Merlin Fanfiction: Love As Thou Wilt | Part 4b
Merlin heals quickly and ignores Kilgharrah’s knowing look and comment on his “being in one piece.” During this break, Kilgharrah holds a small dinner party, inviting a few friends. Juliana de Listinoise is among those invited.
She returns some days later and Merlin thinks she is there for Kilgharrah but she instead wishes to invite him to see a performance by a troupe of players. No one except Gwaine had ever invited him for something for pleasure of his company and he look to Kilgharrah earnestly. “He will be safe with me, Kilgharrah. I am under protection of the Pendragon line and only someone truly foolish would try to harm me.”
“You’re right. Very well, but you will behave yourself, he says sternly to Merlin.
Forgetting his anger with Kilgharrah momentarily, Merlin jumps up and hugs him around the neck, grinning. Leaving a startled expression on Kilgharrah’s face, Merlin goes running off to fetch his cloak.
Merlin had seen a few plays during his trips to the lower town, but he had never seen an actual, professional production. By the end, he is bursting with energy, thanking Juliana again and again.
“I thought you might like it,” she says to him with a smile. “Would you like to meet the playwright?” Merlin nods and follows her backstage. It is full of noise and chaos as they chatter about the success of the play while cleaning up.
The playwright, the only one in sober garb, walks up. “Juliana, so glad you could make it,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“It was wonderful. Dagonet nó Madela-Camnen, May I introduce Merlin nó Emrys who also enjoyed your play very much.”
Before Merlin could answer, there is a stirring at the door and in steps the king’s chamberlain, Medrain Karen. “My lord Medrain, you honor us tonight,” Dagonet, says.
“Of course,” he says with a sniff, waving his handkerchief in front of his nose. “Your play was well met and will be performed for His Highness five days hence.” With another wave and a “good evening” he is gone from the room.
The room bursts into cheers and Juliana wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “You must come with us to the Rising Sun.” The Rising Sun is a players’ house and only guild-members and guest are able to enter. Merlin, as a guest of the King’s poet, is let in and spends the rest of the evening eating and drinking while listening to all the stories the players have to offer.
Merlin’s ears perk up when one of the players starts to speak of politics, “I hear rumor that Duc D’Alene met in secret with Uther to bid for Morgana’s hand in marriage. Is it true?” he asks turning to Juliana.
Juliana shrugs. “I have not heard of it, but I cannot be everywhere,” she says with a smile.
Merlin listens to the murmurs around them before finally asking, “What was the king’s answer?”
Dagonet turns to look at Merlin, “He declined and gave no reason as he has with all suitors. I think Duc D’Alene thought he was owed something for his help in bringing the Escetian throne to justice and maybe he is but it is not Morgana’s hand.” The talk turns away to other things and Merlin dives into it, leaving that little nugget for later to mull over.
It is nearing midnight by the time Juliana’s carriage carries him back home. He thanks her again, feeling lighthearted for the first time in a long time. She holds his hand gently. “I’m glad I was able to cheer you so. I know you resent Freya and Kilgharrah their freedom, but do not try and ruin this for them. Both have lost a lot in their lives, especially Kilgharrah. They deserve to be happy. Please allow them this small thing.”
“I will try, my lady,” Merlin murmurs. She smiles and placing a kiss on his cheek, bids him goodnight.
Kilgharrah is unsurprised by Duc D’Alene’s bid for Morgana’s hand or the king’s response. Merlin would have put the whole thing behind him, if Kilgharrah hadn’t received a letter with a summons to see the play that Merlin had seen. He glances at the letter and sees the royal Pendragon seal on it.
Merlin is contracted on the same day as the play with Lucas Maris, Duc L’Ector’s man. Arthur accompanies him, though they have spoken little since the night of D’Cote’s assignation. If he feels uncomfortable about Merlin’s assignations, he doesn’t show it.
Merlin’s mind is half on the play and Kilgharrah’s mysterious invitation to attend. Maris doesn’t seem to notice and by the end of their assignation he is please, handing Merlin a full purse. Tying it to his belt, he glances up at Maris, “My lord is there another way out of your quarters?” he asks softly.
“There is the servant’s entrance through the kitchen. Why do you ask?” he asks leaning forward.
Merlin flicks his eyes around, trying to look mysterious, before leaning forward. “There is…someone I must meet with, who has made an offer, but they do not like having knights on their doorstep. But Knight Arthur is bound to follow me no matter what. Kilgharrah has asked me to deliver a message without Arthur trailing me.”
“I could send the message for you,” he says.
“No!” Merlin shakes his head. “My reputation depends on my discretion. What would people think if word got out that I am telling patron secrets to others? All I ask is that you have my carriage sent to the west wing along with Arthur, I would be most grateful…as would certain others.”
Maris thinks it over. He nods, “Easily done and you will put in a good word with your master?” Merlin nods as well.
“Of course,” he says, pulling on his cloak. With a final bow, Merlin slips from the room. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know the castle that well and is soon lost among its many halls and corridors. It takes him some time to find an exit from the servant’s corridors and ends up in a deserted hall. He can hear boots and voices around the corner.
Merlin quickly runs to a shadowed niche right before they turn the corner, using his dark cloak to hide behind. “Damn it!” A man yells out, voice livid. “It is too much to ask for the protection of the realm. That old fool should realize he owes me somewhat!”
“Maybe he’s right, Valiant. After all, you did betray Prince Dillon, do you really think Dillon’s Men would follow you? Besides, they’re Escetian men.”
“They’re a hundred hardened warriors trained to fight in the mountains. If the old fool can’t realize that, then perhaps I’ll start recruiting from the villages. Let’s see how much he likes the blood of peasants on his head.”
The two turn the corner and barrel passed his hiding place. Merlin waits until their footsteps fade before leaving his hiding place. Shaking a little Merlin starts to walk in the opposite direction. If he hadn’t been lost, he would have given up. As it is, he keeps walking in the hopes of finding a familiar landmark.
Eventually, he finds his way to the royal theater. Of course, he had forgotten about the Castle Guard placed on every entrance. Remembering the other theater’s layout, he slips out of his cloak, folding it over his arm. Hoping to fool the guard, he walks by, towards what he hopes is the player’s quarters. The guard says nothing and Merlin slips in unhindered.
It is the players’ quarters and it is deserted as they are all on stage or behind scenes. Slipping into the first room he sees, he starts to poke around, hoping to find something. A click sounds in the quiet room. Jerking up, he sees the mirror start to move as it opens outward on hidden hinges. Thinking fast, he throws himself under a chair heaped with props and cloth, tugging until they cover him, but leave a gap to see through.
As the mirror shift to reflect his hiding space, he can see nothing of himself visible and relaxes a little. Merlin nearly jerks as the door opens and Kilgharrah comes walking in at the same time as Morgana de la Pendragon steps down from a secret passage behind the mirror.
He nods to her. “I am here at your summons,” he says simply.
“Do you know this ring?” she asks, holding out a thin golden band set with two seed pearls and an emerald in the center.
“Yes.”
“Is it true that you have sworn an oath upon it?” she asks again.
“Yes, I have sworn an oath on Ygraine de la Pendragon’s ring,” Kilgharrah answers.
“Then tell me your news,” she demands, pale face tense, dark blue eyes shifting around uneasily.
“There is none, my lady. I am still waiting for word from Petit Fils. If there had been any news, I would have come here straight away,” he tells her.
“My father would use you and keep me from you. But I needed to speak with you by myself, to know the truth,” she says softly, thin shoulders, sagging under the weight of her words.
“My lady, it is not safe here for you or to speak these words,” Kilgharrah murmurs.
Morgana snorted. “I have the queen’s rooms now. There was once a queen enamored with a player and had this passage built to meet with him secretly. She walks over and presses the hidden button to open the mirror-door. “My Lord Emrys, I am alone in this world, with no friends close at hand and no way of knowing whom I can trust. Will you help me in this on your vow to the late queen?”
Kilgharrah bows deeply. “My lady, I am at your disposal.”
“Then come,” Morgana says softly, climbing back into the secret passage, Kilgharrah following. It shuts with a soft clock and the room goes silent again. Merlin waits until he is certain they are gone before leaving his hiding place. He can feel awe welling up inside him at what he has just witnessed.
Taking a steadying breath, he readies himself for his next confrontation. Leaving the room quickly, he makes his way to the west wing.
Arthur is standing by the carriage, fuming, and his rage palpable. “I will not have my oath compromised because you-”
“Arthur,” Merlin snaps. “Is your oath to protect your charge?”
“You know it is,” Arthur hisses.
“Then hold your tongue and ask me nothing. The knowledge that I have just gotten could get both of us and many others killed and would endanger House Pendragon. And do not mention it to Kilgharrah or he’ll have both our head,” Merlin warns, uncaring at the moment.
Merlin settles into the carriage and soon Arthur joins him. Giving the order for the diver to go, he studies Merlin from across the carriage but remains silent, curiosity evident in his gaze.
~*~
Kilgharrah returns in the small hours of the morning and speaks nothing if the event. Merlin half expects Arthur to give him away, but the knight holds his tongue, going through his drills relentlessly despite the biting cold air.
As usual, Merlin watches, bundled up in a cloak. He watches as Arthur completes the last move and reattaches his sword to his belt. The knight walks over to him, breathing heavily and sweating, despite the cold.
“Do you swear that what you have asked of me will not dishonor my oath?” he asks, blue eyes staring intently at Merlin.
Merlin swallows. “I swear,” he says, teeth chattering slightly.
“Then I will say nothing this once. So long as you do not deceive me again. I do not stop you from your honoring your oath, do not keep me from honoring mine,” Arthur says.
“All right,” Merlin says, nodding quickly. They say nothing as they walk back inside where the roaring fire has heated the study.
Freya is already there, reading from a scroll while others and mounds of books surround her. Settling into the chair beside her, Merlin looks at all the titles. All have something to do with the Fisher King.
“A bit of light reading?” Merlin asks with a raised brow. Freya shakes her head, marking her place to look up at him. “Do you think you can solve his riddle?”
“No one else has, might as well try,” she says with a grin.
“Who, Kilgharrah?” Arthur asks, browsing through the shelves of books. “He’s got everything but lost Book of Wæge. Can he even read Dragon?” Arthur asks, holding up a thin bound book.
“Probably, though I doubt he would tell us,” Merlin says, not even looking at Arthur.
“How long has it been since you were home?” Freya asks, looking at Arthur.
Arthur stiffens and he says, “my home is where my duty leads me.”
“Oh, don’t be such a knight and answer the question,” Merlin says with a lazy grin.
Arthur turns away, but answers, “I don’t have one.”
“What?” Merlin asks, looking at Arthur likes he’s lying. “What do you mean you don’t have a home?”
“I’ve lived with the Brother’s since I was a baby,” Arthur mutters, back still to them.
“I’m sorry,” Freya says softly.
Arthur shrugs, “It’s not like I knew my parents. How can I miss what I never had.”
“My parents sold me to the Court,” Merlin says, still staring at Arthur’s tense back.
Both Freya and Arthur look at him. “You never mentioned that,” Freya says.
Merlin shrugs, “It was a long time ago. They’d fallen on hard times and in a way, them selling me was a way to protect me. I at least had food in my belly and a roof over my head. I’ve not seen them since I was five.”
Wanting to change the subject, Merlin turns to Freya, “What can you tell us about Kilgharrah these days?” Merlin can’t keep the slight bitterness from his words and her eyes widen a little. She knows he knows about the two of them.
Freya turns her head away and Merlin clenches his fist. “You know, don’t you?” Merlin accuses. “He’s told you.” Merlin thumps his fist on the table, the books and scrolls trembling from the force. “Damn it, Freya, we promised to share everything with each other,” Merlin hisses.
“That was before I knew,” she says softly. “I only know part of it, to help in research. He made me promise not to tell you anything until you made your Mearcung. You’re so close already,” she pleads with him softly.
“Will you see?” Merlin snaps back and Freya pales as her words are shot back at her.
“You were the one who told him, Merlin. It would have never happened if you hadn’t said,” she reminds him.
