlin glances around quickly but the cave, their temporary refuge from Morgause’s army, is still. Silent, save for a chorus of soft (or not so soft, in some cases) snoring and the faint sound of tonight’s sentry - Gwaine, he thinks - changing positions. Satisfied that no one’s watching, he hunches a little closer over the Vial, ignoring the resulting ache in his back. He murmurs another spell, louder; waves his hand a little, and-

“Merlin?”

Merlin yelps. He straightens upright quickly - too quickly - and the vial tumbles from his grip.

Nonononono-

He makes a grab for it but fatigue has dulled his reflexes and - oh, gods -the vial shatters on the stone floor. The sound is unnaturally loud. It rings in Merlin’s ears, thrumming on and on and on and-

The last thing he hears is Arthur calling his name, his voice high with concern and alarm.

Then, mercifully, he hears nothing.

It’s cold.

That’s the first thing Merlin registers when awareness returns. He sits up, slowly, because his head feels like it’s about to explode - a quick prod reveals a sizeable knot - and looks around. He’s still in the cave.

The cave is empty.

There are no slumbering bodies. No candles. No campfire. No-

“Arthur? Gaius?” Panicking, Merlin scrambles outside, headache forgotten, and stops dead. His eyes widen.

The sky is orange. Not glowing pre-dawn orange. Not golden sunset orange. Perilous Lands orange. Wasteland orange. Suddenly, Merlin’s senses come online. He notices that the trees around him are fire-blackened. The smell of smoke is thick on the air, which is cold and dry on his skin. Everything is silent. Merlin suppresses another shiver. Something’s wrong.

He’s not in the same cave he fell asleep in.

And there’s something else - a thrumming under his skin, heavy and rhythmic. His feet move, drawing him out and into the forest, and the thrum - the thrum of magic, he realizes suddenly - gets stronger. A final step brings him into a clearing and Merlin groans with relief - because there’s someone else here! He’s not alone after all.

A thin, rugged man stands in the middle of a perfectly circular patch of cleared ground. Everything about him is dirty and soot stained - his hair, his skin, his ragged clothing. He turns at Merlin’s groan.

They both freeze.

Merlin’s eyes widen, and he suddenly realizes that the question he needs answered is not where he is, but rather when.

Because the man in the clearing is him.

His future self gets over the shock fast, but then he has the look of a man who has seen too much to be surprised at many things anymore.

He mutters something that sounds like “Stars and stones, it actually worked! That was fast!” Then his eyes narrow and something in his face hardens. He turns back to an object in his hands and even at this distance Merlin - present Merlin, that is - easily recognizes the Fisher King’s vial. Future Merlin shouts a word, and suddenly the thrumming reaches an overwhelming crescendo.

“This is the future.”

The words are out of Merlin’s mouth even before he opens his eyes. He sits up, head spinning with confusion and vertigo. He’s getting sick of falling unconscious.

“This is your future,” someone corrects. Merlin turns and no, it’s not just a bad dream, because his future self is right there, looking every bit as gaunt and haggard and ill as Merlin feels now. In the future. Gods.

“Don’t think about it,” his future advises him, a wry smirk on his face. “You’ll go mad. Or - we will, if you prefer.”

“How did I get here?”

In answer, the future him holds up the vial. It glimmers blue in the afternoon light, and the two of them (the two of him. Don’t think about it. Gods, don’t think about it) look at it in contemplative silence.

“I need to go back soon; give it to the Fisher King so he can pass it on to you.”

Both of their faces screw up simultaneously.

“Don’t think about it,” they say together, grinning. Merlin finally sees a glimmer of himself in that face, and the hysterical panic that’s been there since he woke up fades a little.

“How far?” Merlin asks quietly, after a moment. He’s almost afraid to hear the answer. “How far am I?”

The smile disappears from his companion’s face, rendering it unrecognizable once more.

“Six years.”

Merlin swallows. “Why am I here?”

“Six years,” his double repeats. “Six years since the king reclaimed Camelot. Five since he declared a new war on magic. Three since he killed Morgana and Morgause, and all their followers. Two and a half since he slew the last dragon. One year since Mordred.” He swallows. The next sentence comes out choked. “A week since Gaius…”

Merlin hears the rushing in his ears again. He bows his head to his knees quickly until it passes.

