[fanfic] Why We Fight - Part Six (Merlin/Arthur)

Aug 08, 2011 02:43

An hour later, after telling her about magic, and the Old Religion and the High Priestesses, and Morgause’s attempts to curse Arthur and Nimueh’s successful attempt to curse Arthur into a wyvern, Gwen stared at him with wide eyes, looking rather dazed. In the following moments of silence, Merlin fidgeted in his seat, wanting to go help Arthur, and Gwen simply blinked and processed all he’d told her.

Then she clasped his hands tightly in hers and asked, “You can help him, can’t you, Merlin?”

“Not me, personally. I don’t have magic,” he replied with a frown. “But if I can get Arthur away from here and from the priestesses, I can send him to my people. Someone can lift the curse then and maybe protect him.”

Gwen nodded, and the worried look from before completely left her face. She became as calm and serious as one might expect from a knight. She got to her feet and declared, “Then let’s help him escape.”

Fifteen minutes later, Merlin was on his way to the Western Tower. Gwen, being dear to the queen, acquired permission to have “small comforts” taken to the prince. She had wanted to do it herself, but Merlin had firmly refused; he couldn’t possibly risk her getting caught. At the very least, he was a slave, and his presence and intentions would never be questioned. So it was Merlin who gathered everything needed to care for the prince and traipsed across the castle to the tower, balancing a pile of bedding and pillows, a change of travel clothes for Arthur and a letter from Lancelot he’d found waiting in the prince’s chambers. Amidst the sheer volume of linens, Merlin had hidden one of Arthur’s swords, one shorter than standard but a sword nonetheless, and he really hoped his clumsiness would not choose a time like now to show itself.

The guards stationed on the way up the tower did nothing and said nothing as Merlin passed. It was only until he reached the door to the tower room did the two Northumbrian guards cross their spears before the door, barring his path.

“Her majesty sent me to bring him these,” Merlin said in a small, shaking voice. “There’re blankets and clothes for him-for his travel.”

After a nerve-racking pause, the two guards exchanging looks, they stepped away from the door.

“Go in and be quick about it,” the one on his left said, unlocking the door for him.

“The king pronounced him mad. He-he won’t beat me, will he? The prince already frightened me before all of this,” Merlin said, making his pile shake and pretending that he was trembling where he stood.

The two barked their laughter. “That isn’t our problem, slave,” said the one on his right. “Hope you enjoy his company!” He gripped Merlin’s shoulder and pushed him through the door.

When Merlin was shoved into the room, the door slamming shut behind him, he immediately spotted Arthur across the room and resting on a bed, the only piece of furniture in the tiny room. Leather straps stretched horizontally across the bed and Arthur’s chest and legs, buckled tightly and keeping the prince from moving. Ignoring the sound of the turning of the door lock behind him, he dropped his burden on the floor and edged towards the bed.

Arthur looked to be asleep, eyes shut and breath slow and steady. The moment Merlin knelt down by Arthur’s bedside though, the prince’s eyes snapped open, making Merlin yelp and jump back a few inches onto his ass, his heart racing.

“You just love giving people heart attacks, don’t you?” he hissed, pushing himself back up into kneeling position.

Arthur, however, did not speak, simply staring at Merlin.

“Sire?”

No response.

“Arthur, are you having me on? Because this is really not the time.”

It was then that Merlin realized that the prince’s face was rigid and still, as were his limbs. Other than the blinking of his eyes and the rising and falling of his chest, Arthur was frozen. A niggling suspicion hit Merlin.

“Nimueh-no, Morgause did this, didn’t she?” Merlin asked pointlessly, remembering what the priestess had said to Nimueh and Cedric. He didn’t wait for an answer from Arthur-he wasn’t going to get one anyway-before saying, “Alright. It’s a simple stunning spell. With your level of resolve, you can break it easily. All you have to do is will yourself to move again. Do you hear me?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin before closing them completely. Merlin didn’t miss the absolutely unnatural look of resignation in Arthur’s eyes. If he could have moved, Merlin suspected the prince would have turned his head from him.

“Arthur?”

Arthur didn’t open his eyes, and Merlin huffed in irritation. He reached over and unbuckled the straps holding Arthur to the bed. He rested a hand on Arthur’s right arm, squeezing tightly before shuffling over to his dropped pile.

“Look, I know you’re upset about Sir Tristan’s death, and I know you blame yourself for it, but it wasn’t your fault. You can’t just give in like this, Arthur,” Merlin said as he shoved Lancelot’s letter into his tunic pocket for later and retrieved Arthur’s travel clothes. As he continued speaking, he manhandled Arthur’s prone body out of his fine black tunic and into a plain red one. “You might not have been as respectful of him as you should have been, but it was Nimueh and the others who planned this. They were the ones who hired bandits to kill him. And it’s obvious why they did it, isn’t it? I know you’re smarter than you sometimes act. Killing Tristan and having you taking the blame was the best way to their hands on you without the king suspecting a thing. And I don’t know exactly what they’re planning, but they will use you, control you, to seize Camelot. If you don’t stop being a self-centered prat for a second, you’ll realize that you’re endangering not only your family, but the people of Camelot, by giving up.”

Arthur opened his eyes again, looking at Merlin with that unreadable gaze of him. Merlin scowled at the prince before returning to his task and yanking off Arthur’s boots. Without ceremony, Merlin pulled off Arthur’s black trousers and replaced them with the prince’s riding breeches, paying no heed to the intimacy of it all. He was instead intent on thinking of a way to get Arthur out of Astolat, even if it somehow meant lugging the prince out of the castle undetected. Just as he leaned over to tie the laces of the breeches, his heart nearly stopped when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

“Gods, Arthur, you really want to scare me to death, don’t you?” Merlin hissed at the prince, who now looked at him with an unmistakable scowl. Merlin tried to pull away his hand, but Arthur only tightened his grip.

