Merlin Fanfiction: Love As Thou Wilt | Part 6a
Part 6
With every step, Merlin expects to hear a cry, a yell as they are discovered. The distance, which had seemed brief in the first crossing, seems to stretch on unending. Arthur walks next to him, head lowered, pulling off a sullen disposition well, but on such a clear day, it may take more than that to pull this off.
They stop at the lesser hall first and one of the cerols comes forward, bowing respectfully to Arthur, the disguise holding. “What can I do for you?” he asks, curiosity evident in his eyes. Merlin isn’t known very well here as Arrœk liked to keep Merlin close in his own hall.
Arthur shakes Merlin by the arm. “Tell him,” he growls.
For a second Merlin is frozen, the words eluding him. Arthur shakes him again, harder this time and it is enough to snap him back into focus, “My lord Arrœk will be making camp with a few of his men. He sends for a skin of mead, two sacks of pottage and a cook-pot. Bring them to the stable and Gauter will bring them to him.”
“Only one skin?” he asks.
“Three,” Arthur growls out and shakes Merlin again. Not waiting for the cerols to question them, Arthur turns and drags Merlin along behind them. Merlin lets him, his heart still racing at the almost slip up. His legs are shaking and if Arthur hadn’t been holding him, he would have collapsed by now.
When Arthur shoves him into the great hall and makes him stumble, Merlin turns to glare at him, the anger helping him get control of himself. Arthur just glares back and grunts, nodding towards Arrœk’s rooms.
No one is around to see them and they walk quickly to Arrœk’s rooms. Inside, Merlin points Arthur towards the cupboard holding his gear which he hadn’t locked when he’d left earlier. Stripping off Gauter’s clothing, Arthur pulls on his chainmail and gauntlets, flexing his fingers in the leather. Buckling his sword belt on, Arthur pulls the clothing back on, using the white furs to conceal his sword slightly. It won’t cover it completely, but hopefully no one will notice a Silent One with a knight’s sword.
He lifts the saddle bags and is about to leave when realization strikes Merlin, “Nimueh’s letter.”
“You said it was in the saddle bag,” Arthur says softly, looking back at Merlin.
“It is,” Merlin says and yanks the bags from Arthur, rooting around in them until he pulls it out. “But Arrœk doesn’t know we know his plans. If we take it, it will tip his plans and he might change them and then our information will be wrong. We’ll just have to leave it hear,” Merlin says, shoving it back into the cupboard and shutting the door with a click.
They aren’t as lucky leaving. Wendra spots them just before the reach the main door. “Where are you going?” she asks, eyeing Arthur and Merlin.
“Arrœk’s orders,” Arthur mutters.
“Well I haven’t heard of any orders,” she says annoyance clear in her face. She starts to step forward and Merlin realizes that in two more steps, she will see it’s not Gauter under the fur hood.
Shaking Arthur off, he steps forward, planting himself between her and Arthur, “And why would you?” Merlin asks, putting as much disdain into his voice as possible. “Does he send for you when he wants pleasure? Does he send for any woman? Of course not, why send for a common woman when he can have someone trained to please kings. And if you wish to remain in his favor, you will remember that he is your king and that you shouldn’t question his order.”
Spinning away from her, Merlin marches out of the hall, Arthur following behind, giving the stunned Wendra a disgruntled shrug. Merlin’s heart is hammering in his chest by the time Arthur catches up to him and his hands are sweating. “Not so fast,” Arthur hisses and Merlin slows, trying to slow his racing heart.
They make it to the stables without incident. A few horses are still left, including Merlin’s sturdy horse that he had ridden here from Hoel’s. One of the cerols runs up as they approach. “I received the supplies sent. Is it true Arrœk is making camp?” he asks.
“Arrœk’s orders,” Arthur says again.
Merlin nods. “He also sent for me. Saddle my horse,” Merlin says, butting in before the ceorl can get too close to Arthur. The man nods and rushes off to ready Merlin’s mount.
“He also said fodder for…oh, what was it, a dozen?” Arthur nods, grunting in confirmation of Merlin’s words. The ceorl nods back and runs off to get it while the stable lads finish getting Merlin’s mount ready.
Merlin is sure that if these men stop and listen they can hear his heart trying to pound out of his chest. But they don’t, going about readying their escape. They even bring the mounts out to them. Arthur quickly secures the saddle bags and mounts up, grunting and jerking his head at Merlin in an impatient movement.
Hands shaking, Merlin mounts up as well. When Arthur sits there, Merlin realizes he has no idea which way the hunt went. “Head to the north end of the lake and up the trail,” Merlin says softly in Alban.
They ride back through the steading and the remaining tents, though they stick to the edges as much as possible. None stop them and soon, they are around the lake and heading up the trail. Merlin can’t breathe a sigh of relief, even as the trees close up around them. They aren’t in the clear yet.
They follow the trail, Merlin’s mind whirling, thinking over every little detail. He realizes they forgot to acquire a tent. If they freeze to death, it will be his fault. After a short time, Arthur pulls his horse up, and blowing on his fingers, turns to Merlin. “How do we do this?” he asks.
“I’m not sure. I never thought it would get this far and never planned for afterwards. I know where we are, thanks to Arrœk’s maps. If we head south, eventually, we will make it free into either Camelot or Escetia. How we get there alive, I’ve no idea but we need as much of a head start as possible before they find us gone.”
Arthur nods, “You got us out, I’ll get us home.” Looking at the sky, he angles his mount until he is pointing south. “The knights are trained to survive in all kinds of conditions. We’ll survive the cold at least.”
With his bearing in place, Arthur turns back and keeps following the trial until they reach a break in the trail that leads south. Stopping a short distance, Arthur dismounts, and tells Merlin to wait there. He returns some minutes later, a pine bough in his hand. He’d erased their trail.
“They won’t see it if they’re not looking but it won’t pass closer inspection, but it will be dusk soon and hard to see. “Let’s still put some distance between us though.” Merlin just nods and spurs his mount after Arthur.
It is silent as they ride, but not silent enough as one of the Silent Ones that guards Arrœk’s borders appears, spears pointed at them in challenge. They had completely forgotten about the guard in their rush to escape.
The sight of Arthur throws him into confusion, his spears lowering slightly. “Brother,” he says, “Where are you headed?”
Merlin’s heart clenches and he turns to look at Arthur. The knight just stares silently for a drawn out moment before an anguished cries rips out of his chest. Digging his heels into his mount’s sides, he draws his sword, the blade hissing as it leaves its sheath.
The man is down before he even has time to realize Arthur is charging. Pulling his horse to a stop, Arthur pants, staring at the man he just killed. “What’s going on-,” another Silent One says, appear from where the first had come from. He stops when he sees his companion on the ground, slain.
This time, Arthur is the one left stunned. The man doesn’t even ask questions, charging Arthur spear raised. Ducking under it, Arthur pushes off of his mount, tackling the man to the ground, sword thrusting forward to bite at him through his furs.
As Arthur struggles to his feet, the second Pict remains down, blood starting to pool in the snow. Arthur’s face is grey as he swallows back bile. “I’m sorry,” Merlin murmurs.
Arthur just nods, his jaw clenched tight. Walking to one of the Picts, he pulls off the crude mittens he wears. He holds them out to Merlin and Merlin doesn’t argue, just pulls them on. Mounting back up, he guides his horse around the dead men.
They continue on unchallenged through uninhabited territory. They push the horses as much as they dare, often times through drifts of snow as high as their horse’s breast. They stop at a stream, letting the horses drink slowly. Emptying out two of the mead skins in the water, he refills them with water.
Continuing on, they had their midday meal in the saddle, dry pottage and cold water. Dismounting, Arthur leads his horse through a drift, giving it a respite from his weight and breaking up the snow. He makes Merlin do it as well and though Merlin hates him for it, the exercise warms him up.
Merlin has a clear map in his mind of where they need to go, but he is no navigator. He has no idea how to compare the inches of distance on a map to the vastness of the frozen mountains. So they follow the sun’s trail, keeping it their right as it sets.
Eventually though, Arthur stops them in a small clearing. “We need to make camp before the sun sets.”
Merlin dismounts after him, teeth chattering with cold. “Do you think it’s safe to light a fire?” he asks.
“It’s not safe not to light one. We’ll freeze if we don’t,” Arthur says. They start to gather dead branches, stacking them into a pile. Arthur pulls out the tinderbox when Merlin asks him to wait. Staring at the wood, he reaches for his magic, the word falling off of his lips, “Forbærnan.” He feels his magic stir, wanting to do as he commands, but the block is still there.
Merlin shakes his head, clenching his fists. Arthur doesn’t say anything as he slowly and patiently gets the fire going, blowing on it softly until the larger sticks catch. Arthur nudges him with the cook pot. “Water the horses with water from one of the skins and then thaw snow. Afterwards, start the pottage cooking,” Arthur tells him.
Merlin nods, glad to have something to do. As he waters their mounts, keeping them from guzzling too much too fast, Arthur sets about seeing to the horses. Unsaddling them, he quickly rubs them down and sets some fodder near them. Hobbling them with some leather scavenged, Arthur sets about making camp.
By the time Merlin has finished seeing to the horses and gotten the pottage going, Arthur had the camp set up. A bed of pine boughs, the branches smelling sharp with their sap, is set near the fire. One of the cloaks Merlin had snagged is laid over it. A pile of fire wood is within easy reach should they need to add more to the fire in the night.
“It’ll keep the snow from stealing our warmth,” Arthur explains to him. “We’ll have to sleep close for warmth.” Merlin just nods. Unsheathing his sword, Arthur pulls out a whet stone and starts to sharpen it.
Leaving the pottage on the fire to finish cooking, Merlin goes to sit next to him. “I tried to kill Arrœk last night,” Merlin admits, speaking for the first time in a while. He can feel Arthur’s surprised gaze on him, but doesn’t look away from staring at the fire.
“Why? They would have killed you,” Arthur says, momentarily forgetting his sword in his hands.
“Yes, but it wouldn’t matter. Without Arrœk, the Picts would never unite. He is their linchpin, the one that holds them together. And then you wouldn’t have had to betray your vow,” Merlin admits, wrapping his arms around his knees. He glances at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, but Arthur still has the hood up and his face is mostly in shadow.
“What happened?” he asks.
“He woke up,” Merlin says. “It was the priest that gave me the idea. He said I was fate’s weapon. I was lucky he didn’t know what I was planning.”
“Merlin…” Arthur says staring at Merlin still. “Sometimes you put me to shame,” he admits. “I wish I could have known Kilgharrah better to have created such a pupil.”
“So do I,” Merlin says softly. Turning to look at Arthur, Merlin smirks a little. “Though to be honest, the first time I met you, I thought you were-,”
“An over-zealous, muscle-bound, idiot of a knight,” Arthur says with a small smile.
Merlin shakes his head. “That was before I met you. Once I did, I thought you were a smug, arrogant, prat of a knight.”
Arthur laughs right out at his words, “You’re right, I was.”
Merlin shakes his head again. “No, I was wrong. The man I thought you were would have died in Hoel’s kennels than give up his pride. But you kept fighting. It’s because of you that I’m still alive.”
“That wasn’t just me, Merlin,” Arthur tells him. “I’ll do what’s needful to let us reach Camelot and Morgana de la Pendragon alive and if I’m to be damned for what I’ve done, then better in full than in halves.”
The forest around them is muffled with silence, the only thing heard is the horses grazing and stamping their feet, the wood in the fire crackling. “We should eat,” Merlin says softly.
Arthur nods and standing, he quickly brings the pot from the fire. With only one spoon, they share it between them, taking bits. When the pot is empty, Arthur scraps and cleans it out. Merlin sits on the bed of pine branches, watching him. Full of food, he is warm and drowsy and despite the worry biting at him, he knows that the moment he lays down, he will fall asleep.
Finished, Arthur adds another log to the fire and comes back to the bed. Lying down, the huddle close, Arthur pressed up behind him, arm around his waist. With every last pit of cloth piled on them, it doesn’t take long for them to start to warm up. “Sleep,” Arthur whispers, the words vibrating through his chest into Merlin’s back. Merlin sleeps.
~*~
Merlin wakes alone and cold in the morning. Groaning, Merlin rolls out of the bed, shivering as the cold air fills in where there once was warmth. Arthur is at the fire, thawing snow on the still going fire, though their fire wood pile is on the last few logs.
The next hour is spent having Arthur teach Merlin how to help him. He learns how to saddles and care for his own horse. Arthur is only one man and can’t do everything. Finished with the lesson, they soon break camp and continue south, the sun to their left as it rises over the mountains.
Merlin learns quickly as they keep moving. Using one of the smaller pieces of clothes, he fashions a sort of burnoose around his head and face to preserve warmth. The knife at his waist, taken from Gauter, hangs heavy, a weighted reminder of what they had to do to escape. Patting his horse’s neck, Merlin follows Arthur.
