Merlin fic: Para Bellum 5/7
Para Bellum
by Destina
Art by goss
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
See master post for notes and summary.
V.
Arthur and his knights left the citadel just before sunrise and rode for hours at a punishing pace, stopping only for a brief rest in a small village near the border. While Gwaine bartered with the village blacksmith for fresh horses, Percival stopped at the inn to pay coin for some fresh bread and cheese, and brought a jug of milk for Arthur.
He drank it gratefully, slaking his thirst as he looked off toward the valley concealed by forest and mountain. His first trip to the Perilous Lands had nearly ended in his death - yet another of Merlin's secrets, one he had revealed not long after they had been bound by the Druids, when he had listed the litany of all Morgana's many sins. It saddened Arthur still to think of how deeply determined she had been to rid herself of him, even then.
Merlin and Gwaine, together, had come to his aid. He could still remember waking to Merlin's ridiculous grin, and a wyvern trying to take both their heads off. It was that day he had realized he was better with the help of good men than he would ever be alone.
Not that he had ever admitted it to Gwaine or Merlin, of course.
"Ready?" Elyan asked, passing off the reins of a black mare to Arthur.
They mounted up and rode hard, on through the passable part of the forest, to where the trees grew dense and difficult. Percival tied the horses, an expectation of return to that same spot eventually, and they proceeded on foot, no conversation between them unless necessary to find the true course. Gwaine stepped out at the lead after a few miles, sure of the right path.
Arthur knew all of them were fond of Merlin, his own feelings aside, but Gwaine's pace told him there was still a much deeper well of sentiment there.
Soon enough, they scaled a small peak and came down the other side to find the bridge in sight. "I'll go first," Gwaine said, sheathing his sword. He approached slowly, Arthur on his heels, and they were a step away from the bridge when the keeper appeared out of nowhere.
"Well, well," he said. "Courage and Strength, come to an alliance at last."
"Grettir, wasn't it?" Arthur said, stepping forward. "I remember you."
"As I remember you, king-who-was-prince." Grettir gave Gwaine a slow once-over. "You have learned to keep your sword sheathed in my presence, sir knight! Progress indeed." He grinned. "You are only the latest to pass through to the Perilous Lands. I have not seen so many men cross these borders since the days of the Fisher King." His grin disappeared, and he looked back across his bridge. "Emrys is here."
"Where is he?" Arthur took another step forward, and Grettir looked up to meet his eyes.
"I've just said he's here, haven't I?"
Arthur took a deep breath, forcing himself to patience. "Yes, so you did. But where within these lands is he held, Grettir?"
"His magic is hidden from me, by what means I cannot say. I am but the keeper of the bridge. It is for you to find him." He stepped aside, making way.
"Thank you," Arthur said.
"The balance must be maintained," Grettir answered. Arthur nodded and stepped past him, followed in single file by the knights.
As the bridge began to narrow, Arthur slowed, scanning the twisted trees and bushes ahead. They were the only cover for miles; ahead there was just swamp and barren land. The bridge was the sole easily accessible point of entry from Camelot to the lands of the Fisher King. If their enemies were in fact using the Perilous Lands as a base, men would be waiting there. Heat surged in Arthur's blood; he wanted them to be there, proof that he was closer to finding Merlin.
If they were there, they were all dead men.
Arthur signaled a halt, and pointed out the trees and bushes ahead. Gwaine nodded, and gracefully lowered himself over the side of the bridge onto the steep slope to the right. Elyan followed suit, but to the left. A moment later, they disappeared into the thick overgrowth. Arthur crept forward in a crouch, Percival close at his back. He counted down in his head, giving Elyan and Gwaine time to make their way through the foliage, and then rose from his crouch, Percival a mirror of his every action. Arthur moved right, Percival left, and the bushes exploded with motion, a dozen men surging forward from the trees.
Arthur took the first two with one blow each, anger giving way to cold skill. His sword parted mail and flesh with equal ease, even as Arthur turned to strike a third man with a closed fist. His opponent's sword flashed up, diagonal and jagged in its arc, and Arthur struck it away without effort, cutting down and across. The man fell where he stood, his throat cut clean through.
Each man who stood against him was an obstacle to finding Merlin, and Arthur removed them all, one at a time. He and the sword were one, full of purpose, finding each weakness and striking true. When finally he looked up, sticky with sweat and blood, his knights were watching him. He realized then they had disengaged from the few remaining men, and Arthur stood in a circle of bodies, nine men felled by his hand.
He wiped his sleeve across his face, and sheathed his sword. The knights silently moved closer, and Arthur knelt beside one of the corpses, Gwaine on the other side of the body. "Lot's livery," Gwaine said.
"Not these others." Percival rolled over two men behind Arthur and knocked one's head to the side. "Druids," he said, pointing to the tattoo on his neck.
"Alator was right, then," Elyan said. "On every point."
They made their way down the steep slope on the opposite end of the bridge, and stopped halfway down to look out over the Lands. The landscape seemed changed from when Arthur had last crossed them. Birds dotted the sky, and a bit of greenery had crept in across the wasted plain. Arthur knew the path to the ruined fortress of the Fisher King, but Gwaine had mentioned other places where Lot had kept prisoners.
"Where are they likely to be?" he asked Gwaine, who squinted and pointed to the east.
"There are four keeps on the eastern border - Lot used them mostly, because they were easy to reach - but he'd run the risk of discovery if he amassed an army there. It's more likely he'd go deeper into the land if that's his purpose."
"I'd agree, but we'll waste precious time if we strike off in a false direction," Elyan said. "Perhaps if we split up-"
"Sire," Percival said, pointing north.
Ahead of them, the sky was lit with fire; streaks of it filled the air, like lightning.
"Fire raining down from the heavens," Gwaine murmured.
A shudder ran the length of Arthur's spine. He had given almost no consideration to the prophecy Alator had brought, or what it meant for his own safety, until that moment.
"Perhaps it was Morgana all along," he said, watching as the streaks of fire became intermittent, and then stopped altogether.
"Only one way to find out." Gwaine pushed past and took the lead again, and by unspoken agreement, they set out in a straight line toward the plumes of smoke rising in the distance. Whatever was happening, it was impossible to tell if it was an attack or something less sinister, but at the very least, their path was clear as a beacon.
It was as much of an arduous slog as Arthur remembered, picking their way across acres of dead trees and wet, boggy ground. As the sun abandoned them and darkness swallowed them up, they kept on, until Gwaine stopped Arthur with a hand to his chest.
"The marshes are dead ahead, Arthur - we need rest, and to see where we're going."
Arthur glanced up. The plumes of smoke had disappeared into the night, and there were no real landmarks anywhere about them. Every instinct was drawing him on, but he knew Gwaine was right.
"Very well. A small fire, to avoid notice, and a few hours' rest."
