Ghosts of Gorlois - 1/3
Cardiff Castle
Samhain/All Hallows Eve
The Present
“All shall bow before the true ruler of Albion, and know that the hour of Gorlois is at hand!” the sorceress called out, her eyes blazing gold fire as she held aloft the jewel encrusted staff of her ancestress. Winds blew from behind her, blowing the artifacts adorning the great hall aside, and her ghostly army marched forward.
“You have no right to the throne of Albion, nor the right to destroy that child you've possessed for your petty vengeance,” Cassandra shouted back, raising her arms to shield her friends.
The sorceress’s eyes narrowed and her face contorted into a sneer of disdain. “And who are you witch, to dare oppose me?” she asked, conjuring a ball of blue fire in her hand.
“One who has seen the sun set on more kingdoms then you will ever fathom, and endured more heartache then you can ever know,” Cassandra replied trying not to flinch as blasts of blue fire began to hit her shield. Glancing to her left, she saw that Methos had returned, his Ivanhoe drawn and ready. “MacLeod?” she asked in a whisper.
“Bringing the once and present heir to put an end to this nonsense,” he answered her query before slicing through the first line of ghosts. Jack, who’s trusty Webley was having little to no affect, decided to grab a sword from one of the broken display cases and try Methos’ method. To his chagrin, his sword simply cut them in half until they reformed and resumed their attack. Methos rolled his eyes and touched their sword tips together, saying the words that he had been taught to pass on the enchantment.
“Get to it Harkness,” he said, clanging their swords together before rejoining the fray. Jack swung the sword round with a grin before stepping out from Cassandra’s shield and attacking the ghosts with gusto.
“No! No! This shouldn’t be happening,” the sorceress screeched from across the room as her army began to fall. “How can you be doing this?” she demanded, stepping off the dais and throwing another volley of fire at Cassandra, until she fell to her knees, barely keeping her shield intact.
“She isn’t the one you should be asking,” Duncan yelled back as he ran to join Jack and Methos. The three of them made quick work of the remaining ghosts until the room stood bare once more.
“And who pray tell will stop me when the spirits of a thousand warriors rise to bring my vengeance?” she retorted, raising her staff again.
“That would be me,” called a lilting Welsh voice.
~~~~~~~~
Klaloch Lodge
Olympic Peninsula, Washington State
One Week Earlier
Sunlight crept through the curtains, casting away the clouds of the crisp October morning and bathing their cabin in a warm harvest glow.
“Good morning,” Duncan whispered, leaning over to kiss his lover. Methos smiled up at him and returned the kiss.
“Is this how Highlander’s greet the morning then?” he asked as Duncan started kissing his way down his jaw.
“Mm hmm,” Duncan remarked, as he worked his way down his Methos’ chest. “Are you complaining?” he asked as his hands slid down his lean body to rest on his hip. “Because I can stop anytime you know.”
Methos growled and flipped them over so that Duncan was now pinned beneath him. Duncan stared up at him, unimpressed. He was used to the older immortal’s antics by now. They had spent much of the last decade apart, but after running into each other in Seacouver a few months back at Joe Dawson’s 60th birthday party, it had only taken a beer or two before they had eased back into their old banter and within weeks they had resumed the relationship that had at one time been merely comfort, and now seemed to be blossoming into something much more.
Joe had laughed outright when they finally admitted that they were together, telling them that after a decade and a half courtship of denial, it was about time. He had saluted them with a round at the newly reopened Joe’s, and asked them to keep in touch as they set out to spend the next several months traveling the coast, and discovering exactly where their relationship was headed. They had been as far south as Mexico and were meandering their way back towards Seacouver, when they had happened along the Olympic Peninsula, and decided to spend a few weeks exploring the forests and beaches of the region, spending their nights making love in front of the fire of their cabin overlooking the Pacific Ocean, before falling asleep listening to the waves crash on the rocks far below.
“You’ll stop will you?” Methos replied with smirk, holding Duncan’s hands over his head, feeling his breath catch as he settled himself between the highlander’s legs. “I don’t think you can Boy Scout.” Duncan grinned back at him and was about to reply when a small cough came from across the room, causing them to jump apart and reach for the swords they had each hidden under their bed.
A wraith-like projection of Cassandra stood at the end of the bed with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised at the two immortal warriors standing before her, swords drawn and chests heaving as they each stood in a battle stance, ready to take on whatever threat came their way.
