Fic: Trembling on the Edge (2/?)

[dk323]

Chapter 1

A/N: I know that Hailsham is definitely from the “Never Let Me Go” film. That’s the main school mentioned in the movie, but I’m not positive about Whitechapel and Haven Cove. They may have been the other schools mentioned in the film, or I could be making them up. I’m not sure where to double-check on that. But I like the names, so I’m keeping them. ; )

Will in the story banner is young Tommy (played by Charlie Rowe) from the “Never Let Me Go” film. First time I saw him in the movie, I decided he’d fit for how I see Will Stanton. Also, I mentioned this in the comments for Chapter 1, but the Bran photo manip is of a young Alex Pettyfer who has been, understandably, photo adjusted since Bran has an unusual appearance. reni_m gets the credit for the photo adjustment.*hearts*

Chapter 2: The Once and Future King Returns (~8,399 words for this part)

Summary: With his memories now returned, Arthur is beginning to see his world in a different light. But he may be biting off more than he can chew...

Merlin finds out more about the Dark and the Old Ones of the Light, and Bran reveals who he really is. It leaves Merlin unsurprised at Bran’s involvement in the current apocalypse.

Will finds himself in trouble. Who killed him?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Merlin,” was the first word Arthur uttered when he woke up that day.

He remembered now. He had been reborn. His former life at Camelot: growing up there, his time with Merlin when he was prince, and later, Merlin advising him during his days as king all came back to him like a blank book suddenly filled with his autobiography.

Despite being understandably overwhelmed as the rush of memories caused him to almost forget where and when he was, Arthur felt more complete than he ever had been before.

Unfortunately, he still wasn’t sure who had possessed him that day at work a week ago now. Though he had confided in Lancelot that he’d believed that he had been possessed by himself, Arthur wasn’t confident himself about that conclusion. What did that even mean anyway? He thought that maybe it had been a past life of his, but now remembering his former life, Arthur shot down that idea. It couldn’t have been his past self.

Whoever had been inside him felt familiar, but not that familiar. Not to mention Arthur had never encountered warestones back in Camelot or in his current life prior to that day at work. Or he never particularly had a penchant for premonitions like the one about believing the apocalypse was coming.

Of course now, well, Arthur would have to concede that his foresight may be very possibly true. He could feel even now that something was just not right. He was positive he wasn’t under possession at the moment either. So apparently he had developed an extra awareness of the situation around him. Maybe it was a side effect of remembering his former life?

He went to take a shower. As the cold spray hit him, Arthur wondered why he heard a sound like a door closing and then a lock clicking, shutting the door in what felt like a very permanent way.

The sound of it was so loud, that Arthur wasn’t sure where it could be coming from. It certainly hadn’t been the bathroom door. And he was the only one in the house. He also felt that something was not right. That this door closing shouldn’t be allowed to happen under any circumstances. An inexplicable realization hit him that he may never see Merlin again… that Merlin was far away from him, and with the locked door blocking the path, he would never get to meet his closest confidante’s current incarnation.

Arthur dearly wished that he had met that Merlin who was Lancelot’s friend. He knew without a doubt that the man had to be Merlin’s incarnation. It wasn’t just because of his name, okay well, yes a little bit, but Arthur had sensed an affinity with the man when Lancelot had shown him a picture of Merlin. Anyway, a Merlin who was friends with a Lancelot and Gwen? Clearly, that all didn’t amount to a coincidence. Why Arthur hadn’t remembered sooner considering he was best mates with a Lancelot, he didn’t know.

It was all rather ridiculous when all these coincidences were right in front of you, and you just don’t pay too much attention to them.

He hated this feeling of separation. He could barely get any relief from his cold shower as his mind started to worry about being alone for the rest of his life. That he’d never be able to spend the rest of his life with Merlin as they were meant to.

Arthur mused that Merlin most likely hadn’t remembered his past life if he hadn’t made contact with Arthur already. Surely if Merlin had properly remembered Camelot and Arthur, he would have made the extra effort to meet Arthur?

Arthur thought Merlin would be the one to remember first because of his magic, but apparently magic wasn’t a factor in this case.

But then, what did he know? He wasn’t knowledgeable of how things worked with reincarnation anyway. It was all just assumptions for now. Arthur absentmindedly got dressed as he continued to consider and reflect on the memories he had just regained.

As he descended the stairs, Arthur looked up. He groaned.

There were flyers for the blasted organ donations taped all over his walls, even some were on the ceiling of all places. He just knew something was not right about them. Maybe, at another time, he would have taken part in the programme. But now, Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling that something devious was at play with the current organ donation business.

Glaring at the offending pieces of paper, he removed every one of them from the walls and even from the ceiling as well.

Grimly, Arthur tossed all the papers into the fireplace, the fire burning each paper, the paper crinkling as each sheet caught a flame and the white darkened into black. All the flyers disintegrated into ash under Arthur’s frustrated gaze.

In the kitchen, he made himself some breakfast with a strong cup of tea. He decided that it’d be a good idea to call Morgana. She was his adopted sister in this life; no blood relation like it had been back in Camelot where she had been his half-sister. What if she had remembered her past life at Camelot?