There was no camp to set up, as they were traveling light to increase their speed. Elyan built a tiny campfire, and they huddled on crumbling logs dragged nearer the fire. Percival shared around bread and dried meat, and they washed it all down with water from their waterskins. Elyan and Percival bedded down on the hard ground, and both were asleep within minutes.
"You should rest also," Gwaine said, his sword resting against his knee. "I'll stand watch."
Arthur shook his head, and settled on the log next to Gwaine. "Not tired."
"Really? Is that why you look like a wyvern has trampled your face?" Gwaine lifted an eyebrow. "No offense Arthur, but if you were any more exhausted I'd be dragging you by one leg through the bog."
It was true; the bone-deep weariness in Arthur made it difficult even to lift his water skin. But what sustained him, what made his limbs move and his eyes remain open, was that thin bright thread of hope that Merlin was not far now. "I'm fine," he said curtly, ignoring Gwaine's knowing eyeroll.
"Of course you are. You and Merlin, two of a kind." Gwaine threw a stick on the fire. "You should have seen him when you were on your little quest for the trident - frantic to get to you, wouldn't take food, wouldn't close his eyes."
"Merlin has never once in his life done as he's told," Arthur said, thinking of the moment he'd told Merlin never to place his life above Arthur's own. In the dead of night, with Merlin's hands on him, the warmth of furs and linens around them, he'd given that command, and felt Merlin's smile fade against his skin.
I've told you before there are promises I won't make, Merlin had said, nuzzling kisses into Arthur's neck, brushing his lips across Arthur's, as if to cut short his reply. You are everything, Arthur. Everything.
Arthur had wanted to say that it was not true, that Merlin had everything backwards, that Merlin's life had become infinitely more important than anything aside from the kingdom they both guarded. But words had never been easy for him, and declarations of such magnitude were far easier to say with touch.
He'd wondered then, as Merlin took him with slow care, if it were possible to be consumed by love, swallowed up by it like an ocean or a raging storm, and find nothing left of himself at all in its wake. Once, he would have feared such loss of self; with Merlin's body nestled close to his own, he had welcomed it.
Nothing could be served by dwelling on the past, so Arthur forced himself to deal with the present, and the questions rattling around in the back of his mind. "Why did you not tell me of your lineage?" he asked.
Gwaine smiled in a tense way Arthur had grown to recognize so well, which spoke of his embarrassment. "No offense, but nobility is in the deeds, not in the man," he said. "And when I first met you, I didn't want you to think I was like you."
Arthur snorted softly. It was true; he had had a great deal of growing up to do when they first met. He had felt so young then, and so unworthy, still struggling with what it meant to lead men, and to rule with honor. There had been days when he had done neither particularly well.
"And then later, after you saw what Lot was like, I didn't want you to think I was like him." Gwaine poked savagely at the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. "There just wasn't a good time."
"Fair enough." Arthur tossed his own stick onto the fire. "I'm going to kill him, when this is over."
"Good riddance," Gwaine said, meeting his gaze steadily. "If you knew the half of what he's done, you wouldn't have waited this long."
"His lands will be forfeit." Arthur looked deep into the fire and said," I could pass them to an heir of his body."
"Now there's a terrible idea." Gwaine drew himself up on the log, leaning on his sword. "My brothers are scattered to the winds, same as me. No idea where they are. As for me, I have no interest in shepherding a kingdom. I've seen what you go through. I'd rather be free to choose my own path." A pause, and then, "I've already chosen my king."
Some statesmanlike part of Arthur was disappointed, because Gwaine would have made a reliable ally on the throne of Lot's kingdom. But Gwaine's quiet affirmation warmed him; he had commanded the loyalty of many men over the years, but very few whose choice had sprung from nothing more than friendship and honor. Gwaine's friendship humbled him, and made him feel he had yet more to do, to earn it fully.
They fell into a comfortable silence then. Gwaine sat next to him through the night, feeding sticks and twigs to the fire, both of them listening to the strange screams and cries of the creatures kept at bay by the unfamiliar firelight. Arthur's thoughts turned toward Camelot, and Leon, performing the lion's share of duties in Arthur's stead. Unerringly loyal, and careful to a fault, he was the best of all Arthur's knights, taking on all the hard jobs without complaint. Arthur could hardly split himself in two, but having Leon to see to battle plans and manage the kingdom in his absence was nearly the same as being there himself.
He forced himself to think of battles, of strategy and politics, to keep any thought of Merlin dead or injured from his thoughts lest he go mad and stalk off into the night alone. The night seemed interminable.
Near dawn, as the sky began to lighten, Arthur lifted his head from a half-doze, alert the way only a battle-seasoned knight could be. The night had been filled with sounds, snuffling cries and screeches, but the creatures had fallen silent.
Arthur gripped Gwaine's shoulder and drew his sword, then stepped to the edge of their small clearing while Gwaine roused the others. He scanned the plain ahead, expecting to see men or patrols on the move. Instead, he saw a solitary horse moving at a snail's pace, and a figure bent low over its back.
Without even a conscious thought, Arthur sheathed his sword and ran toward the horse, ignoring Gwaine's cry to wait for the others. He knew, even before Merlin's dark tousled hair came into sight; he knew, and his legs could not move fast enough, his heart could not keep up.
Merlin slid from the horse and fell to his knees, then rose, one arm wrapped around his middle. He stumbled toward Arthur, limping but gaining speed as he shuffled forward. Arthur crested the rise and then Merlin was in his arms, covered with dirt, gasping as Arthur buried his face in the side of Merlin's neck and breathed him in, warm and whole, alive, real.
"Arthur," he said, in a hoarse, tired voice, and Arthur released him, hands petting over Merlin's face of their own accord. He cupped Merlin's face, pressing a thumb against Merlin's small smile.
"Are you all right?" he asked, searching Merlin's eyes for truth.
"Thirsty," Merlin said. "But I'll live." He turned his head to look back over his shoulder, and Arthur's eyes were drawn to the vicious, inflamed bite on Merlin's neck as Merlin said, "There's been no one following me - none of the guards were in shape to, and Aithusa held the rest back, but the Druids - the warriors - Arthur, there's an army moving for Camelot. We haven't much time."
Everything in Arthur stilled. Merlin's words registered, but distantly, as Arthur gently touched the wound. Now his eyes roamed over Merlin, at the way he held himself, searching for signs of what he'd seen all too often after a battle when captives were returned.
"Merlin," he said, "who did this?"
Merlin turned back to face him, slowly, and Arthur knew the answer before the word was spoken. "Lot."
Arthur closed his eyes. The rage welling within him was so great, he was helpless against it. Merlin pushed closer to Arthur, a wordless plea, and Arthur enfolded him in his arms, pressing one cheek to Merlin's hair. Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur, and said quietly, for Arthur's ears alone, "He did not harm me, husband. Threats only, but nothing more."