“Cassandra?” Duncan asked in disbelief, dropping his katana and grabbing for the top sheet.
“Hello Duncan,” the enigmatic woman replied with a laugh. “I take it I caught you at a bad time?” Methos lowered his own sword and watched in amusement as his lover scrambled to cover himself.
“Really MacLeod,” he said with a sniff, placing his sword on the bedside table before hopping back onto the bed and leaning against the headboard, and crossed his long legs, but making no move to cover himself. “While your antiquated attempts at protecting the lady’s modesty are admirable, I would be very surprised if anything we have on display would distract her at this point.”
Cassandra gave her one time enemy and barely friend a glare before acknowledging him. “Methos,” she said giving him a curt nod.
“Cassandra,” he replied in kind. “Seeing as you must be using quite a bit of power to project yourself this distance, I’ll get right to the point. What can we do for you?” The sorceress gave him a measured look before responding.
“I had a vision,” she finally said, her green-gold eyes boring deep into his own. “About Ifan.”
Methos’ entire demeanor changed at the mention of the young man he had sworn to protect. Gone was the impish grin, and in its place, a determined scowl and calculating hazel eyes focused on the woman before him.
“Tell me everything you know,” he replied with a voice of steel.
~~~~~~~~
Torchwood Three
Cardiff, Wales
Three Days Later
Ianto Jones looked out through the conference room windows down to the ground floor if the newly rebuilt Hub. It had taken a little over a year, and had meant calling in pretty much every favor they had, but it was finally done. Roald Dahl Plass had been rebuilt, with a new spiraling sculpture of curling bronze residing across from the water tower to commemorate those that had died during the dark days of the 456. Torchwood, its presence no longer hidden from those it protected, had rebuilt for a new world that acknowledged the presence of non-terrestrial threats. Great Britain and the Earth itself were floundering for leadership amidst the aftermath of the 456, and Torchwood had stepped up to the call and reshaped itself into a beacon of hope. Part of this new public face meant that the entrance to the Hub now lay above ground, at the opposite end of the Plass from the tower and the monument. The small glass and chrome structure that simply stated the word ‘Torchwood’ on top was now open to any and all who needed their help.
Ianto had seen to it personally that Lois Habiba was released from custody, and had hired her on the spot to take over the public face of Torchwood, giving her the run of the Plass office. She had helped with designing the interior of the structure, giving it a soft homey yet office-like feel. She now had two aids under her supervision, both of whom went out of their way to make any who brought them information feel safe and secure, rather than ostracized for doing so. Sure they still got their share of crazies and crackpots, but the number of random rift related deaths had gone done substantially due to early warnings from concerned citizens. And if the people of Cardiff slept a little better knowing Torchwood was on the case, they had done their job.
During those first hazy days when Torchwood was based out of Ianto’s flat, they had established a hotline for weevil sightings, and circulated pamphlets on how to handle them, cutting down the number of weevil related deaths in the area until they were almost non-existent. They had even brought on more staff, and as Ianto looked up, he saw Doctor Lofti and their resident xenobiologist Severn in the new medical wing, preparing to dissect a pair of Roathan Dune Bugs that had been found floating in the bay. Below him, Mickey was giving their new tech an overview of the mainframe, and it made Ianto smile to see Tosh’s programs in use once more. Gwen and Andy were down in the firing range, training up the new field agents, and Emma, who had arrived on their doorstep a fortnight ago, was in the canteen, preparing refreshments for the morning briefing.
“Makes you wonder how we ever did it with only five of us, let alone three,” observed Jack, as he entered the room and stood beside him. Ianto nodded, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “You left early this morning,” Jack continued, putting his arms around Ianto’s waist. Ianto sighed and leaned back into him.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Bad dreams again?” Jack asked concerned. Ianto nodded, and Jack kissed his temple. “Anything I can do?”
Ianto didn’t answer. He’d had the same dream for the past week. A disembodied voice in the darkness calling his name, his given name, the one that only a handful of people still knew the meaning of, followed by an army of ghosts storming the Plass, a rowan wood staff, balls of fire, and a woman screaming in the background. He knew that there was meaning behind it, and the voice sounded so familiar, like a long lost memory…
“Ianto?” Jack asked again, shaking him from his reverie.
“I’ll be fine Jack,” he said with a reassuring smile. Jack stared at him unconvinced. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll have Lofti prescribe me something.” Jack seemed pacified with his answer even though Ianto knew that in order to find answers he would need to seek help from a more unorthodox source.