By the third day, they have met no one. In the distance, Merlin spots a thin trail of smoke. “Gharen’s steading, of the Isern,” Merlin tells Arthur. “If we head east and follow this ridge, it should take us around his territory and any patrols he might have set up,” Merlin informs, remembering the lines on Arrœk’s map.
Arthur takes a step forward and the ledge he is on gives out from under him, nothing solid underneath it. Merlin flings himself back, holding onto the granite bolder that thrusts out of the snow a few feet away from what is left of the ledge.
Edging closer, Merlin glances down. He can just see Arthur’s head poking through the snow. “Arthur?” Merlin calls out. Crawling out of the snow, Arthur waves that he is all right. Nodding, Merlin turns to check on their mounts. His horse is still where he left it, though it tosses its head in agitation. Arthur’s has bolted a few yards away, whites showing in its eyes.
Sighing, Merlin glances down to see that Arthur has started to climb back up and slowly rises. The snow holds and he edges his way back towards the trail. On solid ground, he starts to make his way towards the horse, hand out.
It takes them an hour to get going again. It takes Arthur that long just to climb back up with only snow as handholds. It takes Merlin that long because the horse is spooked and any time he gets close enough, the horse bolts again.
Arthur looks ready to drop from exhaustion when Merlin looks at him. “We need to keep going,” he says, seeing Merlin’s worried glance.
Merlin nods, “At least the horses are rested.” Arthur sends him a small smile at that.
~*~
They are both jumpy that night at the lost time. With every noise, they jerk, expecting something that isn’t there. Arthur stares at the fire.
“Merlin,” Arthur pauses, looking up from the fire, “If…when they catch up to us, I want you to do something for me. Whatever I say and do, play along with it. I want to show you something,” he says motioning for Merlin to stand.
Merlin does, still not sure what to say to Arthur’s words. He lifts Gauter’s shield from the pile of their things. It is a simple buckler shield, made mostly of wood with hide covering it and a metal disk in the center. Arthur shows him how to hold it, how to settle it on his arm to cover his body.
“If…if you have a chance to get away, take it. Don’t wait for me. You know enough now and with the supplies, you can survive. But, if you don’t then use the shield and I’ll do what I can.” Arthur’s voice is subdued, his eyes sad in the firelight.
“Lifwraþu: protection of life,” Merlin says softly. Merlin grips the shield with cold aching fingers and wants to cry for his brave knight.
“Go to sleep, dolt,” Arthur says, turning away. “I’ll take the first watch.”
~*~
With morning comes snow. It batters them as they wade through waist deep snow, either on horseback or walking. Merlin is cold, shivering under his furs. The white seems endless and slowly, he falls into a sort of waking dream. His horse is the only thing guiding him, following Arthur’s trail and horse.
It takes him a moment to realize that what he’s hearing isn’t the wind howling through the trees. He jerks away, eyes wide. “Arthur!” The wind snatches his words away, but Arthur seems to hear, turning to look back at Merlin. “They’re coming.”
He stops and Merlin comes in close. “How many?” he asks, the wind and snow picking up.
“I don’t know, six maybe eight,” Merlin yells to be heard.
“Ride!” Arthur yells, smacking Merlin’s horse’s rump. They go tearing through the snow, plunging in and out of drifts, blinded by snow and wind. Merlin can hear them more clearly now, their war-chants drifting over the howl of the wind.
They burst through the trees into a clearing, a large rock face greeting them. They’re on their last dregs as are the horse. Merlin can feel is horse trembling underneath him. Arthur pulls his horse up, looking at Merlin.
The wind has died down some and he can hear him clearer, as well as the approaching Picts. “We’ll make a stand here. Take this and guard yourself,” he says holding out the shield to Merlin. Nodding, Merlin takes it, dismounting.
Stiff with cold and fear, Merlin hunches down near the rock face, shield in front of him. Arthur moves in front of him, sword drawn, chainmail flashing in the weak light, waiting for them to arrive. As they stop running, the chanting stops and out of the swirling snow, seven Picts ride: Arrœk’s best trackers and his fastest riders.
Arthur stands before them alone and they stop in front of him. He throws his sword down, “In Arrœk’s name, I surrender.” They laugh and the snow picks up and obscures Merlin’s vision but when it dies, four have dismounted, swords drawn. Two hang back and the third is riding towards him.
Arthur waits until the Picts are close enough and as one goes to poke him in the chest with the tip of his sword, Arthur knocks the blade aside with his gauntleted hand. Springing forward, he rolls until he comes up with his sword back in his hand, swinging it at the nearest man.
Merlin’s gaze is torn between Arthur’s fight and the approaching Pict. He can make out who is on the horse: Hervis the Beardless, of Hoel’s steading. Merlin is frozen at the sight of him, long enough for him to dismount and get at him behind the shield. Grabbing Merlin around the waist, he pulls him up. “Southerner, stop, I have your companion!” he yells at Arthur, pointing a dagger at Merlin’s throat. “I won’t do it,” he whispers into Merlin’s ear. “Arrœk wants you alive.”
One of the figures pauses, sword lowered slightly. Behind him, one of the still mounted Picts charges forward, his spear raised. “Arthur, don’t listen to him!” Merlin yells.
Hervis swears and shakes Merlin, knocking the breath from hi momentarily. Merlin can feel the edge of the dagger pressing at his throat. He stamps down on Hervis’s foot and almost breaks free, but the man holds on.
“Don’t make me harm you,” he hisses at Merlin. “I mean to regain the honor of our steading with our return.”
Griping at Merlin, the shield is between them, an awkward barrier. Tugging off his mitten, Merlin fumbles for the dagger at his waist with numb fingers. Sliding it from the sheath, Merlin looks up at Arthur who is still fighting.
There are three left, two on the ground and one on horseback. Arthur’s sword flashes and one of the grounded Picts goes down.
Merlin looks up at Hervis, so young. He is no longer beardless, the stubble on his jaw thickening. Merlin’s hand is sweaty around the dagger. “Let me go, Hervis,” Merlin says softly.
“I will not be swayed. You will be taken back,” he growls stubbornly.
“Let me go Hervis, or I will kill you,” Merlin says softly, throat thick with what he is about to do. He is intent on the battle, shouting a warning to his comrade and doesn’t listen to Merlin’s words.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin says bitterly and slides the into Hervis’s side with as much force as he can muster in his awkward position.
It seems to take Hervis a moment to realize what Merlin has done, staring down at him with wide surprised eyes. With a ragged breath, Merlin grips the dagger again and forces it upwards, into his heart. Hervis lets go of him and take a step backwards. He crumples to the ground, Merlin forcing himself to watch as the light fades from his eyes.
Merlin looks up to see Arthur facing the last grounded Pict, the one on horseback circling them. Arthur locks swords with the man and the Pict grins, bearing down on him. Behind him, the Pict on horseback starts to charge, his battle ax raised to strike Arthur down unawares.
Merlin gives a yell and time seems to slow as if in a dream. Merlin reaches for his magic, using his fear for Arthur’s life, his anger and grief, all his emotions to burst through the barrier blocking him from his magic. It gives with a crack and Merlin can only gasp as his magic swamps his senses. Before he can let it overwhelm his senses, Merlin directs his magic towards the charging Pict with a yell.
The force of his magic sends the man and horse flying through the air to stop as they strike a tree. Both fall and neither rises. Merlin falls to his knees, gasping for air, trembling. He doesn’t notice Arthur’s approach until the knight is in front of him, calling his name.
“Are you okay?” he asks once Merlin looks up. Merlin nods dumbly, looking down at Hervis still splayed on the ground. “He gave me his cloak and never asked for it back,” Merlin says softly.
Arthur shakes him gently until Merlin is looking back at him. “We need to keep moving. Take anything of value.” Slowly, Merlin nods and with Arthur’s help, stands on still shaking knees. They quickly strip the dead of anything of use, rounding up one of their horses to use as a pack horse. Silent through the whole thing, they mount up and ride from the clearing.
~*~
Merlin had planned for them to follow the Grangia River once they came up to it, letting it lead them east and then south towards Camelot. Arthur decides it will be smarter to follow its riverbed for a distance east, erasing their trail and then cutting south again, throwing off their pursuers if there are anymore.
Merlin just follows, too cold and exhausted to do much else besides stay on the horse. Finding a shallow place to ford, they pick their way across. Arthur dismounts once they are across and some distance away to hide their trail again. Merlin looks at him and sees his own exhaustion mirrored back at him.
Pulling on the last dregs of strength, Merlin takes the lead this time, leading them through the barren forest, searching for a campsite. All he sees is barren rocks and thin trees as far as he can see. He continues on, making a path to ease Arthur’s horse’s way.
Merlin looses track of time as he leads the way. Memories of everything before he came to these blasted mountains swirling in his mind. All the events he went to, the people he met and danced with, his patrons, Kilgharrah, Freya, Alice, Gaius, and Gwaine. He just wants to get home.
The snow had started up a few hours back and by then it has thickened until all he can see it white. Dismounting, he leads Arthur and the pack horse by foot, one hand in front of him, feeling his ways slowly.
When his hand touches stone, he stops, wondering what it is. Feeling despair start to take over, Merlin feels along the wall, trying to distract himself. When his hand goes through air, he frowns. Reaching back, he feels at the stone, following it as it cuts sharply inward: a cave.
Going in a far as he dares, Merlin reaches for the last little flickers of his magic that have restored themselves. Breathing the light spell, he blinks in confusion as the cave opens up in front of him. It is deep, deeper than it looks from the outside. His light doesn’t even hit the back wall. Looking up, he can see a natural hole in the ceiling, a chimney of sorts.
Heart pounding, he goes back outside. Taking his horse’s reins, he leads them into the cave. When his hand starts to shake, Merlin realizes he’s still channeling energy into the light spell. Quickly, he pulls out one of the torches they took off the Pict and lights it, canceling the spell.
Running back outside, Merlin grabs what dry wood he can find, carrying it back inside. There is a little dip in the floor, where a fire could go and he piles the wood into it. Taking the torch, he thrusts it into the wood. Leaving it there for the rest of the wood to catch, Merlin goes to see to the horses, leaving Arthur to tend the fire.
By the time the horses are seen to, Arthur has the fire nice and hot, their things out and a pot of pottage already on the fire. Their things are already laid out, no need for a pine bough bed this time. They sit close together shivering and eating pottage and dried venison that they had taken from the Picts.
Once they are done eating, Merlin cleans the pot out and piles snow inside it, setting it over the fire to thaw and heat up. Pulling out the mead skin, he hands it to Arthur. Taking a jar of salve salvaged from the Picts, he sets about cleaning the cuts on Arthur’s cheek and head.
“I’d wondered why you kept this,” Merlin says softly as Arthur takes a gulp from it.
Arthur shakes his head, “The Picts drink it against the cold.”
Arching a brow, Merlin takes it and drinks a mouthful. It burns going down, but warms his belly quickly. Coughing slightly, Merlin hands it back. He looks at Arthur, “How bad are the wounds you’re hiding?”
Arthur smiles at his words, “That obvious, huh?”
“Stop being an idiot and show me,” Merlin tells him with a frown.
Without answering, Arthur strips off his upper garments, Merlin helping him with the chainmail. His torso is a mass of bruises. There is a small gash on his hip where the chain mail hadn’t protected him. It still bleeds sluggishly. “That needs to be sewn,” Merlin says softly.
“There’s a kit in the pack. Took it off one of the Picts,” Arthur says softly, taking the mead skin and drowning another gulp. Merlin isn’t a healer, he doesn’t know any spells, nor is he a physician or seamstress. By the time he is done, half the mead is down Arthur’s throat and Merlin’s black thread is holding his body together.
They don’t have any bandages, but Merlin still washes it gently with warm water, cleaning the dried blood off. They’re both exhausted. Arthur lies back, staring at the ceiling, Merlin next to him. “You did a good job,” Arthur says softly, looking over at him. “Through all of it-”
Merlin shakes his head, pressing his fingers to Arthur’s mouth, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Arthur just stares at him, eyes impossibly blue. Merlin leans forward and kisses him. It is soft, tentative, just their lips pressing together. Arthur’s arms snake around him, drawing him closer and Merlin kisses him harder.
Merlin helps him strip off their furs. Arthur’s hands are everywhere, sliding over skin, in his hair. Merlin shudders under the intensity of his gaze, falling into him, pressing as close as he can. Pulling the salve that is still nearby closer; Merlin sits back, preparing himself, Arthur watching him the entire time. Slicking Arthur’s cock, he slides down on it, Arthur’s large, warm hands a solid comfort as they brace his hips.
This has been long approaching and neither of them can last. Arthur comes first, stilling inside him, a deep groan torn from his throat. Merlin presses his face into Arthur shoulder as Arthur strips Merlin’s cock until Merlin comes with a soft cry.