For a long moment, Arthur couldn't speak, not even to protest that the wound on Merlin's neck was far from nothing. Finally he found his voice, and released Merlin, to meet his eyes; Merlin could not hide from him that way. Merlin met his steady gaze, holding nothing back. Arthur wrapped his fingers around Merlin's wrist.
"I warned Lot of the consequences once before," Arthur said, noting the way Merlin's pulse leaped under his fingertips. "Now, he has earned them."
"It's more than Lot," Merlin said. "It's Mordred, and a band of Druid warriors, aligned with Lot's troops. They are on the move now, headed for Camelot's northern borders, last I saw."
"Not Morgana?"
Merlin frowned. "No. Arthur, she's not a part of this. At least, I don't believe so. She freed me."
Arthur stared at him. "Freed you? Why would she do that?"
Merlin shook his head, as if expecting the words to tumble out. "There's - so much to tell, I don't even know where to begin."
"With water and rest," Arthur said. He slung Merlin's arm over his shoulder, not missing the hiss that provoked, and vowed to himself that the moment opportunity presented itself, he would have the truth of all Merlin's injuries.
When they turned, Gwaine was standing a short distance away, Elyan and Percival at the top of the ridge behind him.
"Couldn't pick a prettier meeting place?" Gwaine said, reaching to ruffle Merlin's hair.
"I know how much you like it here, despite the lack of taverns," Merlin said, grinning at him. Then, more quietly, as he touched the fading bruises on Gwaine's face, he said, "I'm glad you're all right."
"You know me. Unspeakably hard to kill." Gwaine handed him a water skin, and Merlin drank deeply, eyes closed. Dust streaked his hair and paled his lashes, and Arthur reached his free hand to wipe carefully at Merlin's face, clearing some of the mess.
"It's a few hours' walk back to the horses," Arthur said. "We'll be back to Camelot by nightfall, if you can bear the pace."
"I'll be fine. We need to ride hard," Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder again. "Mordred has several thousand men, magic-users and soldiers alike."
"Several thousand?" Gwaine glanced at Arthur. "How the hell did they manage to raise a force that large?"
"Druids, and Lot's soldiers, and - I'm not sure, I saw no crests on most of the armor, just a few banners with twined snakes. But they are not all of the same army." Merlin handed the water skin back. "Arthur, we have to move. Now."
Arthur did a mental calculation; the distance between the Perilous Lands and Camelot's northern borders could be crossed in four days - less, if the army rested little and was well-supplied. "The White Mountains?" he asked Merlin, who nodded.
"That would be my guess." Merlin began marching toward the ridge, dragging his leg a bit. He stopped and looked back at Arthur and Gwaine. "Well? There's no time to waste!"
Gwaine's lip twitched with amusement, and Arthur gave him a helpless shrug. As Elyan and Percival greeted Merlin with affection, Arthur resisted the urge to sling Merlin over his shoulder to cover the distance faster. He was alive, and safe; he was stronger than all of them, and Arthur's heart was already eased.
Now there was an army to face, and a prophecy to conquer.
**
The moment they entered the citadel's courtyard, a flurry of activity erupted. Leon ran down to meet them, full of news and updates; Gaius and Gwen approached with joyful smiles, ready to greet Merlin.
For the last two hours, ever since they'd stopped to water the horses, Merlin had been riding with one arm curled around his side. He'd tried to be inconspicuous, but Arthur was already certain there were more injuries than could be seen, and that was confirmed when Merlin tried to wave off Gaius' attentions. Were it not for the fact council must convene immediately, Arthur would have ordered Merlin into Gaius' capable care.
Instead, he turned to George and said, "A hot bath in my chambers, George, and plenty of food and wine."
"Certainly, sire." George lowered his voice. "I will bring a change of clothing for His Excellency as well. Is there anything else you require?"
"No." Arthur patted him on the shoulder, grateful for the ways in which George clearly understood his job. "Thank you."
"Sire." Leon clasped arms with him, smiling. "Very good to see your mission was a success."
"We need the council, Leon, and - is Iseldir still here?"
"He is - he refused to leave until you returned. Said he may be needed to assist with defense."
Arthur's brow arched. "Did he. Well, have him attend council as well. And Alator."
"Sire, there are a few...envoys here." Leon shifted a bit, looking as uncomfortable as Arthur had ever seen him. "Lady Guinevere has been seeing to them; they arrived when summoned by Alator."
"Envoys, eh?" When Leon nodded, Arthur prompted, "Waiting for an audience?"
"Yes, but...they aren't..."Leon cleared his throat. "The Sidhe envoy and her party arrived in a flash of lightning, in the middle of the kitchens. Cook fainted dead away. The others arrived not long after and... my lord, they were floating."
"Floating," Arthur said, noting that the word made both knights behind Leon flinch. He could barely imagine what kind of floating entrance would have so traumatized men who had been born and bred to battle. "Well. I'll see them once we've discussed the current situation." Arthur watched Merlin approach; he was making his way to Arthur's side far too slowly for his liking, Gwen right beside him, talking quietly with him. "There won't be room for everyone in the council chambers. Call them in to the throne room."
"Right away, my lord."
Merlin drew up beside Arthur, Gwen's arm in his, and Gwen held fast to Merlin as she reached to give Arthur a one-armed hug. "I'm so pleased you are both back, well and safe." Subtly, she returned her hand to Merlin's arm, bolstering him without being obtrusive about it, and Arthur resisted the urge to hug her again. Together they marched up the stairs, Arthur following close behind.
The council meeting was as brief as it could be, given the amount of information Merlin had on the enemy forces. Leon unfurled three maps on the long table, and the advisors and knights stood and conferred thoughtfully over the details as Merlin spoke. Arthur could not take his eyes from Merlin, could not stop drinking in every detail - the tired, bruised circles under his eyes, or the way he self-consciously pulled the plain tunic up closer to his neck, to hide the mark there. Arthur gestured for George, and had him bring a cloak for Merlin. Merlin smiled at George when he placed it carefully over Merlin's shoulders.
Iseldir's face grew paler with each word Merlin spoke about the Druids. He bowed his head, and sorrow showed plainly on his face, as if someone had spoken of the death of someone dear to him. Arthur could only imagine how difficult it was to learn that his own people had a hand in plotting death for others. For the first time, he had some sympathy toward the Druid leader and his position on peace.
When Merlin had finished, and the advisors seemed satisfied that they'd wrung all the details from him, Arthur could only think of the questions not asked and information still withheld - questions he would ask Merlin, as soon as they were alone. He set the thought aside and asked Alator, "What success, with finding allies?"
"Sire, there are two representatives here. Lady Maura has come on behalf of the Aos Si."
"The Sidhe," Merlin said softly, raising a surprised murmur at the table.
"And Lady Sureya, of the Vilia."
"We are honored to have them here," Merlin said. "And I thank you for your efforts."