“Morning,” called Gwen as she entered the room and plopped herself down in the nearest chair. She rested her head on her arms, closing her eyes. “Wake me up when we get started,” she said with a yawn. “Edward kept me up ‘till two and I woke from a nightmare at four. I haven’t had a lick of sleep.” Ianto studied her for a moment, wondering if their dreams were possibly connected. Before he had a chance to contemplate it further, the rest of the team arrived, and the morning briefing began.
Later that night, while Jack was out on a weevil run with Mickey, Ianto settled down in front of his silver scrying bowl, attempting to discern what his dreams meant. Dressed in simple loose gray sweats and a white t-shirt, he poured the moon-gathered stream water into the bowl, clearing his mind. He dipped a sprig of laurel into the water, gently drawing it around the rim of the bowl until shallow ripples began to roll across it. As he watched the ripples resonate across the smooth surface his eyes grew heavy until he felt himself falling forward down, down into the water before him.
~~~~~~~~
When Ianto came to, it was dark. He was on a ledge inside a cave of some sort, deep underground. He glanced to the right and saw a large pair of luminous golden eyes watching him in the darkness. Struggling to stand, he inched himself backward until his bare feet touched the cavern wall.
“No need to be frightened,” soothed a voice to his left. Ianto turned and saw a young man about his age with dark hair holding aloft a torch. Despite his youth, Ianto knew him instantly.
“Emrys?” he asked in a whisper. Merlin’s eyes went wide at hearing his secret name being uttered by a stranger.
“How do you know that name?” Merlin asked, gripping his torch with shaking hands as he fought to keep his fear in check. Not sure where he was in his father’s timeline, Ianto looked back to the golden eyes he now recognized as belonging to The Great Dragon known as Kilgharrah, to ask for help.
“Ifan is a friend,” Kilgharrah answered, his great voice booming across the cavern. “He has come far to join us this evening young warlock. Trust in your magic Emrys. Does he feel like a threat to you?”
Merlin studied the man in front of him. Blue eyes the same shade as Arthur’s stared back at him. The hint of gold brewing in their depths felt as familiar as his own; deep and warm, the magic in this man’s blood called to his own, almost as if…
“Are we kin?” he suddenly asked, knowing somehow that it must be true. He watched as Ifan glanced to the dragon again as if unsure how to answer.
“Of a sort,” Ianto finally said with a smile. Merlin was about to ask him another question, this time about why he had the same bow-like mouth as his mother, when Kilgharrah interrupted again.
“Ifan needs your help,” he said, drawing Merlin’s attention back to the problem at hand. “He has been plagued by dreams of late, a prophecy of things to come.” He gestured to Ianto. “Go on boy, tell him what you saw and maybe the two of you can find the solution.” Ianto recounted his tale, focusing on the contents rather than the locations. When he finished Merlin began to pace across the ledge, thinking aloud as he walked.
“It sounds like one of Morgause’s tricks,” he said at length. “She has Morgana wrapped around her finger right now, willing to do her bidding, all for the honor of the House of Gorlois,” he spat in disgust.
“Has she ever used as staff like that though, tall, white, branches on top?” Ianto asked. Merlin stopped pacing and turned to stare at him.
“She used it to raise the bones of the dead,” he replied. “Morgana used them to attack Camelot from within while Cenred sacked the castle walls. I managed to break it, but if someone found another more powerful version, it could bring forth more than simple bones.” He turned to Kilgharrah for confirmation. “Could another such a staff exist?”
“There are more things in the universe then either you or I know Emrys,” the dragon replied. “Still, it does stand to reason that if one staff can be carved from the tree at the heart of Isle of the Blessed, another could be carved in a similar manner for an even darker purpose.” Ianto suddenly had a horrible thought.
“Could the staff be charged with the power of ghosts?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer. Kilgharrah pondered the question, clicking his talons on the rocks in thought before answering.
“If the staff was wielded by a master sorceress or wizard, on Samhain when the ancestors are wont to walk across the ancient places, then yes, it could be done,” he finally replied.
“But could it be stopped?” Ianto and Merlin asked at the same time, before glancing at one another and sharing a grin.
“Possibly, but the incantation would need to be strong, and must bear the strength of the wielder’s own ancestors in order to bring forth its intent,” conceded the dragon with a sparkle in his eye. Ianto looked from Kilgharrah to Merlin and back again, realizing that this must be why he was brought here in the first place.