“Why does it seem like all your fault?” Arthur growled, sitting up. “My life was normal before I bought you.”

You are the one who has set everything in motion, Morgause’s first words to him rang in his head. The catalyst, the impetus.

Merlin ignored the chill that ran down his back and retorted, “I didn’t ask you to buy me.”

“And then where would you be, Merlin? You know, it’s usually considered an honor to serve a prince.”

Merlin sighed and shook his head. At least, it seemed Arthur was recovering from the shock of Tristan’s death. It was then that he remembered that Arthur was still holding his wrist, their hands hovering uncomfortably close to the prince’s crotch.

“Er,” Merlin managed before Arthur followed his gaze down to their hands and immediately released him. Merlin spun around to retrieve Arthur’s riding boots from the heap of linen as Arthur did up the laces of his pants. He helped fit Arthur into the boots. “Right so,” Merlin forced himself to break the awkward silence, getting to his feet, “we have to get you out of here and away from the priestesses.”

Arthur got to his feet as well and asked, “How many guards are there outside?”

“At least eight?”

“Eight is fine. I can take of them easily,” Arthur remarked, heading for the door.

“No!” Merlin grabbed the prince’s arm, pulling him back. “You’ll never make it out of the castle that way. Think. Once you attack the first two, the others will know you’ve escaped and alert therest of the castle guards, the priestesses and the king.”

“Well, then, Merlin, do you have a better idea?”

Merlin stooped over and pulled Arthur’s short sword out from a pillow. He held it out to the prince.

“They will hardly expect you to turn into a wyvern. The purpose of the trigger is already fulfilled,” Merlin stated.

“You can’t be serious!” Arthur exclaimed, recoiling from the sword.

“I am, sire. You’re locked in a tower with only one entrance. You can’t just leap out the window, and I can’t smuggle you out. It’s up to you alone, and I believe this is the only way to get you out unharmed.”

“Right, by turning into a beast and practically losing my mind,” Arthur scoffed.

“No, you won’t lose your mind. Remember that I will be with you, sire, I promise you. I won’t let you lose your mind.”

“The guards will hear me changing. They’ll stop us,” Arthur pointed out.

“Then you’ll have to be as quiet as possible,” Merlin said, and the prince glared at him. “It’ll be hard, but you’re strong, Arthur, and I’m sure you can do it.”

After a moment of silence, Arthur asked, “Why are you helping me, Merlin? You’re doing far more that anyone would expect from you, even if you disagree with the priestesses. I appreciate it, but why?”

“There’s no time for that now. Perhaps, I’ll tell you later,” Merlin hedged. “We’ve got to get you out and safe first.” Arthur looked ready to press the issue, but Merlin pressed on, “We’re in the Western Tower. When you break loose into the castle, you mustn’t let the beast’s panic control your mind. Remember not to hurt anyone, not to kill anyone, or you might regret it. Get out of the castle as fast as you can and meet me in the grove. If someone is after you, get away, but remember to eventually go to the grove. Tom is in the gardens, keeping an eye out for trouble. Do you remember all of that?”

Arthur took the sword from him and nodded. Two seconds later, the sword slipped from his hand as he hunched over, face screwed up in pain.

“Arthur, don’t think of the pain. Remember, what do you have to do?”

“Keep sane…don’t kill anyone,” Arthur gasped, fingers clawing the stone floor. “Get to….the grove.” Arthur managed to glance up at Merlin before he closed his eyes to the pain as his image began to shift between human and wyvern.

Soon, Merlin stood before a silent wyvern, its red eyes staring him down.

“Arthur, can you hear me?” Merlin ventured, and the wyvern jerked its head in a reptilian sort of nod. Merlin heaved a sigh of relief. “Okay. Alright. In a few seconds, I’m going to scream. Don’t be startled. The moment I get the guards to open the door, that’s your cue to run. Do you understand?”Again, wyvern-Arthur nodded sharply.

Merlin took a deep breath and let out a yell, running to the door. “Guards! Guards! Help me, please!” he shouted, banging his fists on the door. Behind him, Arthur roared and hissed in such a way that even a seasoned hunter would turn and run at once. Merlin really hoped that his yells hadn’t startled Arthur out of control of the beast.

When the door swung open, Merlin jumped out of the way as wyvern-Arthur went rushed through, barreling over the two guards. He watched the lizard-like creature dart around the bend and down the tower steps, hearing the shouts of guards upon seeing the beast.

After few minutes’ pause, Merlin began his own descent down the stairs. He ran past the collapsed forms of the guards he’d passed earlier, noting with relief that they were still breathing, and took off on his own route to the garden grove.

The castle was on full alert, every torch and fireplace blazing bright and guards rushing back and forth in the corridors and across the courtyards. Word of sightings of a winged beast and speculations to its origins passed from person to person like wildfire, fueling the terror and tension in the air.

Merlin had just entered the gardens when pain ripped across his back, sending him to his knees in the dirt.

“What’s this, a runaway slave?” Gabel. That voice was unmistakable. Merlin tried to stand, but the under-chamberlain’s whip cracked in the air by his face, the tail just barely nicking Merlin’s cheek. He winced, bringing a hand to the cut. He breathed in and out slowly, listening to the under-chamberlain’s footsteps approach him. “Well if it isn’t the prince’s pet.” In the darkness, Merlin was unprepared for the jamming of the end of Gabel’s whip handle into his face, making him see white for a second and knocking him sideways into the ground. “What might you be doing, sneaking about outside, Carmarthen?” Gabel hissed. Merlin grit his teeth when Gabel grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back and up at an uncomfortable angle. “Your mad prince isn’t around anymore; you’re no better than any house slave now. And you’re long past due a beating.”