“Don’t you think I know that,” Merlin says, grabbing a fist full of hair and tugging harshly. Merlin lets out a harsh sigh. “I saw how much you watched him and had to help, but it hurts. I see you two and can’t help but wish to be free. My wings are still clipped while you two fly away and it hurts sometimes.” Merlin deflates as the last of his anger fades away, leaving him feeling hollow.
“I’m sorry,” Freya murmurs softly into his ear, pulling him close. Merlin can see Arthur leaving the room silently, but just holds onto Freya tighter. He’s sorry to have driven the man away, but this conversation has been long in coming and could not be avoided.
“I know,” Merlin mutters into her shoulder. “I wish for once, you would be selfish so that I could hate you. I guess I’ll just have to settle on wishing you well and resenting you for what you know and won’t tell.”
“I probably would be the same,” Freya admits.
Merlin snorts, “Probably.” At that moment, Kilgharrah walks in and clears his throat. They both jerk apart and the chair Merlin is in topples, sending him sprawling.
Kilgharrah smirks a little as Merlin winces due to a banged elbow and straightens back up. “I have come to inform you that Nimueh is here and has come to make an offer for an assignation,” Kilgharrah says aloud.
“What?” Merlin says, rushing to get the chair all the way up. “Why can’t that woman ever send a courier like a normal person?”
“Because she is a long standing friend and likes to see you discomforted. Shall I say you will be with us shortly in the receiving room?” Merlin nods and Kilgharrah walks out again.
Merlin runs a shaking hand through his hair and over his clothing, trying to look like he hasn’t just been rolling on the floor. “You’re fine, Merlin, go,” Freya says, tugging on his hem to straighten his tunic and shooing him from the room.
He can hear them laughing before he opens the door. “Ah, Merlin, there you are. I have made an offer Kilgharrah finds acceptable. My lord the Duc Mordred de Porte will be visiting Camelot for the Midwinter festivities and he shall be holding a masquerade. Many of the invited guests will be bringing sorcerers and such and I should like to bring a genuine warlock. Are you contracted for the Longest Night?”
Merlin swallows loudly and shakes his head, “No, my lady, I am not contracted.”
“Well then, do you accept?” she asks and smirks at him, a curl of the lips that has his mind going blank momentarily.
“Yes,” Merlin says, just as Arthur walks in.
Nimueh looks at the knight. “It seems you will have a long vigil, knight,” she informs him.
Arthur just bows to her, face void of any expression. “I protect and serve,” he says evenly, his eyes hard as sapphires as they stare at Nimueh.
Nimueh just arches a brow at him and makes no comment except to smirk again. Kilgharrah coughs to break the tension. “Then the Longest Night it is,” he says. “You don’t do anything by halves, my lady.”
“No,” Nimueh says, smiling at Kilgharrah. “You know I don’t.”
“What is your game with Duc Porte?” Kilgharrah asks.
“Oh, nothing but province politics. It seems my dear Duc needs some reminding about just who’s house is the oldest and most magical,” she says with a small wave of her hand.
“And that’s it?” Kilgharrah asks.
“For Mordred, that is it. What my other reasons are shall remain my own,” she says with a small smile. With a curtsy, she leaves the three of them in the room.
~*~
Merlin frets himself into froth as Midwinter slowly approaches. So much so that Kilgharrah eventually sends a letter to Nimueh who replies back that Merlin should not worry. She will see to everything. Merlin isn’t sure if this is meant to comfort or worry him more, but he allows it to settle his nerves somewhat. Kilgharrah pays his worries little heed, immersed in some grander scheme that has no need for Merlin or Nimueh.
The snows come and block the northern passes and soon word comes of the Pict raiding parties again, the name Selises Arrœk carried by the ruthless barbarians on their lips. Camelot and Escetian warriors ride the boarder under Duc Valiant D’Alene.
Another story makes itself known of how Uther had ordered Persant de Dieu, son of the Royal Commander Pellinore de Dieu, to sail a small fleet against Hibernia in hopes of getting at Galway, the traitorous son who killed his own father to gain the throne, but they could not for the Fisher King made his wrath known and the waves rose high into the sky, blocking the fleet form continuing its journey. Despite this failure and with the approval of the other Alban Kings, he awards Persant the stewardship of the Escetian throne until such a time as a successor can be found.
Freya still spends her days pouring over the most obscure books and scroll for any hint of the Fisher King. Even Plaine de Bawes comes one day, laden down with copies of books and scrolls that they had sent for and word of rumors that the Pict and Selises Arrœk looking to the south, at the land full of dissention.
Uther and the other kings still hold their thrones and no one questions their right with each kingdom having its own army and navy. But Uther is not getting any younger and with Persant’s hold on the Escetian throne tenuous at best, if Camelot and Escetia are to fall, the other kingdoms will be hard pressed to defend themselves from the invading Pict force.
At the moment though, Merlin has his own concerns. Kilgharrah always tells him what he should look for on an assignment, but when he asks, the man just shrugs. “Nimueh is Nimueh and if you can learn anything of her game, it will be useful. But she is careful, even around you. Just be wary not to let anything slip and keep your eyes and ears open.”
Sighing, Merlin nods, “I will, my lord.”
Kilgharrah readjusts his cloak again. “Be careful, Merlin and enjoy yourself. You deserve it joy on the Longest Night, young warlock.”
Gripping Merlin’s shoulder one last time, Kilgharrah lets go and Merlin gets into the waiting carriage, Arthur already waiting. They are quiet as the carriage pulls away. It is dark already, the day shortest today, and their breath fogs in what little light there is.
“What would you be doing if you weren’t contracted to Kilgharrah?” Merlin asks, looking out the window at the passing buildings, lights gleaming behind wooden shutters and panes of glass.
“I would hold vigil,” he says simply.
“No celebrating?”
“I knight should not need to celebrate,” Arthur says stiffly and Merlin stops talking and continues to stare out the window.
They arrive at Nimueh’s home shortly to be met by her, the Captain of her small guard and four of his men. They bow to Arthur as they step out. “Well met, knight. I am Harold Vardar, Captain of the l’Isle Guard and I bid you welcome on the Longest Night. Will you honor us with your company?”
Arthur is caught off guard and reacts out of reflex, bowing to the five men, “I would be honored.”
“There is a small shrine in the garden, should you wish to hold your vigil there, knight. Merlin, it is good to see you,” Nimueh says and places a small kiss on his cheek. Her perfume surrounds him, disorienting him momentarily before she pulls away and he is able to think properly again.
“Warrior, so full of honor. Do you think he might be a bit in love with you?” Nimueh asks turning to Merlin.
“Arthur despises me. In fact, he calls me an idiot at least once a day,” Merlin says. “My lady.”
“Love and hate are two sides of the same coin and it doesn’t take much for one to flip to the other,” Nimueh says, gripping his elbow and leading him inside. “You despise and love your patrons, do you not?”
“I…yes, my lady,” Merlin says softly.
“And how many of them do you fear?” she asks, looking ahead.
Merlin flicks his eyes up to her before answering, “One, not at all. Most, sometimes. You, my lady, always.”
She looks at Merlin then and smiles. “Good,” she says and Merlin shudders a little.
They reached an intersection of corridors. “My servants will help you ready for the masquerade. We leave for the party in an hours’ time.” Two servants appear out of nowhere and escort Merlin down a different hall than the one Nimueh is taking.
A fresh bath is waiting for Merlin, still steaming faintly. Merlin relaxes into the heated water, enjoying himself while one servant gets his clothing ready, another rubs scented oils into his skin and hair. By the time he gets out, his skin is flushed a soft pink and he is relaxed. They dry him off quickly and bring out his costume.
It is a gold, gauzy material. With closer inspection, Merlin can make out a pattern of scales embroidered into it with gold thread. Small beads of amber and tiger’s eye wink in the candle light. Merlin pulls it on with shaking hands, noticing the jagged section of cloth that connects between his arms and sides. Settling the mask that comes with it over his face, he stands there looking at himself in the mirror. A snarling dragon looks back, wings folded at the moment. Merlin can feel his face grow warm as he realizes how much is revealed by the material.
“Is this all of it?” Merlin asks, fearing what the servant might say.
“Yes my lord,” she answers and Merlin swallows heavily. He is about to be paraded before some of the most powerfully magical people in this.
“There is one more thing,” she says and pulls out a collar of woven metal wire. More semiprecious stones wink from their hiding places in it. Merlin’s cheeks grow even hotter as the woman slips the collar around his neck and snaps it into place.
Very nice, Nimueh says once they are done, standing in the door way. She is dressed in a black trailing dress, with bronze embroidery along the upper edge of her gown. A black mask covers the upper half of her face, the symbol for the Dragonlords embossed onto the shiny surface, bronze paint making it stand out sharply.
She is dressed as a Dragonlord and Merlin is her dragon. “Come,” she says and in her hands rests a least of woven wire. Merlin’s body moves before he can even think about it and by the time he comes to his senses, the leash is already hooked to the collar.
~*~
Merlin doesn’t know what to expect from a magical gathering, but it seems to be the same any other parties he has attended, if with a hint more of magical tension in the air. The crowds go silent as he and Nimueh step into the room.
The herald announces them and Merlin flushes even redder as those closest realize who exactly he is. Merlin trails behind Nimueh as she begins to circulate among the guest. Masked faces stare at him as they pass and Merlin wants to run, but he can’t, not with the leash still attached.
“Your grace,” Nimueh says with a curtsy.
“Ah, Nimueh,” Duc Mordred de Porte says with a placed glance between her and Merlin. “And what have you brought?”
She says nothing and Merlin sinks into an awkward bow, voice breathy as he says, “Joy to you your grace on the Longest Night.”
Merlin feels fingers under his chin and allows the Duc to lift his head. “No!” he says in disbelief as the Duc takes in Merlin’s eyes.
“Merlin nó Emrys,” Nimueh says with a smirk. “Did you not know that Camelot boasted a genuine warlock, your grace?” she asks.
“One cannot be completely certain of what one hears unless one has seen it with their own eyes,” the Duc says. He reaches forward then and runs a gentle finger down Merlin’s chest, magic sparking between the points of contact. Merlin can’t keep the small gasp in his throat.
Nimueh twitches the leash and pulls Merlin to face her. “The Duc is not your patron tonight, pet,” she warns him and Merlin swallows heavily at the threat in her words.
“No, my lady,” Merlin says.
Nimueh gives one final curtsy to Duc de Porte before leading Merlin off. He can’t for the life of him, say what happens after, his mind too caught up in the magic of the room, his own leaving him distracted. The only thing Merlin can truly remember is Nimueh’s laugh, every touch s she lays a hand a finger on his person, every spark of her magic though him, like heat lightening.
Merlin is glad Arthur cannot see him like this. They leave shortly after midnight and Merlin follows willingly, glad to be able to hide behind the carriage walls. He is hyperventilating from so much magic and the slightest touch feels like a jolt. His magic is going haywire under his skin and he can’t seem to catch his breath.
“Come here,” she says once again and Merlin can’t help but obey, allowing his body to mold to hers as she kisses him, devours him until nothing is left but a quivering mess of flesh and magic in her arms.
It takes him a moment to realize that they have reached Nimueh’s home and he blinks owlishly, his mask hanging askew on his face. Reaching up, he slips it off and steps out of the carriage into Nimueh’s courtyard. She guides him inside. Merlin shivers from cold and anticipation.
~*~
What passes, Merlin can’t properly recall, but certain parts remain clear. He can recall her stripping him of the costume, chucking it to some corner of her playroom. She had left him sitting in the middle of the bed, naked but for the collar. When she cuffed his wrists in padded leather manacles and hooked them to a hook and chain above the bed, he knew he was in for a long night. He jerked when she placed the blindfold over his eyes.
That was when she brought magic into the mix. After that, things became a blur as his magic reacted with hers. Hanging there, blind and hypersensitive to every shift of magic, she took him apart bit by bit. “You can end this, Merlin,” she murmurs to him. “All you have to do is say it.”