“Will you help me?” he asked the man who would one day be his father, hoping that the innate connection between them, born from their shared magic would be enough to stop whatever was to come.
“I have a bit of parchment with me, but it would be best if we consult a few books I have in my chambers,” Merlin said with a shy grin. “If we keep to the shadows, no one should be surprised by the oddness of your attire.” Ianto took in his appearance and shrugged. Other then the bare feet, he wasn't wearing anything too outlandish for the time.
“Have him back before the third cock crows Emrys,” Kilgharrah cautioned. “He can only remain a short while without upsetting the balance of time.” Merlin promised to return Ifan and taking up his torch, lead his new friend out of the cave and back to his chamber.
The two of them worked late into the night, scouring every text in Gaius’ library, attempting to make the incantation as powerful as possible. As dawn approached, Ianto fell asleep, resting his head on his arms as Merlin finished scribbling down the final words of the spell. Gaius came in from an all night vigil, watching over one of the knights who had taken a nasty spill off of his horse, and took in the scene.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked Merlin, watching as the young man slept.
“His name’s Ifan,” Merlin answered, wondering again about the man who he had helped on instinct alone. “I’m helping him with an incantation to stop someone from destroying his home.”
Gaius’ eyes narrowed and he looked at Ifan more closely. A worry-worn silver medallion hung from his neck, bearing a symbol that he immediately recognized. Before he could comment, the man blinked and lifted his head, stretching his arms back and up and rolling his neck, before he let out a mighty yawn. Gaius blinked. It was the same routine he saw Merlin perform each morning as he sat down at the breakfast table.
“Sorry for falling asleep on you,” he apologized in a Welsh lilt that had Gaius even more confused. “Oh!” He rose and held out his hand. “I’m Ifan. And you sir, must be Gaius.”
Gaius shook his hand, giving the young man a half smile, watching as Merlin tried to bite back a grin behind them. Outside the window they heard the first cock crow of the coming dawn. Ifan and Merlin shared a look and quickly gathered up the parchment they had written and scurried to the door.
“And just where are you two off to?” Gaius asked.
“Time to get Ifan home,” Merlin replied.
Ifan nodded. “It was lovely to meet you Gaius. Go easy on him for me will you?” he asked nodding his head towards Merlin. Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, and Ianto almost laughed aloud. He had always wondered, but here was proof from his own Grand Uncle, that the eyebrow was definitely genetic. Before they could say anything further, the cock crowed again, and Merlin threw the door wide. As the two of them ran down the corridor, Gaius shouted out a warning.
“Make sure that you aren’t seen by the changing of the guard Merlin, you know that Kay has it in for you!” Twin grins turned back and smiled at him, and both men waved before turning the corner and disappearing from view. Gaius shook his head as he re-entered the chamber. It was almost like having two Merlins at once. He stopped cold, suddenly wondering if Ifan had somehow been related to his nephew. But the medallion had marked him as belonging to the House of Pendragon…
”Best to leave well enough alone,” he admonished himself. He was getting too old to disentangle magical affairs. What he needed now was a nice spot of tea and a long nap.
~~~~~~~~
Ianto emerged from the pool back in his living room, with the parchment written by his father clutched firmly in his hand. It came as no surprise for him to find Jack sprawled asleep on his couch, greatcoat still on and one boot off with the other dangling from his toes off the sidearm. Shaking off the disorientation of time travel, he closed the circle of protection he had placed around himself before using the bowl, and slowly stood up. Taking the bowl and the laurel branch outside, he gave the water back to the Earth, and planted the branch in the ground where the water had been released. After putting the bowl away in the cupboard, he slid a pillow under Jack's head and returned to the kitchen, unrolling the parchment to re-read what Merlin had written, hoping that when the time came, he was strong enough to see it through.
It was nearing six in the morning, and Ianto was suddenly thankful for the small bit of sleep he had managed while in Camelot. He smiled to himself. Merlin had not known who he was, but he had recognized his magic. No wonder Merlin had spotted him so easily when his fathers had visited last year. Kilgharrah had been another matter altogether. The Great Dragon had warned him that the enemy he faced would be strong indeed, and he could not do it alone. He sighed, knowing that there were only two people in the world besides Jack that he would want beside him. One should be easy enough to reach; that is if he wasn't on the run again. The other, well Donan Woods wasn’t exactly known for its cell service. Filling the kettle to prepare a much needed pot of coffee, he pulled out his mobile, only moderately surprised when it began to ring.