“Stars and stones,” his companion snorts, pressing a skin of water into his hands. “Was I really that delicate?”

“Shut up,” Merlin mutters reflexively while thinking distractedly, ‘Stars and stones? When did I start saying that?’

Future him sits down with a heavy sigh, and Merlin is struck again by how weary he looks. This is him only six years from now (from then), and he can’t help but think that the face across from him bears too many unfamiliar wrinkles. They’re not laugh lines.

Merlin knows he should probably ask some important questions; questions that will probably explain those furrows on that brow. The most urgent of these is ‘Where’s Arthur?’ followed closely by, ‘Does he know, yet?’…But his mind is still reeling at the ‘six years’ part and all that followed, so instead he asks:

“The- the king? Uther did all of that? He killed Morgana?”

“Not Uther,” future Merlin says grimly. “Arthur.”

During the next few hours Merlin learns more about the future than he ever wanted to. Arthur retook Camelot from the immortal army, with Merlin’s covert help.

That’s where the good news ends.

According to Merlin’s future self, Uther never recovered from Morgana’s betrayal. Arthur was crowned, but he never forgot the betrayal and loss that magic wrought on him - he became the new champion for the fight against the arcane. He became an even greater tyrant than Uther had ever been.

“No! Arthur would never do that!” Merlin stammers desperately. “Y-You’re lying!” Except he knows he isn’t. He knows his own tells.

“Stars and stones, it’s like I’m talking to a wall!” his own face snarls back, twisted with frustration. “Don’t you get it? Arthur sees magic as the cause of every misfortune in his life! He has destroyed everything! Everything!” future Merlin repeats, his voice breaking with grief.

“But-“

“Don’t you see? This is why I brought you here - to see how things will be when Arthur takes the throne.” His future self whirls; grips Merlin’s shoulders tightly. His eyes are wild. “You must change things! Do not spill the Cup!”

“What are you saying?” Merlin says, stunned.

“Do not spill the Cup of Immortal Life. Do not let Arthur retake Camelot, or this-” he gestures to the orange sky and the blackened trees -“this is what awaits you. When you get back to your time… you need to leave him.”

“No!” Merlin exclaims, horrified. “I can’t just… leave him to fight on his own! Morgause’s army is immortal! He’ll die!”

“Good!” the other Merlin roars. “Let him die! Let him die by someone else’s hand if you can’t do it yourself. Gods know I couldn’t,” he adds in a broken whisper.

“How can you say that?” Merlin mumbles, still disbelieving. “This is… this is Arthur. He-”

“-Is not the man you think he is! You think he cares about his kingdom? About his people? Gwaine, Lancelot, Leon, Gaius…“ Merlin flinches at each name. “I tried to save them; tried everything I could think of. I even told him about my magic, but it only made things worse. All he seesnow is betrayal and enemies, and now I… I am the last.”

Future Merlin’s eyes are swirling with gold, his face a twisted mask of bitter rage and fear. Is this what he looks like? Is this who he will be in six years? Merlin steps back, suddenly afraid.

Something must show on his face. The man across the clearing throws him a look of disgust. “Die here, then,” he spits out. “The king is coming, His army will be here tomorrow to kill me. Us. You can’t help Arthur reclaim Camelot in the past if you die in the future. Now if you’ll excuse me… I need to finish my preparations.” He snatches up the vial and begins to chant.

“No, wait!” Merlin cries as the thrumming swells again. But the other warlock is beyond talking to him now, and Merlin barely has enough time to think “Not again!” before he crashes to the ground.

This time, Merlin wakes to the sound of shouting and hoarse cries somewhere nearby. The events of the previous night come back to him in a rush of disconnected thoughts.

The king is coming. His army will be here tomorrow to kill me.

Merlin lurches to his feet, barely managing to keep the meager contents of his stomach in place as the forest whirls around him. He waits until he’s only seeing double, then staggers up the path towards wherever the future Merlin is battling the future Arthur. The possible future Arthur, he reminds himself. The future is not set. He has to believe that.

The sound of fighting becomes suddenly loud and all at once Merlin pushes out of the forest. The landscape is desolate and scarred, but he sees only one thing.

Arthur is unrecognizable.