The under-chamberlain shoved him flat on the ground, face down in the dirt. Merlin clenched his fists, but he swallowed the boiling rage inside him, just as he’d done many times before. Retaliation was not worth it, was never worth it. He just needed to get through this beating and get to Arthur.

But the beating didn’t come. Instead, he heard a choked shout of surprise before Gabel’s oppressive presence against his back was gone. Rolling up into a crouch, he found Tom standing over the under-chamberlain’s prone figure, a dagger protruding from his back.

“Master Tom, I-”

“Gabel deserved this a thousand times over,” the slave master interrupted him. “Get going, Merlin. Keep the prince safe.” Merlin almost doesn’t catch the bundle Tom threw at him, but when he did, he discovered that it was a wool travel cloak. “Get going. I’ll take care of this.”

“Thank you, Master Tom,” Merlin said before taking off for the grove.

When he reached the grove, he was met by Arthur, his wyvern form appearing from the trees like a specter. He grinned at the sight of the beast, relieved that no harm had come to Arthur. Wyvern-Arthur sidled up to Merlin, circling him where he stood. Only moments later, the wyvern crumpled to the ground with a low hiss. Merlin waited for Arthur’s human form to settle before wrapping the prince in the cloak Tom had given him.

“All right there?” Merlin asked, helping Arthur to his feet and lending him a shoulder to lean on.

“I’m fine,” Arthur bit out, which Merlin took as I’ll recover.

“Let’s hurry then,” Merlin said, leading him into the grove.

It appeared the slave master had had a suspicion of what Merlin had planned to do because when they reached the secluded grove clearing, the prince’s very own Hengroen stood waiting for them. A bag hung from a branch, and inside were the promised supplies, trousers and tunic. Merlin handed the fresh set of clothes to Arthur and averted his eyes as the prince stripped off his dirt-streaked clothes and pulled on the clean ones.

“Sire, you have to get away from Astolat, at least for a while,” Merlin said once the prince was changed, unwinding Hengroen’s reins from a tree branch.

“No, I am not leaving like a coward,” Arthur snapped.

“You have to. You can’t stay here. Morgause and Nimueh plan to take you away.”

“No, I’ll talk to my father, tell him of their treachery.”

“Didn’t you try that already? She might not have enchanted him, but Nimueh has him under her persuasion. He won’t believe you. He thinks you’ve killed Tristan, and you didn’t contradict him. He thinks you’ve gone mad, Arthur.”

The prince scowled and then crossed his arms and brooded for a good minute or so. Merlin shot nervous glances behind them, straining his ears for any signs of pursuers.

“Fine,” Arthur finally said with a sigh.

“Good, now, what I’m about to tell you, you have to swear not to abuse the knowledge. Whatever your opinions are of them, the people I’m sending you to are good people, and they’re the only ones who can break your enchantment.”

“What are you on about, Merlin?” the prince questioned.

“Please, Arthur, you have to swear it. Or I won’t say anything more,” Merlin insisted, his grip tightening on the horse reins. This was not a time for Arthur to be stubborn.

“All right, I swear I won’t abuse the knowledge you are about to impart on me,” Arther said with an eye-roll.

“Thank you.” Merlin closed his eyes, recalling the details Gilli had passed on to him with his dying breath. Ask the griffin. But the griffin just couldn’t possibly be a real one. Then what was-the statue. It had to be it. “Do you know the statue in the town square? The griffin statue?”

“Yes, what of it?”

“You need to go to the griffin and touch it. Ask it to ‘show you the way.’ A…map of some sort should appear in your mind, and it’ll tell you the way to go. After you’ve gone halfway, someone will show up and take you to the Carmarthian refugees. Tell them you’re…you’re the Once and Future King and that Nimueh has cursed you. They probably won’t believe you and will probably hate you for being from Camelot, but you’ll be examined at the very least. They can help you.”

“Once and Future King?”

“Arthur, there’s no time. Just do what I say and it’ll be all right,” Merlin pleaded, shooting another glance back towards the castle.

Arthur sighed, giving him an exasperated look Merlin was becoming very used to. In a matter of seconds, he had smoothly mounted his horse.

“Well, come on, Merlin. We best get going before the guards come round.”

“What?” A mixture of panic and hope filled him. How he wanted to go and see the Carmarthian refuge himself, to see who survived and mourn who was lost. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t face his people, not after his failure. He stared up at Arthur, who held out an expectant hand to help pull him onto the horse. “I’m not coming with you, Arthur. I’m a slave; I can’t just up and leave. They’ll track me down and find you,” he argued, thankful that it was too dark for Arthur to tell it was simply an excuse to keep himself from going.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. Of course you’re coming with me. They’ll know without a doubt you helped me. And it looks like you’ve already had a run-in with some if the blood on your back means anything. The moment you step back into the castle, you’ll be caught and executed.”

“But I can’t.”

“Merlin, get on the bloody horse.”

“But sire-”

“Now, Merlin. I’m not going to just leave you here. I will not repay your loyalty by letting you go to your death.”

They stared at each other, eyes locked in a battle of wills. How far was Merlin willing to go to save Arthur? Because of Arthur, Merlin had already thrown away thirteen years of caution and not-living. Because of Arthur, Merlin was reflecting more on his past, present and future than he had since the Fall, drawing on the knowledge he’d gained in his youth, knowledge he’d tried to ignore, to protect the prince. Should he take the next step? Swallow his shame and face his people to save Arthur? From a simpler stance, there were two outcomes, really: a relative measure of freedom with Arthur as his sole master and a high chance of being caught and killed, or almost certain death upon returning to the castle. The former was definitely the better choice, but could he risk facing the contempt of his own people? He knew the answer though-he could. He’d survived thirteen years of back-breaking labor, thirteen years without magic. And it wasn’t him that mattered, but Arthur.