He can feel tears running down his face, but he just presses his face harder into Arthur’s shoulder, Arthur’s arms around him. Finally, Merlin pulls back, looking down at Arthur. He smiles a little at Merlin and Merlin bends down to press a shaky kiss to his lips.
“You’re bleeding again,” Merlin whispers, looking down at Arthur’s hip where blood is welling up from between the stitches. Standing, Merlin grabs the cloth he had used before and wipes the blood and mess away. Chucking the cloth to the side, Merlin lays back down beside Arthur, letting the man pull him closer.
Arthur runs a finger over the collar still around Merlin’s throat. “You still have this,” he says quietly.
Merlin can’t look at him, shame welling up inside him at what the collar symbolizes. “I can’t bring myself to get rid of it,” he admits.
“We have nothing to our names,” Arthur says softly.
“I can’t,” Merlin says, still unwilling to look at Arthur. “I just can’t…” his words die off.
“You would rather we starve?” Arthur asks, voice growing hard. “You made me swallow my pride, it is time you did so as well.”
Merlin pulls in a shaky breath, “I can still feel her, her magic. She has her hooks in me.”
“Then rip them out, starting with this,” Arthur tells him. Taking another deep breath, Merlin nods. It takes the barest second for the clasp to be undone. The moment it is off, it feels like a weight has been lifted from him.
Arthur just holds him as silent tears run down his face. “I want to throw it at her feet,” Merlin admits some time later, when his tears have stopped.
“Then live and if ever the chance comes, I will not stop you,” Arthur tells him. He shifts and places the collar somewhere Merlin can’t see and doesn’t care. As Arthur starts to pull back, he looks down at Merlin’s back, where his Mearcung graces his skin, unfinished. “I’m sorry you never got this finished,” he says softly, tracing the lines inked into Merlin’s skin. “It’s beautiful, like you.”
Of all the things Merlin has heard, this has him blushing, as he turns to look up at Arthur. “Go to sleep, prat,” Merlin says softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. Arthur kisses him back and lays down, pulling Merlin down with him, pressing up close behind him.
~*~
The morning is gray and cold. The shiver as they dress and though there is a closeness that wasn’t there before, they don’t speak about what happened. Feelings and such must wait if they are to survive the still long, cold journey home.
Arthur is readying the horses and Merlin has wandered off, examining the cave when something catches his eye. Squinting, he can just make out a silvery sigil scratched into the cave wall. His eyes go wide as he recognizes it: the symbol of the Dragonlords.
Heart in his throat, Merlin keeps going further in, deeper until at last, he meets the back wall of the cave. Disappointed when it doesn’t lead anywhere, Merlin is about to turn away when he spots a small hollow at the base of the wall. Crouching down, he looks inside.
There, nestled amongst rocks and leaves that had been blown in over the years, is an oddly shaped rock, large on one end, and tapering until almost a point at the top. It takes him a second to realize what exactly he is looking at, recalling an image from Kilgharrah’s book he had seen. With shaking fingers, Merlin pulls it out slowly, heart racing. “Merlin!” Arthur calls out, close behind where Merlin is crouched.
“Arthur,” Merlin says softly, awed by what he has found.
“What is that?” Arthur asks, coming up beside him. He limps a little, but otherwise is fine for the fight they faced yesterday.
“It’s…it’s a dragon’s egg,” Merlin says, looking up at Arthur with wide eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asks, eyeing the white egg. It is warm under Merlin’s palms, the magic inside it pulsing like a heartbeat.
“That book you found in Kilgharrah’s library, the one written in Dragon’s tongue. I looked at it and it was like something in me shifted and I could read it. It talked about the last warlock being a Dragonlord and how all warlocks are descended from the same line. I…I think I was meant to find this,” Merlin says softly.
“We need to get moving,” Arthur says after a few moments of silence. Nodding, Merlin stands, cradling the egg in his arms. It’s quick work to wrap the egg in one of the cloaks and store it in a saddle bag. Finished, Merlin nods to Arthur and follows him out of the cave. They’re headed home.
~*~
No one else appears to be following them. With fresher mounts, they press harder, fighting the weather that lashes at them, stopping only when the light is about to fade and falling into an exhausted sleep soon afterwards.
They encounter no more people, though they spot more steadings. Spying the human habitation well in advance, they skirt around them, keeping a large distance just in case. They spot wolves once, but the pack is small and in the distance, but they still keep watch that night, listening to them howl. They even run into an old boar rooting in the snow. It gives a loud squeal and it seems like it might charge, but changes its mind, rushing into the brush and disappearing from sight.
Eventually, they reach the Kadian Mountains also called the White Mountains by the locals. The mountain range separates the five kingdoms from the north and Picts. It is not easy to cross into the five kingdoms so they follow the mountains east, searching for Highpass.
They travel for a day, camping at the mountains feet that night. In the morning, they find the pass and a sight that has their hopes dashed. Merlin had thought Arrœk might do this and when Arthur returns from scouting the pass with a grim face, he knows he was right.
From their vantage point above, he can make out the Pict, nearly twenty Ar raiders, encamped in the pass, the only thing standing between them and home. Merlin doesn’t even look at Arthur. Even with his magic back somewhat, they couldn’t take on all of them.
“What do we do?” Merlin asks.
Arthur looks at him and then glances up at the mountain above them. “You can’t be serious,” Merlin says.
“It’s the only way,” he says and Merlin knows he’s right. It still doesn’t stop him from swearing colorfully under his breath.
Tugging his furs tighter around his shoulders, Merlin sighs, “Fine, but I hope you do realize that if we die, I’m blaming you.” Arthur just sends a smirk his way, slowly backing away from their ledge. Merlin glances down at the Picts and shudders before following Arthur.
Merlin sits huddled in a small lean-to made from snow and fallen boulders as Arthur goes back the way they came, searching for a way up. He comes back as the sun starts to set, the horse floundering in the snow with exhaustion. He’s found a trail, more just a goat path, up the mountain, but it’s the best he can find.
They ride to it and camp at the base of the trail. They dare the smallest fire they can. Merlin even mutters a small spell to keep it going. It keeps them somewhat warm, enough to keep from freezing. They spend the night huddled together, conserving warmth.
They start to climb in the morning. About half way up, they are forced to dismount and lead the horses, the trail too treacherous to be safe. They lose Arthur’s mount on the first day, the poor beast going over the edge with a scream. They lose half their things, though Merlin is glad it wasn’t his horse, the dragon egg still tucked away in his saddle bag.
Arthur forces them to keep going. “We have enough for two more days,” is all he says. They lose the pack horse the next day to a misstep. Just as they reach the summit and start to head down. The horse steps onto a pocket of snow covering up a hidden crevice. Its front foreleg snaps. Arthur is forced to put it down.
They pile most of their things onto Merlin’s horse. Making a make shift pack, Merlin shifts the dragon egg to it, carrying it and anything of value onto his back. Eventually though, they make it to the base of the mountain and finally reach Camelot.
It is too much hope to think that they could go undetected for long. Relieved to be alive, they make their way into the pine forest at the mountains base and make camp, lighting a fire. But with the Picts raiding, the patrols are more frequent. Escetian soldiers find them.
They hear the patrol too late, Arthur kicking snow onto their fire in a hopes of remaining unseen. But it is too late and the patrol rides up to them, circling. Merlin glances at their banner and sees the Escetian flag, its dull green background with the black snake and underneath it, the banner of a different house, not D’Alene. Merlin’s heart plummets at the sight.
Arthur starts to bow, arm across his chest, reaching for his sword. With a hiss, Merlin jumps at him, pushing him down before the knight can give them away. Better to keep word of a knight and his companion travelling the border from spreading.
One of them steps forward, sword drawn. “Identify yourselves.”
Merlin pushes up to look at the man. “My lord, I’m sorry. We mean no harm. Do we trespass here?” Merlin asks, trying to pull of a simple peasant look.
The lowers his sword and shaking his head, he answers, “No lad, yer not. But it isn’t safe along these mountains. Who are you and where are you bound?”
“William of Ledford and this is my cousin Fadden,” Merlin says. “Our village,” Merlin swallows heavily, “Our village was destroyed by Picts some days past. We…my cousin took a blow to the head and I hid him in the woods. They didn’t find us. We are heading for Camelot. We’ve some family there who might take us in.”
Merlin hopes against hope that these men aren’t familiar with all the villages in the area. He knows the village he named was destroyed by Picts some time back from a report he’d read.
“It’s all right lad. You thought we were Picts when yo saw us,” he says, relaxing and sheathing his sword.
Merlin nods, “You could have been. My cousin got scared,” Merlin says softly.
The leader watches them from his horse. Dismounting, he walks up to them. “There’s nothing for you in Camelot,” he says. “The winter has been harsh and the capital is fever-stricken. Ride on to Cholhn. The Marquise won’t turn away refugees. Gordon, ride on ahead and tell them we’re coming in. Be sure to tell them everything.”
The rider starts to turn his horse southward. Arthur moves before anyone can stop him, dagger out and pointed at the leader’s throat. “Dismount, now!” Arthur says with a growl.
They follow Arthur’s order, though they glare with fury at him and Merlin. He doesn’t even need to look at Merlin for Merlin to move. Quickly, he stows their gear to Merlin’s horse, shouldering the makeshift pack.
“Two horse, scatter the rest,” Arthur says, slowly back away towards Merlin. Merlin grabs the reins of two horses and smacking the rumps of the other horses, scatters them.
“Me…William, mount up,” Arthur says, never taking his eyes off of the warriors standing frozen as their leader is held hostage.
“You won’t get away. We’ll come after you,” the leader says softly to Arthur.
“Our kin in Caernarvon will protect us. You’ve no right to detain us,” Merlin says, looking down at the man after mounting.
“Quiet, William. Get out of here.” Merlin nods and wheeling his mounts, leads their pack horse away at a fast run. They stumble through the woods until coming out on a large road, Caernarvon Way. It leads through the city and onwards towards Camelot. Arthur catches up with them half a mile out and the ride, pressing their mounts.
Knowing the patrol is not far behind them, Merlin glances about. Seeing a side road, he points to it. They flee down it, hoping the patrol will continue down the main road.
Further down the road, they come across a nomadic party, the wagon rumbling along. They nearly run into them, the road is that narrow as they go around a bend. Arthur shouts something, though Merlin doesn’t catch it. A little girl pokes her head out of the wagon. The man driving it turns to look at them.
Arthur pulls up beside him. “Eardstapa, please forgive the intrusion,” Arthur says, bowing slightly in the saddle.
“Where are you two headed in such a rush?” he asks, looking up at them. “If I’m not mistaken, you are a Knight of the Round Table.”
“I am, sir. Please, we are being chase by men who would harm my charge. We have news that must reach the capital,” Arthur says and Merlin jerks, uneasy at Arthur for giving so much away.
“Your horse will not go much further,” he comments.
“Shelter us, Eardstapa. They will not think to look for us in your wagon. They think we are Pictish spies, but we are free Albans that have escaped from captivity with information of great importance.”
“As you already said,” he turns to look at his wife. “What say you Mari?”
A woman steps out from the wagon, looking up at them. “Girls, make room for them,” she calls out.
~*~
“How do you know these people?” Merlin asks as they are whisked into the wagon, their gear stowed with them. Merlin cradles the pack in his arms.
“The nomads are similar to the Druids, following the Old Religion. They travel where the signs send them. The knights treat with them, often using them as couriers and trade with them,” Arthur says absentmindedly.
They had turned the stolen horses loose, sending them off in different directions to find their own way back home. The girls become enamored with Merlin Pictish horse, begging to keep it. Nodding, they tie it behind the wagon stripped of anything to give it away.
The patrol comes upon them half an hour later. Arthur and Merlin are still in their hiding place in the wagon hidden under skeins of wool and cotton, straining to hear what is said. It turns out Mari is a dyer, her husband Jeran a weaver.
The patrol asks them questions, looking at the horse behind the wagon. When asked, Jeran says they found the horse wandering, stripped of everything. The men search the wagon quickly, only looking in a few places. Satisfied that the nomads aren’t hiding anything, the men wheel their mounts and head back the way they come. Merlin sighs in relief, sagging back against the wall of the wagon.
They travel with the nomads for three days. They ask no questions, sharing what little they have. Jen and Kara, their daughters, grow fond of Arthur. They play together as the wagon drives closer to Camelot. They look at Merlin’s eyes and see his connection to the Old Religion. They treat him with a respect fitting of a king. It makes Merlin nervous. Eventually though, they part ways.
Some miles from Camelot, Jeran drops them off. The family has no wish to enter the city with rumors of the sickness. Merlin and Arthur don’t blame them and thank them for what they’ve already done. Waving as the wagon pulls away, Merlin’s horse following behind; they turn south and the road that will lead them at last to home.
It isn’t long before they crest a hill and Camelot comes into view in all its sprawling glory. The white castle, ever a shining beckon of home beckons them onward. Swallowing, Merlin turns to look at Arthur. They’ve made it.