He looks older. He’s wearing heavy armour but is helmless. Merlin can see the creases on his face - creases that fold his features into the expression of anger and bloodlust and righteous fury it’s currently set in. Everything about him seems bloodstained - even Excalibur, which Merlin instantly recognizes in Arthur’s raised right hand.

Future Merlin’s right hand is also raised. A glowing ball of something that looks like fire, but probably isn’t, is cupped in his palm. It stays there.“Gods…Arthur… I can’t…”

“Then you’re a coward.”

Merlin arrives just in time to see Arthur skewer him. (Future him. Not… him. Oh, gods. Not him.)

Merlin’s world collapses.

He lets out a choked cry, and Arthur turns to him. His eyes are cold and hard.

“More magic,” he growls. He hefts Excalibur anew, and Merlin pales because - oh, gods - he knows that expression on Arthur’s face and if he wants to live he has to run. Now.

Merlin crashes back into the forest, thoughts a panicked blur.

“Run all you want, Merlin,” Arthur roars after him, “You know how much I love a good hunt.”

Back. He has to get back to his own time.

But the vial is gone.

He can hear Arthur barreling through the forest behind him.

The vial. The Fisher King’s vial contains the waters of Avalon. Avalon.

He has to get to the lake.

Arthur draws closer.

Somehow, he makes it to the lake. He tumbles into the water, distantly registering Arthur’s appearance at the edge of the clearing.

“Where do you think you’re going, Merlin?” Arthur shouts. “There is nowhere left to run!”

Maybe there’s no where, Merlin thinks as he ducks below the surface, but there’s a when. He hopes. Gods, he has no idea what he’s supposed to do next. Below the water everything is muted, save for the rapid, too-loud pounding of his heart in his ears.

Arthur wades into the water, fast approaching Merlin’s location.

Take me home, Merlin begs silently. He doesn’t want to die in the future. Actually, he just doesn’t want to die, period. Please, gods, take me back!

Arthur spots him. His distorted image grows clearer as he draws closer.

Merlin’s lungs are bursting with the need for air, but finally something’s happening. The thrumming has started. He just needs a little more time… He forces his limbs to move; lets himself drift deeper into the lake.

It’s no use. Arthur tracks the ripples in the water, following him out.

The magic begins to swell.

Breathe! Gods, he needs to breathe!

Arthur reaches him. Excalibur gleams as he positions it overhead.

You can’t help Arthur reclaim Camelot in the past if you die in the future

Merlin’s air runs out. He shouts, panicking; chokes on water.

Excalibur spears downwards.

The thrumming reaches its peak.

Merlin’s eyes flare open. He chokes and chokes and chokes and-

Someone thumps him solidly on the back. The hand is warm and familiar through the thin material of his sleep clothes.

“Get Gaius,” he hears Arthur say to someone. Arthur.

“Merlin? What’s wrong, my lad?” Other familiar faces swim into view, alive and well. Gaius. Gwaine. Elyan. He allows his gaze to settle on each of them in turn, letting the sight ground him more firmly in the present. The buzz of voices in his ears is soothing compared to the frightening underwater silence of seconds earlier.

“-just collapsed and started choking!” Arthur’s saying worriedly.

“Arthur,” Merlin croaks.

The face in front of him comes into focus and Merlin all but cries with relief. Because this is Arthur. His Arthur, whose features are pinched with concern, not anger.

“I know I call you a girl all the time, Merlin, but this is extreme even for you.”

That summons a smile, and suddenly it’s easy to struggle upright, batting the helping hands away.

“It was just a dream,” he says. “Stars and stones, it was just a bad dream.”

Eventually the furor dies down. Everyone goes back to sleep. Everyone except Merlin. He blinks at the rocky ceiling, still a little nauseous, still tired to the bone, and still unable to find rest.

Let him die by someone else’s hand if you can’t do it yourself!

However much he’d like to believe otherwise, he knows the trip to the future was real. He knows his future self was telling the truth.

When you get back to your time… you need to leave him.

Merlin rises silently. He pads over to the cave opening and, in a moment of weakness, looks back over his slumbering friends; one in particular. He doesn’t know how long he spends turning the problem over in his mind, frozen in the cave entrance. In the end there is only one thing to do.

He won’t leave.