Merlin closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, looking up at Arthur, he could recall his vision perfectly. He could see the king Arthur could become, and it would be glorious. If Merlin could play a part to make it happen, even without being Emrys, even without magic, then his decision was already made for him. Merlin sighed and grabbed hold of Arthur’s extended hand, giving the prince a scowl just for the sake of obstinacy.

“Hmm, I thought so,” Arthur said with a smug smile before pulling Merlin up behind him onto the horse. “Don’t fall off on me, Merlin!” was his only warning before Hengroen shot forward at a gallop. Merlin yelped as he felt himself lurch back, slipping on the saddle before he threw his arms around Arthur’s waist.

“Prat!” Merlin hissed over the sound of his racing heart. Arthur just laughed.

Arthur maneuvered Hengroen through the gardens with ease, and they passed undetected until reaching the castle walls. At the gates though, there was no hopes of staying unnoticed, not with the castle already alert for a wild beast and a missing prince.

“Stop!” shouted the two guards at the gate. They rushed forward to block the path, spears crossed. But Hengroen was a warhorse, and Arthur urged the horse to keep on charging forward. The guards were forced to dive out of the way as Hengroen barreled through, taking Merlin and Arthur out of the castle gates and into the town of Astolat.


“Now, tell me, Merlin. I would have thought you’ve be glad to be with your people again,” Arthur asked as they galloped through the city. Merlin was trying hard not to let the discomfort of wearing only braies on the saddle of a speeding warhorse get to him.

“I lost my magic, and I failed my people,” Merlin said, revealing as much of his past to the prince as he was willing.

“That’s ridiculous. I hardly think you losing your magic caused the fall of your entire kingdom.”

You’d be surprised, Merlin wanted to say, but instead he said, “And I’m a slave. I can’t show my face to my people.”

“And why is that, pray tell?”

“My people see it as a disgrace, a dishonor to his name, for a sorcerer to submit to enslavement. It’s a corruption of character.” Albion will fall because of me, he adds to himself.

“You? Corrupted?” Arthur laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s not a corrupt fiber in you, Merlin. Your people are fools if they do not welcome you back with open arms. “

“I certainly wish that was true,” Merlin muttered.

“Merlin, I know you’re a bit of girl, but you must have ridden a horse before. There’s no need to hold on to me so tightly.” Merlin realized then that in unconscious reaction to Arthur’s prying, he was indeed squeezing Arthur’s waist tightly, and he loosed his grip, now hanging on to him just enough to not fall. “Like I was saying, there’s no corruption in you. Listen up because I won’t say this again. You may be a rubbish slave, but…you’ve gotten me to think more.”

“That hardly seems like a challenge,” Merlin couldn’t resist remarking.

“Shut up, Merlin, I’m being serious,” Arthur snapped, still deftly maneuvering Hengroen through the network of narrow streets. “You’ve changed the way I think of things, and it absolutely infuriates me sometimes. Do you see what you’ve done to me? Everything I say, everything I do, I’m forced to take another second to consider everything. Always, I find myself thinking of what you, of all people, would think of me or how you’d judge me for my actions. You’re only a slave, and I don’t understand what makes you any different from all the others who’ve passed judgment on me. Gods know how much I have to put up with dealing with you, and yet, I can do nothing to get rid of you. You always make me feel as if I should do better, as if I should be better. So don’t you dare say you’re corrupted. If you can make a ‘royal prat’ like me second-guess himself, his entire life, then your people are all fools who can’t see the goodness before them.”

Merlin was rendered, unsurprisingly, speechless, body going as still as could be while riding a horse. He stared at the back of Arthur’s head, gathering back his voice.

“Sire, I-”

“Don’t get a big head. You’re also a complete idiot with no sense of self-preservation or propriety,” Arthur interrupted, falling back again on that familiar arrogant tone.

“If you say so, sire,” Merlin murmured, still dazed and going over what Arthur had said about him.

It was as they arrived at the town square that the sounds of pursuers reached their ears, the echoes of hooves clattering and bouncing around in the air around them. There in the center of the square was the griffin statue, the griffin’s form cast in iron, rearing back on its hind legs with its forelegs clawing the air and its beak opening in a silent screech. Arthur pulled Hengroen to a clean stop just beside the statue. Merlin slid off the horse, following shortly by Arthur. He winced upon landing, stretching his legs and groin. Arthur gave him an unimpressed look before turning his attention to the griffin statue.

“So, what is it you wanted me to do?” the prince questioned, squinting up at the statue.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Merlin said, looking over his shoulder and trying to locate where their pursuers were approaching from. “Touch the statue and say, dangos y fford adref i mi.” Show me the way home, the words meant, and just saying them filled Merlin with familiar longing.

“Why can’t you say it?” Arthur groused but pressed a hand to one of the griffin’s legs. After a few abortive attempts, Arthur managed to say the words correctly. After a moment of silence, with the two of them looking expectantly at the statue and the shouts of their pursuers drawing closer, Arthur asked, “What’s supposed to happen? Because I don’t think anything did.” Merlin bit his lower lip, the crawling sensation of unease growing in him.

“Say it again. Try saying it in your mind, too,” he suggested. “Clear your mind and think only of those words. A…map or something should reveal itself.”

“Right. ‘Or something’,” Arthur muttered darkly before closing his eyes and gripping the griffin tighter. The sounds of horse hooves were getting much too close, and Merlin kept glancing back and forth between his surroundings and Arthur.

After well over a minute of waiting, Merlin was seriously considering for them to give up and just get out of the town. He could try and find another way to find the Caramarthian refuge.

“Gods, what-!” Arthur suddenly barked a laugh. “That is just fantastic!” Arthur looked up at the griffin and then at Merlin with wide eyes bright with excitement. “Come on, Merlin, I know the way.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm and pulled him back to Hengroen.