Although still dressed in furs, they had stowed most of their clothing and things in their pack. The winter here is nothing compared to what they had faced. The ease from the last few days fades as they draw closer. They have been gone too long. They have no idea what awaits their return.
Merlin wonders who they can go to. Petit is sure to be with his fleet and they’ll have as much luck trying to get to Morgana or Juliana as they did last time. Merlin doesn’t know who to trust at the moment, who isn’t a part of Nimueh’s network.
The only person he can think of to go to is Gwaine. He tells Arthur. “You don’t like it,” Merlin says softly at the frown on Arthur’s face.
“There is no one else to turn to, no patron or friend of Kilgharrah?” Arthur asks, staring ahead as they walk.
Merlin shakes his head. “Arthur we aren’t talking about a simple favor. Whomever we go to will have our lives in their hands. I trust Gwaine with mine. No one else.”
“And how much gold do you think he could get for it?” Arthur asks, bitter.
Merlin grabs Arthur by the arm and turns him to face him. “Gwaine has been my friend since I was small. He never asked for anything and has been true no matter what. When Dillon de la Escetia was executed, he was the one who gave me money to make an offering. Did you know I was Nimueh’s farewell gift to Dillon before she betrayed him?”
Arthur shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, looking away.
“If you have a better Idea, then say it, but I will not hear you speak badly of Gwaine,” Merlin says just as softly.
“I could try the Captain of the Knights. He is oath sworn and can be trusted,” Arthur says.
“Are you sure? You disappeared from the city with your charge leaving behind the slaughtered household of Kilgharrah nó Emrys. Do you think they will believe you? Will they welcome you?” Merlin asks harshly, knowing his words are a low blow, but he needs to say them.
“No one would dare. And besides, no knight would believe them,” Arthur hisses harshly, glaring at Merlin.
“If I thought of it Arthur, what makes you think someone else wouldn’t? It’s easier to believe this is a simple murder and not some deep conspiracy to over throw the five kingdoms,” Merlin says wearily, looking towards home.
Arthur grunts at his words. “Fine, we’ll do this your way. But first, we still have to get through the gates.”
~*~
It is perhaps too easy getting through the gates into the city itself. The guards stop them at a distance, asking their names. Merlin gives false ones. The guards grunt in disinterest and ask them to stick out their tongue. Confused, they comply.
Edging close enough to see, one of the guards nods and waves them through. It seems the sickness rumor is true. Despite the cold and sickness, there are still people out. Trying to remain undetected, Arthur and Merlin stick to the smaller streets.
By the time they reach the lower city where Gwaine is sure to be, the sun has set, only a few lingering spears of light left in the sky. They stand across the street from a familiar inn. Merlin’s throat closes up for a moment as memories well up in his mind. He desperately wants to go inside.
Shaking himself, Merlin turns to Arthur. “We can’t go in there. With the way tongues wag, word of us will reach the castle before we even get close,” Merlin admits.
“Do you have another plan?” Arthur asks, glancing at Merlin. His blonde fringe hangs over his eyes, he needs a haircut. They both do.
Taking a breath, Merlin nods and quickly lays it out for him. Gwaine’s stables are quiet as they enter. They take the two stable boys by surprise, Arthur near frightening them to death with his sword out and his wild appearance. “Do you work for Gwaine?” Arthur asks harshly.
They both nod. Merlin steps forward. “Good, I want you to do something and your friend here will live. Find Gwaine and ask him to come here, quietly. Tell him an old friend needs his help. If he asks who, say the one with stars in his eyes. Got it?” Merlin asks as he looks at the smaller of the two.
He nods rapidly, “Old friend, stars in eyes, got it.”
“Good. If you tell anyone but Gwaine, your friend here is dead.” The boy’s eyes go wide, the whites large and nods again before scurrying off in search of Gwaine.
They wait for Gwaine to appear in a tense silence, only the occasional whimper from the other stable hand making any noise. Finally, Merlin hears someone approaching. He would know Gwaine’s footsteps anywhere.
He whistles as he strolls across the cobble stones to the stable. Slipping in he shuts the door and turns to look at them. “Merlin?” Gwaine’s voice is all it takes.
Merlin throws himself at Gwaine, the man looking dumbfounded down at Merlin, arms holding him up. Merlin can’t stop the tears from coming, weeks of terror and grief letting go. He presses his face into Gwaine’s chest, muffling his sobs.
By the time Merlin has gained control of himself, Arthur has lowered his sword, though he still remains on guard, eyeing the two stable hands. Seeing where Arthur is looking, Gwaine motions the two stable hands forward. Letting Merlin go slightly, he digs in his belt purse and pulls out two silver pieces. “You two saw nothing tonight. If you speak of any of this, I’ll know and hunt you down.” The nod and take the money, scurrying out of the stable.
Looking back up, he squints at Arthur, “Knight?”
“Gwaine,” Arthur mutters.
Merlin steps back from Gwaine, running a shaky hand over his face, wiping away any lingering tears. “Do they think…?” Merlin can’t finish his sentence as Gwaine looks at him, eyes saddened.
“You were tried and convicted despite not being here for the murder of Kilgharrah nó Emrys and his household,” Gwaine admits.
~*~
“I’m sorry,” Merlin says as Gwaine finishes telling them all that has happened since their disappearance. The rumors about the fever have been true, claiming Gwaine’s mother as one of the many casualties. He hasn’t taken on any new tenants until the sickness passes. He tells them the reason the guards were checking their tongues at the gate is that is shows first as dark spot on the tongue.
Gwaine waves him off, though Merlin can still see the grief reflected in his eyes. He heats up water for a bath for them, sending out for food. It isn’t much, but to be clean and warm and safe is more than Merlin could imagine in the last few weeks.
As they eat, they take turns telling Gwaine all that has happened to them, Gwaine not speaking until they run out of words, despite learning of D’Alene’s betrayal. “He wouldn’t,” Gwaine says vehemently, despite all their evidence.
“He willing to try though,” Arthur says softly. “He has no idea the numbers that Arrœk can summon up though.”
“We need to speak to Morgana, or someone who can reach her,” Merlin says, looking at Gwaine.
“Your lives are forfeit if anyone knows you are here in Camelot,” Gwaine says.
“Why would they believe that? What could we gain from killing Kilgharrah?” Arthur asks, setting his goblet down hard.
“There’s a rumor that Duc Kay l’Ector paid you a large sum to allow his men into the house to settle the score with Kilgharrah. He’s not been charged, but Agravaine’s assassination is not helping his cause,” Gwaine tells them.
“But I wouldn’t-,” Merlin starts.
“Don’t you think I know that? I knew the instant I heard that it was a lie. I told anyone who would listen. There were others rallying to your name, Uriens, Alice, Gaius, even the Knight Captain. But the council wanted a conviction and you weren’t here to defend your case,” Gwaine says, rubbing at his face in frustration.
“Nimueh?” Merlin asks.
“If she had any hand in it, I can’t see it. She’s kept her hand close to her chest for the time being,” Gwaine mumbles.
Merlin can only snort in a morbid sense of humor, “She already played that card on Dillon. It wouldn’t do to play it twice in a row.”
“True,” Gwaine says, standing and clearing the table. Turning back to Merlin, he leans his hip against the table, looking down at him. “Anything you need is at your disposal. I know all manners of people to get something through to whomever you like. The only problem is none of them can be trusted to keep their mouths closed.”
“You say my Captain protested my innocence?” Gwaine nods. “I could ride to him, see if he is willing to help,” Arthur offers, though he frowns at his own words. “Could you provide a mount?” Gwaine nods again.
“No,” Merlin says softly. “It would take too long and it is too risky.” Merlin frowns and then jumps as an idea comes to him. “Gwaine, could you get something to Juliana de Listinoise?” Merlin asks, looking up at his friend.
“Yes, easy. Mayhap a love letter, a message from an admirer? I can get it there, but it may not be sealed when she gets it,” he admits.
“That’s fine. I’ll write the real message in Hibernian. If any of your contacts can read it, I’ll hand myself back over to the Picts,” Merlin mutters. Nodding in thanks as Gwaine brings him a sheet of parchment, ink and a quill, Merlin sets about crafting a letter. He writes a quick letter of admiration and just underneath it, he writes his real message in Hibernian, making it look like lines from a poem.
The last student of the dragon awaits you with the unofficial lord of Wyvern Street begging aid in the name of the Queen’s Draca, her only born.
Merlin reads it aloud and Arthur can only stare at him, “You speak and write Hibernian as well?”
Merlin shrugs, “Not as well as I would like.” Hoping that he wrote the note correctly, he seals it with wax and hands it over to Gwaine.
“I know someone going to the castle later tonight. It should be in Juliana’s hand by tomorrow, even if I have to bribe half of the lower city to get it there.” With a hand on Merlin shoulder and a nod to Arthur, Gwaine walks out, throwing his cloak on.
It is silent for a few moments after the man’s departure. “You were right to trust him,” Arthur admits.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Merlin says softly.
“We should get some rest,” Arthur says, standing with a groan.
Merlin shakes his head, “I’ll wait for Gwaine to come back. You go sleep.” He yawns despite his words.
“I’m sure you have much to catch up on,” Arthur says stiffly, starting to turn away.
“Arthur,” Merlin calls. The knight stops and turns back to look at him, “Whatever happens to us…I just want you to know that you kept your promise. You got us home, safely. Thank you.” Arthur nods and bows before turning away again and walking out of the room.
Merlin has started to doze at the table by the time Gwaine returns. As the door shuts, Merlin jumps, heart in his throat before he realizes where he is. “How’d it go?” Merlin asks, rubbing at his eyes.
“You should be in bed,” Gwaine says instead. At Merlin’s glare, he sighs, “Fine and Juliana should have the letter by tomorrow unless anything should happen. She was sick you know, with the fever. She has Gaius looking after her, and she’s on the mend.” He steps forward, settling into a chair. “You look like hell, Merlin.”
“I know,” Merlin says, running a hand through his ragged hair. His hands are still pale, but red roughened from work and chafed. Dirt is engrained under the nails and scratches crisscross his hand. “But I can light a fire from a single sodden log in the middle of a snow storm,” he admits with dry humor.
Gwaine is standing after that, stepping around the table. Merlin can only hold onto him as the man wraps his arms around the warlock. “I’d thought I lost you,” Gwaine mutters into his hair. “If I’d known you were still alive, I would have fought harder for you.”
“I know,” Merlin mutters against his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your mother,” Merlin says, feeling tears in the corners of his eyes.
“I miss her,” Gwaine admits and Merlin can hear the clicking of his throat when he swallows. Sighing, Gwaine pushes Merlin back, looking at him. “You should sleep.”
“Good night,” Merlin says softly, smiling faintly and nods. Pressing a small kiss to his brow, Merlin leaves Gwaine in the kitchen.
In bed, Merlin lies there, exhausted, but missing something. It takes him a moment to realize exactly what he misses…Arthur. He falls asleep before he can think any more on it.
~*~
Sleeping through the morning, Merlin wakes slowly. Stumbling out of the room, he only finds Arthur seated at the table, Gwaine gone off on some errand.
Gwaine returns soon after with clothing for them. They both bathe again and dress, even if the clothing doesn’t fit exactly. Gwaine even sits them down and trims their hair. Merlin feels better and better. Gwaine suggests that they burn the clothing they had worn, wools and furs from their captivity and flight. “No, it is the only proof we have,” Merlin says. Shrugging, Gwaine nods.
Turning away, Gwaine turns to the window and tenses. “There’s a carriage pulling up outside.” Merlin and Arthur both tense, looking at each other, an entirely silent conversation passing between them before looking up at Gwaine.
“Go into the back room. There’s a door there you can escape through. If it’s not Juliana, I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” Nodding the two slip into the back room, shutting the door, ears pressed to the wood, listening as someone knocks at the door.
Merlin can hear Gwaine’s voice faintly as he greets his visitor. Then another familiar voice, feminine and melodious: it is Juliana.
Merlin opens the door and steps through, looking at Juliana as she pulls back her hood. Her face is pale form sickness, but she is still the same as he remembers. Walking forward, Merlin hugs her, the poetess hugging him back fiercely.
“Juliana, we need to speak to Morgana,” Merlin says quickly, pulling back. “To Uriens and Admiral Petit, and anyone else we can trust. The Picts are planning to invade and D’Alene plans betrayal-,” Merlin babbles out.
“Easy, child,” she says, squeezing his shoulders. “I know you are not a traitor. I’m taking you to an audience with Morgana. Can you do that?” she asks looking at him.
Merlin stiffens in shock, looking at Juliana in disbelief. “I’ll be with him,” Arthur says, coming up beside Merlin.
“As will I,” Gwaine says, stepping up on Merlin’s other side. Merlin can only glance between them and feel his panic ebb away at his friend’s words.
Slowly, Merlin steps back and Juliana lets him go. “I…,” Merlin swallows, “I’m ready.”