Merlin shakes his head. He hasn’t said it before and he won’t know. “As you wish.” She continues to work at him. He isn’t sure of how much time passes or what pours from his mouth, be it moans or secrets. All he knows is that when she asks him a second time, he caves. “Gwaine,” he near yells and he can feel her smirk even blindfolded.
“Such a good boy,” she says softly. “You may come now,” she hisses into his ear, finger tweaking his nipple harshly and Merlin cries out a second time, his magic exploding from him in a violent rush that leaves him gasping for breath while he shakes.
“Please,” Merlin whispers, barely able to lift his head.
“What do you want?” she asks, running a soft fingertip over his back.
“You,” Merlin groans out.
Nimueh laughs and unbinds his hands, letting him fall to the bed. “He trained you well, Kilgharrah. Your skill could match any of the Court. What do you plan to do once it’s done?” she asks, running a hand over his Mearcung, tracing its lines.
“I don’t know, my lady,” Merlin bites out.
“You should think on it. You’re so close to being done. Does he have a final target picked out for you?”
“I don’t know, my lady,” Merlin says between gritted teeth, trying to keep from succumbing to her magic again.
“Hmm, perhaps he’s satisfied with what you have done. After all, you got him L’Ector and revenge against Agravaine. Who do you think taught him to manipulate so? I taught him all I knew and he taught me to observe and think for myself. Such formidable gifts when combined,” she tells him.
“He says you two are well-matched in some ways,” Merlin admits.
“All but one, but then he’d already given his heart to another by the time I met him. Though a large part of it died that day Queen Ygraine died.”
“Ygraine?” Merlin jerks up in surprise, all thought of exhaustion forgotten by this snippet of information. All the pieces seem to be falling into place now.
“You really didn’t know, did you?” She strokes his cheek. “Of course he loved her. Ever since she saved him so long ago as he lay dying in the forest. Even though she married that Pendragon, he still remained true and followed her from Tintagel to Camelot, just to protect her.”
Merlin tries to process all that she has told him, but it’s hard to concentrate. “So if, he is no longer using you for his eyes and ears, what is he up to then?”
“Nothing,” Merlin says. “Reading, waiting for word from Petit Fils, nothing,” Merlin says, running a hand through his hair. Realizing too late what he let slip, he glances up, but Nimueh’s face is disinterested.
“Well, maybe he’ll have gotten word through De Porte. The fleet is anchored north of the Porte estates.” She says nonchalantly, running fingers over his pale skin. “He’ll want to see you now.”
“De Porte?” Merlin asks, confused as he tries to sift through all the information he has.
“Yes. He’s a creature of the Old Religion, though not as powerful as you or me. He will be drawn to you as you are to me, though you should remind him who it was that brought you to his attention.” Smirking again, she leans forward to brush a kiss over his cheek, whispering into Merlin’s ear, “Say your little friend’s name again.”
“Gwaine,” Merlin says softly and shudders.
~*~
Merlin wakes in the morning in a guest room and a servant waiting for him to wake. He lingers in the bath, hoping to wash away as much of the night before as possible. Eventually, though, he has to get out. He dresses and goes to the dining room where Arthur is already seated. Merlin looks away, unable to meet his eye.
Arthur seems unconcerned, since Merlin appears to be unharmed. He’s had worse with D’Cote, but that doesn’t mean he is whole at the moment. Nimueh appears shortly after. “Perhaps you should hold onto this knight, to keep him from losing it,” she says and tosses the coin purse. She walks forward and slips something around Merlin’s neck, and Merlin shivers as the woven metal collar settles around his neck heavily.
“That is to remember me by,” she whispers. She motions and a servant hands Merlin a wealth of gold thread, his outfit from the night before. “I’ve no need for rags, but I would like to see what a warlock is like when he is able to spread his wings finally,” she whispers and places a final kiss on cheek.
“My lady,” Merlin says, throat tight. She laughs and walks away, leaving Merlin staring after her with his arms full of material and Arthur watching him with a bemused look on his face.
~*~
By the time they arrive, both are tired, but it is still dark out, with the entire house still asleep. Arthur hands him his coin purse and excuses himself to go get some sleep. Merlin heads upstairs and places the coin purse in his coffer. Sitting, he stares at the heap of gold cloth on his bed. He is free, with all this, he is free.
It is a heady thing, one’s freedom and Merlin can’t seem to feel even the slightest bit tired. With nothing to do in his room, Merlin heads down to the study. If he remembers rightly, the book that Arthur had found is just, there.
He pulls it down. He hadn’t know it was there, wedged between two larger tombs. Merlin has always been curious about dragons and Dragonlords and this is his chance to learn more. Pulling a chair close to the dying fire, he places a log in the grate and curls up in the chair.
Holding it carefully, Merlin opens it to a random page. He’s expecting some incomprehensible language. What he sees is small, spidery script. When he first glances at it, it appears to be a language he doesn’t know, but something in him shifts and as he watches, the letters change and he can read each word.
“The only thing that can command a dragon is a Dragonlord. This gift was given onto a select group of humans many generations ago, before the great treaty was made. This gift, passed from father to son upon the death of the father, allows the Dragonlord to not only communicate, but also command these great beasts.
The last known Dragonlord was Ambrosia Antonius, the last recorded warlock. It was through him and the dragons that a great disaster was avoided, but in the process, he and the last dragon were slain. While Ambrosia Antonius body was found, none know of what befell the dragon. While the warlock line can be traced through the generations from one family, none know who the heir of Ambrosia Antonius is and when the next warlock will appear. It can only be assumed that at some point in the line of warlocks, a Dragonlord married into the family, thus, creating a new heritage for these powerful people.”
Merlin shuts the book with a snap, breathing heavily. Gaius had never told him about Ambrosia being a Dragonlord and that they all came from the same family. He had just assumed they were chosen at random. But if he is descended from Ambrosia then that can only mean…
Merlin’s mind goes blank. He is a Dragonlord, or at least, he has the ability to become one. But with no dragons left, what is the point. Is his father even dead yet? Rubbing at his eyes, he glances up, the fire reflecting off of the metal frame of a picture frame. It is a portrait of Queen Ygraine.
Frowning, Merlin remembers Nimueh’s words and walks over to look at it. Taking it off of the wall, he turns it around. There is something written on the back in faded ink, “Remember me with fondness, Kilgharrah and don’t hate me for what I must do. Ygraine de la Bois.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Freya says and Merlin jumps, almost dropping the portrait.
“I had to know. Beside, Kilgharrah taught us to do this. Now, help me put it back,” he hisses and she sighs but comes forward to help him put it back on the wall straight.
They stood silent after it is done, but the house is silent. “So, Kilgharrah was in love with Ygraine who has been dead almost twenty years now. So what? Why does Uther still treat with Kilgharrah and award him with things behind closed doors while publicly shunning him? And why does he make peace with Duc L’Ector over Ygraine’s death?” Merlin asks staring at her hard, wanting answers now.
Freya looks away, “I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you,” Merlin says sharply.
“Believe what you want, but I too made a promise. Who told you, Nimueh?” Merlin doesn’t say anything but it is answer enough. Freya sighs, “I wish I knew what sort of game that woman was playing at. I could sleep so much easier.”
“What I know is that half the peers have known this for years and there is no reason to keep it hidden. Who would kill over such knowledge when the Queen has been dead all this time? Besides, it’s not what Kilgharrah was back then that is so dangerous, it is what he is now.”
“And I suppose Nimueh isn’t clever enough to send you fishing for that information?” Freya snaps back.
Merlin feels a chill run down his spin. That prophesy he had heard so long ago with Gwaine flashes in his mind and he isn’t sure if he want to know Kilgharrah so fully. “Will you tell Kilgharrah?”
She shook her head, “That is up to you, Merlin. If you’re wise, you’ll tell him.” With that she leaves him and he feels cold, despite the warmth of the fire.
~*~
In the end, he compromises and tells Kilgharrah everything but what Nimueh told him. It isn’t much since he was kind of out of it and Kilgharrah gives up after the fourth going over and turns his attention to the patron gift Nimueh had given him.
“What will you do?” he asks, look up at Merlin.
Merlin hasn’t had much time to think it over, but he does know what he wants, “My lord, in the Court, those who have made their Mearcung may stay with the Court until they decide to leave or retire. I don’t wish to leave.”
“You want to stay here?” he asks and smiles for the first time ever that Merlin can recall.
“If you will let me,” Merlin says, head bowed.
“Oh, young warlock, of course I will let you stay. I would turn gray in the head with worry if you left on your own. At least here, I can safeguard you as much as possible,” he says, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s shoulders.
“Thank you, my lord,” Merlin says.
“You are a member of this household and I would never throw you out. Now shall I have this appraised?” he asks, holding up the golden cloth.
“Yes, please,” Merlin says with a grin.
With Kilgharrah’s permission, Merlin takes a reluctant Arthur and rides down to the lower city. The carriage still has too many memories of Nimueh, though he still does wear her collar. The cold air bits in his lungs, but it feels good to ride, to clear his head. Gwaine gets him with warmth, pulling him in close.
“You won’t believe it, Merlin. A proper, full-fledged livery service. A noble’s carriage and only bought for a song,” Gwaine grins.
“You sand a verse to much, princess,” Arthur says with a smug grin. “The trim alone won’t cover those busted wheels.”
“I also know a cartwright who will do good work for a song, princess, so no need to worry your empty little head,” Gwaine shoots back and turns to Merlin. “Has Kilgharrah finally let you out of your cage? Can I buy you a tankard?”
“I’ll buy you one,” Merlin says, jingling his coin purse. “Come one Arthur, it won’t kill you to set foot into a peasant’s tavern,” Merlin says with a smirk in Arthur’s direction. With a huff, Arthur follows, glowering at Merlin and Gwaine.
Merlin tells Gwaine everything that happens while they sip at their mead. Gwaine runs a finger along Merlin’s collar, “Do you know what the stones alone would be worth?” he asks, looking at Merlin.
Merlin shakes his head, “A fair amount, I guess.”
“Merlin,” Gwaine says with a heavy sigh. “You could do quite a lot with that kind of money.”
“I can’t sell it,” Merlin says, remembering Nimueh’s words. “Don’t ask why.”
“Fine, so what else?” Gwaine asks.
Merlin looks over at Arthur, “Arthur could you go buy a jug for Gwaine’s boy over there?”
“No,” Arthur says flatly.
“I swear this is nothing like last time. It just you might not want to listen to this part. I won’t move from this chair,” Arthur still shakes his head. “Does your damn vow say you have to remain glued to my side?” Merlin asks with a hiss.
With an angry huff, Arthur snatches the coin from Merlin’s hand and walks away angrily.
“I hope we don’t need to rescue him like last time. Now what is it that you can’t say around him?” Gwaine asks.
Merlin quickly tells him about Nimueh, Kilgharrah, Ygraine. Gwaine whistles once he’s done. “That certainly explains a lot.”
“Indeed, but I still worry,” Merlin says.
“About that prophesy we heard?” Gwaine asks and Merlin nods.
“Either it was false or it is lying in wait for me,” Merlin admits.
“Let us hope it is the former,” Gwaine says somberly. Grinning again, he looks at Merlin with a twinkle in his eye, “you’re free now. You know what that means?”
“It means I can do what I want and travel where I’ve always wanted and go to greater heights than I could as Kilgharrah’s warlock,” Merlin says with a grin, knocking the wind out of Gwaine’s sails.
“You already know what it will bring, but you will need to choose,” Gwaine says, tapping at the collar around his neck.
“I’ve only just gotten free and I want to taste freedom. Not give it up the moment I get it,” Merlin snaps, knocking his hand away.
“I’d walk with you wherever you went and I wouldn’t put a collar on you. I’d let you fly free,” Gwaine says softly.
“Your father collared your mother with poverty after he died and you would collar me with a ring once you got me, no matter what you say about not being a noble,” Merlin snaps.
“You know what I mean, Merlin,” Gwaine says softly.
“I know, Gwaine, but that’s the problem,” Merlin says, remembering the book and all that it hid. He needs to find out who he truly is before even thinking about his future. For a moment, Merlin thinks this is the point where Gwaine decides Merlin isn’t worth it, and his heart is in his throat.