They mounted quickly, though Merlin with trepidation for his manhood, and took off just as royal cavalry burst into the courtyard. Without much guidance from Arthur, Hengroen got them around the mounted knights and back into the town’s maze of streets.

“It’s like a map unfolding bit by bit inside my head, changing itself every time I go a different direction,” Arthur told Merlin, and it made Merlin wonder just who, if he’d known them, had come up with the spell to create this map.

Hengroen’s path was confident and sharp. It was expected that Arthur would own the fastest, strongest warhorse there was to offer, so it wasn’t long before they managed to gain some distance from their pursuers, though not enough to feel completely at ease. But as they rushed down one narrow street after another, Merlin realized that the way Arthur was leading them did not seem like a way out of Astolat. Before he could question Arthur, however, the prince pulled Hengroen to a halt outside a tavern of all places. Merlin wondered if they were perhaps supposed to meet up with someone to lead the way to the refuge.

“Arthur, what are we doing here?” Merlin asked as the prince dismounted and he scrambled to follow suit. “You do realize we’ve got some not-so-pleasant people chasing after us, don’t you?”

“We’re making a detour. Keep up, Merlin,” Arthur said before walking into the tavern.

A hush fell in the room, its occupants looking over at Arthur and Merlin. The barkeeper stepped forward as the rest of the people resumed their chatter.

“My lord, how may I-”

“I need some sturdy clothes and boots for him. Make it quick,” Arthur snapped, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Merlin. The barkeeper’s eyes slid over to Merlin, giving him a baffled look before disappearing up the stairs.

“Arthur, what exactly are you doing?” Merlin attempted to ask again.

“Getting you clothes, Merlin. I thought you’d appreciate not losing your balls,” the prince drawled, giving him a suggestive look.

“What?!” Merlin squawked, feeling heat rising to his cheeks and the tip of his ears. Before he could say more though, the barkeeper returned, bringing with him a cloak, rough but thick riding breeches and old, sturdy boots.

“Good, I’ll return later to repay you,” Arthur said to the barkeeper, snatching up the clothing.

“Yes, my lord,” the barkeeper replied with a bow. Arthur grasped Merlin by the elbow and pulled him back out of the tavern.

“Here, put this on. We haven’t got all day,” Arthur ordered, thrusting the bundle into Merlin’s arms.

The clothes smelt musty and a bit like ale, but they seemed clean enough, and Merlin couldn’t really care less as he pulled on his first pair of pants and boots in thirteen years. The moment they were on and the cloak wrapped around his shoulders, Arthur was pulling him back up onto Hengroen. He sent the warhorse into a gallop once again, this time most certainly heading out of Astolat.

It wasn’t long after leaving Astolat and entering the dense woods to the west of the city that Arthur announced they’d probably lost their pursuers. He slowed Hengroen’s pace to an easy gait as they traveled down a dirt path. The travel was monotonous, Arthur not choosing to speak and Merlin not having anything to really say that he already hadn’t or didn’t want to say. Merlin felt himself being pulled by the rocking motion of Hengroen’s steps.

Waves after waves the enemies came. He strikes down as many as he could, throwing out his magic with his left hand while fighting off others with his right. His arms scream at the strain, and his legs are shaking. His right hand feels as if forever glued to the hilt of his knife. Magic courses through the knife too, making the inscriptions in the blade spark blue and allowing him to slice even the thickest armour like paper. During a rare, brief pause, he takes the chance to wipe the sweat and blood from his brow and away from his eyes. There’s a scream behind him, and he can only watch as Isaac, one of his mother’s friends, is cut down by a knight from Mercia. With a guttural shout and a raised hand, Merlin brings down the knight. He turns back around just in time to block an attack from another knight. One after the other, the soldiers keep coming, bringing with them the smell of blood and death. The buzz of adrenaline that usually comes from using his magic has long since disappeared, his magic too overused. He feels sick, stretched thin and sluggish, but he is Emrys and must protect his people.

Arthur abruptly hunched forward with a curse, shaking Merlin from his dream. Disoriented for a moment, Merlin then noticed that Arthur had a hand clutching his forearm, his body bent over and face pinched with pain.

“I-is it the curse?” Merlin asked, glancing at the ground in the chance he’d have to throw himself off the horse and away from a hissing wyvern.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur gritted out.

A few minutes later, the pain seemed to recede as Arthur straightened back up and his face smoothed over.

“My father might send out Aredian soon,” Arthur remarked, disdain curling his lips.

“Aredian?”

“The best tracker Camelot has to offer. I doubt he’ll find us though. I’ve left false trails for him,” Arthur explained. Despite his words, worry struck Merlin immediately.

“The Carmarthians. We’ll be leading-”

“No, we won’t be leading him straight to them. Aredian will not be able to follow us. Your people will be safe.”

“But-”

“Trust me, Merlin. Aredian won’t be able to tell north from south once he falls into the trails I’ve left for him,” Arthur said. “You can just go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we stop for the night.”

“No, it’s all r---”

“Go back to sleep, Merlin.”

“All right, I will,” Merlin muttered but lapsing into silence.

Closing his eyes, he tentatively rested his forehead against Arthur’s back. Arthur didn’t react or say anything, so Merlin blew out a breath before letting himself relax. He couldn’t tell how far they traveled after that before he felt himself slipping into dreams again.

Lightning cracks through the sky, its thunder resonating with the roar of his blood, his magic coursing through his body. With a roar and a flash of gold eyes, he sends the five soldiers surrounding him flying. Someone shouts to his left and he turns in time to see Koren, one of his sister’s best friends, crumple to the ground. Merlin immediately throws his knife, which cuts through the armour of Koren’s killer and catches him in the side. He calls back the knife in time to block an attack from behind.