~*~
Part 6b
With every step, Merlin expects to hear a cry, a yell as they are discovered. The distance, which had seemed brief in the first crossing, seems to stretch on unending. Arthur walks next to him, head lowered, pulling off a sullen disposition well, but on such a clear day, it may take more than that to pull this off.
They stop at the lesser hall first and one of the cerols comes forward, bowing respectfully to Arthur, the disguise holding. “What can I do for you?” he asks, curiosity evident in his eyes. Merlin isn’t known very well here as Arrœk liked to keep Merlin close in his own hall.
Arthur shakes Merlin by the arm. “Tell him,” he growls.
For a second Merlin is frozen, the words eluding him. Arthur shakes him again, harder this time and it is enough to snap him back into focus, “My lord Arrœk will be making camp with a few of his men. He sends for a skin of mead, two sacks of pottage and a cook-pot. Bring them to the stable and Gauter will bring them to him.”
“Only one skin?” he asks.
“Three,” Arthur growls out and shakes Merlin again. Not waiting for the cerols to question them, Arthur turns and drags Merlin along behind them. Merlin lets him, his heart still racing at the almost slip up. His legs are shaking and if Arthur hadn’t been holding him, he would have collapsed by now.
When Arthur shoves him into the great hall and makes him stumble, Merlin turns to glare at him, the anger helping him get control of himself. Arthur just glares back and grunts, nodding towards Arrœk’s rooms.
No one is around to see them and they walk quickly to Arrœk’s rooms. Inside, Merlin points Arthur towards the cupboard holding his gear which he hadn’t locked when he’d left earlier. Stripping off Gauter’s clothing, Arthur pulls on his chainmail and gauntlets, flexing his fingers in the leather. Buckling his sword belt on, Arthur pulls the clothing back on, using the white furs to conceal his sword slightly. It won’t cover it completely, but hopefully no one will notice a Silent One with a knight’s sword.
He lifts the saddle bags and is about to leave when realization strikes Merlin, “Nimueh’s letter.”
“You said it was in the saddle bag,” Arthur says softly, looking back at Merlin.
“It is,” Merlin says and yanks the bags from Arthur, rooting around in them until he pulls it out. “But Arrœk doesn’t know we know his plans. If we take it, it will tip his plans and he might change them and then our information will be wrong. We’ll just have to leave it hear,” Merlin says, shoving it back into the cupboard and shutting the door with a click.
They aren’t as lucky leaving. Wendra spots them just before the reach the main door. “Where are you going?” she asks, eyeing Arthur and Merlin.
“Arrœk’s orders,” Arthur mutters.
“Well I haven’t heard of any orders,” she says annoyance clear in her face. She starts to step forward and Merlin realizes that in two more steps, she will see it’s not Gauter under the fur hood.
Shaking Arthur off, he steps forward, planting himself between her and Arthur, “And why would you?” Merlin asks, putting as much disdain into his voice as possible. “Does he send for you when he wants pleasure? Does he send for any woman? Of course not, why send for a common woman when he can have someone trained to please kings. And if you wish to remain in his favor, you will remember that he is your king and that you shouldn’t question his order.”
Spinning away from her, Merlin marches out of the hall, Arthur following behind, giving the stunned Wendra a disgruntled shrug. Merlin’s heart is hammering in his chest by the time Arthur catches up to him and his hands are sweating. “Not so fast,” Arthur hisses and Merlin slows, trying to slow his racing heart.
They make it to the stables without incident. A few horses are still left, including Merlin’s sturdy horse that he had ridden here from Hoel’s. One of the cerols runs up as they approach. “I received the supplies sent. Is it true Arrœk is making camp?” he asks.
“Arrœk’s orders,” Arthur says again.
Merlin nods. “He also sent for me. Saddle my horse,” Merlin says, butting in before the ceorl can get too close to Arthur. The man nods and rushes off to ready Merlin’s mount.
“He also said fodder for…oh, what was it, a dozen?” Arthur nods, grunting in confirmation of Merlin’s words. The ceorl nods back and runs off to get it while the stable lads finish getting Merlin’s mount ready.
Merlin is sure that if these men stop and listen they can hear his heart trying to pound out of his chest. But they don’t, going about readying their escape. They even bring the mounts out to them. Arthur quickly secures the saddle bags and mounts up, grunting and jerking his head at Merlin in an impatient movement.
Hands shaking, Merlin mounts up as well. When Arthur sits there, Merlin realizes he has no idea which way the hunt went. “Head to the north end of the lake and up the trail,” Merlin says softly in Alban.
They ride back through the steading and the remaining tents, though they stick to the edges as much as possible. None stop them and soon, they are around the lake and heading up the trail. Merlin can’t breathe a sigh of relief, even as the trees close up around them. They aren’t in the clear yet.
They follow the trail, Merlin’s mind whirling, thinking over every little detail. He realizes they forgot to acquire a tent. If they freeze to death, it will be his fault. After a short time, Arthur pulls his horse up, and blowing on his fingers, turns to Merlin. “How do we do this?” he asks.
“I’m not sure. I never thought it would get this far and never planned for afterwards. I know where we are, thanks to Arrœk’s maps. If we head south, eventually, we will make it free into either Camelot or Escetia. How we get there alive, I’ve no idea but we need as much of a head start as possible before they find us gone.”
Arthur nods, “You got us out, I’ll get us home.” Looking at the sky, he angles his mount until he is pointing south. “The knights are trained to survive in all kinds of conditions. We’ll survive the cold at least.”
With his bearing in place, Arthur turns back and keeps following the trial until they reach a break in the trail that leads south. Stopping a short distance, Arthur dismounts, and tells Merlin to wait there. He returns some minutes later, a pine bough in his hand. He’d erased their trail.
“They won’t see it if they’re not looking but it won’t pass closer inspection, but it will be dusk soon and hard to see. “Let’s still put some distance between us though.” Merlin just nods and spurs his mount after Arthur.
It is silent as they ride, but not silent enough as one of the Silent Ones that guards Arrœk’s borders appears, spears pointed at them in challenge. They had completely forgotten about the guard in their rush to escape.
The sight of Arthur throws him into confusion, his spears lowering slightly. “Brother,” he says, “Where are you headed?”
Merlin’s heart clenches and he turns to look at Arthur. The knight just stares silently for a drawn out moment before an anguished cries rips out of his chest. Digging his heels into his mount’s sides, he draws his sword, the blade hissing as it leaves its sheath.
The man is down before he even has time to realize Arthur is charging. Pulling his horse to a stop, Arthur pants, staring at the man he just killed. “What’s going on-,” another Silent One says, appear from where the first had come from. He stops when he sees his companion on the ground, slain.
This time, Arthur is the one left stunned. The man doesn’t even ask questions, charging Arthur spear raised. Ducking under it, Arthur pushes off of his mount, tackling the man to the ground, sword thrusting forward to bite at him through his furs.
As Arthur struggles to his feet, the second Pict remains down, blood starting to pool in the snow. Arthur’s face is grey as he swallows back bile. “I’m sorry,” Merlin murmurs.
Arthur just nods, his jaw clenched tight. Walking to one of the Picts, he pulls off the crude mittens he wears. He holds them out to Merlin and Merlin doesn’t argue, just pulls them on. Mounting back up, he guides his horse around the dead men.
They continue on unchallenged through uninhabited territory. They push the horses as much as they dare, often times through drifts of snow as high as their horse’s breast. They stop at a stream, letting the horses drink slowly. Emptying out two of the mead skins in the water, he refills them with water.
Continuing on, they had their midday meal in the saddle, dry pottage and cold water. Dismounting, Arthur leads his horse through a drift, giving it a respite from his weight and breaking up the snow. He makes Merlin do it as well and though Merlin hates him for it, the exercise warms him up.
Merlin has a clear map in his mind of where they need to go, but he is no navigator. He has no idea how to compare the inches of distance on a map to the vastness of the frozen mountains. So they follow the sun’s trail, keeping it their right as it sets.
Eventually though, Arthur stops them in a small clearing. “We need to make camp before the sun sets.”
Merlin dismounts after him, teeth chattering with cold. “Do you think it’s safe to light a fire?” he asks.
“It’s not safe not to light one. We’ll freeze if we don’t,” Arthur says. They start to gather dead branches, stacking them into a pile. Arthur pulls out the tinderbox when Merlin asks him to wait. Staring at the wood, he reaches for his magic, the word falling off of his lips, “Forbærnan.” He feels his magic stir, wanting to do as he commands, but the block is still there.
Merlin shakes his head, clenching his fists. Arthur doesn’t say anything as he slowly and patiently gets the fire going, blowing on it softly until the larger sticks catch. Arthur nudges him with the cook pot. “Water the horses with water from one of the skins and then thaw snow. Afterwards, start the pottage cooking,” Arthur tells him.
Merlin nods, glad to have something to do. As he waters their mounts, keeping them from guzzling too much too fast, Arthur sets about seeing to the horses. Unsaddling them, he quickly rubs them down and sets some fodder near them. Hobbling them with some leather scavenged, Arthur sets about making camp.
By the time Merlin has finished seeing to the horses and gotten the pottage going, Arthur had the camp set up. A bed of pine boughs, the branches smelling sharp with their sap, is set near the fire. One of the cloaks Merlin had snagged is laid over it. A pile of fire wood is within easy reach should they need to add more to the fire in the night.
“It’ll keep the snow from stealing our warmth,” Arthur explains to him. “We’ll have to sleep close for warmth.” Merlin just nods. Unsheathing his sword, Arthur pulls out a whet stone and starts to sharpen it.
Leaving the pottage on the fire to finish cooking, Merlin goes to sit next to him. “I tried to kill Arrœk last night,” Merlin admits, speaking for the first time in a while. He can feel Arthur’s surprised gaze on him, but doesn’t look away from staring at the fire.
“Why? They would have killed you,” Arthur says, momentarily forgetting his sword in his hands.
“Yes, but it wouldn’t matter. Without Arrœk, the Picts would never unite. He is their linchpin, the one that holds them together. And then you wouldn’t have had to betray your vow,” Merlin admits, wrapping his arms around his knees. He glances at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, but Arthur still has the hood up and his face is mostly in shadow.
“What happened?” he asks.
“He woke up,” Merlin says. “It was the priest that gave me the idea. He said I was fate’s weapon. I was lucky he didn’t know what I was planning.”
“Merlin…” Arthur says staring at Merlin still. “Sometimes you put me to shame,” he admits. “I wish I could have known Kilgharrah better to have created such a pupil.”
“So do I,” Merlin says softly. Turning to look at Arthur, Merlin smirks a little. “Though to be honest, the first time I met you, I thought you were-,”
“An over-zealous, muscle-bound, idiot of a knight,” Arthur says with a small smile.
Merlin shakes his head. “That was before I met you. Once I did, I thought you were a smug, arrogant, prat of a knight.”
Arthur laughs right out at his words, “You’re right, I was.”
Merlin shakes his head again. “No, I was wrong. The man I thought you were would have died in Hoel’s kennels than give up his pride. But you kept fighting. It’s because of you that I’m still alive.”
“That wasn’t just me, Merlin,” Arthur tells him. “I’ll do what’s needful to let us reach Camelot and Morgana de la Pendragon alive and if I’m to be damned for what I’ve done, then better in full than in halves.”
The forest around them is muffled with silence, the only thing heard is the horses grazing and stamping their feet, the wood in the fire crackling. “We should eat,” Merlin says softly.
Arthur nods and standing, he quickly brings the pot from the fire. With only one spoon, they share it between them, taking bits. When the pot is empty, Arthur scraps and cleans it out. Merlin sits on the bed of pine branches, watching him. Full of food, he is warm and drowsy and despite the worry biting at him, he knows that the moment he lays down, he will fall asleep.
Finished, Arthur adds another log to the fire and comes back to the bed. Lying down, the huddle close, Arthur pressed up behind him, arm around his waist. With every last pit of cloth piled on them, it doesn’t take long for them to start to warm up. “Sleep,” Arthur whispers, the words vibrating through his chest into Merlin’s back. Merlin sleeps.
~*~
Merlin wakes alone and cold in the morning. Groaning, Merlin rolls out of the bed, shivering as the cold air fills in where there once was warmth. Arthur is at the fire, thawing snow on the still going fire, though their fire wood pile is on the last few logs.
The next hour is spent having Arthur teach Merlin how to help him. He learns how to saddles and care for his own horse. Arthur is only one man and can’t do everything. Finished with the lesson, they soon break camp and continue south, the sun to their left as it rises over the mountains.
Merlin learns quickly as they keep moving. Using one of the smaller pieces of clothes, he fashions a sort of burnoose around his head and face to preserve warmth. The knife at his waist, taken from Gauter, hangs heavy, a weighted reminder of what they had to do to escape. Patting his horse’s neck, Merlin follows Arthur.