Then Gwaine flashes his easy grin and tosses his hair, “Then fly away little bird. I will just search for you and find you and do it all over again when you fly away. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
Merlin laughs easily, his heart light and kisses Gwaine on the mouth, who kisses back with skill. He has been taught well from all those lords and ladies he dallied with. Arthur fist slams onto the table with Merlin’s change and they jump apart like guilty children and grinning like fools. Arthur just looks at them dourly and sits back in his chair.
Arthur is silent the whole ride back, his brooding silence grating on Merlin’s nerves. “There was no harm in it. I’ve made my Mearcung and I’ve no bond to betray now.”
“Your Mearcung is not finished yet and it is none of my business where you bestow your…gift,” Arthur bites out. Spurring his horse forward, Arthur leaves Merlin behind, forcing the warlock to scramble to keep up. Merlin spends the rest of the ride glaring at Arthur’s back.
~*~
It doesn’t take long for the assessor to get back, the gold weighted and assessed for purity. Merlin is presented with a large sum of money. Remembering the sting of Arthur’s words, Merlin quickly schedules his final appointment with Master Saracen.
Merlin spends the days up to his appointment in a weird limbo, neither bond-servant, nor a free Alban. Merlin spends his time thinking back on his life, wondering how he got to this point.
The day of the appointment dawns clear and crisp, the cold somewhat lessened with the rising sun. Kilgharrah, expecting a visitor, gives them permission to take the horses to ride to the tattooist shop. Though Master Saracen is not a greedy man, he is an artist and Merlin is the first warlock in generations. The fame this finished Mearcung will bring him will give him patrons aplenty.
Most of the first hour is spent reconfirming designs and lines. Merlin can see Arthur through the curtain in the front of the shop, looking bored. Merlin doesn’t care though, let him wait. He is finally getting his chains cut from him and will not be rushed.
A commotion at the front of the shop has Merlin looking up. Master Saracen’s apprentice comes in wide eyed. “There is a man looking for Merlin nó Emrys. The knight has him in hand; shall we send for the Day Guard?”
“Who is he?” Merlin asks, tucking the sheet around his waist.
“I don’t know. He says he has a message which must be delivered to Lord Kilgharrah. Shall I send for the guard?”
“No, send him and Arthur in,” Merlin says, quickly tugging on his breeches and tunic. “Master Saracen…?”
“Use the back room if you must warlock,” Saracen says with a wave and Merlin thanks him just as the man walks in with Arthur tugging his arm up behind his back.
“Call off your knight, I have a message that must be delivered to Kilgharrah immediately,” the man says loudly.
Arthur gives the man a shove into the small back room and Merlin stares at him. “Who are you?” Merlin asks.
The man rubs at his arm. “I’m Uris Gaud of the Osprey. I am oath-sworn to Admiral Petit Fils. I’m supposed to be meeting with your lord, Kilgharrah.”
“And how do I know this?” Merlin asks.
“Damn it, there was a password, um…what was it…ah yes, I swear it on the Queen’s draca, her only born,” he says quickly. Merlin’s mind goes into overdrive, trying to figure out what it could mean. The queen’s only born child was Prince Arthur who died at child birth. So what could it mean?
“Very well then, why are you here?” Merlin asks.
“There are men watching the coast and when I checked out Lord Kilgharrah’s home, they were watching there as well. They’re even watching me. Someone slipped up and gave ‘em word. I saw you leave and followed,” he says.
“What is the word from Fils, then?” Merlin asks, feeling a numbing chill settle over his body. The man took a breath, “When the Red Hart rules in Hibernia, the Fisher King will accede. That is my message,” he says to them.
Merlin’s hands are shaking when he presses a coin into the sailor’s hands, a silver piece, he doesn’t care. “Thank you, I will tell him immediately and he will send word.” Uris takes the coin and with a quick nod, is gone from the room and shop.
Shaking, Merlin looks at Arthur. “The house” is all he says before they are both off for their horses. They ride like the wind that day, bent hell for high water to get back in time. The horses, seeming to sense their desperation, set off the moment they are in the saddle.
It’s too late. It is quiet in the courtyard when they arrive, jumping from their horses. “No!” Arthur shouts and runs off inside, his sword drawn, still covered in its sheath. Merlin follows slowly, numb, into the house.
Servants litter the hall where they fell. Merlin can only stare at the gore before him, so many innocents killed, just for being employed by Kilgharrah. Merlin follows Arthur into the inner courtyard where so many days and nights had been spent with Kilgharrah, Freya, and their friends, so many parties and get-togethers.
Arthur is standing a few feet away and Merlin can see why. A large black winged cat lies on its side, panting as its blood drains from dozens of sword slashes. “Oh, Freya,” Merlin whispers as he walks passed Arthur to kneel beside her. He had been told about the curse placed on her as a child, but he hadn’t known what it did.
As he watches, she shrinks until Freya lies before him, naked and much to pale. Taking off his cloak, Merlin covers her with it, the brown material soaking up the blood quickly, turning black. “Water,” she asks softly. Merlin motions and the pitcher of water floats over with a goblet. Filling the goblet, he holds it to her mouth and she drinks heavily from it.
“Kilgharrah?” Merlin asks softly.
She shakes her head. “There were too many, twenty at least,” she tells him. She looks to her right and Merlin can make out Kilgharrah’s leg poking from behind the trellis.
“Who were they?” Merlin asks.
“Albans, soldiers, no crest. I killed two before they surrounded me,” she says softly and coughs, red staining her lips.
“Fils? Get word to him.”
“His messenger found us. He said the house was being watched,” Merlin says, wiping the blood from her lips.
“Password?” Freya asks.
“The queen’s draca, her only son,” Merlin says. “What does her dead son have to do with this?”
“Not dead…Kilgharrah oath-sworn to watch over him from afar…death threat at birth…hidden away for safety,” she coughs again, more red staining her lips. “What…of…Petit?”
“When the Red Hart rules in Hibernia, the Fisher King will accede,” Merlin says over the knot stopping up his throat as more blood trickles from the corner of her mouth, the light starting to fade from her eyes. “Please don’t go Freya. I can’t do this without you,” Merlin pleads.
She draws in a deep breath, “Tell…Morgana. Trust…Petit. Cenred. Ju…Juliana knows…about Hibernia. She coughs again. “Not Uther…slipping. It’s Morgana…” her voice starts to fade. Her body gives one large shudder, her hands coming up to clutch at his, “Merlin!”
Merlin isn’t sure how much time passes as he holds Freya in his arms. All he knows is that it is Arthur who pulls him away from her limp body. Merlin can’t think, can’t see anything but her lifeless corpse, his heart shattering.
Arthur shakes him and his head snaps limply on his neck, jolting him from his thoughts, “Damn it, Merlin, listen to me,” Arthur hisses. The crack of his hand landing on Merlin’s cheek echoes in the silent courtyard. “Do you understand? These were professionals. They took their dead with them and they will return to finish the job. We must deliver Petit’s message before they do. Do you understand?” Arthur asks, shaking him once more for emphasis.
“Yes,” Merlin croaks out, throat still tight with unshed tears. “Yes, damn you I understand,” Merlin says, jerking from his grip. Shaking his head, he tries to clear his thoughts. “We’ll go straight to the castle and Morgana. If we can’t get to her, we’ll go to Juliana. She knows me and will see me.”
“Good,” Arthur says and grabs him by the arm, tugging him out of the massacre. “Let’s go.”
~*~
Merlin looses track of time, location, everything except his reason for going. They need to get to the castle and inform Morgana. When they get there, Morgana’s Guard turns them away. Merlin could care less about what sort of spectacle they’re making, Arthur in his black tunic and Merlin in his warlock’s cloak.
When the servants of Juliana turn them away, saying she is busy with easing the King’s sleep, Merlin is about ready to explode. Rubbing at his face in frustration, he starts to turn away, trying to recall a patron with enough power to help them.
“Merlin?” Merlin jerks his head up to see Nimueh coming towards them in the hall. Her brow is furrowed, taking in their desperate appearance.
“What is it?” she asks.
Her voice knocks something loose and all the tears he had bottled up start to let loose. “Kilgharrah…Freya...everyone…”
“What?” she asks, shocked.
“Are you in search of the King’s Guard?” she asks.
“No,” Arthur says as Merlin answers, “Yes.”
“Yes,” Merlin says again, remembering his distrust of her. Wiping away the tears, he straightens. “Do you know where they are quartered?”
“I can do better,” she turns to her servant behind her. “Summon the Captain of the King’s Guard. Tell him it is urgent.” The servant bows and runs off. “Come with me. He should be here momentarily.”
Merlin can only glance briefly at her rooms in the castle, before his legs give out onto a chair. “Here, drink this, it will do you good,” she tells him, handing a goblet of strong spirits to Merlin. It burns going down, but it helps warm the numbing cold that has started to take over him. Even Arthur accepts a drink from her, drinking it all in one gulp before setting the goblet down on the table in front of them.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks.
“No,” Merlin says shaking his head. “I mean, I’m not sure. We…we were at Master Saracen’s approving a last minute change to my Mearcung. I’m not sure how long we were there…”
“Almost an hour,” Arthur chimes in. Merlin nods and the world around him spins sickeningly. “We arrived back at the house. There were signs of battle and no one was left alive.”
“Oh Kilgharrah,” she says softly.
There’s a thud and Merlin looks over to see Arthur slumped at the table, the goblet knocked over. Merlin feels unconsciousness pulling at his mind, his eyes growing heavy.
He turns accusing eyes on Nimueh, “No,” he says. He looks down at the goblet and pushes it away, the cup tipping and spilling what was left of the liquid inside it. “No…No!”
“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry,” Nimueh murmurs, picking up the knocked over goblets. “I swear I never gave the order for them to be killed. It wasn’t my decision.”
“You knew.” Merlin tries to push himself up, but his joints won’t work. “You used me. Ah, damn it, I told you, I told you of Petit’s messenger!”
“No, I already knew Kilgharrah was awaiting a message from Petit,” she informs him.
“Why then?” Merlin asks even as sleep starts to pull him down. “Why did you tell me about the queen if you already knew? I thought you wanted to find out what it meant.”
She smiles gently at him, smoothing back his hair. “I’ve known for a while about Kilgharrah’s oath and that the little prince is still alive. My second husband was there you see, when it was decided to send the child into hiding. I also knew that Kilgharrah meant to keep his promise. No, I needed to know what he was up to. Why Petit Fils and what does it have to do with the Fisher King?”
“But, why me?” Merlin asks, clawing his way back into wakefulness as far as he can.
“Do I need a reason, warlock?” She asks, running a finger under his eye, like she had done so many years before. “I guess I do, for you. It’s like flushing pheasants. I needed to see what De Porte’s lordlings would do at mention of your name. It wasn’t hard to know one of them was harboring a messenger for your master.”
Merlin can feel tears in his eyes as the pattern starts to come together. “D’Alene.”
“Kilgharrah trained you well. Most warriors think with their sword,” she says with a curl of her lips.
“Not D’Alene.”
“No,” she says walking around the room. Merlin knows the Captain of the Guard will not be coming. “No, D’Alene thinks with more than his sword. After all, he was fostered amongst my kin, House L’Isle.”
She leans over, hands on his shoulders and nothing, not the thought of Freya and Kilgharrah dead in their own blood, or Arthur, dead or unconscious next to him, can stop his magic from reacting to hers. “Don’t,” Merlin pleads, tears running down his face. “Please, don’t.”
Merlin thinks she will do as he asks for once. Then she leans forward and whispers into his ear, “What did the knight mean when I asked what you were looking for? He said no when you said yes. What were you really looking for?”
For a moment, his vision goes blinding gold and he can see everyone’s face: Kilgharrah, Freya, all the servants, and behind it, the scales of the Balance, looming over everything. “I don’t know. Ask Arthur, if you haven’t already killed him,” Merlin grits out through his teeth.