"You should not thank me yet, Emrys," Alator said. "It remains to be seen if they will align themselves with Camelot. They have requested an audience with King Arthur as soon as possible."
"Tell them that as soon as I've seen to Emrys' safety and comfort, I will meet with them." With that, Arthur stood, effectively dismissing the group, and waited while Merlin got to his feet. "Your Excellency," he said, gesturing toward the doors. Merlin snorted, raising the ghost of a smile in Arthur's heart, and made his way out of the doors under his own power.
Gaius was waiting for them in Arthur's chambers, and Arthur did his level best not to hover while Gaius performed a brief examination. He fiddled with papers and listened with half an ear to Gaius' instructions about ointments and poultices, most of which he knew Merlin would ignore. Soon enough, Gaius left them, with a nod to Arthur and a stern look at Merlin, and they were alone for the first time in days.
"The Sidhe, Arthur, think of it! The power they possess...you could not ask for a better ally. Aside from the Druids, of course." Merlin settled himself into a chair beside Arthur's bed and pulled off first one boot, then the next. He sat with his hands on his knees, prattling on about the mystical aspects of the Sidhe, until finally Arthur lost patience and took Merlin's hand.
"Later," he said, pulling Merlin to his feet. He stripped off Merlin's tunic, and stopped to catch his breath, because there before him was the evidence of what he had only suspected. Down Merlin's right side, a long gash, healing well but obviously painful; across Merlin's chest and at his waist, what looked like burn marks, from where the chain had been struck from him. He traced those marks with a finger, and Merlin's eyes fluttered closed at the touch.
"I should be undressing you," Merlin said, smiling as Arthur untied the laces of his breeches and pushed them down. He couldn't help it; his eyes went to Merlin's hips, to the small of his back, searching for-
"Arthur." Merlin kissed the corner of his lips, sighing against his cheek. "I told you the truth. I wasn't harmed. Not by Lot."
Arthur swallowed, quelling the rage that had burned within him since the moment he saw Merlin again. "That he dared to touch you - dared to try to take you from me -" His voice broke, and he looked away, but Merlin was touching him, his hands taking Arthur's belt from him, setting his sword aside, pulling them as close as skin to skin would allow them to be.
"I would have killed him," Merlin said, "before I'd let him take me."
"At least you saved that privilege for me." Arthur slid his hands down Merlin's back, careful of his wounds. "Into the bath, and no arguments."
Merlin nodded, and eased himself into the water George had so scrupulously kept hot, even though he must have known Merlin could heat it with less than a thought if he so chose. Arthur quickly shed the rest of his things and climbed in with Merlin, looking his fill. Steam rose up around Merlin's face, and he settled with his head back, eyes closed, sighing out his contentment.
When Arthur took up the cloth and began washing him, starting with his bruised feet, Merlin's throat worked, and he turned his face away, as if ashamed. "All the time they had me, I could think of nothing but your death." He drew in a shaky breath. "All the ways they might try to use me against you...all the ways you might die without me here to protect you."
Slowly, Arthur drew the cloth up Merlin's body, taking extra care with his wounds; they were inflamed and raw, and the one on his side would need tending. He scooped water into his hand and trickled it over the bite mark, then washed it thoroughly. Beneath his hand, Merlin's body trembled, a sense-memory of abuse; Arthur gentled his touch, even as he began to draw on pleasurable images of cutting Lot to bloody ribbons for what he had done.
With insistent tugs, he maneuvered a pliant Merlin so that his back was against Arthur's chest, and continued his ministrations. Merlin's hair was matted, and it took a bit of effort to wash out the grime. He used his hands again to pour water over his scalp, holding Merlin's neck in the palm of his hand for support as he tipped his head back. Merlin looked as if he were bursting with the need to say more, to unburden himself, and Arthur waited for the words, but they stayed closed behind Merlin's tightened jaw.
Arthur wrung out the cloth and draped it over the edge of the tub, then wrapped his arms around Merlin. "The water's getting cold," he said. A moment later, Merlin's hand slid lazily through the cloudy water, and warmth suffused the water once again. Merlin was pliant in his arms, the tension finally gone, and Arthur took a moment to thank the old gods - and the new - that he had been delivered safely from Lot's hands, no matter the instrument of that deliverance.
"Tell me," Arthur commanded softly.
Once Merlin began speaking, the details poured out. In unflinching detail, he spoke of Mordred's hatred of Arthur, and his torture of Merlin's body, the threats that had kept Merlin focused only on escaping before he could be forced to bring harm to Arthur. With every word, Arthur's rage grew, muscles tightening in readiness for a fight that was yet to come.
"He wants you dead," Merlin said, "and he will stop at nothing, even if he no longer has me to use as a weapon. There are so many Druids, Arthur. So many with magic. I'm not sure my magic will be enough to stop them."
"I've seen what you can do," Arthur said. "But you don't enter into this fight alone, Merlin. We fight together; we face this threat as one."
Merlin nodded, but his expression remained troubled. "I once thought you invincible," he said, his voice fogged with fatigue. "The first few times I saw you fight, you were like a hero come to life from the storyteller's yarns. I watched you, and I could not imagine anyone ever able to defeat you."
"And then I fell in battle, over and over again, and you took to rescuing me," Arthur said, smiling against Merlin's neck. That provoked a small snort.
"No. You so rarely needed my help, really, and it wasn't until the Questing Beast that I actually feared you might die. I would have done anything for you, then." He shifted, tilting his head back so he could see Arthur's face. "That feeling is insignificant, compared to what I'd do now to keep you safe."
Arthur thought he might have a very good idea of what that felt like. "When I saw you casting your magic for the first time, up on the battlements, I thought you might be invulnerable to harm," he said. "I thought of all those times you'd come through without a scratch, and then you fell unconscious, and I knew you could be taken from me." He met Merlin's serious gaze, and added, "I knew I could never survive it, if it came to pass."
"Aren't we a pair," Merlin said, kissing Arthur's jaw once, twice, and then hiding his face against Arthur's neck.
They sat that way for a time, until the water cooled again, and this time Arthur stood, prodding Merlin until he got up with a groan. Arthur fetched some linen and dried Merlin, then tossed him a shift to sleep in. By the time Arthur had dried and changed into breeches, Merlin had burrowed under the covers. Arthur joined him, and Merlin rearranged his awkward pile of limbs just so. The space he had claimed became their space, occupied fully by them both.
Merlin settled his head on Arthur's chest. "I should have stayed there," he said. "I should have dismantled their army. I could have gone back and finished Lot, if I'd-"
"And risked your life. I thought we already established you aren't invulnerable. Or did all that warm water drown what little sense you have left?" He stroked his hand through Merlin's hair, and Merlin pressed his nose into Arthur's shoulder. "Let them come, Merlin. Let them come, and meet Camelot's army squarely. Let them see how we deal with those who threaten our people."