Then Arthur unpleasantly recalled that Morgana had been into dark magic, and they had a big falling out back in the days of Camelot. So maybe it would be better if she hadn’t remembered her days as a dark sorceress, longtime adversary to him and Merlin…

With a sigh, he called her on his mobile.

“Morgana? It’s me, Arthur,” he started.

“What is it?”

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. I’m feeling lovely actually. I’m going to take part in the programme.”

“Wait, you mean the organ donations? Morgana, I think there’s--”

But Morgana cut him off. She said breezily, “I talked to this Mr. Mitothin. He explained it all to me. It’s a very good cause, Arthur.”

Arthur hummed non-committally at her, focused on writing down, ‘Mr. Mitothin - needs to be checked out’ on the half sheet he had in front of him.

“Listen, Morgana… I don’t think you should go through with it. I have this bad feeling. Something’s not right about the programme.”

“Oh, Arthur. You’re just worrying too much about nothing. Donating organs reminds me of those boarding schools. Remember them? Hailsham, Whitechapel and Haven Cove? For sick children who needed to get well? And they had the best teachers. One couldn’t want for a better education.”

Arthur had heard of those three schools. He always thought they were schools for poor children because they were the ones more likely to get sick. Everything about the three schools was very secretive except for the exemplary health record, impressive education standards and the odd penchant for most of the students to be organ donors.

Sometimes, Arthur had wondered what secret the schools were hiding because it all seemed too good to be true. But he had grown up as all children do. His focus shifted to excelling in his studies and extracurricular activities that he hadn’t had time to spare to think about those boarding schools anymore.

“What’s your point, Morgana?” Arthur asked her, his tone impatient.

“Gwen told me that Merlin told her that he might have gone to one of those schools. But somehow he got out of it. They were really gunning for him.”

“But Merlin wasn’t a sick child, was he?”

“No, I don’t think so, at least going by what Gwen told me. He and his mum weren’t exactly well off, Arthur. Merlin’s mother was almost convinced that this was the right thing for him. To get that education that might give him the extra advantage later on when going for university… but well, neither Gwen or Merlin know what convinced his mother in the end to not go through with it. I personally think it’s that elusive uncle of his, Stephen, who dissuaded her. Do you know where he is, Arthur?”

“Of course not.”

“Because it’s important that you tell me if you do. He’s the enemy.”

“Morgana…what are you on about?” Something inside him told him that it wasn’t the best idea to tell Morgana about Gwen, Lancelot and Merlin having gone missing. He didn’t feel like he could fully trust her now.

“Arthur, I don’t want you to lie to me. Merlin’s uncle will kill you. He is dangerous.”

Merlin’s words from long ago echoed in Arthur’s head: “You have to accept that Morgana is not the sister you once knew, Arthur. I am sorry to tell you that, but it’s true. I’m sorry.”

“I have to go, Morgana,” Arthur said quickly.

“Arthur--”

He ended the call.

~ * ~

He was unnerved at seeing one of his friends, Gwaine, at the hospital especially now when Arthur’s ‘something’s terribly wrong’ sense was in overdrive.

Elena, Gwaine’s girlfriend, had called Arthur and started talking about the organ donation programme. How Gwaine was taking part in it, his surgery had been the day before. She herself had been selected into the ‘Carer programme’, which relieved Arthur. Being a Carer meant that Elena wouldn’t have to undergo any of the organ removal surgeries for some years. Instead, Elena would help to look after those who were donating their organs.

When Arthur had asked, she had told him that she wasn’t too sure why she had been chosen as a Carer. She was more than fine with donating her organs, but if Mr. Mitothin insisted that she should be a Carer, then she would do it. Any argument Arthur made to her against the organ donations, that something was troubling about them, fell on deaf ears.

And there was that name again: Mr. Mitothin…

So of course, Arthur had to visit his friends at the hospital. Hopefully he could find Mr. Mitothin there as well.

He counted on it.

~ * ~

Merlin sighed. “Okay then. Will he be coming here soon?”

“Hopefully yes. Arthur’s the last one who needs to be here,” Bran informed him. “But first, I need to explain some things to you.”

Bran sat down in the chair by the bed, setting the clipboard on the small table nearby.

Merlin couldn’t help asking, “What exactly is the Dark? Is it like the devil then? And by elimination, you’re or all of us here are on the side of the Light?”

“Yes, that’s a good way to put it,” Bran agreed. “Will explained it to me that all those who serve the Dark were once men who sought power. They favor corruption and manipulation to get that power. They all chose to become what they are. The Lords of the Dark came to be in their position by choosing to become something far greater than others of the Dark. Those like Will, well…Will is not properly human. He was always meant to have his gift. It wasn’t a choice with him, but just something he is.

“He’s an Old One of the Light. The Old Ones are immortals tasked with keeping the world safe from the Dark, to safeguard human choice while the forces of the Dark seek to manipulate and dominate humankind. Will can not “turn” to the Dark side, like some humans may be swayed because of normal human weakness. It is not in the nature of an Old One to go against the Light. Along that vein, they can’t control the minds of humans and they can’t directly harm a human being. The Old Ones prize human choice that much,” Bran finished with a small smile.

“So they’re like angels? Guardian angels?” Merlin deduced.

“I suppose so, but don’t tell Will that,” Bran advised him. “I think he’ll be a bit embarrassed by it. He’s not always in Old One mode, as it’s called I guess, he can still act human. So much so that you can’t tell that he’s much more than just a boy.”

