The Craven Raven. Part One. (Merlin/Arthur, PG)
Title: The Craven Raven
Author: thedeathchamber
Wordcount: 13,000 aprox.
Warnings: minor violence
Rating: PG
Summary: When a mysterious invitation from a previously unheard of kingdom arrives at Camelot, Merlin smells trouble.
Notes: I had a dream which inspired an... idea. Then this thing became a project. Which grew and grew, until I found myself facing nearly 14000 words of illustrated fic. And I said to myself, How did it come to this? By which I mean to say, please, comment. I shall repay you with clumsy words of gratitude and possibly virtual goods of the edible sort. Thank you and please enjoy.
The Craven Raven
Merlin had never heard of Derynder before and, the funny thing was, he didn’t think anyone from Camelot had either. Yet when a messenger from so said kingdom had arrived with a formal invitation for Prince Arthur and those as should wish to accompany him, preparations were instantly begun for the journey south.
“Gaius, don’t you find it the least bit odd that we’ve never heard of this place before?” Merlin had asked.
“Merlin, there’s a very great deal you don’t know.” Gaius had answered, in that way he had, “Just because you haven’t heard of it, doesn’t mean someone else hasn’t.”
“Have you heard of it?”
“Well, no.” Gaius had admitted, “But there are some things I don’t know either.”
His advice had been for Merlin to do some research in the library, which Merlin had resisted at first but eventually done. First, however, he’d consulted with Gwen (“You worry too much, Merlin. I mean to say, you needn’t worry so much. It’s sweet that you worry, though, I’m not saying you shouldn’t worry, but, well, I’m sure everything will be just fine.”), Morgana (“Wouldn’t it be brilliant if he ended up in a hovel in the middle of nowhere?”), and, finally, Arthur, who had actually been the most reasonable of the lot.
“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin. I can take care of myself.”
“We don’t even know who these people are.”
“King Conall and Queen Maeve.”
Merlin’s expression had made Arthur smile, but he’d answered seriously.
“Merlin, my father’s no fool. I’m taking with me the best knights of Camelot.”
“And me.” Merlin had grinned.
“Yes, Merlin. I’m sure that will make anyone reconsider their evil plans.”
Reluctantly, Merlin had looked through countless books and manuscripts, though he hadn’t found anything until the night before leaving, and that had been but a small note on a kingdom of similar name, though different spelling, so that he couldn’t even be sure it was the same. Derrynderiam was mentioned as a place of great beauty and powerful magic, and that was all.
Merlin had slept fitfully that night and risen before the sun, as they were to set out ridiculously early.
*
“I have enough trouble protecting Arthur at home.” Merlin complains to Gaius, needlessly readjusting the straps of his horse’s bridle.
“Merlin, it will be fine.” Gaius says gently.
Merlin caresses his horse in brooding silence while Arthur takes leave of his father. The first light of day is starting to creep into the courtyard when Arthur appears; he nods a farewell to Gaius and gives Merlin a light shove to get him moving.
“Take care of yourself, Merlin.” Gaius embraces him tightly.
“You too.” Merlin says, mounts his horse and follows Arthur out of the courtyard, turning back only once to wave goodbye.
*
Arthur had been right, of course, and, whether for pride or a shred of common sense, Uther had decided to send Arthur with a revenue of knights and servants, as well as gifts for King Conall and his queen.
They make the journey in a surprisingly short time: a week’s easy ride and comfortable camaraderie. Merlin knows and likes Arthur’s group of knights and their servants and would have enjoyed himself in different circumstances. As it is, he feels distinctly out of sorts from the moment they set out on the road.
He has strange dreams he can’t remember though they rouse him in the middle of the night with a pounding heart and a shadow of darkness over his mind, and during the day he feels oddly restless and twitchy. Of course, this only results in him being clumsier and less efficient than ever, so that on the fourth day- after he spills a pot of stew, loses Leon’s gauntlets and sets Arthur’s bedding on fire- Arthur sits down to talk to him. He follows him to the stream where Merlin was trying to clear his head with the excuse of washing his sooty hands and face.
“Merlin, you’ve been even more incompetent than usual these days.” Arthur begins, not unkindly.
“I’m sorry.” Merlin says honestly.
“Is something bothering you?” Arthur asks, with surprising gentleness, “If you’d rather not have come...”
“No!” Merlin says quickly, “I go where you go, you know that.”
Merlin blushes at Arthur’s intent gaze.
“What would you do without me?” he adds with a grin and doesn’t tell Arthur that he doesn’t need to drag him anywhere because Merlin will follow him anywhere.
“Lead an easier existence.” Arthur retorts, nudging him so that Merlin overbalances in his crouch and nearly falls on his rump.
That night, as Merlin’s dozing off, Arthur runs his foot briefly down his arm in what is clearly meant as a comforting gesture. Merlin smiles and touches Arthur’s ankle briefly in thanks before they break apart. He sleeps better than he has since they left Camelot and no more major accidents occur during the rest of the way.
*
When they’re less than a league from Derynder, a mounted party rides out to meet them. They soon discover the queen herself has come to greet them: she sits a magnificent black stallion and dismounts without aid when she reaches them.
“Prince Arthur,” she smiles, “thank you for coming.”
Maeve is perhaps a few years older than Arthur, and Merlin finds her very beautiful, with her long, dark hair and startling green eyes.
“My lady, we are honored to be here.” Arthur replies courteously.