“But you’ve already warned him. The knight would sooner die than betray his oath,” Nimueh whispers, “And besides, I would rather ask you.” The world goes dark around him.
~*~
Part 5
She returns some days later and Merlin thinks she is there for Kilgharrah but she instead wishes to invite him to see a performance by a troupe of players. No one except Gwaine had ever invited him for something for pleasure of his company and he look to Kilgharrah earnestly. “He will be safe with me, Kilgharrah. I am under protection of the Pendragon line and only someone truly foolish would try to harm me.”
“You’re right. Very well, but you will behave yourself, he says sternly to Merlin.
Forgetting his anger with Kilgharrah momentarily, Merlin jumps up and hugs him around the neck, grinning. Leaving a startled expression on Kilgharrah’s face, Merlin goes running off to fetch his cloak.
Merlin had seen a few plays during his trips to the lower town, but he had never seen an actual, professional production. By the end, he is bursting with energy, thanking Juliana again and again.
“I thought you might like it,” she says to him with a smile. “Would you like to meet the playwright?” Merlin nods and follows her backstage. It is full of noise and chaos as they chatter about the success of the play while cleaning up.
The playwright, the only one in sober garb, walks up. “Juliana, so glad you could make it,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“It was wonderful. Dagonet nó Madela-Camnen, May I introduce Merlin nó Emrys who also enjoyed your play very much.”
Before Merlin could answer, there is a stirring at the door and in steps the king’s chamberlain, Medrain Karen. “My lord Medrain, you honor us tonight,” Dagonet, says.
“Of course,” he says with a sniff, waving his handkerchief in front of his nose. “Your play was well met and will be performed for His Highness five days hence.” With another wave and a “good evening” he is gone from the room.
The room bursts into cheers and Juliana wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “You must come with us to the Rising Sun.” The Rising Sun is a players’ house and only guild-members and guest are able to enter. Merlin, as a guest of the King’s poet, is let in and spends the rest of the evening eating and drinking while listening to all the stories the players have to offer.
Merlin’s ears perk up when one of the players starts to speak of politics, “I hear rumor that Duc D’Alene met in secret with Uther to bid for Morgana’s hand in marriage. Is it true?” he asks turning to Juliana.
Juliana shrugs. “I have not heard of it, but I cannot be everywhere,” she says with a smile.
Merlin listens to the murmurs around them before finally asking, “What was the king’s answer?”
Dagonet turns to look at Merlin, “He declined and gave no reason as he has with all suitors. I think Duc D’Alene thought he was owed something for his help in bringing the Escetian throne to justice and maybe he is but it is not Morgana’s hand.” The talk turns away to other things and Merlin dives into it, leaving that little nugget for later to mull over.
It is nearing midnight by the time Juliana’s carriage carries him back home. He thanks her again, feeling lighthearted for the first time in a long time. She holds his hand gently. “I’m glad I was able to cheer you so. I know you resent Freya and Kilgharrah their freedom, but do not try and ruin this for them. Both have lost a lot in their lives, especially Kilgharrah. They deserve to be happy. Please allow them this small thing.”
“I will try, my lady,” Merlin murmurs. She smiles and placing a kiss on his cheek, bids him goodnight.
Kilgharrah is unsurprised by Duc D’Alene’s bid for Morgana’s hand or the king’s response. Merlin would have put the whole thing behind him, if Kilgharrah hadn’t received a letter with a summons to see the play that Merlin had seen. He glances at the letter and sees the royal Pendragon seal on it.
Merlin is contracted on the same day as the play with Lucas Maris, Duc L’Ector’s man. Arthur accompanies him, though they have spoken little since the night of D’Cote’s assignation. If he feels uncomfortable about Merlin’s assignations, he doesn’t show it.
Merlin’s mind is half on the play and Kilgharrah’s mysterious invitation to attend. Maris doesn’t seem to notice and by the end of their assignation he is please, handing Merlin a full purse. Tying it to his belt, he glances up at Maris, “My lord is there another way out of your quarters?” he asks softly.
“There is the servant’s entrance through the kitchen. Why do you ask?” he asks leaning forward.
Merlin flicks his eyes around, trying to look mysterious, before leaning forward. “There is…someone I must meet with, who has made an offer, but they do not like having knights on their doorstep. But Knight Arthur is bound to follow me no matter what. Kilgharrah has asked me to deliver a message without Arthur trailing me.”
“I could send the message for you,” he says.
“No!” Merlin shakes his head. “My reputation depends on my discretion. What would people think if word got out that I am telling patron secrets to others? All I ask is that you have my carriage sent to the west wing along with Arthur, I would be most grateful…as would certain others.”
Maris thinks it over. He nods, “Easily done and you will put in a good word with your master?” Merlin nods as well.
“Of course,” he says, pulling on his cloak. With a final bow, Merlin slips from the room. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know the castle that well and is soon lost among its many halls and corridors. It takes him some time to find an exit from the servant’s corridors and ends up in a deserted hall. He can hear boots and voices around the corner.
Merlin quickly runs to a shadowed niche right before they turn the corner, using his dark cloak to hide behind. “Damn it!” A man yells out, voice livid. “It is too much to ask for the protection of the realm. That old fool should realize he owes me somewhat!”
“Maybe he’s right, Valiant. After all, you did betray Prince Dillon, do you really think Dillon’s Men would follow you? Besides, they’re Escetian men.”
“They’re a hundred hardened warriors trained to fight in the mountains. If the old fool can’t realize that, then perhaps I’ll start recruiting from the villages. Let’s see how much he likes the blood of peasants on his head.”
The two turn the corner and barrel passed his hiding place. Merlin waits until their footsteps fade before leaving his hiding place. Shaking a little Merlin starts to walk in the opposite direction. If he hadn’t been lost, he would have given up. As it is, he keeps walking in the hopes of finding a familiar landmark.
Eventually, he finds his way to the royal theater. Of course, he had forgotten about the Castle Guard placed on every entrance. Remembering the other theater’s layout, he slips out of his cloak, folding it over his arm. Hoping to fool the guard, he walks by, towards what he hopes is the player’s quarters. The guard says nothing and Merlin slips in unhindered.
It is the players’ quarters and it is deserted as they are all on stage or behind scenes. Slipping into the first room he sees, he starts to poke around, hoping to find something. A click sounds in the quiet room. Jerking up, he sees the mirror start to move as it opens outward on hidden hinges. Thinking fast, he throws himself under a chair heaped with props and cloth, tugging until they cover him, but leave a gap to see through.
As the mirror shift to reflect his hiding space, he can see nothing of himself visible and relaxes a little. Merlin nearly jerks as the door opens and Kilgharrah comes walking in at the same time as Morgana de la Pendragon steps down from a secret passage behind the mirror.
He nods to her. “I am here at your summons,” he says simply.
“Do you know this ring?” she asks, holding out a thin golden band set with two seed pearls and an emerald in the center.
“Yes.”
“Is it true that you have sworn an oath upon it?” she asks again.
“Yes, I have sworn an oath on Ygraine de la Pendragon’s ring,” Kilgharrah answers.
“Then tell me your news,” she demands, pale face tense, dark blue eyes shifting around uneasily.
“There is none, my lady. I am still waiting for word from Petit Fils. If there had been any news, I would have come here straight away,” he tells her.
“My father would use you and keep me from you. But I needed to speak with you by myself, to know the truth,” she says softly, thin shoulders, sagging under the weight of her words.
“My lady, it is not safe here for you or to speak these words,” Kilgharrah murmurs.
Morgana snorted. “I have the queen’s rooms now. There was once a queen enamored with a player and had this passage built to meet with him secretly. She walks over and presses the hidden button to open the mirror-door. “My Lord Emrys, I am alone in this world, with no friends close at hand and no way of knowing whom I can trust. Will you help me in this on your vow to the late queen?”
Kilgharrah bows deeply. “My lady, I am at your disposal.”
“Then come,” Morgana says softly, climbing back into the secret passage, Kilgharrah following. It shuts with a soft clock and the room goes silent again. Merlin waits until he is certain they are gone before leaving his hiding place. He can feel awe welling up inside him at what he has just witnessed.
Taking a steadying breath, he readies himself for his next confrontation. Leaving the room quickly, he makes his way to the west wing.
Arthur is standing by the carriage, fuming, and his rage palpable. “I will not have my oath compromised because you-”
“Arthur,” Merlin snaps. “Is your oath to protect your charge?”
“You know it is,” Arthur hisses.
“Then hold your tongue and ask me nothing. The knowledge that I have just gotten could get both of us and many others killed and would endanger House Pendragon. And do not mention it to Kilgharrah or he’ll have both our head,” Merlin warns, uncaring at the moment.
Merlin settles into the carriage and soon Arthur joins him. Giving the order for the diver to go, he studies Merlin from across the carriage but remains silent, curiosity evident in his gaze.
~*~
Kilgharrah returns in the small hours of the morning and speaks nothing if the event. Merlin half expects Arthur to give him away, but the knight holds his tongue, going through his drills relentlessly despite the biting cold air.
As usual, Merlin watches, bundled up in a cloak. He watches as Arthur completes the last move and reattaches his sword to his belt. The knight walks over to him, breathing heavily and sweating, despite the cold.
“Do you swear that what you have asked of me will not dishonor my oath?” he asks, blue eyes staring intently at Merlin.
Merlin swallows. “I swear,” he says, teeth chattering slightly.
“Then I will say nothing this once. So long as you do not deceive me again. I do not stop you from your honoring your oath, do not keep me from honoring mine,” Arthur says.
“All right,” Merlin says, nodding quickly. They say nothing as they walk back inside where the roaring fire has heated the study.
Freya is already there, reading from a scroll while others and mounds of books surround her. Settling into the chair beside her, Merlin looks at all the titles. All have something to do with the Fisher King.
“A bit of light reading?” Merlin asks with a raised brow. Freya shakes her head, marking her place to look up at him. “Do you think you can solve his riddle?”
“No one else has, might as well try,” she says with a grin.
“Who, Kilgharrah?” Arthur asks, browsing through the shelves of books. “He’s got everything but lost Book of Wæge. Can he even read Dragon?” Arthur asks, holding up a thin bound book.
“Probably, though I doubt he would tell us,” Merlin says, not even looking at Arthur.
“How long has it been since you were home?” Freya asks, looking at Arthur.
Arthur stiffens and he says, “my home is where my duty leads me.”
“Oh, don’t be such a knight and answer the question,” Merlin says with a lazy grin.
Arthur turns away, but answers, “I don’t have one.”
“What?” Merlin asks, looking at Arthur likes he’s lying. “What do you mean you don’t have a home?”
“I’ve lived with the Brother’s since I was a baby,” Arthur mutters, back still to them.
“I’m sorry,” Freya says softly.
Arthur shrugs, “It’s not like I knew my parents. How can I miss what I never had.”
“My parents sold me to the Court,” Merlin says, still staring at Arthur’s tense back.
Both Freya and Arthur look at him. “You never mentioned that,” Freya says.
Merlin shrugs, “It was a long time ago. They’d fallen on hard times and in a way, them selling me was a way to protect me. I at least had food in my belly and a roof over my head. I’ve not seen them since I was five.”
Wanting to change the subject, Merlin turns to Freya, “What can you tell us about Kilgharrah these days?” Merlin can’t keep the slight bitterness from his words and her eyes widen a little. She knows he knows about the two of them.
Freya turns her head away and Merlin clenches his fist. “You know, don’t you?” Merlin accuses. “He’s told you.” Merlin thumps his fist on the table, the books and scrolls trembling from the force. “Damn it, Freya, we promised to share everything with each other,” Merlin hisses.
“That was before I knew,” she says softly. “I only know part of it, to help in research. He made me promise not to tell you anything until you made your Mearcung. You’re so close already,” she pleads with him softly.
“Will you see?” Merlin snaps back and Freya pales as her words are shot back at her.
“You were the one who told him, Merlin. It would have never happened if you hadn’t said,” she reminds him.