"Let them see her golden king, and his justice," Merlin murmured, and a moment later, he was asleep.
on to part six
by Destina
Art by goss
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
See master post for notes and summary.
V.
Arthur and his knights left the citadel just before sunrise and rode for hours at a punishing pace, stopping only for a brief rest in a small village near the border. While Gwaine bartered with the village blacksmith for fresh horses, Percival stopped at the inn to pay coin for some fresh bread and cheese, and brought a jug of milk for Arthur.
He drank it gratefully, slaking his thirst as he looked off toward the valley concealed by forest and mountain. His first trip to the Perilous Lands had nearly ended in his death - yet another of Merlin's secrets, one he had revealed not long after they had been bound by the Druids, when he had listed the litany of all Morgana's many sins. It saddened Arthur still to think of how deeply determined she had been to rid herself of him, even then.
Merlin and Gwaine, together, had come to his aid. He could still remember waking to Merlin's ridiculous grin, and a wyvern trying to take both their heads off. It was that day he had realized he was better with the help of good men than he would ever be alone.
Not that he had ever admitted it to Gwaine or Merlin, of course.
"Ready?" Elyan asked, passing off the reins of a black mare to Arthur.
They mounted up and rode hard, on through the passable part of the forest, to where the trees grew dense and difficult. Percival tied the horses, an expectation of return to that same spot eventually, and they proceeded on foot, no conversation between them unless necessary to find the true course. Gwaine stepped out at the lead after a few miles, sure of the right path.
Arthur knew all of them were fond of Merlin, his own feelings aside, but Gwaine's pace told him there was still a much deeper well of sentiment there.
Soon enough, they scaled a small peak and came down the other side to find the bridge in sight. "I'll go first," Gwaine said, sheathing his sword. He approached slowly, Arthur on his heels, and they were a step away from the bridge when the keeper appeared out of nowhere.
"Well, well," he said. "Courage and Strength, come to an alliance at last."
"Grettir, wasn't it?" Arthur said, stepping forward. "I remember you."
"As I remember you, king-who-was-prince." Grettir gave Gwaine a slow once-over. "You have learned to keep your sword sheathed in my presence, sir knight! Progress indeed." He grinned. "You are only the latest to pass through to the Perilous Lands. I have not seen so many men cross these borders since the days of the Fisher King." His grin disappeared, and he looked back across his bridge. "Emrys is here."
"Where is he?" Arthur took another step forward, and Grettir looked up to meet his eyes.
"I've just said he's here, haven't I?"
Arthur took a deep breath, forcing himself to patience. "Yes, so you did. But where within these lands is he held, Grettir?"
"His magic is hidden from me, by what means I cannot say. I am but the keeper of the bridge. It is for you to find him." He stepped aside, making way.
"Thank you," Arthur said.
"The balance must be maintained," Grettir answered. Arthur nodded and stepped past him, followed in single file by the knights.
As the bridge began to narrow, Arthur slowed, scanning the twisted trees and bushes ahead. They were the only cover for miles; ahead there was just swamp and barren land. The bridge was the sole easily accessible point of entry from Camelot to the lands of the Fisher King. If their enemies were in fact using the Perilous Lands as a base, men would be waiting there. Heat surged in Arthur's blood; he wanted them to be there, proof that he was closer to finding Merlin.
If they were there, they were all dead men.
Arthur signaled a halt, and pointed out the trees and bushes ahead. Gwaine nodded, and gracefully lowered himself over the side of the bridge onto the steep slope to the right. Elyan followed suit, but to the left. A moment later, they disappeared into the thick overgrowth. Arthur crept forward in a crouch, Percival close at his back. He counted down in his head, giving Elyan and Gwaine time to make their way through the foliage, and then rose from his crouch, Percival a mirror of his every action. Arthur moved right, Percival left, and the bushes exploded with motion, a dozen men surging forward from the trees.
Arthur took the first two with one blow each, anger giving way to cold skill. His sword parted mail and flesh with equal ease, even as Arthur turned to strike a third man with a closed fist. His opponent's sword flashed up, diagonal and jagged in its arc, and Arthur struck it away without effort, cutting down and across. The man fell where he stood, his throat cut clean through.
Each man who stood against him was an obstacle to finding Merlin, and Arthur removed them all, one at a time. He and the sword were one, full of purpose, finding each weakness and striking true. When finally he looked up, sticky with sweat and blood, his knights were watching him. He realized then they had disengaged from the few remaining men, and Arthur stood in a circle of bodies, nine men felled by his hand.
He wiped his sleeve across his face, and sheathed his sword. The knights silently moved closer, and Arthur knelt beside one of the corpses, Gwaine on the other side of the body. "Lot's livery," Gwaine said.
"Not these others." Percival rolled over two men behind Arthur and knocked one's head to the side. "Druids," he said, pointing to the tattoo on his neck.
"Alator was right, then," Elyan said. "On every point."
They made their way down the steep slope on the opposite end of the bridge, and stopped halfway down to look out over the Lands. The landscape seemed changed from when Arthur had last crossed them. Birds dotted the sky, and a bit of greenery had crept in across the wasted plain. Arthur knew the path to the ruined fortress of the Fisher King, but Gwaine had mentioned other places where Lot had kept prisoners.
"Where are they likely to be?" he asked Gwaine, who squinted and pointed to the east.
"There are four keeps on the eastern border - Lot used them mostly, because they were easy to reach - but he'd run the risk of discovery if he amassed an army there. It's more likely he'd go deeper into the land if that's his purpose."
"I'd agree, but we'll waste precious time if we strike off in a false direction," Elyan said. "Perhaps if we split up-"
"Sire," Percival said, pointing north.
Ahead of them, the sky was lit with fire; streaks of it filled the air, like lightning.
"Fire raining down from the heavens," Gwaine murmured.
A shudder ran the length of Arthur's spine. He had given almost no consideration to the prophecy Alator had brought, or what it meant for his own safety, until that moment.
"Perhaps it was Morgana all along," he said, watching as the streaks of fire became intermittent, and then stopped altogether.
"Only one way to find out." Gwaine pushed past and took the lead again, and by unspoken agreement, they set out in a straight line toward the plumes of smoke rising in the distance. Whatever was happening, it was impossible to tell if it was an attack or something less sinister, but at the very least, their path was clear as a beacon.
It was as much of an arduous slog as Arthur remembered, picking their way across acres of dead trees and wet, boggy ground. As the sun abandoned them and darkness swallowed them up, they kept on, until Gwaine stopped Arthur with a hand to his chest.
"The marshes are dead ahead, Arthur - we need rest, and to see where we're going."
Arthur glanced up. The plumes of smoke had disappeared into the night, and there were no real landmarks anywhere about them. Every instinct was drawing him on, but he knew Gwaine was right.
"Very well. A small fire, to avoid notice, and a few hours' rest."