“I saw how scared he looked when that man had a knife on him. He seemed like a normal 13-year old who needed help,” Merlin mused.

Bran’s expression darkened, clearly the subject matter of the attack on Will didn’t sit well with him. Merlin understood that feeling. He’d feel the same if Lancelot, Gwen or Freya had been in trouble and he hadn’t been there to help.

“Yes, that’s what I mean,” Bran acknowledged. “You’ll recognize a difference when Will is acting as an Old One compared to just his human self. You can see it in his face and he may say things that sound far wiser than should be coming from a 13-year old.”

“The ‘Most Wanted’ posters…” Merlin recalled the odd solemn expression on the picture of Will in those posters. “Now that all makes sense.”

“So you know what I’m talking about. I really do think Will would be better at explaining himself, but--” Bran remarked, looking uncertain.

“You’re doing fine,” Merlin was quick to reassure the younger boy.

“All right,” Bran said, appearing grateful for the assurance. He continued on, “A year ago, Will and I together with others banished the Dark from our reality. After that victory for the Light and humanity too, Will was charged with being the Watchman of the Light while the other Old Ones retired outside Time.

“Will is the youngest and the last of the Old Ones, though he was the first to be born in 500 years. The number of Old Ones had been growing for centuries before that time. He came into his powers, into his awareness and knowledge as an Old One when he was eleven, two years ago now.

“Will told me that someone of the Light needs to stay behind,” Bran confided in him. “That it’s the only way to insure that the Dark doesn’t try their hand at domination again. No matter how lonely the task may be, to remain on Earth while the rest of your kind has left. And now, as you know, the Dark is hoping to gain a victory in your reality. That’s why Will and I are here.”

“If they win, then the Dark might decide to return to your reality?” Merlin figured out.

Bran shrugged, looking rather confident. “It would be difficult as they were very properly banished from Will and mine’s reality,” he said proudly, with a hint of arrogance in his voice. “--but yes…they may think they’ll have another opportunity if they manage to win your reality,” he conceded. “But we won’t allow that to happen.”

“No, we won’t,” Merlin agreed. “What do you need from me?”

Bran gave him a look. “What do you think?”

“Oh right. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“For now, I can tell you that we need your magic at full strength. Only some of it has returned to you, right?”

Merlin nodded.

“Give it some time; it will all come back to you. Will and I have a plan worked out, and if all goes well, then the Dark will surely lose.”

“I admit it’s strange…since the two of you are so--” Merlin paused, unsure how to say this without offending Bran.

Bran’s striking golden eyes pierced Merlin’s blue ones, leaving Merlin feeling terribly awkward all of a sudden. “We’re so what?” Bran cut in, sounding like he was ready to defend himself.

Merlin was uncertain. He felt like he was treading where he shouldn’t tread, but it was natural, right? To question how two children could be trying to stop the apocalypse?

“You and - even with Will being who he is, it’s just odd. You still both look like children, and this is the apocalypse. But you two are leading this whole thing.”

Bran relented, shaking his head as if realizing this was an argument not worth having. “It’s not just us,” he reassured Merlin, “and anyway, like I told you, we have had experience fighting this threat. But to make you feel better, Will is in contact with the other Old Ones, particularly with the first Old One, who is, of course, the oldest, strongest and wisest of them all. He’s helping out in an advisory capacity as this situation is ultimately Will’s primary responsibility. And I’m Will’s right hand man, so to speak,” Bran said, smiling.

“How can he be in contact with them? If they’re all outside Time?”

“The Sanctuary - where we are now - is outside Time,” Bran clarified. “All of Will’s fellow Old Ones reside here. Don’t ask me to explain what being outside Time means. The Old Ones come here to retire, as they are immortal, and therefore they can’t die…so this place outside Time is a peaceful place for them to rest. Basically, you’re a very far away from home.”

“Can’t take a bus home then?” Merlin asked cheekily.

“No,” Bran said, grinning at him.

“How old is this first Old One?” He wondered, feeling curious.

“Over 4,000 years old. He’s also a Lord of the Light as the Light has Lords just as the Dark does. Does that help?” Bran asked him, looking expectantly at him like he knew how Merlin would react to this news.

Merlin just stopped himself from gasping out loud. “That’s a long time to live.”

Bran nodded in assent. “I agree. I’ve met him a few times. I always get this sense of great wisdom when I’m near him. Like he gives you strength to accomplish a task just by his very presence. You may meet him most likely. Your friends, Gwen and Lancelot, already have.”

“I feel behind,” Merlin remarked. He sat up better on his bed, peering closer at Bran.

“What about you? You’re not just a boy from Wales, are you?”

Bran smiled, looking rather excited about the chance to talk about himself. Who wouldn’t, Merlin mused.

“Well, that painting over there that you mentioned,” Bran began, pointing to the painting of Cader Idris. “Painted by Will’s older brother, Max, who’s a bit of a self-possessed artist, but anyway… that is the Seat--”

“-of Arthur in English, yes.”

Bran smiled, pleased. “That’s right. That’s where I came from, you see, out of that mountain, from the past. My mother, with the aid of that first Old One - as all Old Ones can easily travel in Time -- left me in the future while she returned to her time after a three day stay. I was only a few months old, still a baby, and she left me in the care of a farmer in rural Wales, who she deemed of good character. His name is Owen Davies.