“Don’t you think I know that,” Merlin says, grabbing a fist full of hair and tugging harshly. Merlin lets out a harsh sigh. “I saw how much you watched him and had to help, but it hurts. I see you two and can’t help but wish to be free. My wings are still clipped while you two fly away and it hurts sometimes.” Merlin deflates as the last of his anger fades away, leaving him feeling hollow.
“I’m sorry,” Freya murmurs softly into his ear, pulling him close. Merlin can see Arthur leaving the room silently, but just holds onto Freya tighter. He’s sorry to have driven the man away, but this conversation has been long in coming and could not be avoided.
“I know,” Merlin mutters into her shoulder. “I wish for once, you would be selfish so that I could hate you. I guess I’ll just have to settle on wishing you well and resenting you for what you know and won’t tell.”
“I probably would be the same,” Freya admits.
Merlin snorts, “Probably.” At that moment, Kilgharrah walks in and clears his throat. They both jerk apart and the chair Merlin is in topples, sending him sprawling.
Kilgharrah smirks a little as Merlin winces due to a banged elbow and straightens back up. “I have come to inform you that Nimueh is here and has come to make an offer for an assignation,” Kilgharrah says aloud.
“What?” Merlin says, rushing to get the chair all the way up. “Why can’t that woman ever send a courier like a normal person?”
“Because she is a long standing friend and likes to see you discomforted. Shall I say you will be with us shortly in the receiving room?” Merlin nods and Kilgharrah walks out again.
Merlin runs a shaking hand through his hair and over his clothing, trying to look like he hasn’t just been rolling on the floor. “You’re fine, Merlin, go,” Freya says, tugging on his hem to straighten his tunic and shooing him from the room.
He can hear them laughing before he opens the door. “Ah, Merlin, there you are. I have made an offer Kilgharrah finds acceptable. My lord the Duc Mordred de Porte will be visiting Camelot for the Midwinter festivities and he shall be holding a masquerade. Many of the invited guests will be bringing sorcerers and such and I should like to bring a genuine warlock. Are you contracted for the Longest Night?”
Merlin swallows loudly and shakes his head, “No, my lady, I am not contracted.”
“Well then, do you accept?” she asks and smirks at him, a curl of the lips that has his mind going blank momentarily.
“Yes,” Merlin says, just as Arthur walks in.
Nimueh looks at the knight. “It seems you will have a long vigil, knight,” she informs him.
Arthur just bows to her, face void of any expression. “I protect and serve,” he says evenly, his eyes hard as sapphires as they stare at Nimueh.
Nimueh just arches a brow at him and makes no comment except to smirk again. Kilgharrah coughs to break the tension. “Then the Longest Night it is,” he says. “You don’t do anything by halves, my lady.”
“No,” Nimueh says, smiling at Kilgharrah. “You know I don’t.”
“What is your game with Duc Porte?” Kilgharrah asks.
“Oh, nothing but province politics. It seems my dear Duc needs some reminding about just who’s house is the oldest and most magical,” she says with a small wave of her hand.
“And that’s it?” Kilgharrah asks.
“For Mordred, that is it. What my other reasons are shall remain my own,” she says with a small smile. With a curtsy, she leaves the three of them in the room.
~*~
Merlin frets himself into froth as Midwinter slowly approaches. So much so that Kilgharrah eventually sends a letter to Nimueh who replies back that Merlin should not worry. She will see to everything. Merlin isn’t sure if this is meant to comfort or worry him more, but he allows it to settle his nerves somewhat. Kilgharrah pays his worries little heed, immersed in some grander scheme that has no need for Merlin or Nimueh.
The snows come and block the northern passes and soon word comes of the Pict raiding parties again, the name Selises Arrœk carried by the ruthless barbarians on their lips. Camelot and Escetian warriors ride the boarder under Duc Valiant D’Alene.
Another story makes itself known of how Uther had ordered Persant de Dieu, son of the Royal Commander Pellinore de Dieu, to sail a small fleet against Hibernia in hopes of getting at Galway, the traitorous son who killed his own father to gain the throne, but they could not for the Fisher King made his wrath known and the waves rose high into the sky, blocking the fleet form continuing its journey. Despite this failure and with the approval of the other Alban Kings, he awards Persant the stewardship of the Escetian throne until such a time as a successor can be found.
Freya still spends her days pouring over the most obscure books and scroll for any hint of the Fisher King. Even Plaine de Bawes comes one day, laden down with copies of books and scrolls that they had sent for and word of rumors that the Pict and Selises Arrœk looking to the south, at the land full of dissention.
Uther and the other kings still hold their thrones and no one questions their right with each kingdom having its own army and navy. But Uther is not getting any younger and with Persant’s hold on the Escetian throne tenuous at best, if Camelot and Escetia are to fall, the other kingdoms will be hard pressed to defend themselves from the invading Pict force.
At the moment though, Merlin has his own concerns. Kilgharrah always tells him what he should look for on an assignment, but when he asks, the man just shrugs. “Nimueh is Nimueh and if you can learn anything of her game, it will be useful. But she is careful, even around you. Just be wary not to let anything slip and keep your eyes and ears open.”
Sighing, Merlin nods, “I will, my lord.”
Kilgharrah readjusts his cloak again. “Be careful, Merlin and enjoy yourself. You deserve it joy on the Longest Night, young warlock.”
Gripping Merlin’s shoulder one last time, Kilgharrah lets go and Merlin gets into the waiting carriage, Arthur already waiting. They are quiet as the carriage pulls away. It is dark already, the day shortest today, and their breath fogs in what little light there is.
“What would you be doing if you weren’t contracted to Kilgharrah?” Merlin asks, looking out the window at the passing buildings, lights gleaming behind wooden shutters and panes of glass.
“I would hold vigil,” he says simply.
“No celebrating?”
“I knight should not need to celebrate,” Arthur says stiffly and Merlin stops talking and continues to stare out the window.
They arrive at Nimueh’s home shortly to be met by her, the Captain of her small guard and four of his men. They bow to Arthur as they step out. “Well met, knight. I am Harold Vardar, Captain of the l’Isle Guard and I bid you welcome on the Longest Night. Will you honor us with your company?”
Arthur is caught off guard and reacts out of reflex, bowing to the five men, “I would be honored.”
“There is a small shrine in the garden, should you wish to hold your vigil there, knight. Merlin, it is good to see you,” Nimueh says and places a small kiss on his cheek. Her perfume surrounds him, disorienting him momentarily before she pulls away and he is able to think properly again.
“Warrior, so full of honor. Do you think he might be a bit in love with you?” Nimueh asks turning to Merlin.
“Arthur despises me. In fact, he calls me an idiot at least once a day,” Merlin says. “My lady.”
“Love and hate are two sides of the same coin and it doesn’t take much for one to flip to the other,” Nimueh says, gripping his elbow and leading him inside. “You despise and love your patrons, do you not?”
“I…yes, my lady,” Merlin says softly.
“And how many of them do you fear?” she asks, looking ahead.
Merlin flicks his eyes up to her before answering, “One, not at all. Most, sometimes. You, my lady, always.”
She looks at Merlin then and smiles. “Good,” she says and Merlin shudders a little.
They reached an intersection of corridors. “My servants will help you ready for the masquerade. We leave for the party in an hours’ time.” Two servants appear out of nowhere and escort Merlin down a different hall than the one Nimueh is taking.
A fresh bath is waiting for Merlin, still steaming faintly. Merlin relaxes into the heated water, enjoying himself while one servant gets his clothing ready, another rubs scented oils into his skin and hair. By the time he gets out, his skin is flushed a soft pink and he is relaxed. They dry him off quickly and bring out his costume.
It is a gold, gauzy material. With closer inspection, Merlin can make out a pattern of scales embroidered into it with gold thread. Small beads of amber and tiger’s eye wink in the candle light. Merlin pulls it on with shaking hands, noticing the jagged section of cloth that connects between his arms and sides. Settling the mask that comes with it over his face, he stands there looking at himself in the mirror. A snarling dragon looks back, wings folded at the moment. Merlin can feel his face grow warm as he realizes how much is revealed by the material.
“Is this all of it?” Merlin asks, fearing what the servant might say.
“Yes my lord,” she answers and Merlin swallows heavily. He is about to be paraded before some of the most powerfully magical people in this.
“There is one more thing,” she says and pulls out a collar of woven metal wire. More semiprecious stones wink from their hiding places in it. Merlin’s cheeks grow even hotter as the woman slips the collar around his neck and snaps it into place.
Very nice, Nimueh says once they are done, standing in the door way. She is dressed in a black trailing dress, with bronze embroidery along the upper edge of her gown. A black mask covers the upper half of her face, the symbol for the Dragonlords embossed onto the shiny surface, bronze paint making it stand out sharply.
She is dressed as a Dragonlord and Merlin is her dragon. “Come,” she says and in her hands rests a least of woven wire. Merlin’s body moves before he can even think about it and by the time he comes to his senses, the leash is already hooked to the collar.
~*~
Merlin doesn’t know what to expect from a magical gathering, but it seems to be the same any other parties he has attended, if with a hint more of magical tension in the air. The crowds go silent as he and Nimueh step into the room.
The herald announces them and Merlin flushes even redder as those closest realize who exactly he is. Merlin trails behind Nimueh as she begins to circulate among the guest. Masked faces stare at him as they pass and Merlin wants to run, but he can’t, not with the leash still attached.
“Your grace,” Nimueh says with a curtsy.
“Ah, Nimueh,” Duc Mordred de Porte says with a placed glance between her and Merlin. “And what have you brought?”
She says nothing and Merlin sinks into an awkward bow, voice breathy as he says, “Joy to you your grace on the Longest Night.”
Merlin feels fingers under his chin and allows the Duc to lift his head. “No!” he says in disbelief as the Duc takes in Merlin’s eyes.
“Merlin nó Emrys,” Nimueh says with a smirk. “Did you not know that Camelot boasted a genuine warlock, your grace?” she asks.
“One cannot be completely certain of what one hears unless one has seen it with their own eyes,” the Duc says. He reaches forward then and runs a gentle finger down Merlin’s chest, magic sparking between the points of contact. Merlin can’t keep the small gasp in his throat.
Nimueh twitches the leash and pulls Merlin to face her. “The Duc is not your patron tonight, pet,” she warns him and Merlin swallows heavily at the threat in her words.
“No, my lady,” Merlin says.
Nimueh gives one final curtsy to Duc de Porte before leading Merlin off. He can’t for the life of him, say what happens after, his mind too caught up in the magic of the room, his own leaving him distracted. The only thing Merlin can truly remember is Nimueh’s laugh, every touch s she lays a hand a finger on his person, every spark of her magic though him, like heat lightening.
Merlin is glad Arthur cannot see him like this. They leave shortly after midnight and Merlin follows willingly, glad to be able to hide behind the carriage walls. He is hyperventilating from so much magic and the slightest touch feels like a jolt. His magic is going haywire under his skin and he can’t seem to catch his breath.
“Come here,” she says once again and Merlin can’t help but obey, allowing his body to mold to hers as she kisses him, devours him until nothing is left but a quivering mess of flesh and magic in her arms.
It takes him a moment to realize that they have reached Nimueh’s home and he blinks owlishly, his mask hanging askew on his face. Reaching up, he slips it off and steps out of the carriage into Nimueh’s courtyard. She guides him inside. Merlin shivers from cold and anticipation.
~*~
What passes, Merlin can’t properly recall, but certain parts remain clear. He can recall her stripping him of the costume, chucking it to some corner of her playroom. She had left him sitting in the middle of the bed, naked but for the collar. When she cuffed his wrists in padded leather manacles and hooked them to a hook and chain above the bed, he knew he was in for a long night. He jerked when she placed the blindfold over his eyes.
That was when she brought magic into the mix. After that, things became a blur as his magic reacted with hers. Hanging there, blind and hypersensitive to every shift of magic, she took him apart bit by bit. “You can end this, Merlin,” she murmurs to him. “All you have to do is say it.”
Merlin shakes his head. He hasn’t said it before and he won’t know. “As you wish.” She continues to work at him. He isn’t sure of how much time passes or what pours from his mouth, be it moans or secrets. All he knows is that when she asks him a second time, he caves. “Gwaine,” he near yells and he can feel her smirk even blindfolded.