There was no camp to set up, as they were traveling light to increase their speed. Elyan built a tiny campfire, and they huddled on crumbling logs dragged nearer the fire. Percival shared around bread and dried meat, and they washed it all down with water from their waterskins. Elyan and Percival bedded down on the hard ground, and both were asleep within minutes.
"You should rest also," Gwaine said, his sword resting against his knee. "I'll stand watch."
Arthur shook his head, and settled on the log next to Gwaine. "Not tired."
"Really? Is that why you look like a wyvern has trampled your face?" Gwaine lifted an eyebrow. "No offense Arthur, but if you were any more exhausted I'd be dragging you by one leg through the bog."
It was true; the bone-deep weariness in Arthur made it difficult even to lift his water skin. But what sustained him, what made his limbs move and his eyes remain open, was that thin bright thread of hope that Merlin was not far now. "I'm fine," he said curtly, ignoring Gwaine's knowing eyeroll.
"Of course you are. You and Merlin, two of a kind." Gwaine threw a stick on the fire. "You should have seen him when you were on your little quest for the trident - frantic to get to you, wouldn't take food, wouldn't close his eyes."
"Merlin has never once in his life done as he's told," Arthur said, thinking of the moment he'd told Merlin never to place his life above Arthur's own. In the dead of night, with Merlin's hands on him, the warmth of furs and linens around them, he'd given that command, and felt Merlin's smile fade against his skin.
I've told you before there are promises I won't make, Merlin had said, nuzzling kisses into Arthur's neck, brushing his lips across Arthur's, as if to cut short his reply. You are everything, Arthur. Everything.
Arthur had wanted to say that it was not true, that Merlin had everything backwards, that Merlin's life had become infinitely more important than anything aside from the kingdom they both guarded. But words had never been easy for him, and declarations of such magnitude were far easier to say with touch.
He'd wondered then, as Merlin took him with slow care, if it were possible to be consumed by love, swallowed up by it like an ocean or a raging storm, and find nothing left of himself at all in its wake. Once, he would have feared such loss of self; with Merlin's body nestled close to his own, he had welcomed it.
Nothing could be served by dwelling on the past, so Arthur forced himself to deal with the present, and the questions rattling around in the back of his mind. "Why did you not tell me of your lineage?" he asked.
Gwaine smiled in a tense way Arthur had grown to recognize so well, which spoke of his embarrassment. "No offense, but nobility is in the deeds, not in the man," he said. "And when I first met you, I didn't want you to think I was like you."
Arthur snorted softly. It was true; he had had a great deal of growing up to do when they first met. He had felt so young then, and so unworthy, still struggling with what it meant to lead men, and to rule with honor. There had been days when he had done neither particularly well.
"And then later, after you saw what Lot was like, I didn't want you to think I was like him." Gwaine poked savagely at the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. "There just wasn't a good time."
"Fair enough." Arthur tossed his own stick onto the fire. "I'm going to kill him, when this is over."
"Good riddance," Gwaine said, meeting his gaze steadily. "If you knew the half of what he's done, you wouldn't have waited this long."
"His lands will be forfeit." Arthur looked deep into the fire and said," I could pass them to an heir of his body."
"Now there's a terrible idea." Gwaine drew himself up on the log, leaning on his sword. "My brothers are scattered to the winds, same as me. No idea where they are. As for me, I have no interest in shepherding a kingdom. I've seen what you go through. I'd rather be free to choose my own path." A pause, and then, "I've already chosen my king."
Some statesmanlike part of Arthur was disappointed, because Gwaine would have made a reliable ally on the throne of Lot's kingdom. But Gwaine's quiet affirmation warmed him; he had commanded the loyalty of many men over the years, but very few whose choice had sprung from nothing more than friendship and honor. Gwaine's friendship humbled him, and made him feel he had yet more to do, to earn it fully.
They fell into a comfortable silence then. Gwaine sat next to him through the night, feeding sticks and twigs to the fire, both of them listening to the strange screams and cries of the creatures kept at bay by the unfamiliar firelight. Arthur's thoughts turned toward Camelot, and Leon, performing the lion's share of duties in Arthur's stead. Unerringly loyal, and careful to a fault, he was the best of all Arthur's knights, taking on all the hard jobs without complaint. Arthur could hardly split himself in two, but having Leon to see to battle plans and manage the kingdom in his absence was nearly the same as being there himself.
He forced himself to think of battles, of strategy and politics, to keep any thought of Merlin dead or injured from his thoughts lest he go mad and stalk off into the night alone. The night seemed interminable.
Near dawn, as the sky began to lighten, Arthur lifted his head from a half-doze, alert the way only a battle-seasoned knight could be. The night had been filled with sounds, snuffling cries and screeches, but the creatures had fallen silent.
Arthur gripped Gwaine's shoulder and drew his sword, then stepped to the edge of their small clearing while Gwaine roused the others. He scanned the plain ahead, expecting to see men or patrols on the move. Instead, he saw a solitary horse moving at a snail's pace, and a figure bent low over its back.
Without even a conscious thought, Arthur sheathed his sword and ran toward the horse, ignoring Gwaine's cry to wait for the others. He knew, even before Merlin's dark tousled hair came into sight; he knew, and his legs could not move fast enough, his heart could not keep up.
Merlin slid from the horse and fell to his knees, then rose, one arm wrapped around his middle. He stumbled toward Arthur, limping but gaining speed as he shuffled forward. Arthur crested the rise and then Merlin was in his arms, covered with dirt, gasping as Arthur buried his face in the side of Merlin's neck and breathed him in, warm and whole, alive, real.
"Arthur," he said, in a hoarse, tired voice, and Arthur released him, hands petting over Merlin's face of their own accord. He cupped Merlin's face, pressing a thumb against Merlin's small smile.
"Are you all right?" he asked, searching Merlin's eyes for truth.
"Thirsty," Merlin said. "But I'll live." He turned his head to look back over his shoulder, and Arthur's eyes were drawn to the vicious, inflamed bite on Merlin's neck as Merlin said, "There's been no one following me - none of the guards were in shape to, and Aithusa held the rest back, but the Druids - the warriors - Arthur, there's an army moving for Camelot. We haven't much time."
Everything in Arthur stilled. Merlin's words registered, but distantly, as Arthur gently touched the wound. Now his eyes roamed over Merlin, at the way he held himself, searching for signs of what he'd seen all too often after a battle when captives were returned.
"Merlin," he said, "who did this?"
Merlin turned back to face him, slowly, and Arthur knew the answer before the word was spoken. "Lot."
Arthur closed his eyes. The rage welling within him was so great, he was helpless against it. Merlin pushed closer to Arthur, a wordless plea, and Arthur enfolded him in his arms, pressing one cheek to Merlin's hair. Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur, and said quietly, for Arthur's ears alone, "He did not harm me, husband. Threats only, but nothing more."