“It was on a terrible winter night thirteen years ago. My mother had been half-frozen and worn out from carrying me, and she knocked on Owen Davies’ door, seeking shelter and help. For three days, he helped her get better and looked after me as well. When she had gone, he was left with me and a note saying, ‘His name is Bran. Thank you, Owen Davies.’ He has raised me as if I was his own son. Two years ago, I discovered the identity of my birth father,” he said, pausing, and giving Merlin a careful look.

“The Seat of Arthur…you came from the past. Are you trying to tell me you were born at Camelot?” Merlin made a wild guess.

“I was born 1,500 years ago; during the time of Camelot while my father reigned. In my and Will’s reality, we have our Arthur too. And he is my birth father,” Bran finished with unmistaken pride in his voice.

Merlin thought he would’ve felt more surprised, but he wasn’t, oddly enough. It seemed to fit. Bran certainly did have an arrogance about him, a sense of pride to him that spoke of great heritage. Of course he’d be the son of a king, the greatest king Britain has ever known…

“I can see it,” Merlin remarked. “I’m assuming you were legitimate?”

Bran made a face. “Of course. I’ve read some of the Arthurian legends… and no, my mother was not the dark witch, Morgan. My mother was Guinevere. She looked different compared to your Gwen. You do know that Lancelot and Gwen are incarnations of the ones in Camelot?”

Merlin shrugged. “Yes, well…we might as well be starting an Arthurian legend fan club here. I feel kind of sad that my denial that I wasn’t that sorcerer is all for naught now. So much for my mum naming me after a bird. She should have bought me a wand or something,” he sighed, waving his hand.

Bran laughed. Merlin flashed him a grin.

“So I’m guessing there was a good reason why your mother wanted to bring you forward in time? Did your father know of your existence? Because if you were legitimate, then what would the trouble…oh…was there that love triangle?” Merlin guessed shrewdly.

Bran nodded, looking unhappy. “Political pressure, you know. She wanted to take me away from those troubles, so that I would grow up free of them. My father didn’t know of my existence during his lifetime. I believe my mother feared that due to her infidelity…” he stopped, as if the last thing he’d want to do is to talk about his mother so negatively.

“That your father would be pressured to deny you were his son? Since everyone would be questioning your legitimacy?” Bran nodded grimly at that. “I suppose that fits with Arthurian legend…” Merlin recalled from the texts he’d read (he had to admit he was a bit curious in the past about the legends considering his name). “Camelot did fall eventually. I haven’t regained my memories of my reality’s Camelot yet, but I’m sure trouble came too… and that the golden age of King Arthur unraveled in an unpleasant way. Did you never see him? Your birth father?”

Bran smiled, his demeanor more at ease now for the slight change in subject. “Actually, I have met him. Surprising I know, because he was just a mortal man after all. He had a proper ship burial when he died. But now, he’s almost immortal in a way…not like the Old Ones, no. But he has a higher calling now. He’s alive in a sense in his afterlife, outside Time. He’s a Lord of the High Magic. The High Magic is what those of both the Light and the Dark must adhere to. The Law of the High Magic.

“My birth father is not a dewin, a wizard, but he still has power in his own right. While the Dark was rising in my and Will’s reality, I encountered my father a few times. In his role as a Lord of the High Magic, he finally got to see me for the first time as I him. It was only in his afterlife that he was able to acknowledge me as his true son. During the first rising of the Dark back in my father’s time, my father succeeded in holding back the Dark for a dozen years. I wanted to prove myself worthy of that heritage.”

“He sounds like a good man. I’m glad that you got to see him,” Merlin said.

“So you see, Merlin,” Bran spoke solemnly, his tone self-assured as he continued, “--that I am not quite a child either. I am more than capable in helping you and your friends save your reality.”

“No,” Merlin said wisely. “You’re not. You’re the Pendragon,” he said, not quite sure what made him say that last bit.

A lot of strange things were happening around him and inside him, so Merlin resigned himself to saying things that might feel unbidden to him.

Still, it was true. Bran was the Pendragon, the son of Arthur, brought forward in time to help defeat the Dark one final time…

It made so much sense that he would be here now to defeat the Dark in Merlin’s reality. And also, Merlin wondered if his Arthur had, in fact, been somehow possessed by Bran’s father. It would make sense - Lancelot had relayed to Merlin that Arthur had felt like he had been ‘possessed by himself.’ The only logical conclusion would be an Arthur from another reality, who appeared to be especially knowledgeable judging by his ‘Lord of the High Magic’ status.

He decided to ask Lancelot about it. Lancelot had to have asked about that - Arthur was his best mate after all. And Merlin felt odd inquiring about it from Bran. Merlin had gleaned enough information from the boy.

That whole possession thing was just far too strange anyway.

“Lancelot and Gwen are anxious to see you, I’m sure,” Bran remarked then.

Merlin nodded. “I’d love to see them.”

“I’m glad you’re here. You’re funny,” Bran complimented him, giving him a half-smile.

“Thanks. I try,” Merlin replied, smiling back at him.

He stood up and let Bran lead the way.