“Such a good boy,” she says softly. “You may come now,” she hisses into his ear, finger tweaking his nipple harshly and Merlin cries out a second time, his magic exploding from him in a violent rush that leaves him gasping for breath while he shakes.
“Please,” Merlin whispers, barely able to lift his head.
“What do you want?” she asks, running a soft fingertip over his back.
“You,” Merlin groans out.
Nimueh laughs and unbinds his hands, letting him fall to the bed. “He trained you well, Kilgharrah. Your skill could match any of the Court. What do you plan to do once it’s done?” she asks, running a hand over his Mearcung, tracing its lines.
“I don’t know, my lady,” Merlin bites out.
“You should think on it. You’re so close to being done. Does he have a final target picked out for you?”
“I don’t know, my lady,” Merlin says between gritted teeth, trying to keep from succumbing to her magic again.
“Hmm, perhaps he’s satisfied with what you have done. After all, you got him L’Ector and revenge against Agravaine. Who do you think taught him to manipulate so? I taught him all I knew and he taught me to observe and think for myself. Such formidable gifts when combined,” she tells him.
“He says you two are well-matched in some ways,” Merlin admits.
“All but one, but then he’d already given his heart to another by the time I met him. Though a large part of it died that day Queen Ygraine died.”
“Ygraine?” Merlin jerks up in surprise, all thought of exhaustion forgotten by this snippet of information. All the pieces seem to be falling into place now.
“You really didn’t know, did you?” She strokes his cheek. “Of course he loved her. Ever since she saved him so long ago as he lay dying in the forest. Even though she married that Pendragon, he still remained true and followed her from Tintagel to Camelot, just to protect her.”
Merlin tries to process all that she has told him, but it’s hard to concentrate. “So if, he is no longer using you for his eyes and ears, what is he up to then?”
“Nothing,” Merlin says. “Reading, waiting for word from Petit Fils, nothing,” Merlin says, running a hand through his hair. Realizing too late what he let slip, he glances up, but Nimueh’s face is disinterested.
“Well, maybe he’ll have gotten word through De Porte. The fleet is anchored north of the Porte estates.” She says nonchalantly, running fingers over his pale skin. “He’ll want to see you now.”
“De Porte?” Merlin asks, confused as he tries to sift through all the information he has.
“Yes. He’s a creature of the Old Religion, though not as powerful as you or me. He will be drawn to you as you are to me, though you should remind him who it was that brought you to his attention.” Smirking again, she leans forward to brush a kiss over his cheek, whispering into Merlin’s ear, “Say your little friend’s name again.”
“Gwaine,” Merlin says softly and shudders.
~*~
Merlin wakes in the morning in a guest room and a servant waiting for him to wake. He lingers in the bath, hoping to wash away as much of the night before as possible. Eventually, though, he has to get out. He dresses and goes to the dining room where Arthur is already seated. Merlin looks away, unable to meet his eye.
Arthur seems unconcerned, since Merlin appears to be unharmed. He’s had worse with D’Cote, but that doesn’t mean he is whole at the moment. Nimueh appears shortly after. “Perhaps you should hold onto this knight, to keep him from losing it,” she says and tosses the coin purse. She walks forward and slips something around Merlin’s neck, and Merlin shivers as the woven metal collar settles around his neck heavily.
“That is to remember me by,” she whispers. She motions and a servant hands Merlin a wealth of gold thread, his outfit from the night before. “I’ve no need for rags, but I would like to see what a warlock is like when he is able to spread his wings finally,” she whispers and places a final kiss on cheek.
“My lady,” Merlin says, throat tight. She laughs and walks away, leaving Merlin staring after her with his arms full of material and Arthur watching him with a bemused look on his face.
~*~
By the time they arrive, both are tired, but it is still dark out, with the entire house still asleep. Arthur hands him his coin purse and excuses himself to go get some sleep. Merlin heads upstairs and places the coin purse in his coffer. Sitting, he stares at the heap of gold cloth on his bed. He is free, with all this, he is free.
It is a heady thing, one’s freedom and Merlin can’t seem to feel even the slightest bit tired. With nothing to do in his room, Merlin heads down to the study. If he remembers rightly, the book that Arthur had found is just, there.
He pulls it down. He hadn’t know it was there, wedged between two larger tombs. Merlin has always been curious about dragons and Dragonlords and this is his chance to learn more. Pulling a chair close to the dying fire, he places a log in the grate and curls up in the chair.
Holding it carefully, Merlin opens it to a random page. He’s expecting some incomprehensible language. What he sees is small, spidery script. When he first glances at it, it appears to be a language he doesn’t know, but something in him shifts and as he watches, the letters change and he can read each word.
“The only thing that can command a dragon is a Dragonlord. This gift was given onto a select group of humans many generations ago, before the great treaty was made. This gift, passed from father to son upon the death of the father, allows the Dragonlord to not only communicate, but also command these great beasts.
The last known Dragonlord was Ambrosia Antonius, the last recorded warlock. It was through him and the dragons that a great disaster was avoided, but in the process, he and the last dragon were slain. While Ambrosia Antonius body was found, none know of what befell the dragon. While the warlock line can be traced through the generations from one family, none know who the heir of Ambrosia Antonius is and when the next warlock will appear. It can only be assumed that at some point in the line of warlocks, a Dragonlord married into the family, thus, creating a new heritage for these powerful people.”
Merlin shuts the book with a snap, breathing heavily. Gaius had never told him about Ambrosia being a Dragonlord and that they all came from the same family. He had just assumed they were chosen at random. But if he is descended from Ambrosia then that can only mean…
Merlin’s mind goes blank. He is a Dragonlord, or at least, he has the ability to become one. But with no dragons left, what is the point. Is his father even dead yet? Rubbing at his eyes, he glances up, the fire reflecting off of the metal frame of a picture frame. It is a portrait of Queen Ygraine.
Frowning, Merlin remembers Nimueh’s words and walks over to look at it. Taking it off of the wall, he turns it around. There is something written on the back in faded ink, “Remember me with fondness, Kilgharrah and don’t hate me for what I must do. Ygraine de la Bois.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Freya says and Merlin jumps, almost dropping the portrait.
“I had to know. Beside, Kilgharrah taught us to do this. Now, help me put it back,” he hisses and she sighs but comes forward to help him put it back on the wall straight.
They stood silent after it is done, but the house is silent. “So, Kilgharrah was in love with Ygraine who has been dead almost twenty years now. So what? Why does Uther still treat with Kilgharrah and award him with things behind closed doors while publicly shunning him? And why does he make peace with Duc L’Ector over Ygraine’s death?” Merlin asks staring at her hard, wanting answers now.
Freya looks away, “I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you,” Merlin says sharply.
“Believe what you want, but I too made a promise. Who told you, Nimueh?” Merlin doesn’t say anything but it is answer enough. Freya sighs, “I wish I knew what sort of game that woman was playing at. I could sleep so much easier.”
“What I know is that half the peers have known this for years and there is no reason to keep it hidden. Who would kill over such knowledge when the Queen has been dead all this time? Besides, it’s not what Kilgharrah was back then that is so dangerous, it is what he is now.”
“And I suppose Nimueh isn’t clever enough to send you fishing for that information?” Freya snaps back.
Merlin feels a chill run down his spin. That prophesy he had heard so long ago with Gwaine flashes in his mind and he isn’t sure if he want to know Kilgharrah so fully. “Will you tell Kilgharrah?”
She shook her head, “That is up to you, Merlin. If you’re wise, you’ll tell him.” With that she leaves him and he feels cold, despite the warmth of the fire.
~*~
In the end, he compromises and tells Kilgharrah everything but what Nimueh told him. It isn’t much since he was kind of out of it and Kilgharrah gives up after the fourth going over and turns his attention to the patron gift Nimueh had given him.
“What will you do?” he asks, look up at Merlin.
Merlin hasn’t had much time to think it over, but he does know what he wants, “My lord, in the Court, those who have made their Mearcung may stay with the Court until they decide to leave or retire. I don’t wish to leave.”
“You want to stay here?” he asks and smiles for the first time ever that Merlin can recall.
“If you will let me,” Merlin says, head bowed.
“Oh, young warlock, of course I will let you stay. I would turn gray in the head with worry if you left on your own. At least here, I can safeguard you as much as possible,” he says, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s shoulders.
“Thank you, my lord,” Merlin says.
“You are a member of this household and I would never throw you out. Now shall I have this appraised?” he asks, holding up the golden cloth.
“Yes, please,” Merlin says with a grin.
With Kilgharrah’s permission, Merlin takes a reluctant Arthur and rides down to the lower city. The carriage still has too many memories of Nimueh, though he still does wear her collar. The cold air bits in his lungs, but it feels good to ride, to clear his head. Gwaine gets him with warmth, pulling him in close.
“You won’t believe it, Merlin. A proper, full-fledged livery service. A noble’s carriage and only bought for a song,” Gwaine grins.
“You sand a verse to much, princess,” Arthur says with a smug grin. “The trim alone won’t cover those busted wheels.”
“I also know a cartwright who will do good work for a song, princess, so no need to worry your empty little head,” Gwaine shoots back and turns to Merlin. “Has Kilgharrah finally let you out of your cage? Can I buy you a tankard?”
“I’ll buy you one,” Merlin says, jingling his coin purse. “Come one Arthur, it won’t kill you to set foot into a peasant’s tavern,” Merlin says with a smirk in Arthur’s direction. With a huff, Arthur follows, glowering at Merlin and Gwaine.
Merlin tells Gwaine everything that happens while they sip at their mead. Gwaine runs a finger along Merlin’s collar, “Do you know what the stones alone would be worth?” he asks, looking at Merlin.
Merlin shakes his head, “A fair amount, I guess.”
“Merlin,” Gwaine says with a heavy sigh. “You could do quite a lot with that kind of money.”
“I can’t sell it,” Merlin says, remembering Nimueh’s words. “Don’t ask why.”
“Fine, so what else?” Gwaine asks.
Merlin looks over at Arthur, “Arthur could you go buy a jug for Gwaine’s boy over there?”
“No,” Arthur says flatly.
“I swear this is nothing like last time. It just you might not want to listen to this part. I won’t move from this chair,” Arthur still shakes his head. “Does your damn vow say you have to remain glued to my side?” Merlin asks with a hiss.
With an angry huff, Arthur snatches the coin from Merlin’s hand and walks away angrily.
“I hope we don’t need to rescue him like last time. Now what is it that you can’t say around him?” Gwaine asks.
Merlin quickly tells him about Nimueh, Kilgharrah, Ygraine. Gwaine whistles once he’s done. “That certainly explains a lot.”
“Indeed, but I still worry,” Merlin says.
“About that prophesy we heard?” Gwaine asks and Merlin nods.
“Either it was false or it is lying in wait for me,” Merlin admits.
“Let us hope it is the former,” Gwaine says somberly. Grinning again, he looks at Merlin with a twinkle in his eye, “you’re free now. You know what that means?”
“It means I can do what I want and travel where I’ve always wanted and go to greater heights than I could as Kilgharrah’s warlock,” Merlin says with a grin, knocking the wind out of Gwaine’s sails.
“You already know what it will bring, but you will need to choose,” Gwaine says, tapping at the collar around his neck.
“I’ve only just gotten free and I want to taste freedom. Not give it up the moment I get it,” Merlin snaps, knocking his hand away.
“I’d walk with you wherever you went and I wouldn’t put a collar on you. I’d let you fly free,” Gwaine says softly.
“Your father collared your mother with poverty after he died and you would collar me with a ring once you got me, no matter what you say about not being a noble,” Merlin snaps.
“You know what I mean, Merlin,” Gwaine says softly.
“I know, Gwaine, but that’s the problem,” Merlin says, remembering the book and all that it hid. He needs to find out who he truly is before even thinking about his future. For a moment, Merlin thinks this is the point where Gwaine decides Merlin isn’t worth it, and his heart is in his throat.