By the third day, they have met no one. In the distance, Merlin spots a thin trail of smoke. “Gharen’s steading, of the Isern,” Merlin tells Arthur. “If we head east and follow this ridge, it should take us around his territory and any patrols he might have set up,” Merlin informs, remembering the lines on Arrœk’s map.
Arthur takes a step forward and the ledge he is on gives out from under him, nothing solid underneath it. Merlin flings himself back, holding onto the granite bolder that thrusts out of the snow a few feet away from what is left of the ledge.
Edging closer, Merlin glances down. He can just see Arthur’s head poking through the snow. “Arthur?” Merlin calls out. Crawling out of the snow, Arthur waves that he is all right. Nodding, Merlin turns to check on their mounts. His horse is still where he left it, though it tosses its head in agitation. Arthur’s has bolted a few yards away, whites showing in its eyes.
Sighing, Merlin glances down to see that Arthur has started to climb back up and slowly rises. The snow holds and he edges his way back towards the trail. On solid ground, he starts to make his way towards the horse, hand out.
It takes them an hour to get going again. It takes Arthur that long just to climb back up with only snow as handholds. It takes Merlin that long because the horse is spooked and any time he gets close enough, the horse bolts again.
Arthur looks ready to drop from exhaustion when Merlin looks at him. “We need to keep going,” he says, seeing Merlin’s worried glance.
Merlin nods, “At least the horses are rested.” Arthur sends him a small smile at that.
~*~
They are both jumpy that night at the lost time. With every noise, they jerk, expecting something that isn’t there. Arthur stares at the fire.
“Merlin,” Arthur pauses, looking up from the fire, “If…when they catch up to us, I want you to do something for me. Whatever I say and do, play along with it. I want to show you something,” he says motioning for Merlin to stand.
Merlin does, still not sure what to say to Arthur’s words. He lifts Gauter’s shield from the pile of their things. It is a simple buckler shield, made mostly of wood with hide covering it and a metal disk in the center. Arthur shows him how to hold it, how to settle it on his arm to cover his body.
“If…if you have a chance to get away, take it. Don’t wait for me. You know enough now and with the supplies, you can survive. But, if you don’t then use the shield and I’ll do what I can.” Arthur’s voice is subdued, his eyes sad in the firelight.
“Lifwraþu: protection of life,” Merlin says softly. Merlin grips the shield with cold aching fingers and wants to cry for his brave knight.
“Go to sleep, dolt,” Arthur says, turning away. “I’ll take the first watch.”
~*~
With morning comes snow. It batters them as they wade through waist deep snow, either on horseback or walking. Merlin is cold, shivering under his furs. The white seems endless and slowly, he falls into a sort of waking dream. His horse is the only thing guiding him, following Arthur’s trail and horse.
It takes him a moment to realize that what he’s hearing isn’t the wind howling through the trees. He jerks away, eyes wide. “Arthur!” The wind snatches his words away, but Arthur seems to hear, turning to look back at Merlin. “They’re coming.”
He stops and Merlin comes in close. “How many?” he asks, the wind and snow picking up.
“I don’t know, six maybe eight,” Merlin yells to be heard.
“Ride!” Arthur yells, smacking Merlin’s horse’s rump. They go tearing through the snow, plunging in and out of drifts, blinded by snow and wind. Merlin can hear them more clearly now, their war-chants drifting over the howl of the wind.
They burst through the trees into a clearing, a large rock face greeting them. They’re on their last dregs as are the horse. Merlin can feel is horse trembling underneath him. Arthur pulls his horse up, looking at Merlin.
The wind has died down some and he can hear him clearer, as well as the approaching Picts. “We’ll make a stand here. Take this and guard yourself,” he says holding out the shield to Merlin. Nodding, Merlin takes it, dismounting.
Stiff with cold and fear, Merlin hunches down near the rock face, shield in front of him. Arthur moves in front of him, sword drawn, chainmail flashing in the weak light, waiting for them to arrive. As they stop running, the chanting stops and out of the swirling snow, seven Picts ride: Arrœk’s best trackers and his fastest riders.
Arthur stands before them alone and they stop in front of him. He throws his sword down, “In Arrœk’s name, I surrender.” They laugh and the snow picks up and obscures Merlin’s vision but when it dies, four have dismounted, swords drawn. Two hang back and the third is riding towards him.
Arthur waits until the Picts are close enough and as one goes to poke him in the chest with the tip of his sword, Arthur knocks the blade aside with his gauntleted hand. Springing forward, he rolls until he comes up with his sword back in his hand, swinging it at the nearest man.
Merlin’s gaze is torn between Arthur’s fight and the approaching Pict. He can make out who is on the horse: Hervis the Beardless, of Hoel’s steading. Merlin is frozen at the sight of him, long enough for him to dismount and get at him behind the shield. Grabbing Merlin around the waist, he pulls him up. “Southerner, stop, I have your companion!” he yells at Arthur, pointing a dagger at Merlin’s throat. “I won’t do it,” he whispers into Merlin’s ear. “Arrœk wants you alive.”
One of the figures pauses, sword lowered slightly. Behind him, one of the still mounted Picts charges forward, his spear raised. “Arthur, don’t listen to him!” Merlin yells.
Hervis swears and shakes Merlin, knocking the breath from hi momentarily. Merlin can feel the edge of the dagger pressing at his throat. He stamps down on Hervis’s foot and almost breaks free, but the man holds on.
“Don’t make me harm you,” he hisses at Merlin. “I mean to regain the honor of our steading with our return.”
Griping at Merlin, the shield is between them, an awkward barrier. Tugging off his mitten, Merlin fumbles for the dagger at his waist with numb fingers. Sliding it from the sheath, Merlin looks up at Arthur who is still fighting.
There are three left, two on the ground and one on horseback. Arthur’s sword flashes and one of the grounded Picts goes down.
Merlin looks up at Hervis, so young. He is no longer beardless, the stubble on his jaw thickening. Merlin’s hand is sweaty around the dagger. “Let me go, Hervis,” Merlin says softly.
“I will not be swayed. You will be taken back,” he growls stubbornly.
“Let me go Hervis, or I will kill you,” Merlin says softly, throat thick with what he is about to do. He is intent on the battle, shouting a warning to his comrade and doesn’t listen to Merlin’s words.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin says bitterly and slides the into Hervis’s side with as much force as he can muster in his awkward position.
It seems to take Hervis a moment to realize what Merlin has done, staring down at him with wide surprised eyes. With a ragged breath, Merlin grips the dagger again and forces it upwards, into his heart. Hervis lets go of him and take a step backwards. He crumples to the ground, Merlin forcing himself to watch as the light fades from his eyes.
Merlin looks up to see Arthur facing the last grounded Pict, the one on horseback circling them. Arthur locks swords with the man and the Pict grins, bearing down on him. Behind him, the Pict on horseback starts to charge, his battle ax raised to strike Arthur down unawares.
Merlin gives a yell and time seems to slow as if in a dream. Merlin reaches for his magic, using his fear for Arthur’s life, his anger and grief, all his emotions to burst through the barrier blocking him from his magic. It gives with a crack and Merlin can only gasp as his magic swamps his senses. Before he can let it overwhelm his senses, Merlin directs his magic towards the charging Pict with a yell.
The force of his magic sends the man and horse flying through the air to stop as they strike a tree. Both fall and neither rises. Merlin falls to his knees, gasping for air, trembling. He doesn’t notice Arthur’s approach until the knight is in front of him, calling his name.
“Are you okay?” he asks once Merlin looks up. Merlin nods dumbly, looking down at Hervis still splayed on the ground. “He gave me his cloak and never asked for it back,” Merlin says softly.
Arthur shakes him gently until Merlin is looking back at him. “We need to keep moving. Take anything of value.” Slowly, Merlin nods and with Arthur’s help, stands on still shaking knees. They quickly strip the dead of anything of use, rounding up one of their horses to use as a pack horse. Silent through the whole thing, they mount up and ride from the clearing.
~*~
Merlin had planned for them to follow the Grangia River once they came up to it, letting it lead them east and then south towards Camelot. Arthur decides it will be smarter to follow its riverbed for a distance east, erasing their trail and then cutting south again, throwing off their pursuers if there are anymore.
Merlin just follows, too cold and exhausted to do much else besides stay on the horse. Finding a shallow place to ford, they pick their way across. Arthur dismounts once they are across and some distance away to hide their trail again. Merlin looks at him and sees his own exhaustion mirrored back at him.
Pulling on the last dregs of strength, Merlin takes the lead this time, leading them through the barren forest, searching for a campsite. All he sees is barren rocks and thin trees as far as he can see. He continues on, making a path to ease Arthur’s horse’s way.
Merlin looses track of time as he leads the way. Memories of everything before he came to these blasted mountains swirling in his mind. All the events he went to, the people he met and danced with, his patrons, Kilgharrah, Freya, Alice, Gaius, and Gwaine. He just wants to get home.
The snow had started up a few hours back and by then it has thickened until all he can see it white. Dismounting, he leads Arthur and the pack horse by foot, one hand in front of him, feeling his ways slowly.
When his hand touches stone, he stops, wondering what it is. Feeling despair start to take over, Merlin feels along the wall, trying to distract himself. When his hand goes through air, he frowns. Reaching back, he feels at the stone, following it as it cuts sharply inward: a cave.
Going in a far as he dares, Merlin reaches for the last little flickers of his magic that have restored themselves. Breathing the light spell, he blinks in confusion as the cave opens up in front of him. It is deep, deeper than it looks from the outside. His light doesn’t even hit the back wall. Looking up, he can see a natural hole in the ceiling, a chimney of sorts.
Heart pounding, he goes back outside. Taking his horse’s reins, he leads them into the cave. When his hand starts to shake, Merlin realizes he’s still channeling energy into the light spell. Quickly, he pulls out one of the torches they took off the Pict and lights it, canceling the spell.
Running back outside, Merlin grabs what dry wood he can find, carrying it back inside. There is a little dip in the floor, where a fire could go and he piles the wood into it. Taking the torch, he thrusts it into the wood. Leaving it there for the rest of the wood to catch, Merlin goes to see to the horses, leaving Arthur to tend the fire.
By the time the horses are seen to, Arthur has the fire nice and hot, their things out and a pot of pottage already on the fire. Their things are already laid out, no need for a pine bough bed this time. They sit close together shivering and eating pottage and dried venison that they had taken from the Picts.
Once they are done eating, Merlin cleans the pot out and piles snow inside it, setting it over the fire to thaw and heat up. Pulling out the mead skin, he hands it to Arthur. Taking a jar of salve salvaged from the Picts, he sets about cleaning the cuts on Arthur’s cheek and head.
“I’d wondered why you kept this,” Merlin says softly as Arthur takes a gulp from it.
Arthur shakes his head, “The Picts drink it against the cold.”
Arching a brow, Merlin takes it and drinks a mouthful. It burns going down, but warms his belly quickly. Coughing slightly, Merlin hands it back. He looks at Arthur, “How bad are the wounds you’re hiding?”
Arthur smiles at his words, “That obvious, huh?”
“Stop being an idiot and show me,” Merlin tells him with a frown.
Without answering, Arthur strips off his upper garments, Merlin helping him with the chainmail. His torso is a mass of bruises. There is a small gash on his hip where the chain mail hadn’t protected him. It still bleeds sluggishly. “That needs to be sewn,” Merlin says softly.
“There’s a kit in the pack. Took it off one of the Picts,” Arthur says softly, taking the mead skin and drowning another gulp. Merlin isn’t a healer, he doesn’t know any spells, nor is he a physician or seamstress. By the time he is done, half the mead is down Arthur’s throat and Merlin’s black thread is holding his body together.
They don’t have any bandages, but Merlin still washes it gently with warm water, cleaning the dried blood off. They’re both exhausted. Arthur lies back, staring at the ceiling, Merlin next to him. “You did a good job,” Arthur says softly, looking over at him. “Through all of it-”
Merlin shakes his head, pressing his fingers to Arthur’s mouth, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Arthur just stares at him, eyes impossibly blue. Merlin leans forward and kisses him. It is soft, tentative, just their lips pressing together. Arthur’s arms snake around him, drawing him closer and Merlin kisses him harder.
Merlin helps him strip off their furs. Arthur’s hands are everywhere, sliding over skin, in his hair. Merlin shudders under the intensity of his gaze, falling into him, pressing as close as he can. Pulling the salve that is still nearby closer; Merlin sits back, preparing himself, Arthur watching him the entire time. Slicking Arthur’s cock, he slides down on it, Arthur’s large, warm hands a solid comfort as they brace his hips.
This has been long approaching and neither of them can last. Arthur comes first, stilling inside him, a deep groan torn from his throat. Merlin presses his face into Arthur shoulder as Arthur strips Merlin’s cock until Merlin comes with a soft cry.
He can feel tears running down his face, but he just presses his face harder into Arthur’s shoulder, Arthur’s arms around him. Finally, Merlin pulls back, looking down at Arthur. He smiles a little at Merlin and Merlin bends down to press a shaky kiss to his lips.