~ * ~

“Oh Arthur. It’s so good to see you,” Elena said to him cheerfully.

“Hi, Elena,” Arthur said to her, embracing her. Once he pulled away, he asked her, “Is Gwaine still here?”

“Yes he is. In recovery,” Elena informed him.

Then Arthur saw a man with longish red-brown hair and bright blue eyes walk past him in the ward.

When Arthur looked at him, the man gave him a smug smile. Arthur had a feeling that this man was evil.

“That’s Mr. Mitothin,” Elena told him when she noticed Arthur’s attention focused on the other man.

“Right. Er…I need to talk to him. I have to ask him something,” Arthur said.

“Oh, are you going to participate in the programme?” Elena assumed.

Arthur shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see. Tell Gwaine I hope he has a fast recovery,” he told her.

Elena nodded. “Of course.”

~ * ~

Arthur went inside Mr. Mitothin’s office. He shut the door behind him.

Facing him, he said without preamble, “Who are you?” He demanded to know.

Mr. Mitothin smiled pleasantly at him. “Ah, Arthur Pendragon. A thorn in my side, perhaps. But do not think you are above everything simply because you recall some castle that’s in ruins now. You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Arthur said firmly, undeterred.

The other man looked amused. “I am known as the Black Rider, a Lord of the Dark. I am conducting a human experiment of sorts. But that’s all rather dull. This reality is terribly open to corruption. Your world has never had to deal with the likes of the Dark. It has certainly been interesting so far.”

Arthur just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Yes, if the man being ‘a Lord of the Dark’ wasn’t indicator enough of his ill intentions, he didn’t know what was. So he could only assume the opposing side would be the Light, the less annoying side. The makings of a fantasy film, clearly.

“Usually organ donation occurs after the person dies…” Arthur remarked. “What you are doing here… you have Morgana too. You know what she was.”

“Yes, I do. But now in this incarnation, she is a shadow of her former self. I do plan to have her undergo the programme. She doesn’t remember her former life, she has no magic. It seems your little pet sorcerer, Merlin, is the only one who will get his magic back. But I do have to say that manipulating Morgana, to have her work for me, is too easy to resist. Once she has outgrown her…usefulness, she will be discarded,” The Black Rider noted.

“Fuck you,” Arthur retorted defiantly. He glared at him. “So that’s what you do, manipulate people… and people who are a part of the programme, you’re planning to have them donate their organs until they have no more left to give, aren’t you?”

“Like I said, it’s all quite dull. And I’m certainly not explaining my plans to you,” the Black Rider declared coldly.

“Morgana mentioned Stephen, Merlin’s uncle? What was that about?” Arthur wanted to know.

The Black Rider smiled slyly. “He is a mentally afflicted man. That is all. It’s best to avoid him. He will cause you trouble.”

“I highly doubt anyone related to Merlin will want to kill me,” Arthur said, so sure of his belief.

“There is always a first for things,” The Black Rider said to him reasonably. “All those associated with the Light, particularly those meddlesome Old Ones, have some humans so convinced the Light is on the side of humanity. But the Light is just as vindictive, just as cold as the Dark. An innocent human life lost is nothing to them if it means the Light is victorious in the end. They may look human, but we of the Dark were truly human once while those high and mighty Old Ones just carry human faces,” He said fiercely trying to make his point clear. His blue eyes lit up like cold blue flames. “They are only pretending, slipping into society, blending in, being so painfully normal, that the false sense of security they give you is nothing but that: false. Since they only pretend to comprehend humanity intimately, those of the Light lack human compassion.”

“You have no compassion either if you’re organizing these organ donations,” Arthur pointed out to him. “Each side is imperfect in their own way. I get that. But I can’t support a side that has my sister playing puppet for them. And who has my friends involved in that bloody programme.”

“I wasn’t trying to persuade you of anything. I was simply talking… you may be lucky that you have friends in high places, but you are still stuck here. And I can make your life very unpleasant,” The Black Rider said smoothly.

“You can try,” Arthur baited him. “You know where they are, don’t you?”

The Rider smiled. He had a look in his blue eyes that told Arthur that, yes; the man knew exactly where they - Lancelot, Gwen and Merlin -- were.

“They are being brainwashed by the Light. Which is something you may look forward to, or not. The tide ebbs and flows after all,” the Lord of the Dark said thoughtfully.

“Well, this has been…informative, but I think I’ll be leaving now,” Arthur decided.

He turned to leave.

“No, you should stay,” The Rider insisted.

Something about the tone of his voice made Arthur reconsider his decision to exit the office.

Arthur stayed.

~ * ~

“Merlin!” Gwen exclaimed. She rushed forward to hug him. “I was hoping you’d be all right with everything that’s going on.”

“Lancelot was worried about you,” Merlin noted, looking to Lancelot. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he told her.

Gwen smiled at him, letting him go. She went to talk to Bran, who looked a little uncomfortable standing there in midst of the reunion. Merlin heard Gwen saying something about Merriman being with Will. Bran grinned suddenly and said he needed to speak to Merriman. With that, the boy had left the room.

Lancelot clapped him on the shoulder. “Knew you’d come here eventually. Can’t be without a Merlin during the apocalypse,” he teased him.

“It’s just a part of my charm,” Merlin retorted cheekily.