For a long moment, Arthur couldn't speak, not even to protest that the wound on Merlin's neck was far from nothing. Finally he found his voice, and released Merlin, to meet his eyes; Merlin could not hide from him that way. Merlin met his steady gaze, holding nothing back. Arthur wrapped his fingers around Merlin's wrist.
"I warned Lot of the consequences once before," Arthur said, noting the way Merlin's pulse leaped under his fingertips. "Now, he has earned them."
"It's more than Lot," Merlin said. "It's Mordred, and a band of Druid warriors, aligned with Lot's troops. They are on the move now, headed for Camelot's northern borders, last I saw."
"Not Morgana?"
Merlin frowned. "No. Arthur, she's not a part of this. At least, I don't believe so. She freed me."
Arthur stared at him. "Freed you? Why would she do that?"
Merlin shook his head, as if expecting the words to tumble out. "There's - so much to tell, I don't even know where to begin."
"With water and rest," Arthur said. He slung Merlin's arm over his shoulder, not missing the hiss that provoked, and vowed to himself that the moment opportunity presented itself, he would have the truth of all Merlin's injuries.
When they turned, Gwaine was standing a short distance away, Elyan and Percival at the top of the ridge behind him.
"Couldn't pick a prettier meeting place?" Gwaine said, reaching to ruffle Merlin's hair.
"I know how much you like it here, despite the lack of taverns," Merlin said, grinning at him. Then, more quietly, as he touched the fading bruises on Gwaine's face, he said, "I'm glad you're all right."
"You know me. Unspeakably hard to kill." Gwaine handed him a water skin, and Merlin drank deeply, eyes closed. Dust streaked his hair and paled his lashes, and Arthur reached his free hand to wipe carefully at Merlin's face, clearing some of the mess.
"It's a few hours' walk back to the horses," Arthur said. "We'll be back to Camelot by nightfall, if you can bear the pace."
"I'll be fine. We need to ride hard," Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder again. "Mordred has several thousand men, magic-users and soldiers alike."
"Several thousand?" Gwaine glanced at Arthur. "How the hell did they manage to raise a force that large?"
"Druids, and Lot's soldiers, and - I'm not sure, I saw no crests on most of the armor, just a few banners with twined snakes. But they are not all of the same army." Merlin handed the water skin back. "Arthur, we have to move. Now."
Arthur did a mental calculation; the distance between the Perilous Lands and Camelot's northern borders could be crossed in four days - less, if the army rested little and was well-supplied. "The White Mountains?" he asked Merlin, who nodded.
"That would be my guess." Merlin began marching toward the ridge, dragging his leg a bit. He stopped and looked back at Arthur and Gwaine. "Well? There's no time to waste!"
Gwaine's lip twitched with amusement, and Arthur gave him a helpless shrug. As Elyan and Percival greeted Merlin with affection, Arthur resisted the urge to sling Merlin over his shoulder to cover the distance faster. He was alive, and safe; he was stronger than all of them, and Arthur's heart was already eased.
Now there was an army to face, and a prophecy to conquer.
**
The moment they entered the citadel's courtyard, a flurry of activity erupted. Leon ran down to meet them, full of news and updates; Gaius and Gwen approached with joyful smiles, ready to greet Merlin.
For the last two hours, ever since they'd stopped to water the horses, Merlin had been riding with one arm curled around his side. He'd tried to be inconspicuous, but Arthur was already certain there were more injuries than could be seen, and that was confirmed when Merlin tried to wave off Gaius' attentions. Were it not for the fact council must convene immediately, Arthur would have ordered Merlin into Gaius' capable care.
Instead, he turned to George and said, "A hot bath in my chambers, George, and plenty of food and wine."
"Certainly, sire." George lowered his voice. "I will bring a change of clothing for His Excellency as well. Is there anything else you require?"
"No." Arthur patted him on the shoulder, grateful for the ways in which George clearly understood his job. "Thank you."
"Sire." Leon clasped arms with him, smiling. "Very good to see your mission was a success."
"We need the council, Leon, and - is Iseldir still here?"
"He is - he refused to leave until you returned. Said he may be needed to assist with defense."
Arthur's brow arched. "Did he. Well, have him attend council as well. And Alator."
"Sire, there are a few...envoys here." Leon shifted a bit, looking as uncomfortable as Arthur had ever seen him. "Lady Guinevere has been seeing to them; they arrived when summoned by Alator."
"Envoys, eh?" When Leon nodded, Arthur prompted, "Waiting for an audience?"
"Yes, but...they aren't..."Leon cleared his throat. "The Sidhe envoy and her party arrived in a flash of lightning, in the middle of the kitchens. Cook fainted dead away. The others arrived not long after and... my lord, they were floating."
"Floating," Arthur said, noting that the word made both knights behind Leon flinch. He could barely imagine what kind of floating entrance would have so traumatized men who had been born and bred to battle. "Well. I'll see them once we've discussed the current situation." Arthur watched Merlin approach; he was making his way to Arthur's side far too slowly for his liking, Gwen right beside him, talking quietly with him. "There won't be room for everyone in the council chambers. Call them in to the throne room."
"Right away, my lord."
Merlin drew up beside Arthur, Gwen's arm in his, and Gwen held fast to Merlin as she reached to give Arthur a one-armed hug. "I'm so pleased you are both back, well and safe." Subtly, she returned her hand to Merlin's arm, bolstering him without being obtrusive about it, and Arthur resisted the urge to hug her again. Together they marched up the stairs, Arthur following close behind.
The council meeting was as brief as it could be, given the amount of information Merlin had on the enemy forces. Leon unfurled three maps on the long table, and the advisors and knights stood and conferred thoughtfully over the details as Merlin spoke. Arthur could not take his eyes from Merlin, could not stop drinking in every detail - the tired, bruised circles under his eyes, or the way he self-consciously pulled the plain tunic up closer to his neck, to hide the mark there. Arthur gestured for George, and had him bring a cloak for Merlin. Merlin smiled at George when he placed it carefully over Merlin's shoulders.
Iseldir's face grew paler with each word Merlin spoke about the Druids. He bowed his head, and sorrow showed plainly on his face, as if someone had spoken of the death of someone dear to him. Arthur could only imagine how difficult it was to learn that his own people had a hand in plotting death for others. For the first time, he had some sympathy toward the Druid leader and his position on peace.
When Merlin had finished, and the advisors seemed satisfied that they'd wrung all the details from him, Arthur could only think of the questions not asked and information still withheld - questions he would ask Merlin, as soon as they were alone. He set the thought aside and asked Alator, "What success, with finding allies?"
"Sire, there are two representatives here. Lady Maura has come on behalf of the Aos Si."
"The Sidhe," Merlin said softly, raising a surprised murmur at the table.
"And Lady Sureya, of the Vilia."
"We are honored to have them here," Merlin said. "And I thank you for your efforts."
"You should not thank me yet, Emrys," Alator said. "It remains to be seen if they will align themselves with Camelot. They have requested an audience with King Arthur as soon as possible."