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Samhain/All Hallows Eve
The Present
“All shall bow before the true ruler of Albion, and know that the hour of Gorlois is at hand!” the sorceress called out, her eyes blazing gold fire as she held aloft the jewel encrusted staff of her ancestress. Winds blew from behind her, blowing the artifacts adorning the great hall aside, and her ghostly army marched forward.
“You have no right to the throne of Albion, nor the right to destroy that child you've possessed for your petty vengeance,” Cassandra shouted back, raising her arms to shield her friends.
The sorceress’s eyes narrowed and her face contorted into a sneer of disdain. “And who are you witch, to dare oppose me?” she asked, conjuring a ball of blue fire in her hand.
“One who has seen the sun set on more kingdoms then you will ever fathom, and endured more heartache then you can ever know,” Cassandra replied trying not to flinch as blasts of blue fire began to hit her shield. Glancing to her left, she saw that Methos had returned, his Ivanhoe drawn and ready. “MacLeod?” she asked in a whisper.
“Bringing the once and present heir to put an end to this nonsense,” he answered her query before slicing through the first line of ghosts. Jack, who’s trusty Webley was having little to no affect, decided to grab a sword from one of the broken display cases and try Methos’ method. To his chagrin, his sword simply cut them in half until they reformed and resumed their attack. Methos rolled his eyes and touched their sword tips together, saying the words that he had been taught to pass on the enchantment.
“Get to it Harkness,” he said, clanging their swords together before rejoining the fray. Jack swung the sword round with a grin before stepping out from Cassandra’s shield and attacking the ghosts with gusto.
“No! No! This shouldn’t be happening,” the sorceress screeched from across the room as her army began to fall. “How can you be doing this?” she demanded, stepping off the dais and throwing another volley of fire at Cassandra, until she fell to her knees, barely keeping her shield intact.
“She isn’t the one you should be asking,” Duncan yelled back as he ran to join Jack and Methos. The three of them made quick work of the remaining ghosts until the room stood bare once more.
“And who pray tell will stop me when the spirits of a thousand warriors rise to bring my vengeance?” she retorted, raising her staff again.
“That would be me,” called a lilting Welsh voice.
~~~~~~~~
Klaloch Lodge
Olympic Peninsula, Washington State
One Week Earlier
Sunlight crept through the curtains, casting away the clouds of the crisp October morning and bathing their cabin in a warm harvest glow.
“Good morning,” Duncan whispered, leaning over to kiss his lover. Methos smiled up at him and returned the kiss.
“Is this how Highlander’s greet the morning then?” he asked as Duncan started kissing his way down his jaw.
“Mm hmm,” Duncan remarked, as he worked his way down his Methos’ chest. “Are you complaining?” he asked as his hands slid down his lean body to rest on his hip. “Because I can stop anytime you know.”
Methos growled and flipped them over so that Duncan was now pinned beneath him. Duncan stared up at him, unimpressed. He was used to the older immortal’s antics by now. They had spent much of the last decade apart, but after running into each other in Seacouver a few months back at Joe Dawson’s 60th birthday party, it had only taken a beer or two before they had eased back into their old banter and within weeks they had resumed the relationship that had at one time been merely comfort, and now seemed to be blossoming into something much more.
Joe had laughed outright when they finally admitted that they were together, telling them that after a decade and a half courtship of denial, it was about time. He had saluted them with a round at the newly reopened Joe’s, and asked them to keep in touch as they set out to spend the next several months traveling the coast, and discovering exactly where their relationship was headed. They had been as far south as Mexico and were meandering their way back towards Seacouver, when they had happened along the Olympic Peninsula, and decided to spend a few weeks exploring the forests and beaches of the region, spending their nights making love in front of the fire of their cabin overlooking the Pacific Ocean, before falling asleep listening to the waves crash on the rocks far below.
“You’ll stop will you?” Methos replied with smirk, holding Duncan’s hands over his head, feeling his breath catch as he settled himself between the highlander’s legs. “I don’t think you can Boy Scout.” Duncan grinned back at him and was about to reply when a small cough came from across the room, causing them to jump apart and reach for the swords they had each hidden under their bed.
A wraith-like projection of Cassandra stood at the end of the bed with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised at the two immortal warriors standing before her, swords drawn and chests heaving as they each stood in a battle stance, ready to take on whatever threat came their way.
“Cassandra?” Duncan asked in disbelief, dropping his katana and grabbing for the top sheet.