“Sit, sit,” Gwen ushered Merlin to sit at a table in the room. Gwen and Lancelot sat across from him.

“Is this your bedroom then? For you and Lancelot?” Merlin concluded. He saw the big bed, certainly big enough for two, maybe even four people.

Gwen nodded. “I feel terrible that I had Lancelot worry about me. I wanted to leave a note before I left with Will… but he said it was dangerous to give notice of my leaving. That the Dark would do something awful to Lancelot as a result. But he assured me that Lancelot would be with me soon, so that thought calmed me. And Will was right.”

She smiled at Lancelot, squeezing his hand with her own. Lancelot returned the gesture.

“Did you find out about Arthur’s self-possession, or whatever it really was, Lancelot?” Merlin ventured.

Lancelot inclined his head. “Yes, I asked Will. Bran told you about his birth father, I assume?”

“Yes he did,” Merlin confirmed. “It was him then?”

“That’s the one. It’s best to ask Will if you have any somewhat awkward questions…or just anything at all,” Lancelot advised him. “He’s running this whole thing, and no question seems to faze him. If there’s a question he doesn’t want to answer, he pretends not to hear you and changes the subject. But if there’s something he doesn’t know, he’ll tell you so and see about finding the answer.”

“I haven’t really talked to Will properly…” Merlin told them. “I just saw him being held against his will and I wanted to help. Then I ended up here.”

“You’ll be seeing a lot of him here. Don’t worry about that,” Gwen assured him. “He’s a bit strange sometimes. How he can sound so wise and adult-like one moment, and then the next moment, he gets excited about something, for example, and he’s just a boy…” she mused.

“I’m not sure whether to be reassured by that or not, but it feels like this is the right thing to do. Even if it involves somewhat eccentric people…I’m guessing you know about that first Old One? 4,000 something years old? He’s probably the oldest person in existence,” Merlin decided.

“Oh, that’s Merriman,” Gwen told him. “He’s here now, but from what Will told me, when Merriman wants to see you, he will. So it’s best to stick to that.”

Lancelot continued, “When you meet him, you just know you’ll never forget him. He’s rather tall, with white hair - well, he is old after all - and his face is usually grim, maybe even a bit fierce too. He does look like he could throw a good punch though despite his age.”

“Ancient, but without age or end…” Gwen considered. “He can be a bit grandfatherly, of course, but goodness, him and Will. It’s so strange. They act like good friends, and it’s like they’re unaware that there’s this huge age disparity between them. They just talk like equals.”

“Old Ones do things differently,” Lancelot concluded.

“Maybe, in a way, they’re both closer in age than we think. And they both carry the same burden, I suppose, being of the same calling,” Merlin considered. Gwen and Lancelot stared at him. Merlin shook his head, asking them, “You two haven’t remembered yet, have you? Camelot? I haven’t even though some of my magic has come back to me.”

“No, we haven’t. You’re not alone in that. Though maybe once you meet Arthur in this life, you’ll finally remember?” Gwen suggested.

Merlin covered his face with his hands. “Oh, Gwen,” he groaned. “I think you jinxed it. Now it won’t happen.”

“Oh! I’m sorry…I just…I always mess that up,” Gwen apologized.

“It’s okay. Maybe I’ll get lucky,” he hoped. “But I’m glad I’m not the only one with amnesia, or whatever you call what we have. I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I’m walking blind…because this whole situation would be greatly helped by those memories. Merlin was supposed to be wise, right? I could use some of that now.”

Gwen reminded him, “Merlin, you got to university based on your intelligence.”

Merlin remained uncertain. “But I highly doubt my studies in Psychology are going to help in an apocalypse.”

“A lot of people are doing things they wouldn’t normally do, Merlin. Isn’t that psychology? I mean, when Arthur gets here…who knows what’s going on with him in our reality. I’m concerned that the more time he spends there, the more likely…something bad will happen to him,” Gwen worried.

“All right, you have me there, Gwen,” Merlin admitted. “And since we’ve veered into psychology, I believe that Bran’s trying hard to make up for something. I don’t think he acts the way he does just because of his heritage. It’s something else. If he grew up in rural Wales… well, it’s not exactly a cornucopia of diversity. But he seems to dealing with it better than I would think.”

“Will and him have been friends for two years. They met when Will went to Wales to recover from hepatitis…Will’s uncle owns a farm in Wales and Bran’s adoptive father works on it,” Lancelot told him. “Will and Bran seem to have a solid friendship. I think that has helped Bran a lot.”

“Do you think that maybe Will could have been his first actual friend?” Merlin deduced thoughtfully. “Not that there’s anything bad about that… he’s still young, and most people only end up having a few close friends in their lifetime. If Will is helping him, then I’m glad that Bran has him.”

“The two of them are both a bit odd… that gives them something in common,” Gwen figured.

“True,” Merlin agreed.

“This is a bit maddening, but it’s good to know…” Gwen noted. “Will is the youngest of nine children. Can you believe that? He said it’s always chaos around Christmas hols.”

“The good chaos, I hope,” Merlin quipped.

Gwen rolled her eyes.

“So even before Will came into his powers, he had long learned to just sort of…go with the flow. It’s hard to stand out in the midst of such a big family. I doubt it all has to do with being an Old One…the almost eerie calm he has, and he’s the patient sort. Probably will be a professor one day,” Lancelot ventured.