He can’t betray Arthur like that, even knowing… even knowing how things could turn out.

Arthur sees magic as the cause of every misfortune in his life!

And yet, for all his bitter words, future Merlin wouldn’t have pulled him through time if he hadn’t believed, deep down, that something could be changed.

He can alter the future in other ways. He believes that. He must.

Turning, Merlin picks his way over to Arthur’s bedroll. He places a cold, slightly trembling hand on the prince’s shoulder and shakes gently. Arthur wakes instantly, hand instinctively going to the sword at his side.

“M’rlin?” he mumbles blearily. “ ‘s it?”

Merlin lets his eyes turn golden.

“Arthur. There’s something I have to tell you.”

(Later)

Merlin stands at the edge of a familiar forest, surveying the plain beyond with a strange mixture of dread and relief.

It’s been six years.

Six years since he took Arthur to the lake on dragonback. That was the night that Freya had given Merlin Excalibur, and that Merlin, pushing past the fear from the last time he’d seen that mighty weapon, had passed it to Arthur. It’s been six years to the day since the two of them sat in a quiet, moonlit clearing and talked about magic.

Five years have passed since Arthur claimed the throne and repealed the ban on magic; three since Morgana made her peace with them. Two and half years since he’d last seen the great dragon; one since he’d heard word of Mordred. A week ago Gaius passed, peacefully, in his sleep.

Arthur steps up next to him, Excalibur sheathed at his side.

“Six years,” he grins exuberantly. His voice is knowing, because the night Merlin decided there would be no more secrets between them, he’d meant it. “We made it.”

Merlin smiles back, relieved, because even after all this time he’d never been entirely sure… But the sky is startlingly blue overhead, the forest behind a deep, healthy green, and the plain before them beautiful and golden.

“We did, too,” he agrees. “Stars and stones.”

Story K (PG - 506 words)

Arthur was breathing fast, his sword moving like lightening, slashing at the tendrils of flora that were attempting to drag him and his men down. It was a losing battle, a fact he’d never admit or let on, but it was; how could you defeat the very earth ?He looked around trying to judge how the others were fairing.

Lance and Leon were hacking away at a large root and its smaller offshoots as they tried to grab at their legs and arms, between them they were keeping each other relatively free, but not much else. To his left Gwaine and Elyan were holding off a virtual cascade of vines coming from above and below, Percival managing to keep his powerful body free with strength as much as weaponry, somehow striking at his own attackers as well as breaking away to slice at those coming towards Arthur and the others, but Arthur knew his strength wouldn’t hold out, none of them would. And Merlin, he knew Merlin could defend himself, he knew it. If only the idiot would do it instead of pretending.

Arthur could hear the foreign words spoken quietly, in a voice he knew like his own, its timbre laced with anxiety and fear. He fought to see Merlin to make sure he was protecting himself and not doing something stupid like trying to protect everyone else, he suspected it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done that.

Mere paces behind Arthur, Merlin struggled against the wild spouts of an oak tree, lashing out and whipping his skin while its roots curled up his leg and around his waist. "Géancyrr næssa,” he whispered, eyes glowing that otherworldly gold. He had to get free to help the others, but every timehe banished the plants creeping and constricting him more would take their place. He wracked his mind trying to come up with a spell powerful enough to free himself and his friends. He saw a vine entangle Arthur’s sword arm, without thinking he cried out to him eyes flashing as wordless power seeped from him into the air and earth.

Arthur stared at his manservant as the branches, leaves, roots, and vines slowly edged away retreating back to the earth where they belonged, releasing them from their deadly grasp.

Terrified eyes, still swirled with trails of golden magic, met the Prince’s. “I’m sorry,” he forced out breathlessly.

Everyone else was forgotten in that moment, it was only the two of them.

“Arthur?” Merlin knew he should run, but these were his friends, and whatever fear he felt he couldn’t believe they would turn against him.

In two long strides Arthur reached him, expression unreadable, he grabbed the young man and shook him hard, then pulled him to him. “Finally,” he whispered to Merlin’s ear.

“Arthur?” Merlin repeated, a different kind of hesitation in his voice.

“You’re an idiot.”

There was a collective sigh from his knights and Arthur turned to them, arm still slung around Merlin’s neck, “Alright Gwaine, who won the pool?”