“Hello Duncan,” the enigmatic woman replied with a laugh. “I take it I caught you at a bad time?” Methos lowered his own sword and watched in amusement as his lover scrambled to cover himself.
“Really MacLeod,” he said with a sniff, placing his sword on the bedside table before hopping back onto the bed and leaning against the headboard, and crossed his long legs, but making no move to cover himself. “While your antiquated attempts at protecting the lady’s modesty are admirable, I would be very surprised if anything we have on display would distract her at this point.”
Cassandra gave her one time enemy and barely friend a glare before acknowledging him. “Methos,” she said giving him a curt nod.
“Cassandra,” he replied in kind. “Seeing as you must be using quite a bit of power to project yourself this distance, I’ll get right to the point. What can we do for you?” The sorceress gave him a measured look before responding.
“I had a vision,” she finally said, her green-gold eyes boring deep into his own. “About Ifan.”
Methos’ entire demeanor changed at the mention of the young man he had sworn to protect. Gone was the impish grin, and in its place, a determined scowl and calculating hazel eyes focused on the woman before him.
“Tell me everything you know,” he replied with a voice of steel.
~~~~~~~~
Torchwood Three
Cardiff, Wales
Three Days Later
Ianto Jones looked out through the conference room windows down to the ground floor if the newly rebuilt Hub. It had taken a little over a year, and had meant calling in pretty much every favor they had, but it was finally done. Roald Dahl Plass had been rebuilt, with a new spiraling sculpture of curling bronze residing across from the water tower to commemorate those that had died during the dark days of the 456. Torchwood, its presence no longer hidden from those it protected, had rebuilt for a new world that acknowledged the presence of non-terrestrial threats. Great Britain and the Earth itself were floundering for leadership amidst the aftermath of the 456, and Torchwood had stepped up to the call and reshaped itself into a beacon of hope. Part of this new public face meant that the entrance to the Hub now lay above ground, at the opposite end of the Plass from the tower and the monument. The small glass and chrome structure that simply stated the word ‘Torchwood’ on top was now open to any and all who needed their help.
Ianto had seen to it personally that Lois Habiba was released from custody, and had hired her on the spot to take over the public face of Torchwood, giving her the run of the Plass office. She had helped with designing the interior of the structure, giving it a soft homey yet office-like feel. She now had two aids under her supervision, both of whom went out of their way to make any who brought them information feel safe and secure, rather than ostracized for doing so. Sure they still got their share of crazies and crackpots, but the number of random rift related deaths had gone done substantially due to early warnings from concerned citizens. And if the people of Cardiff slept a little better knowing Torchwood was on the case, they had done their job.
During those first hazy days when Torchwood was based out of Ianto’s flat, they had established a hotline for weevil sightings, and circulated pamphlets on how to handle them, cutting down the number of weevil related deaths in the area until they were almost non-existent. They had even brought on more staff, and as Ianto looked up, he saw Doctor Lofti and their resident xenobiologist Severn in the new medical wing, preparing to dissect a pair of Roathan Dune Bugs that had been found floating in the bay. Below him, Mickey was giving their new tech an overview of the mainframe, and it made Ianto smile to see Tosh’s programs in use once more. Gwen and Andy were down in the firing range, training up the new field agents, and Emma, who had arrived on their doorstep a fortnight ago, was in the canteen, preparing refreshments for the morning briefing.
“Makes you wonder how we ever did it with only five of us, let alone three,” observed Jack, as he entered the room and stood beside him. Ianto nodded, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “You left early this morning,” Jack continued, putting his arms around Ianto’s waist. Ianto sighed and leaned back into him.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Bad dreams again?” Jack asked concerned. Ianto nodded, and Jack kissed his temple. “Anything I can do?”
Ianto didn’t answer. He’d had the same dream for the past week. A disembodied voice in the darkness calling his name, his given name, the one that only a handful of people still knew the meaning of, followed by an army of ghosts storming the Plass, a rowan wood staff, balls of fire, and a woman screaming in the background. He knew that there was meaning behind it, and the voice sounded so familiar, like a long lost memory…
“Ianto?” Jack asked again, shaking him from his reverie.
“I’ll be fine Jack,” he said with a reassuring smile. Jack stared at him unconvinced. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll have Lofti prescribe me something.” Jack seemed pacified with his answer even though Ianto knew that in order to find answers he would need to seek help from a more unorthodox source.