There isn’t time to think, isn’t any time to mourn. Besides, his tears have already run dry, for his parents, for his sister, for all the lives lost-on both sides. Because Merlin isn’t a killer. He hates it, and he could feel the balance of the world shift with every life lost in the war. But to protect Carmarthen, to protect his people, he has killed and must keep killing. He could only hope that those he’d sent on ahead, sent on retreat, would survive, that she would survive.

He clears his mind and leaps back into battle, slitting the throat of his attacker and charging at the two new soldiers who’d appeared. He ducks the swipe of one of them, and-

“-up, Merlin, we’re stopping for the night.”

A hand wrapped around his wrist. With a grunt, he broke its grip. He rolled off the saddle and kicked out, his free hand shooting out to claw at his attacker’s throat-Arthur’s throat. Merlin let out a strangled noise, realizing his mistake, but fortunately, the prince was a warrior after all. Arthur knocked away Merlin’s kick and grabbed his wrist.

“I-I’m so sorry, sire. I was having a nightmare. I didn’t know it was you,” Merlin said, trying to pull away. Arthur didn’t let go.

“Gods, Merlin. What was that?”Arthur questioned, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Nothing. Just a nightmare. I wasn’t myself.” The sounds of metal clashing and magic singing and voices shouting still lingered in his head, and Merlin willed them to go silent.

“Merlin, with the skills you’ve shown, even if you happened to have rubbish magic, which I assume you didn’t, how on earth did you get captured?”

-hot metal sinking into his belly, a sudden hit to the back of his head, a gloved hand around his throat bringing him to his knees and his knife to the ground, iron clicking around his wrists-

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice cut through his memories, and Merlin shook his head, banishing the memory.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, looking at the trees, the ground, anywhere but Arthur.

“Merlin,” Arthur said in his I’m a prince and you will tell me tone.

“No, Arthur,” Merlin replied, finally looking at Arthur to give him a glare. “I’m sorry I attacked you, but I’m not ready to talk. Maybe one day I’ll tell you, but not right now. It’s more important to get you to the refuge.”

Arthur huffed but conceded with a “Fine, have it your way.” He took hold of Hengroen’s reins and left the trail they’d been travelling on.

“Come along, Merlin. I want some sleep before the sun comes up again,” Arthur called over his shoulders. Merlin rolled his eyes, shaking away the last of his nightmare-memories, and trailed after the prince.

After several minutes of weaving through shrubbery and around trees, Arthur stopped them in a small clearing, just big enough for the two of them and Hengroen. Merlin stood there for a moment, uncertain what the prince expected him to do from here on out. Having never really seen Arthur outside of the usual princely settings, excluding the times of his enchantment, Merlin wondered exactly how the prince got on without others serving him.

“Er, well, we’ll need some firewood, but there should be provisions in the saddlebags,” he said. “If you want, I’ll take care of the horse and get something cooking while you get some shuteye.”

Seeing Merlin's offer for what it was, the prince snorted before saying, “Contrary to what you might think, I can very well take care of myself. I don’t always have servants and slaves at my beck and call. We certainly don’t bring servants on patrol or hunts.”

“Really? Shocking. And here I thought princes were to be babied,” Merlin remarked, exhaustion turning on his self-censor.

Arthur threw a glare at him but walked over to Hengroen, clearly intending on taking care of the horse himself. With a shrug, Merlin started looking about for kindling. If the prince wanted to prove something to himself, far be it for Merlin to interfere.

When Merlin returned, Arthur had already pulled out the bedrolls and crawled into one. Merlin dumped the kindling besides the small pit Arthur had dug out for a fire.

“I’ll wake you up when I’ve got some food cooked, yeah?” Merlin said, making his way over to where Arthur had dumped the saddlebags. As he passed Arthur though, the prince’s hand shot up and grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I don’t suppose you’ll be running away?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow. Merlin looked down at his hand and then into Arthur’s eyes. Arthur’s tone had been light and teasing, but Merlin could read the small edge underneath it. He wondered briefly if it was because Arthur didn’t want to lose his property or if it was because the prince did not wish to be left all alone with his curse. He suspected it was the latter, not that the prince would ever admit it.

Merlin gave him a small smile before replying, “Of course not. I told you, sire, I can’t just let this happen to you. If I’m able to, then I will help you fight this curse.”

“Well then-” Arthur cleared his throat and let go of Merlin’s wrist. He turned to face the fire before closing his eyes. “Get to work then.”

Merlin could still feel the pressure of Arthur’s fingers against his skin.

Surprisingly, Merlin hadn’t even thought of running away. A year ago, even six months ago, if Merlin had been given this opportunity-a fast horse, supplies, with only a man who couldn’t even touch a sword as company-he could have taken it right away. But now that he had met Arthur, things had obviously changed. It wasn’t as if Arthur would hurt or mistreat Merlin now that they were on their own. Years of slavery had left him more cynical and wary of what humans were capable of, but he still wanted to uphold a duty to protect Albion as best as he could, and it was his duty to help Arthur. Arthur, for that matter, had no one but Merlin to turn to, and in a way, they were co-dependent on each other now. Not that the prince would agree with him or that Merlin would say so out loud.

With a sigh, Merlin dug out some of the food supplies from the saddlebags and settled down by the fire.

Twenty minutes later, Merlin shook Arthur awake and passed him the pot of crushed herbs, beans and bits of dried meat. Arthur frowned at the food, and Merlin prepared himself for the inevitable criticism on his cooking, but Arthur just picked up the spoon and started eating.

Merlin sat down by the fire and watched the prince. Arthur definitely wasn’t looking his best, dark smudges under his eyes and his hair mussed. No one could possibly blame him though, not with the day he’d had. Merlin belatedly remembered then that it was the prince’s birthday-or had been. He didn’t think it mattered to Arthur though, not when his uncle was dead and he was now a fugitive from his kingdom. Merlin felt a flash of pity for the prince. The road to the throne was always full of hardship; Arthur’s seemed to overflow with it. But Arthur wanted no pity; Merlin knew him well enough to know that.