“Is his family…are they a happy one?” Merlin wondered. He found it hard to imagine being a part of a big family. It had just been him and his mum until she had passed away. And now he really only had his Uncle Stephen.

Gwen nodded. “Not perfect, no family is anyway, but they’re a loving if a little dysfunctional family. That’s what Will says at least. And he doesn’t look like he’s been treated poorly. Though I can only imagine where his family believes he is now. He says that his family doesn’t know about his true nature as an Old One. They can’t know because it would be too much for them to take. Since Will is only 13 now…his family will probably believe he’s making up stories. Though his family does sense that Will’s a bit odd.

“On his eleventh birthday, they thought he was ‘an old eleven’, but they’re his family, so they’re bound to recognize any strangeness. No one’s that oblivious even if they’re just normal people. They don’t treat him any differently because of it. But of course, this is just what Will told us. So we can’t completely confirm it, but I’d like to believe Will,” Gwen decided.

“I honestly couldn’t have guessed he came from such a big family. It is maddening, I agree,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “So I know one of his brothers is named Max… what about the rest?” He asked.

Gwen answered him, “He mostly has brothers… but in order, it’s Stephen, Max, Gwen, Barbara, Mary, the twins Robin and Paul - both boys, and James, who’s only a year older than Will. And you should see Will talk about his oldest brother, Stephen. He pretty much idolizes him. It’s so endearing. Stephen’s in the Navy, and he’s usually away from home. Will said he had felt privileged to get Stephen’s attic room for his own a few years ago. Oh, I always wished to have a brother or sister…you miss out on sibling things when you’re an only child,” she sighed.

Bran returned to the room then. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but we’re going to meet now. I’ll be leading since Will’s still busy with Merriman. There’s good news and bad news, but the good news cancels out the bad news…” he assured them.

“I have a feeling the good news isn’t that the apocalypse is over,” Merlin assumed.

“Unfortunately it’s too soon for that,” Bran noted. He smiled at Merlin.

Lancelot, Gwen and Merlin followed him out of the room. Bran was walking a few feet ahead of them.

“I think Bran likes you,” Gwen whispered to Merlin.

“Well, I don’t think he hates me… what’s wrong with that?” Merlin inquired, baffled.

Lancelot put in his two cents, “Nothing, not really. It’s just that he’s going to try to hog your time now. It should be interesting when Arthur does end up here.”

“He’s thirteen,” Merlin pointed out, disbelieving.

“Bran’s a bit crafty… but I suppose it’s not a big deal in the end. He usually spends the most time with Will either way,” Lancelot told him.

“I know you lot are talking about me,” Bran remarked, turning his head to face them. “Had enough of others doing that to know what it sounds like. Always about how strange I look.” He smiled almost viciously, like he was trying to cover up how much that bothered him by looking like it didn’t bother him one bit.

“Oh, we-we weren’t talking about that. We would never--” Gwen was quick to say.

Bran grinned at them. This time it was an honest grin. “I know. Of course you wouldn’t,” he said self-assuredly. Then he added, “Merlin, I need to ask you something.”

Lancelot and Gwen exchanged ‘I knew it’ looks while Merlin shrugged and went to Bran.

~ * ~

“A Lord of the Dark, known as the Black Rider, has done something he’s not allowed to. At least according to the Laws of the High Magic,” Bran explained in the rectangular meeting room.

A long table with exactly six chairs was in the center of the comfortably-sized room. As Bran stood at the front, looking like he was reveling in the position of leadership, the others sat. The chair at Bran’s right hand was left empty as Gwen informed Merlin that it was where Bran sat when Will was leading a meeting. You’d be subjected to Bran’s piercing look if you sat there, him saying simply, “That is my seat,” in a quiet yet firm voice.

And that was that. No one but Bran touched that chair. Lancelot said that Will was somewhat bemused by Bran’s thing with the seating, but he just let him be.

A big portrait of someone called, “Herne the Hunter” charging forward on a pure white mare, hung on the wall behind Bran. The Hunter looked especially strange, rather fearsome in a way. His head was bigger than that of a man’s and horned with antlers not unlike those on a stag. His eyes were yellow-gold like the eyes of a huge bird, unfathomable and a little alarming. Herne the Hunter may have been half-beast, maybe. His face told a story of cruelty and merciless impulse for revenge.

“He has made it so travel between where we are, outside Time, and your reality is shut both ways,” Bran said.

“That’s rather pompous of him,” Lancelot couldn’t help remarking.

Everyone else agreed with that sentiment.

“That means Arthur can’t come here,” Merlin concluded.

Bran nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Merriman and my father will settle it. I wish I could be there. The Black Rider is going to get a good talking to,” Bran said in undisguised excitement, his tawny golden eyes seeming brighter all of a sudden. “Anyway, so travel will open up not long from now. That is the good news. We will get Arthur here,” he said confidently.

At that moment, Will entered the room. The scar on his face seemed to have mostly healed, now just a white line that marred on one cheek.

“Couldn’t wait, Bran?” Will teased mildly. Bran flashed him a grin, and automatically moved to his chair at the right. Merlin was on Bran’s other side.

“Best to get it out as soon as possible,” Bran noted with a shrug.