“Morning,” called Gwen as she entered the room and plopped herself down in the nearest chair. She rested her head on her arms, closing her eyes. “Wake me up when we get started,” she said with a yawn. “Edward kept me up ‘till two and I woke from a nightmare at four. I haven’t had a lick of sleep.” Ianto studied her for a moment, wondering if their dreams were possibly connected. Before he had a chance to contemplate it further, the rest of the team arrived, and the morning briefing began.
Later that night, while Jack was out on a weevil run with Mickey, Ianto settled down in front of his silver scrying bowl, attempting to discern what his dreams meant. Dressed in simple loose gray sweats and a white t-shirt, he poured the moon-gathered stream water into the bowl, clearing his mind. He dipped a sprig of laurel into the water, gently drawing it around the rim of the bowl until shallow ripples began to roll across it. As he watched the ripples resonate across the smooth surface his eyes grew heavy until he felt himself falling forward down, down into the water before him.
~~~~~~~~
When Ianto came to, it was dark. He was on a ledge inside a cave of some sort, deep underground. He glanced to the right and saw a large pair of luminous golden eyes watching him in the darkness. Struggling to stand, he inched himself backward until his bare feet touched the cavern wall.
“No need to be frightened,” soothed a voice to his left. Ianto turned and saw a young man about his age with dark hair holding aloft a torch. Despite his youth, Ianto knew him instantly.
“Emrys?” he asked in a whisper. Merlin’s eyes went wide at hearing his secret name being uttered by a stranger.
“How do you know that name?” Merlin asked, gripping his torch with shaking hands as he fought to keep his fear in check. Not sure where he was in his father’s timeline, Ianto looked back to the golden eyes he now recognized as belonging to The Great Dragon known as Kilgharrah, to ask for help.
“Ifan is a friend,” Kilgharrah answered, his great voice booming across the cavern. “He has come far to join us this evening young warlock. Trust in your magic Emrys. Does he feel like a threat to you?”
Merlin studied the man in front of him. Blue eyes the same shade as Arthur’s stared back at him. The hint of gold brewing in their depths felt as familiar as his own; deep and warm, the magic in this man’s blood called to his own, almost as if…
“Are we kin?” he suddenly asked, knowing somehow that it must be true. He watched as Ifan glanced to the dragon again as if unsure how to answer.
“Of a sort,” Ianto finally said with a smile. Merlin was about to ask him another question, this time about why he had the same bow-like mouth as his mother, when Kilgharrah interrupted again.
“Ifan needs your help,” he said, drawing Merlin’s attention back to the problem at hand. “He has been plagued by dreams of late, a prophecy of things to come.” He gestured to Ianto. “Go on boy, tell him what you saw and maybe the two of you can find the solution.” Ianto recounted his tale, focusing on the contents rather than the locations. When he finished Merlin began to pace across the ledge, thinking aloud as he walked.
“It sounds like one of Morgause’s tricks,” he said at length. “She has Morgana wrapped around her finger right now, willing to do her bidding, all for the honor of the House of Gorlois,” he spat in disgust.
“Has she ever used as staff like that though, tall, white, branches on top?” Ianto asked. Merlin stopped pacing and turned to stare at him.
“She used it to raise the bones of the dead,” he replied. “Morgana used them to attack Camelot from within while Cenred sacked the castle walls. I managed to break it, but if someone found another more powerful version, it could bring forth more than simple bones.” He turned to Kilgharrah for confirmation. “Could another such a staff exist?”
“There are more things in the universe then either you or I know Emrys,” the dragon replied. “Still, it does stand to reason that if one staff can be carved from the tree at the heart of Isle of the Blessed, another could be carved in a similar manner for an even darker purpose.” Ianto suddenly had a horrible thought.
“Could the staff be charged with the power of ghosts?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer. Kilgharrah pondered the question, clicking his talons on the rocks in thought before answering.
“If the staff was wielded by a master sorceress or wizard, on Samhain when the ancestors are wont to walk across the ancient places, then yes, it could be done,” he finally replied.
“But could it be stopped?” Ianto and Merlin asked at the same time, before glancing at one another and sharing a grin.
“Possibly, but the incantation would need to be strong, and must bear the strength of the wielder’s own ancestors in order to bring forth its intent,” conceded the dragon with a sparkle in his eye. Ianto looked from Kilgharrah to Merlin and back again, realizing that this must be why he was brought here in the first place.