“You’re bleeding again,” Merlin whispers, looking down at Arthur’s hip where blood is welling up from between the stitches. Standing, Merlin grabs the cloth he had used before and wipes the blood and mess away. Chucking the cloth to the side, Merlin lays back down beside Arthur, letting the man pull him closer.
Arthur runs a finger over the collar still around Merlin’s throat. “You still have this,” he says quietly.
Merlin can’t look at him, shame welling up inside him at what the collar symbolizes. “I can’t bring myself to get rid of it,” he admits.
“We have nothing to our names,” Arthur says softly.
“I can’t,” Merlin says, still unwilling to look at Arthur. “I just can’t…” his words die off.
“You would rather we starve?” Arthur asks, voice growing hard. “You made me swallow my pride, it is time you did so as well.”
Merlin pulls in a shaky breath, “I can still feel her, her magic. She has her hooks in me.”
“Then rip them out, starting with this,” Arthur tells him. Taking another deep breath, Merlin nods. It takes the barest second for the clasp to be undone. The moment it is off, it feels like a weight has been lifted from him.
Arthur just holds him as silent tears run down his face. “I want to throw it at her feet,” Merlin admits some time later, when his tears have stopped.
“Then live and if ever the chance comes, I will not stop you,” Arthur tells him. He shifts and places the collar somewhere Merlin can’t see and doesn’t care. As Arthur starts to pull back, he looks down at Merlin’s back, where his Mearcung graces his skin, unfinished. “I’m sorry you never got this finished,” he says softly, tracing the lines inked into Merlin’s skin. “It’s beautiful, like you.”
Of all the things Merlin has heard, this has him blushing, as he turns to look up at Arthur. “Go to sleep, prat,” Merlin says softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. Arthur kisses him back and lays down, pulling Merlin down with him, pressing up close behind him.
~*~
The morning is gray and cold. The shiver as they dress and though there is a closeness that wasn’t there before, they don’t speak about what happened. Feelings and such must wait if they are to survive the still long, cold journey home.
Arthur is readying the horses and Merlin has wandered off, examining the cave when something catches his eye. Squinting, he can just make out a silvery sigil scratched into the cave wall. His eyes go wide as he recognizes it: the symbol of the Dragonlords.
Heart in his throat, Merlin keeps going further in, deeper until at last, he meets the back wall of the cave. Disappointed when it doesn’t lead anywhere, Merlin is about to turn away when he spots a small hollow at the base of the wall. Crouching down, he looks inside.
There, nestled amongst rocks and leaves that had been blown in over the years, is an oddly shaped rock, large on one end, and tapering until almost a point at the top. It takes him a second to realize what exactly he is looking at, recalling an image from Kilgharrah’s book he had seen. With shaking fingers, Merlin pulls it out slowly, heart racing. “Merlin!” Arthur calls out, close behind where Merlin is crouched.
“Arthur,” Merlin says softly, awed by what he has found.
“What is that?” Arthur asks, coming up beside him. He limps a little, but otherwise is fine for the fight they faced yesterday.
“It’s…it’s a dragon’s egg,” Merlin says, looking up at Arthur with wide eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asks, eyeing the white egg. It is warm under Merlin’s palms, the magic inside it pulsing like a heartbeat.
“That book you found in Kilgharrah’s library, the one written in Dragon’s tongue. I looked at it and it was like something in me shifted and I could read it. It talked about the last warlock being a Dragonlord and how all warlocks are descended from the same line. I…I think I was meant to find this,” Merlin says softly.
“We need to get moving,” Arthur says after a few moments of silence. Nodding, Merlin stands, cradling the egg in his arms. It’s quick work to wrap the egg in one of the cloaks and store it in a saddle bag. Finished, Merlin nods to Arthur and follows him out of the cave. They’re headed home.
~*~
No one else appears to be following them. With fresher mounts, they press harder, fighting the weather that lashes at them, stopping only when the light is about to fade and falling into an exhausted sleep soon afterwards.
They encounter no more people, though they spot more steadings. Spying the human habitation well in advance, they skirt around them, keeping a large distance just in case. They spot wolves once, but the pack is small and in the distance, but they still keep watch that night, listening to them howl. They even run into an old boar rooting in the snow. It gives a loud squeal and it seems like it might charge, but changes its mind, rushing into the brush and disappearing from sight.
Eventually, they reach the Kadian Mountains also called the White Mountains by the locals. The mountain range separates the five kingdoms from the north and Picts. It is not easy to cross into the five kingdoms so they follow the mountains east, searching for Highpass.
They travel for a day, camping at the mountains feet that night. In the morning, they find the pass and a sight that has their hopes dashed. Merlin had thought Arrœk might do this and when Arthur returns from scouting the pass with a grim face, he knows he was right.
From their vantage point above, he can make out the Pict, nearly twenty Ar raiders, encamped in the pass, the only thing standing between them and home. Merlin doesn’t even look at Arthur. Even with his magic back somewhat, they couldn’t take on all of them.
“What do we do?” Merlin asks.
Arthur looks at him and then glances up at the mountain above them. “You can’t be serious,” Merlin says.
“It’s the only way,” he says and Merlin knows he’s right. It still doesn’t stop him from swearing colorfully under his breath.
Tugging his furs tighter around his shoulders, Merlin sighs, “Fine, but I hope you do realize that if we die, I’m blaming you.” Arthur just sends a smirk his way, slowly backing away from their ledge. Merlin glances down at the Picts and shudders before following Arthur.
Merlin sits huddled in a small lean-to made from snow and fallen boulders as Arthur goes back the way they came, searching for a way up. He comes back as the sun starts to set, the horse floundering in the snow with exhaustion. He’s found a trail, more just a goat path, up the mountain, but it’s the best he can find.
They ride to it and camp at the base of the trail. They dare the smallest fire they can. Merlin even mutters a small spell to keep it going. It keeps them somewhat warm, enough to keep from freezing. They spend the night huddled together, conserving warmth.
They start to climb in the morning. About half way up, they are forced to dismount and lead the horses, the trail too treacherous to be safe. They lose Arthur’s mount on the first day, the poor beast going over the edge with a scream. They lose half their things, though Merlin is glad it wasn’t his horse, the dragon egg still tucked away in his saddle bag.
Arthur forces them to keep going. “We have enough for two more days,” is all he says. They lose the pack horse the next day to a misstep. Just as they reach the summit and start to head down. The horse steps onto a pocket of snow covering up a hidden crevice. Its front foreleg snaps. Arthur is forced to put it down.
They pile most of their things onto Merlin’s horse. Making a make shift pack, Merlin shifts the dragon egg to it, carrying it and anything of value onto his back. Eventually though, they make it to the base of the mountain and finally reach Camelot.
It is too much hope to think that they could go undetected for long. Relieved to be alive, they make their way into the pine forest at the mountains base and make camp, lighting a fire. But with the Picts raiding, the patrols are more frequent. Escetian soldiers find them.
They hear the patrol too late, Arthur kicking snow onto their fire in a hopes of remaining unseen. But it is too late and the patrol rides up to them, circling. Merlin glances at their banner and sees the Escetian flag, its dull green background with the black snake and underneath it, the banner of a different house, not D’Alene. Merlin’s heart plummets at the sight.
Arthur starts to bow, arm across his chest, reaching for his sword. With a hiss, Merlin jumps at him, pushing him down before the knight can give them away. Better to keep word of a knight and his companion travelling the border from spreading.
One of them steps forward, sword drawn. “Identify yourselves.”
Merlin pushes up to look at the man. “My lord, I’m sorry. We mean no harm. Do we trespass here?” Merlin asks, trying to pull of a simple peasant look.
The lowers his sword and shaking his head, he answers, “No lad, yer not. But it isn’t safe along these mountains. Who are you and where are you bound?”
“William of Ledford and this is my cousin Fadden,” Merlin says. “Our village,” Merlin swallows heavily, “Our village was destroyed by Picts some days past. We…my cousin took a blow to the head and I hid him in the woods. They didn’t find us. We are heading for Camelot. We’ve some family there who might take us in.”
Merlin hopes against hope that these men aren’t familiar with all the villages in the area. He knows the village he named was destroyed by Picts some time back from a report he’d read.
“It’s all right lad. You thought we were Picts when yo saw us,” he says, relaxing and sheathing his sword.
Merlin nods, “You could have been. My cousin got scared,” Merlin says softly.
The leader watches them from his horse. Dismounting, he walks up to them. “There’s nothing for you in Camelot,” he says. “The winter has been harsh and the capital is fever-stricken. Ride on to Cholhn. The Marquise won’t turn away refugees. Gordon, ride on ahead and tell them we’re coming in. Be sure to tell them everything.”
The rider starts to turn his horse southward. Arthur moves before anyone can stop him, dagger out and pointed at the leader’s throat. “Dismount, now!” Arthur says with a growl.
They follow Arthur’s order, though they glare with fury at him and Merlin. He doesn’t even need to look at Merlin for Merlin to move. Quickly, he stows their gear to Merlin’s horse, shouldering the makeshift pack.
“Two horse, scatter the rest,” Arthur says, slowly back away towards Merlin. Merlin grabs the reins of two horses and smacking the rumps of the other horses, scatters them.
“Me…William, mount up,” Arthur says, never taking his eyes off of the warriors standing frozen as their leader is held hostage.
“You won’t get away. We’ll come after you,” the leader says softly to Arthur.
“Our kin in Caernarvon will protect us. You’ve no right to detain us,” Merlin says, looking down at the man after mounting.
“Quiet, William. Get out of here.” Merlin nods and wheeling his mounts, leads their pack horse away at a fast run. They stumble through the woods until coming out on a large road, Caernarvon Way. It leads through the city and onwards towards Camelot. Arthur catches up with them half a mile out and the ride, pressing their mounts.
Knowing the patrol is not far behind them, Merlin glances about. Seeing a side road, he points to it. They flee down it, hoping the patrol will continue down the main road.
Further down the road, they come across a nomadic party, the wagon rumbling along. They nearly run into them, the road is that narrow as they go around a bend. Arthur shouts something, though Merlin doesn’t catch it. A little girl pokes her head out of the wagon. The man driving it turns to look at them.
Arthur pulls up beside him. “Eardstapa, please forgive the intrusion,” Arthur says, bowing slightly in the saddle.
“Where are you two headed in such a rush?” he asks, looking up at them. “If I’m not mistaken, you are a Knight of the Round Table.”
“I am, sir. Please, we are being chase by men who would harm my charge. We have news that must reach the capital,” Arthur says and Merlin jerks, uneasy at Arthur for giving so much away.
“Your horse will not go much further,” he comments.
“Shelter us, Eardstapa. They will not think to look for us in your wagon. They think we are Pictish spies, but we are free Albans that have escaped from captivity with information of great importance.”
“As you already said,” he turns to look at his wife. “What say you Mari?”
A woman steps out from the wagon, looking up at them. “Girls, make room for them,” she calls out.
~*~
“How do you know these people?” Merlin asks as they are whisked into the wagon, their gear stowed with them. Merlin cradles the pack in his arms.
“The nomads are similar to the Druids, following the Old Religion. They travel where the signs send them. The knights treat with them, often using them as couriers and trade with them,” Arthur says absentmindedly.
They had turned the stolen horses loose, sending them off in different directions to find their own way back home. The girls become enamored with Merlin Pictish horse, begging to keep it. Nodding, they tie it behind the wagon stripped of anything to give it away.
The patrol comes upon them half an hour later. Arthur and Merlin are still in their hiding place in the wagon hidden under skeins of wool and cotton, straining to hear what is said. It turns out Mari is a dyer, her husband Jeran a weaver.
The patrol asks them questions, looking at the horse behind the wagon. When asked, Jeran says they found the horse wandering, stripped of everything. The men search the wagon quickly, only looking in a few places. Satisfied that the nomads aren’t hiding anything, the men wheel their mounts and head back the way they come. Merlin sighs in relief, sagging back against the wall of the wagon.
They travel with the nomads for three days. They ask no questions, sharing what little they have. Jen and Kara, their daughters, grow fond of Arthur. They play together as the wagon drives closer to Camelot. They look at Merlin’s eyes and see his connection to the Old Religion. They treat him with a respect fitting of a king. It makes Merlin nervous. Eventually though, they part ways.
Some miles from Camelot, Jeran drops them off. The family has no wish to enter the city with rumors of the sickness. Merlin and Arthur don’t blame them and thank them for what they’ve already done. Waving as the wagon pulls away, Merlin’s horse following behind; they turn south and the road that will lead them at last to home.
It isn’t long before they crest a hill and Camelot comes into view in all its sprawling glory. The white castle, ever a shining beckon of home beckons them onward. Swallowing, Merlin turns to look at Arthur. They’ve made it.