"Tell them that as soon as I've seen to Emrys' safety and comfort, I will meet with them." With that, Arthur stood, effectively dismissing the group, and waited while Merlin got to his feet. "Your Excellency," he said, gesturing toward the doors. Merlin snorted, raising the ghost of a smile in Arthur's heart, and made his way out of the doors under his own power.
Gaius was waiting for them in Arthur's chambers, and Arthur did his level best not to hover while Gaius performed a brief examination. He fiddled with papers and listened with half an ear to Gaius' instructions about ointments and poultices, most of which he knew Merlin would ignore. Soon enough, Gaius left them, with a nod to Arthur and a stern look at Merlin, and they were alone for the first time in days.
"The Sidhe, Arthur, think of it! The power they possess...you could not ask for a better ally. Aside from the Druids, of course." Merlin settled himself into a chair beside Arthur's bed and pulled off first one boot, then the next. He sat with his hands on his knees, prattling on about the mystical aspects of the Sidhe, until finally Arthur lost patience and took Merlin's hand.
"Later," he said, pulling Merlin to his feet. He stripped off Merlin's tunic, and stopped to catch his breath, because there before him was the evidence of what he had only suspected. Down Merlin's right side, a long gash, healing well but obviously painful; across Merlin's chest and at his waist, what looked like burn marks, from where the chain had been struck from him. He traced those marks with a finger, and Merlin's eyes fluttered closed at the touch.
"I should be undressing you," Merlin said, smiling as Arthur untied the laces of his breeches and pushed them down. He couldn't help it; his eyes went to Merlin's hips, to the small of his back, searching for-
"Arthur." Merlin kissed the corner of his lips, sighing against his cheek. "I told you the truth. I wasn't harmed. Not by Lot."
Arthur swallowed, quelling the rage that had burned within him since the moment he saw Merlin again. "That he dared to touch you - dared to try to take you from me -" His voice broke, and he looked away, but Merlin was touching him, his hands taking Arthur's belt from him, setting his sword aside, pulling them as close as skin to skin would allow them to be.
"I would have killed him," Merlin said, "before I'd let him take me."
"At least you saved that privilege for me." Arthur slid his hands down Merlin's back, careful of his wounds. "Into the bath, and no arguments."
Merlin nodded, and eased himself into the water George had so scrupulously kept hot, even though he must have known Merlin could heat it with less than a thought if he so chose. Arthur quickly shed the rest of his things and climbed in with Merlin, looking his fill. Steam rose up around Merlin's face, and he settled with his head back, eyes closed, sighing out his contentment.
When Arthur took up the cloth and began washing him, starting with his bruised feet, Merlin's throat worked, and he turned his face away, as if ashamed. "All the time they had me, I could think of nothing but your death." He drew in a shaky breath. "All the ways they might try to use me against you...all the ways you might die without me here to protect you."
Slowly, Arthur drew the cloth up Merlin's body, taking extra care with his wounds; they were inflamed and raw, and the one on his side would need tending. He scooped water into his hand and trickled it over the bite mark, then washed it thoroughly. Beneath his hand, Merlin's body trembled, a sense-memory of abuse; Arthur gentled his touch, even as he began to draw on pleasurable images of cutting Lot to bloody ribbons for what he had done.
With insistent tugs, he maneuvered a pliant Merlin so that his back was against Arthur's chest, and continued his ministrations. Merlin's hair was matted, and it took a bit of effort to wash out the grime. He used his hands again to pour water over his scalp, holding Merlin's neck in the palm of his hand for support as he tipped his head back. Merlin looked as if he were bursting with the need to say more, to unburden himself, and Arthur waited for the words, but they stayed closed behind Merlin's tightened jaw.
Arthur wrung out the cloth and draped it over the edge of the tub, then wrapped his arms around Merlin. "The water's getting cold," he said. A moment later, Merlin's hand slid lazily through the cloudy water, and warmth suffused the water once again. Merlin was pliant in his arms, the tension finally gone, and Arthur took a moment to thank the old gods - and the new - that he had been delivered safely from Lot's hands, no matter the instrument of that deliverance.
"Tell me," Arthur commanded softly.
Once Merlin began speaking, the details poured out. In unflinching detail, he spoke of Mordred's hatred of Arthur, and his torture of Merlin's body, the threats that had kept Merlin focused only on escaping before he could be forced to bring harm to Arthur. With every word, Arthur's rage grew, muscles tightening in readiness for a fight that was yet to come.
"He wants you dead," Merlin said, "and he will stop at nothing, even if he no longer has me to use as a weapon. There are so many Druids, Arthur. So many with magic. I'm not sure my magic will be enough to stop them."
"I've seen what you can do," Arthur said. "But you don't enter into this fight alone, Merlin. We fight together; we face this threat as one."
Merlin nodded, but his expression remained troubled. "I once thought you invincible," he said, his voice fogged with fatigue. "The first few times I saw you fight, you were like a hero come to life from the storyteller's yarns. I watched you, and I could not imagine anyone ever able to defeat you."
"And then I fell in battle, over and over again, and you took to rescuing me," Arthur said, smiling against Merlin's neck. That provoked a small snort.
"No. You so rarely needed my help, really, and it wasn't until the Questing Beast that I actually feared you might die. I would have done anything for you, then." He shifted, tilting his head back so he could see Arthur's face. "That feeling is insignificant, compared to what I'd do now to keep you safe."
Arthur thought he might have a very good idea of what that felt like. "When I saw you casting your magic for the first time, up on the battlements, I thought you might be invulnerable to harm," he said. "I thought of all those times you'd come through without a scratch, and then you fell unconscious, and I knew you could be taken from me." He met Merlin's serious gaze, and added, "I knew I could never survive it, if it came to pass."
"Aren't we a pair," Merlin said, kissing Arthur's jaw once, twice, and then hiding his face against Arthur's neck.
They sat that way for a time, until the water cooled again, and this time Arthur stood, prodding Merlin until he got up with a groan. Arthur fetched some linen and dried Merlin, then tossed him a shift to sleep in. By the time Arthur had dried and changed into breeches, Merlin had burrowed under the covers. Arthur joined him, and Merlin rearranged his awkward pile of limbs just so. The space he had claimed became their space, occupied fully by them both.
Merlin settled his head on Arthur's chest. "I should have stayed there," he said. "I should have dismantled their army. I could have gone back and finished Lot, if I'd-"
"And risked your life. I thought we already established you aren't invulnerable. Or did all that warm water drown what little sense you have left?" He stroked his hand through Merlin's hair, and Merlin pressed his nose into Arthur's shoulder. "Let them come, Merlin. Let them come, and meet Camelot's army squarely. Let them see how we deal with those who threaten our people."
"Let them see her golden king, and his justice," Merlin murmured, and a moment later, he was asleep.
on to part six