“Will you help me?” he asked the man who would one day be his father, hoping that the innate connection between them, born from their shared magic would be enough to stop whatever was to come.
“I have a bit of parchment with me, but it would be best if we consult a few books I have in my chambers,” Merlin said with a shy grin. “If we keep to the shadows, no one should be surprised by the oddness of your attire.” Ianto took in his appearance and shrugged. Other then the bare feet, he wasn't wearing anything too outlandish for the time.
“Have him back before the third cock crows Emrys,” Kilgharrah cautioned. “He can only remain a short while without upsetting the balance of time.” Merlin promised to return Ifan and taking up his torch, lead his new friend out of the cave and back to his chamber.
The two of them worked late into the night, scouring every text in Gaius’ library, attempting to make the incantation as powerful as possible. As dawn approached, Ianto fell asleep, resting his head on his arms as Merlin finished scribbling down the final words of the spell. Gaius came in from an all night vigil, watching over one of the knights who had taken a nasty spill off of his horse, and took in the scene.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked Merlin, watching as the young man slept.
“His name’s Ifan,” Merlin answered, wondering again about the man who he had helped on instinct alone. “I’m helping him with an incantation to stop someone from destroying his home.”
Gaius’ eyes narrowed and he looked at Ifan more closely. A worry-worn silver medallion hung from his neck, bearing a symbol that he immediately recognized. Before he could comment, the man blinked and lifted his head, stretching his arms back and up and rolling his neck, before he let out a mighty yawn. Gaius blinked. It was the same routine he saw Merlin perform each morning as he sat down at the breakfast table.
“Sorry for falling asleep on you,” he apologized in a Welsh lilt that had Gaius even more confused. “Oh!” He rose and held out his hand. “I’m Ifan. And you sir, must be Gaius.”
Gaius shook his hand, giving the young man a half smile, watching as Merlin tried to bite back a grin behind them. Outside the window they heard the first cock crow of the coming dawn. Ifan and Merlin shared a look and quickly gathered up the parchment they had written and scurried to the door.
“And just where are you two off to?” Gaius asked.
“Time to get Ifan home,” Merlin replied.
Ifan nodded. “It was lovely to meet you Gaius. Go easy on him for me will you?” he asked nodding his head towards Merlin. Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, and Ianto almost laughed aloud. He had always wondered, but here was proof from his own Grand Uncle, that the eyebrow was definitely genetic. Before they could say anything further, the cock crowed again, and Merlin threw the door wide. As the two of them ran down the corridor, Gaius shouted out a warning.
“Make sure that you aren’t seen by the changing of the guard Merlin, you know that Kay has it in for you!” Twin grins turned back and smiled at him, and both men waved before turning the corner and disappearing from view. Gaius shook his head as he re-entered the chamber. It was almost like having two Merlins at once. He stopped cold, suddenly wondering if Ifan had somehow been related to his nephew. But the medallion had marked him as belonging to the House of Pendragon…
”Best to leave well enough alone,” he admonished himself. He was getting too old to disentangle magical affairs. What he needed now was a nice spot of tea and a long nap.
~~~~~~~~
Ianto emerged from the pool back in his living room, with the parchment written by his father clutched firmly in his hand. It came as no surprise for him to find Jack sprawled asleep on his couch, greatcoat still on and one boot off with the other dangling from his toes off the sidearm. Shaking off the disorientation of time travel, he closed the circle of protection he had placed around himself before using the bowl, and slowly stood up. Taking the bowl and the laurel branch outside, he gave the water back to the Earth, and planted the branch in the ground where the water had been released. After putting the bowl away in the cupboard, he slid a pillow under Jack's head and returned to the kitchen, unrolling the parchment to re-read what Merlin had written, hoping that when the time came, he was strong enough to see it through.
It was nearing six in the morning, and Ianto was suddenly thankful for the small bit of sleep he had managed while in Camelot. He smiled to himself. Merlin had not known who he was, but he had recognized his magic. No wonder Merlin had spotted him so easily when his fathers had visited last year. Kilgharrah had been another matter altogether. The Great Dragon had warned him that the enemy he faced would be strong indeed, and he could not do it alone. He sighed, knowing that there were only two people in the world besides Jack that he would want beside him. One should be easy enough to reach; that is if he wasn't on the run again. The other, well Donan Woods wasn’t exactly known for its cell service. Filling the kettle to prepare a much needed pot of coffee, he pulled out his mobile, only moderately surprised when it began to ring.
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