With a start, Merlin realized that he was staring and turned away, looking into the fire. Shifting, Merlin heard a crinkle. Curious, he stuck a hand in his tunic pocket and discovered Lancelot’s letter.

“Sire, this came for you. I picked it up on my way to find you,” Merlin said, holding up the letter for Arthur to see. “It’s from Lancelot.” Arthur set down the pot and spoon and gestured for Merlin to read it aloud. With a nod, Merlin broke the seal on the letter and began reading:

Arthur,

I believe by the time this letter reaches you, you will have been crowned. Congratulations, my cousin, Crown Prince of Camelot. It has been a long twenty-three years for this moment to come, and I sorely wish I could have been present to watch the ceremony.

I don’t envy your position though. I’ve mentioned it before. You are fit to be king, while I merely a knight, and I look forward to the day when I can serve you, though not to the day your father will pass of course.

I must warn you that I feel that dark times are ahead-for all of us. Sir Tristan tells me you two had an argument. I hope you two will resolve your issues soon, because you will need all the support you can find. Tristan suspects the Northumbrians of dark plots, and I suspect them as well.

As you know, I have been assigned to help the Northumbrian delegates settle in Stafford. They’ve claimed the old castle in the heart of the city, and while I’m not permitted in any longer, I hear from the builders hired that the Nothumbrians are adding deep rooms underneath the castle, and once a room is built, no one but the Northumbrians are allowed down there. There are more and more foreigners entering in the city-entering the old castle. They wish to build a temple, to their own gods, beside the castle and plan to build a wall surrounding. Only a fool would not suspect them of building a fortress, because it’s certainly beginning to look like one. The Northumbrians are our guests, though, and I am at a loss at how to proceed.

Please get back to me as soon as you can. I hope that you are well.

Lancelot

“Damn it,” Arthur muttered, rubbing his face with a hand. “They’ll tell Lancelot that I’ve killed Tristan. He’ll come after me once he knows. Tristan was like a father to him as much as he was to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, but Arthur waved it away.

“You couldn’t have done anything about it,” Arthur said. “What’s more important is what the Northumbrians are planning, the building of a fortress in the middle of Stafford. The most obvious conclusion is that they’re planning for war.” Arthur grimaced, prodding the fire with a stick.

“Then the High Priestesses are serious about this. They were planning to control you. If they failed, then war would be their back-up plan,” Merlin said.

Arthur cursed under his breath and said, “We have to stop them. I have to warn my father.”

Merlin sighed. “He thinks you’ve gone mad. And you’ve already tried to attack Nimueh. We have to break the curse before anything can be done. It’ll slowly drive you mad otherwise.”

“The moment I’m cured, I’m going after them. It’s my duty to protect Camelot.”

“I know.”

“And you’ll come with me?”

Merlin looked at Arthur with a perplexed frown. The prince stared back at him. His blue eyes were bright in the firelight, but once again, Merlin couldn’t read them, and Arthur didn’t say more, just waiting for a reply. “I don’t have a choice,” Merlin pointed out. Surely Arthur hadn’t forgotten that Merlin was his slave, bound to his service almost permanently when considering the dragon on Merlin’s cheek.

“You wouldn’t want to stay with your people?” Arthur asked.

“I wouldn’t be welcomed.”

“It’s been thirteen years, Merlin. After everything that’s happened, don’t you think your people’s beliefs will have changed a bit? Whatever you’ve done, however you think you’ve failed them, I doubt it will make them shun you.”

Merlin was hardly surprised by the spark of anger that shot up inside him. He turned away from the prince, glaring into the fire. He blew out a breath, forcing the anger out with his exhale. “Whether my people forgive me or not, I failed them. If I can somehow help stop Nimueh and Morgause, then I will. I won’t fail Albion in its time of need.”

“One of these days, you will tell me what this is all about, Merlin,” Arthur remarked softly. Merlin looked over at Arthur, but the prince had retreated back into his bedroll, his back to Merlin. With a sigh, Merlin reached over for the pot, finishing the rest of the food and resigning himself to a quiet night filled with his own thoughts.

Once again, Merlin found himself wondering at the likeliness of Arthur being the Once and Future King. He had his doubts, despite his instructions to Arthur. As a child, he used to pester the seers and his teachers for any information he could get about this man he was destined to stand beside. But there was very little the adults could tell him. The Once and Future King was a man with no natural inclination towards magic. He was mortal, but not really. He was born to rule for all time, the Eternal King, and so his death would never be just a death, as he’d always be reborn again eventually. He was a master of combat, and his charisma and words brought him support and loyalty. He cared for the land and his people, always putting them first. But it was only with Emrys by his side that he would achieve greatness.

Merlin’s musings were interrupted by a strangled sound coming from the back of Arthur’s throat. Master Tom hadn’t packed any sleeping draughts in the saddlebags, and unlike Arthur’s earlier nap, Arthur’s sleep was restless. The prince tossed and turned, mumbling in his sleep. Merlin had no interests in finding out what demons plagued Arthur’s dreams, but he worried for him. Lack of sleep led to a weakened mind, which would lead to a poor defense if Arthur was to transform again. Merlin hoped nothing would trigger Arthur’s transformation; there was a high chance Arthur wouldn’t be able to control the wyvern if he did. He watched Arthur’s sleeping form closely, but eventually the prince settled down, though it wouldn’t be long until the restlessness started again.

Arthur woke well before dawn, looking as if he hadn’t slept at all. Broody and silent, he helped Merlin get the saddlebags and saddle back on Hengroen. They were on the road again before the sun touched the horizon.