Although still dressed in furs, they had stowed most of their clothing and things in their pack. The winter here is nothing compared to what they had faced. The ease from the last few days fades as they draw closer. They have been gone too long. They have no idea what awaits their return.
Merlin wonders who they can go to. Petit is sure to be with his fleet and they’ll have as much luck trying to get to Morgana or Juliana as they did last time. Merlin doesn’t know who to trust at the moment, who isn’t a part of Nimueh’s network.
The only person he can think of to go to is Gwaine. He tells Arthur. “You don’t like it,” Merlin says softly at the frown on Arthur’s face.
“There is no one else to turn to, no patron or friend of Kilgharrah?” Arthur asks, staring ahead as they walk.
Merlin shakes his head. “Arthur we aren’t talking about a simple favor. Whomever we go to will have our lives in their hands. I trust Gwaine with mine. No one else.”
“And how much gold do you think he could get for it?” Arthur asks, bitter.
Merlin grabs Arthur by the arm and turns him to face him. “Gwaine has been my friend since I was small. He never asked for anything and has been true no matter what. When Dillon de la Escetia was executed, he was the one who gave me money to make an offering. Did you know I was Nimueh’s farewell gift to Dillon before she betrayed him?”
Arthur shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, looking away.
“If you have a better Idea, then say it, but I will not hear you speak badly of Gwaine,” Merlin says just as softly.
“I could try the Captain of the Knights. He is oath sworn and can be trusted,” Arthur says.
“Are you sure? You disappeared from the city with your charge leaving behind the slaughtered household of Kilgharrah nó Emrys. Do you think they will believe you? Will they welcome you?” Merlin asks harshly, knowing his words are a low blow, but he needs to say them.
“No one would dare. And besides, no knight would believe them,” Arthur hisses harshly, glaring at Merlin.
“If I thought of it Arthur, what makes you think someone else wouldn’t? It’s easier to believe this is a simple murder and not some deep conspiracy to over throw the five kingdoms,” Merlin says wearily, looking towards home.
Arthur grunts at his words. “Fine, we’ll do this your way. But first, we still have to get through the gates.”
~*~
It is perhaps too easy getting through the gates into the city itself. The guards stop them at a distance, asking their names. Merlin gives false ones. The guards grunt in disinterest and ask them to stick out their tongue. Confused, they comply.
Edging close enough to see, one of the guards nods and waves them through. It seems the sickness rumor is true. Despite the cold and sickness, there are still people out. Trying to remain undetected, Arthur and Merlin stick to the smaller streets.
By the time they reach the lower city where Gwaine is sure to be, the sun has set, only a few lingering spears of light left in the sky. They stand across the street from a familiar inn. Merlin’s throat closes up for a moment as memories well up in his mind. He desperately wants to go inside.
Shaking himself, Merlin turns to Arthur. “We can’t go in there. With the way tongues wag, word of us will reach the castle before we even get close,” Merlin admits.
“Do you have another plan?” Arthur asks, glancing at Merlin. His blonde fringe hangs over his eyes, he needs a haircut. They both do.
Taking a breath, Merlin nods and quickly lays it out for him. Gwaine’s stables are quiet as they enter. They take the two stable boys by surprise, Arthur near frightening them to death with his sword out and his wild appearance. “Do you work for Gwaine?” Arthur asks harshly.
They both nod. Merlin steps forward. “Good, I want you to do something and your friend here will live. Find Gwaine and ask him to come here, quietly. Tell him an old friend needs his help. If he asks who, say the one with stars in his eyes. Got it?” Merlin asks as he looks at the smaller of the two.
He nods rapidly, “Old friend, stars in eyes, got it.”
“Good. If you tell anyone but Gwaine, your friend here is dead.” The boy’s eyes go wide, the whites large and nods again before scurrying off in search of Gwaine.
They wait for Gwaine to appear in a tense silence, only the occasional whimper from the other stable hand making any noise. Finally, Merlin hears someone approaching. He would know Gwaine’s footsteps anywhere.
He whistles as he strolls across the cobble stones to the stable. Slipping in he shuts the door and turns to look at them. “Merlin?” Gwaine’s voice is all it takes.
Merlin throws himself at Gwaine, the man looking dumbfounded down at Merlin, arms holding him up. Merlin can’t stop the tears from coming, weeks of terror and grief letting go. He presses his face into Gwaine’s chest, muffling his sobs.
By the time Merlin has gained control of himself, Arthur has lowered his sword, though he still remains on guard, eyeing the two stable hands. Seeing where Arthur is looking, Gwaine motions the two stable hands forward. Letting Merlin go slightly, he digs in his belt purse and pulls out two silver pieces. “You two saw nothing tonight. If you speak of any of this, I’ll know and hunt you down.” The nod and take the money, scurrying out of the stable.
Looking back up, he squints at Arthur, “Knight?”
“Gwaine,” Arthur mutters.
Merlin steps back from Gwaine, running a shaky hand over his face, wiping away any lingering tears. “Do they think…?” Merlin can’t finish his sentence as Gwaine looks at him, eyes saddened.
“You were tried and convicted despite not being here for the murder of Kilgharrah nó Emrys and his household,” Gwaine admits.
~*~
“I’m sorry,” Merlin says as Gwaine finishes telling them all that has happened since their disappearance. The rumors about the fever have been true, claiming Gwaine’s mother as one of the many casualties. He hasn’t taken on any new tenants until the sickness passes. He tells them the reason the guards were checking their tongues at the gate is that is shows first as dark spot on the tongue.
Gwaine waves him off, though Merlin can still see the grief reflected in his eyes. He heats up water for a bath for them, sending out for food. It isn’t much, but to be clean and warm and safe is more than Merlin could imagine in the last few weeks.
As they eat, they take turns telling Gwaine all that has happened to them, Gwaine not speaking until they run out of words, despite learning of D’Alene’s betrayal. “He wouldn’t,” Gwaine says vehemently, despite all their evidence.
“He willing to try though,” Arthur says softly. “He has no idea the numbers that Arrœk can summon up though.”
“We need to speak to Morgana, or someone who can reach her,” Merlin says, looking at Gwaine.
“Your lives are forfeit if anyone knows you are here in Camelot,” Gwaine says.
“Why would they believe that? What could we gain from killing Kilgharrah?” Arthur asks, setting his goblet down hard.
“There’s a rumor that Duc Kay l’Ector paid you a large sum to allow his men into the house to settle the score with Kilgharrah. He’s not been charged, but Agravaine’s assassination is not helping his cause,” Gwaine tells them.
“But I wouldn’t-,” Merlin starts.
“Don’t you think I know that? I knew the instant I heard that it was a lie. I told anyone who would listen. There were others rallying to your name, Uriens, Alice, Gaius, even the Knight Captain. But the council wanted a conviction and you weren’t here to defend your case,” Gwaine says, rubbing at his face in frustration.
“Nimueh?” Merlin asks.
“If she had any hand in it, I can’t see it. She’s kept her hand close to her chest for the time being,” Gwaine mumbles.
Merlin can only snort in a morbid sense of humor, “She already played that card on Dillon. It wouldn’t do to play it twice in a row.”
“True,” Gwaine says, standing and clearing the table. Turning back to Merlin, he leans his hip against the table, looking down at him. “Anything you need is at your disposal. I know all manners of people to get something through to whomever you like. The only problem is none of them can be trusted to keep their mouths closed.”
“You say my Captain protested my innocence?” Gwaine nods. “I could ride to him, see if he is willing to help,” Arthur offers, though he frowns at his own words. “Could you provide a mount?” Gwaine nods again.
“No,” Merlin says softly. “It would take too long and it is too risky.” Merlin frowns and then jumps as an idea comes to him. “Gwaine, could you get something to Juliana de Listinoise?” Merlin asks, looking up at his friend.
“Yes, easy. Mayhap a love letter, a message from an admirer? I can get it there, but it may not be sealed when she gets it,” he admits.
“That’s fine. I’ll write the real message in Hibernian. If any of your contacts can read it, I’ll hand myself back over to the Picts,” Merlin mutters. Nodding in thanks as Gwaine brings him a sheet of parchment, ink and a quill, Merlin sets about crafting a letter. He writes a quick letter of admiration and just underneath it, he writes his real message in Hibernian, making it look like lines from a poem.
The last student of the dragon awaits you with the unofficial lord of Wyvern Street begging aid in the name of the Queen’s Draca, her only born.
Merlin reads it aloud and Arthur can only stare at him, “You speak and write Hibernian as well?”
Merlin shrugs, “Not as well as I would like.” Hoping that he wrote the note correctly, he seals it with wax and hands it over to Gwaine.
“I know someone going to the castle later tonight. It should be in Juliana’s hand by tomorrow, even if I have to bribe half of the lower city to get it there.” With a hand on Merlin shoulder and a nod to Arthur, Gwaine walks out, throwing his cloak on.
It is silent for a few moments after the man’s departure. “You were right to trust him,” Arthur admits.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Merlin says softly.
“We should get some rest,” Arthur says, standing with a groan.
Merlin shakes his head, “I’ll wait for Gwaine to come back. You go sleep.” He yawns despite his words.
“I’m sure you have much to catch up on,” Arthur says stiffly, starting to turn away.
“Arthur,” Merlin calls. The knight stops and turns back to look at him, “Whatever happens to us…I just want you to know that you kept your promise. You got us home, safely. Thank you.” Arthur nods and bows before turning away again and walking out of the room.
Merlin has started to doze at the table by the time Gwaine returns. As the door shuts, Merlin jumps, heart in his throat before he realizes where he is. “How’d it go?” Merlin asks, rubbing at his eyes.
“You should be in bed,” Gwaine says instead. At Merlin’s glare, he sighs, “Fine and Juliana should have the letter by tomorrow unless anything should happen. She was sick you know, with the fever. She has Gaius looking after her, and she’s on the mend.” He steps forward, settling into a chair. “You look like hell, Merlin.”
“I know,” Merlin says, running a hand through his ragged hair. His hands are still pale, but red roughened from work and chafed. Dirt is engrained under the nails and scratches crisscross his hand. “But I can light a fire from a single sodden log in the middle of a snow storm,” he admits with dry humor.
Gwaine is standing after that, stepping around the table. Merlin can only hold onto him as the man wraps his arms around the warlock. “I’d thought I lost you,” Gwaine mutters into his hair. “If I’d known you were still alive, I would have fought harder for you.”
“I know,” Merlin mutters against his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your mother,” Merlin says, feeling tears in the corners of his eyes.
“I miss her,” Gwaine admits and Merlin can hear the clicking of his throat when he swallows. Sighing, Gwaine pushes Merlin back, looking at him. “You should sleep.”
“Good night,” Merlin says softly, smiling faintly and nods. Pressing a small kiss to his brow, Merlin leaves Gwaine in the kitchen.
In bed, Merlin lies there, exhausted, but missing something. It takes him a moment to realize exactly what he misses…Arthur. He falls asleep before he can think any more on it.
~*~
Sleeping through the morning, Merlin wakes slowly. Stumbling out of the room, he only finds Arthur seated at the table, Gwaine gone off on some errand.
Gwaine returns soon after with clothing for them. They both bathe again and dress, even if the clothing doesn’t fit exactly. Gwaine even sits them down and trims their hair. Merlin feels better and better. Gwaine suggests that they burn the clothing they had worn, wools and furs from their captivity and flight. “No, it is the only proof we have,” Merlin says. Shrugging, Gwaine nods.
Turning away, Gwaine turns to the window and tenses. “There’s a carriage pulling up outside.” Merlin and Arthur both tense, looking at each other, an entirely silent conversation passing between them before looking up at Gwaine.
“Go into the back room. There’s a door there you can escape through. If it’s not Juliana, I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” Nodding the two slip into the back room, shutting the door, ears pressed to the wood, listening as someone knocks at the door.
Merlin can hear Gwaine’s voice faintly as he greets his visitor. Then another familiar voice, feminine and melodious: it is Juliana.
Merlin opens the door and steps through, looking at Juliana as she pulls back her hood. Her face is pale form sickness, but she is still the same as he remembers. Walking forward, Merlin hugs her, the poetess hugging him back fiercely.
“Juliana, we need to speak to Morgana,” Merlin says quickly, pulling back. “To Uriens and Admiral Petit, and anyone else we can trust. The Picts are planning to invade and D’Alene plans betrayal-,” Merlin babbles out.
“Easy, child,” she says, squeezing his shoulders. “I know you are not a traitor. I’m taking you to an audience with Morgana. Can you do that?” she asks looking at him.
Merlin stiffens in shock, looking at Juliana in disbelief. “I’ll be with him,” Arthur says, coming up beside Merlin.
“As will I,” Gwaine says, stepping up on Merlin’s other side. Merlin can only glance between them and feel his panic ebb away at his friend’s words.
Slowly, Merlin steps back and Juliana lets him go. “I…,” Merlin swallows, “I’m ready.”
~*~
Part 6b