“Yes, that’s true,” Will acknowledged. He then looked at Merlin. His blue-grey eyes revealed little of what he was feeling. His face only held an overall amicable expression. “It’s good to see you here, Merlin,” he said graciously.

“Are you all right?” Merlin asked, concerned.

Will smiled lightly. “No need to worry. I’m sorry that we had to meet in such a way, but your magic needed a ‘kick’ to return to you. Better to risk myself than you…”

“Sometimes, Sais, you could stand to come up with better ideas,” Bran contributed, frowning.

“Sometimes the best way is not the easiest,” Will said with a sigh. He pointed out as if expecting the question, “Sais means English in Welsh. Bran likes to call me that when I’m frustrating him.”

“I’ll get all of you speaking Welsh. Though it may be a bit hopeless because even Will here, with his knowing every language known to man, still could improve on his Welsh,” Bran commented, looking highly amused.

“Oh you should’ve seen Will, Merlin,” Gwen brought up. “He spoke Old English, Middle English, Italian, Latin, Polish and Welsh in only the space of a few minutes. He sounded fluent in all of those languages.”

“It was one of the most surprising things I’ve seen,” Lancelot remarked.

Will looked a little embarrassed. “That’s something I’m not doing again. The purpose of that knowledge isn’t about showing off. And I think it gave me a bit of a headache too to do it that quickly. Knowing every language is meant to help me when I need to travel to different countries or to different times…hence the old dialects.”

“Do you know what you’re going to do when you grow up?” Merlin wondered, feeling like saying, ‘grow up’ didn’t quite apply to Will.

He nodded, smiling. “I’ve always been interested in anthropology…cultures and customs. I know my family expects me to live a life in academia, become a university professor. My dad’s a jeweler though, and he despairs that I might not follow in his footsteps,” Will remarked a bit sadly.  “And Bran will try to rule the world, I’m sure,” he bet, exchanging looks with him.

“I’m looking into it,” Bran said nonchalantly.

And with that, the meeting digressed into idle talk.

~ * ~

That evening, the rain was light, but no less oppressive. In a park, Will sat on a swing, feet firmly on the ground, and he barely moved. He felt weighted by his thoughts. Travel was once again open, as it should always be, between the place outside Time and the reality now plagued by the Dark.

Will knew he should be making contact with Arthur now, trying to find him, but he felt that something had gone a bit wrong. It was only going to get harder from here on out. The Dark would be doing all they could to make Will’s plan difficult to carry out successfully.

They had until Midsummer’s Eve, which was two months away…

At least there was Stephen, Merlin’s uncle, as well as other leaders of the Resistance across the globe. They were men and women who had sworn their services to the Light. Now was their time to help for ultimately, this battle between the Light and the Dark was for the sake of humanity, so humans should be a part of the fight in some way. To insure that life go on normally, peacefully, and that the darkness in men’s hearts stay deep within them while the charity, the mercy of humankind would remain intact.

The Dark had only been active for a few decades in this reality… as if this reality were an afterthought. Setting up those boarding schools that were more a source of organs than anything else, for one. All for the Dark’s twisted interest and amusement. To test out new ideas, to see what would happen. Will could see it now. That the Dark would remove the compulsion from some right before their last organ removal surgery. As these people were overcome with horror with what they've brought upon themselves, they'd be offered a chance to work for the Dark… that they wouldn’t have to die, that the Dark could make them better, healthy again.

And any mortal serving the Dark would be at the top of the list for organs, if they needed them…

It was a dreadful, miserable thought.

Will was slightly startled when unbidden, his mind recalled a past memory. But it was more than a memory…

It was almost as if it happened yesterday instead of nearly two years ago. Looking up, Will saw Bran standing upon a Welsh hillside. The six riders, the Sleepers awakened, were on their silver-grey mounts, standing in line before the high place where Bran stood. Each rider drew his sword, holding it upright before his face in a salute. Each man kissed the flat of his sword, as one would do in homage to a king.

And Bran stood there slim and erect as a young tree, his white hair gleaming in a silver crest, and bent his head gravely to them with the quiet arrogance of a king granting a boon.*

Then Will saw Bran turn his head to face him. He was shouting something to him, but Will couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Will felt with utmost certainty that Bran was warning him.

Danger was near. He sensed it. The Dark was creeping in.

But it was too late.

He didn’t see who shot him from behind, more than once. But it did not matter now. All that mattered was sending one last message before…before…

“Merriman!” Will shouted urgently in his mind.

That was all.

~ * ~

Merlin was shaken awake in the middle of the night.

It was Bran. He looked terribly worried.

“Merlin, I think something’s happened to Will.”

Though Merlin had tried his best to reassure him and calm him down, it was a few hours until Bran managed to fall back asleep. Merlin had told him it wouldn’t do Will any good if Bran was sleep-deprived and not thinking as clearly as a result.

With a resigned sigh, Merlin allowed Bran to sleep in his bed. At least then he could watch over him. Otherwise, Bran would probably be anxiously wandering the halls of the Sanctuary.

Merlin sat up in bed, watching him sleep for some time. He swept his hand over his white hair, and he contemplated what it would have been like if he had had a younger sibling.

~ * ~

*straight from The Grey King; p. 159 (Aladdin Paperbacks edition)

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4