They traveled for four days, following the map in Arthur’s head. Much of the time was spent in silence-Merlin sleeping during the day while Arthur attempted to sleep at night. Merlin was grateful that the memories of war that had plagued him the first night hadn’t returned, because he didn’t know how much more he could bear of the contemplative stares Arthur would give him when he thought Merlin wouldn’t notice.

They had just finished with their dinner, Arthur preparing his bedroll for sleep, when he jumped to his feet and eyed the trees surrounding them. His hand went to his waist, but they hadn’t taken a sword with them when they fled Astolat for obvious reasons.

“Show yourself and state your business,” Arthur commanded. Merlin pulled up the hood of his cloak and stood to join Arthur’s side.

The foliage rustled to their left before a person in a dark cloak stepped out of the shadows, stopping just outside the ring of light cast by the fire. “Are you the ones who’ve been following the griffin?” the stranger asked. The voice was male and sounded familiar to Merlin.

Arthur scowled and said, “I will not speak to someone I don’t know the face of.”

There was a grunt of irritation, and Merlin just barely stifled the gasp when the man stepped into the light of the fire. Arthur, however, noticed and shot him a glance. The prince thankfully refrained from saying anything though, turning his attention back to the stranger.

But it wasn’t a stranger, not to Merlin. It was Will. Will who had once been one of his closest friends and his sister’s husband. Will had survived the Fall. Merlin resisted the shudder his body wanted to make, a flood of memories surging to the front of his mind.

His sister Freya had loved Will dearly, despite his sometimes surly personality. In fact, she’d been one of the few people who could keep Will in check when he looked ready to go off on raging tirades on life. And Will hadn’t minded at all that the extent of magic Freya could do was turning into a giant winged cat with a vicious temperament-he’d found it “wicked cool” and endearing. Will himself didn’t have any magic and had spent his days helping with the farming or assisting the magic teachers and physicians. Will had also been the first person outside Merlin’s family to see Merlin as Merlin and not the oh-so-great Emrys. He hadn’t cared, and that had brought a grin to Merlin’s face as much as all of Will’s wild antics did when they were children.

In the struggle for Carmarthen’s freedom, countless women had joined in the battle, refusing to back down when their fathers, brothers, husbands and sons were fighting to protect them. Freya, Merlin’s courageous and kind sister, was one of those women, joining the battle in her beautiful feline form.

The day afterwards, Will had rushed into battle and Merlin hadn’t seen him again. Until now.

Unsurprisingly, Will looked changed since Merlin had seen him last. There were new lines on his face, a testament to the harshness the Carmarthian people suffered, and a scowl seemed to be permanently fixed on him. His hair was as shaggy as ever and his cheeks, leaner than before, were rough with a few days’ stubble. He stood glaring at Arthur with arms crossed. Arthur merely huffed at Will’s show of defiance and said:

“My name is Arthur, and I’m a knight of Camelot. This is-”

“Ambrose. I’m Ambrose, just his servant,” Merlin interjected in a lower voice than his own. Arthur glared at him, though he wasn’t sure if it was for the interruption or for insisting on hiding his real identity. “My lord has been cursed with a transformation spell. We were told your people could help us and how to find you.”

“Ha. I bet you tortured the information out of the slave, yeah?” Will remarked, his already constant scowl darkening.

“I would never!” Arthur exclaimed. He clenched his fists, and Merlin prepared himself in the chance he decided to hit Will. “I have already sworn to keep your people’s refuge a secret, and I never break my word. Besides, at this moment, I’m a fugitive as well.” Merlin caught the flash of pain in Arthur’s eyes before it was hidden behind his pride again. He knew better than to mention it any time soon.

“Right well, you’re still from Camelot and if you think I’m going to take you straight to my people, you’re mistaken.”

“Then answer me this, do your people have the power to rid me of this enchantment? I will find your refuge even if I have to do it alone,” Arthur said, matching Will’s glare with his own. Merlin could tell by the familiar twitch in Will’s clenched jaws that he was itching to punch Arthur.

This wasn’t going anywhere, except possibly a fist fight, and as Merlin tried to think of what to do, Arthur growled and turned away from Will, heading for where Hengroen stood. Merlin grabbed his arm, pulling him back even as Arthur turned his glare on Merlin.

“Please, sire. Do you remember what the slave said? About who you are?” Merlin asked. “Once and Future King,” he hissed under his breath just in case.

Arthur rolled his eyes and told Will, “He said I was the Once and Future King or some nonsense.” He huffed and pulled his arm from Merlin’s grasp.

“You? The Once and Future King?” Will snorted. “That’s nothing but a dream for the hopeful. Besides, if you’re him, then I’m a bloody dragon. Who told you that?”

“A young Carmarthian boy, captured about a month ago. He refused to say his name,” Merlin said. “I’m sorry, but…he killed himself not shortly afterwards…”

Arthur looked over at Merlin sharply. No doubt, he was wondering about Merlin’s association with the boy. But Merlin was watching Will instead. The scowl crumbled from Will’s face, replaced by unmistakable grief. Will closed his eyes, murmuring a short prayer to the boy. Merlin wondered briefly who Gilli’s family was, if he would have known them.

“Only someone with great power can tell if your master’s the Once and Future King. That boy couldn’t have seen it,” Will said, eyeing Merlin with suspicion. But after a few moments, Will sighed and his scowl had returned to his face. “I’ll take you. If you plan on attacking us though-”

“I have no interest in attacking a refuge,” Arthur snapped. “Your people are not my concern.”

“Then let’s get going. The sooner we get you fixed the sooner we’ll be rid of you.”

On to Part Seven | Masterpost

pairing:morgana/mordred, fanfic, series:merlin, pairing:gwen/lancelot, pairing:merlin/arthur

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