Then Gwaine flashes his easy grin and tosses his hair, “Then fly away little bird. I will just search for you and find you and do it all over again when you fly away. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
Merlin laughs easily, his heart light and kisses Gwaine on the mouth, who kisses back with skill. He has been taught well from all those lords and ladies he dallied with. Arthur fist slams onto the table with Merlin’s change and they jump apart like guilty children and grinning like fools. Arthur just looks at them dourly and sits back in his chair.
Arthur is silent the whole ride back, his brooding silence grating on Merlin’s nerves. “There was no harm in it. I’ve made my Mearcung and I’ve no bond to betray now.”
“Your Mearcung is not finished yet and it is none of my business where you bestow your…gift,” Arthur bites out. Spurring his horse forward, Arthur leaves Merlin behind, forcing the warlock to scramble to keep up. Merlin spends the rest of the ride glaring at Arthur’s back.
~*~
It doesn’t take long for the assessor to get back, the gold weighted and assessed for purity. Merlin is presented with a large sum of money. Remembering the sting of Arthur’s words, Merlin quickly schedules his final appointment with Master Saracen.
Merlin spends the days up to his appointment in a weird limbo, neither bond-servant, nor a free Alban. Merlin spends his time thinking back on his life, wondering how he got to this point.
The day of the appointment dawns clear and crisp, the cold somewhat lessened with the rising sun. Kilgharrah, expecting a visitor, gives them permission to take the horses to ride to the tattooist shop. Though Master Saracen is not a greedy man, he is an artist and Merlin is the first warlock in generations. The fame this finished Mearcung will bring him will give him patrons aplenty.
Most of the first hour is spent reconfirming designs and lines. Merlin can see Arthur through the curtain in the front of the shop, looking bored. Merlin doesn’t care though, let him wait. He is finally getting his chains cut from him and will not be rushed.
A commotion at the front of the shop has Merlin looking up. Master Saracen’s apprentice comes in wide eyed. “There is a man looking for Merlin nó Emrys. The knight has him in hand; shall we send for the Day Guard?”
“Who is he?” Merlin asks, tucking the sheet around his waist.
“I don’t know. He says he has a message which must be delivered to Lord Kilgharrah. Shall I send for the guard?”
“No, send him and Arthur in,” Merlin says, quickly tugging on his breeches and tunic. “Master Saracen…?”
“Use the back room if you must warlock,” Saracen says with a wave and Merlin thanks him just as the man walks in with Arthur tugging his arm up behind his back.
“Call off your knight, I have a message that must be delivered to Kilgharrah immediately,” the man says loudly.
Arthur gives the man a shove into the small back room and Merlin stares at him. “Who are you?” Merlin asks.
The man rubs at his arm. “I’m Uris Gaud of the Osprey. I am oath-sworn to Admiral Petit Fils. I’m supposed to be meeting with your lord, Kilgharrah.”
“And how do I know this?” Merlin asks.
“Damn it, there was a password, um…what was it…ah yes, I swear it on the Queen’s draca, her only born,” he says quickly. Merlin’s mind goes into overdrive, trying to figure out what it could mean. The queen’s only born child was Prince Arthur who died at child birth. So what could it mean?
“Very well then, why are you here?” Merlin asks.
“There are men watching the coast and when I checked out Lord Kilgharrah’s home, they were watching there as well. They’re even watching me. Someone slipped up and gave ‘em word. I saw you leave and followed,” he says.
“What is the word from Fils, then?” Merlin asks, feeling a numbing chill settle over his body. The man took a breath, “When the Red Hart rules in Hibernia, the Fisher King will accede. That is my message,” he says to them.
Merlin’s hands are shaking when he presses a coin into the sailor’s hands, a silver piece, he doesn’t care. “Thank you, I will tell him immediately and he will send word.” Uris takes the coin and with a quick nod, is gone from the room and shop.
Shaking, Merlin looks at Arthur. “The house” is all he says before they are both off for their horses. They ride like the wind that day, bent hell for high water to get back in time. The horses, seeming to sense their desperation, set off the moment they are in the saddle.
It’s too late. It is quiet in the courtyard when they arrive, jumping from their horses. “No!” Arthur shouts and runs off inside, his sword drawn, still covered in its sheath. Merlin follows slowly, numb, into the house.
Servants litter the hall where they fell. Merlin can only stare at the gore before him, so many innocents killed, just for being employed by Kilgharrah. Merlin follows Arthur into the inner courtyard where so many days and nights had been spent with Kilgharrah, Freya, and their friends, so many parties and get-togethers.
Arthur is standing a few feet away and Merlin can see why. A large black winged cat lies on its side, panting as its blood drains from dozens of sword slashes. “Oh, Freya,” Merlin whispers as he walks passed Arthur to kneel beside her. He had been told about the curse placed on her as a child, but he hadn’t known what it did.
As he watches, she shrinks until Freya lies before him, naked and much to pale. Taking off his cloak, Merlin covers her with it, the brown material soaking up the blood quickly, turning black. “Water,” she asks softly. Merlin motions and the pitcher of water floats over with a goblet. Filling the goblet, he holds it to her mouth and she drinks heavily from it.
“Kilgharrah?” Merlin asks softly.
She shakes her head. “There were too many, twenty at least,” she tells him. She looks to her right and Merlin can make out Kilgharrah’s leg poking from behind the trellis.
“Who were they?” Merlin asks.
“Albans, soldiers, no crest. I killed two before they surrounded me,” she says softly and coughs, red staining her lips.
“Fils? Get word to him.”
“His messenger found us. He said the house was being watched,” Merlin says, wiping the blood from her lips.
“Password?” Freya asks.
“The queen’s draca, her only son,” Merlin says. “What does her dead son have to do with this?”
“Not dead…Kilgharrah oath-sworn to watch over him from afar…death threat at birth…hidden away for safety,” she coughs again, more red staining her lips. “What…of…Petit?”
“When the Red Hart rules in Hibernia, the Fisher King will accede,” Merlin says over the knot stopping up his throat as more blood trickles from the corner of her mouth, the light starting to fade from her eyes. “Please don’t go Freya. I can’t do this without you,” Merlin pleads.
She draws in a deep breath, “Tell…Morgana. Trust…Petit. Cenred. Ju…Juliana knows…about Hibernia. She coughs again. “Not Uther…slipping. It’s Morgana…” her voice starts to fade. Her body gives one large shudder, her hands coming up to clutch at his, “Merlin!”
Merlin isn’t sure how much time passes as he holds Freya in his arms. All he knows is that it is Arthur who pulls him away from her limp body. Merlin can’t think, can’t see anything but her lifeless corpse, his heart shattering.
Arthur shakes him and his head snaps limply on his neck, jolting him from his thoughts, “Damn it, Merlin, listen to me,” Arthur hisses. The crack of his hand landing on Merlin’s cheek echoes in the silent courtyard. “Do you understand? These were professionals. They took their dead with them and they will return to finish the job. We must deliver Petit’s message before they do. Do you understand?” Arthur asks, shaking him once more for emphasis.
“Yes,” Merlin croaks out, throat still tight with unshed tears. “Yes, damn you I understand,” Merlin says, jerking from his grip. Shaking his head, he tries to clear his thoughts. “We’ll go straight to the castle and Morgana. If we can’t get to her, we’ll go to Juliana. She knows me and will see me.”
“Good,” Arthur says and grabs him by the arm, tugging him out of the massacre. “Let’s go.”
~*~
Merlin looses track of time, location, everything except his reason for going. They need to get to the castle and inform Morgana. When they get there, Morgana’s Guard turns them away. Merlin could care less about what sort of spectacle they’re making, Arthur in his black tunic and Merlin in his warlock’s cloak.
When the servants of Juliana turn them away, saying she is busy with easing the King’s sleep, Merlin is about ready to explode. Rubbing at his face in frustration, he starts to turn away, trying to recall a patron with enough power to help them.
“Merlin?” Merlin jerks his head up to see Nimueh coming towards them in the hall. Her brow is furrowed, taking in their desperate appearance.
“What is it?” she asks.
Her voice knocks something loose and all the tears he had bottled up start to let loose. “Kilgharrah…Freya...everyone…”
“What?” she asks, shocked.
“Are you in search of the King’s Guard?” she asks.
“No,” Arthur says as Merlin answers, “Yes.”
“Yes,” Merlin says again, remembering his distrust of her. Wiping away the tears, he straightens. “Do you know where they are quartered?”
“I can do better,” she turns to her servant behind her. “Summon the Captain of the King’s Guard. Tell him it is urgent.” The servant bows and runs off. “Come with me. He should be here momentarily.”
Merlin can only glance briefly at her rooms in the castle, before his legs give out onto a chair. “Here, drink this, it will do you good,” she tells him, handing a goblet of strong spirits to Merlin. It burns going down, but it helps warm the numbing cold that has started to take over him. Even Arthur accepts a drink from her, drinking it all in one gulp before setting the goblet down on the table in front of them.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks.
“No,” Merlin says shaking his head. “I mean, I’m not sure. We…we were at Master Saracen’s approving a last minute change to my Mearcung. I’m not sure how long we were there…”
“Almost an hour,” Arthur chimes in. Merlin nods and the world around him spins sickeningly. “We arrived back at the house. There were signs of battle and no one was left alive.”
“Oh Kilgharrah,” she says softly.
There’s a thud and Merlin looks over to see Arthur slumped at the table, the goblet knocked over. Merlin feels unconsciousness pulling at his mind, his eyes growing heavy.
He turns accusing eyes on Nimueh, “No,” he says. He looks down at the goblet and pushes it away, the cup tipping and spilling what was left of the liquid inside it. “No…No!”
“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry,” Nimueh murmurs, picking up the knocked over goblets. “I swear I never gave the order for them to be killed. It wasn’t my decision.”
“You knew.” Merlin tries to push himself up, but his joints won’t work. “You used me. Ah, damn it, I told you, I told you of Petit’s messenger!”
“No, I already knew Kilgharrah was awaiting a message from Petit,” she informs him.
“Why then?” Merlin asks even as sleep starts to pull him down. “Why did you tell me about the queen if you already knew? I thought you wanted to find out what it meant.”
She smiles gently at him, smoothing back his hair. “I’ve known for a while about Kilgharrah’s oath and that the little prince is still alive. My second husband was there you see, when it was decided to send the child into hiding. I also knew that Kilgharrah meant to keep his promise. No, I needed to know what he was up to. Why Petit Fils and what does it have to do with the Fisher King?”
“But, why me?” Merlin asks, clawing his way back into wakefulness as far as he can.
“Do I need a reason, warlock?” She asks, running a finger under his eye, like she had done so many years before. “I guess I do, for you. It’s like flushing pheasants. I needed to see what De Porte’s lordlings would do at mention of your name. It wasn’t hard to know one of them was harboring a messenger for your master.”
Merlin can feel tears in his eyes as the pattern starts to come together. “D’Alene.”
“Kilgharrah trained you well. Most warriors think with their sword,” she says with a curl of her lips.
“Not D’Alene.”
“No,” she says walking around the room. Merlin knows the Captain of the Guard will not be coming. “No, D’Alene thinks with more than his sword. After all, he was fostered amongst my kin, House L’Isle.”
She leans over, hands on his shoulders and nothing, not the thought of Freya and Kilgharrah dead in their own blood, or Arthur, dead or unconscious next to him, can stop his magic from reacting to hers. “Don’t,” Merlin pleads, tears running down his face. “Please, don’t.”
Merlin thinks she will do as he asks for once. Then she leans forward and whispers into his ear, “What did the knight mean when I asked what you were looking for? He said no when you said yes. What were you really looking for?”
For a moment, his vision goes blinding gold and he can see everyone’s face: Kilgharrah, Freya, all the servants, and behind it, the scales of the Balance, looming over everything. “I don’t know. Ask Arthur, if you haven’t already killed him,” Merlin grits out through his teeth.
“But you’ve already warned him. The knight would sooner die than betray his oath,” Nimueh whispers, “And besides, I would rather ask you.” The world goes dark around him.
~*~
Part 5