“It is kind of you to say so.”
Though she introduces her companions by name, Merlin forgets more than half of them by the time they’re back in the castle. He’s sure he would have remembered more than Lady This and Lord That if it hadn’t been for the queen’s strange, lingering look when Arthur had presented him after he’d named his knights. It could be she was simply surprised and amused to be given a servant’s name, which was unconventional, but her piercing gaze had made Merlin uncomfortable.
When they arrive at the castle, Merlin and the other servants set to unpacking while the knights and Arthur are led away for a short rest and refreshments. Merlin’s helping Leon’s squire with his armor when a local servant comes to fetch him.
He’s not ungrateful when he finds out that Arthur had recalled him so that he might be included in the guided visit of the grounds and castle that was customary for all visiting delegations to receive.
He soon discovers that Camelot and Derynder have little in common. Camelot was a fortress of sturdy grey stone, with narrow windows and heavy doors; dimly lit rooms with thick, warm rugs and mulled wine by the fireside. A kingdom of rock and fields of pale wheat and dark, old forests. Derynder was surrounded by rolling green hills, both tilled and wild. The castle was of rosy stone and marble, with high ceilings and tall windows; a fountain in every corner so that the whole place sang with the tinkle of clear water and glittered with the reflection of the sun.
Trailing after Arthur and his knights, as well as a retinue of local courtiers and the queen herself, Merlin thinks Derynder beautiful, yet painfully foreign. On the other hand there’s the magic; he can feel it everywhere. It’s in the veined stone of the hallway, in the wooden banisters, in every towering column. He’s never been in a place as magical as Derynder with the exception of the Isle of the Blessed. He considers the idea that perhaps his suspicions are simply by association.
Then again, he has the uncomfortable and persistent impression that he is being watched, in a way that has little to do with his position as Arthur’s dubiously competent shadow. Merlin can’t help himself; he keeps looking back behind his shoulder until he is at the end of the entourage and staring down an empty hallway, wide eyed and apprehensive.
“Merlin, do keep up.” Arthur calls out and Merlin hurries to join him.
“You don’t want to miss this, young man!”
A nobleman tells him with a grin. They are standing before tall doors of white wood, carved with symbols that Merlin has no time to decipher before the queen is stepping forward to pull them open.
“The Hall of Meallanfion” their guide pronounces.
The chamber is unexpectedly modest: a long table of dark wood and a dozen seats around it, in the far corner a plain wooden door- for the servants’ use, Merlin surmises- and the only thing remarkable are the dozen high windows of rare colored glass.
“For a hundred years and more has the High Council convened in this chamber, in times of great difficulty or peril for the Kingdom.” Merlin shifts as his arm brushes Arthur’s. His skin feels itchy and hot. “When the Gods were as one with the people, it is said they would join the Council...”
Merlin takes a deep breath through pursed lips. His breath feels short in the dusty room; he wonders when the Council met last.
“The artisan that created the glass panels included-”
Merlin blinks, trying to clear his vision, speckled with colored lights.
“- twelve seats for every member and-”
The guide’s voice dies and for a moment Merlin stares at a muted scene: Leon feigning polite interest, two noblewomen fanning themselves idly, a nobleman with a hand on the back of a chair...
She lay a white hand over the man’s and paused.
“Conall,” she whispered, “I beg of you, tread with care.”
“We’ve spoken about this. He is one of the Council, I will not doubt him.”
“You will not, but I will.” she insisted.
“Enough of this, Maeve.” the man said irritably but the woman persisted.
“These disappearances, they cannot be a coincidence, I am sure-”
“Sure? It was a dream, no more.” he interrupted.
“You will not doubt him but you would doubt your queen?”
“I have never doubted you.” he raised her hand to his lips, “But, Maeve, I cannot mistrust my most loyal advisor. He is the key to solving these disappearances.”
“He is the key to why they have occurred.” she said stubbornly.
There was a cursory knock on the door before it swung open. The man who entered was tall and well built, he wore a nobleman’s clothes but his doublet was torn and, incongruously, there were bird droppings on his boots.
“Your Grace.” the stranger said with a bow.
“My lady.” The king grunted in obvious dismissal. The queen pursed her lips and left without another word, although her eyes met the stranger’s in a swift, undecipherable look as she passed.
“Have I done anything that has displeased my queen?” the man asked.
The king shook his head, his beard bristling with annoyance.
“No.” he said shortly, “She is simply upset about her cousin and the others.”
“Ah, yes. These disappearances. You have no news of them, then?”
“Not a trace. We have consulted with the Sisterhood of Cecilia yet they have seen nothing in their visions.”
“The blood of seers has weakened, if they are being blocked by a powerful sorcerer...”
“I know it is not your area of expertise, but if you could-” the king hesitated.
“You are the king. I am yours to command.”
“We need to find them. Can you do it?”
“You will be with them shortly.” the man chuckled.
“I trust in your abilities,” the king groused, “but Maeve is right, you have grown over confident.”
“She is more right than you know.” the stranger said. Though the king opened his mouth no sound came out. Then he started changing. His nose elongated, grew sharp while his eyes shrank into shiny black beads. His body morphed, smoothed skin into glossy feathers. The eagle shrieked.
Merlin wakes to a circle of anxious faces.
“Arthur?” he mumbles instinctively upon not finding his face amongst them.
“I’m here.”
It takes him a rather long moment to realize he is, in fact, being held up by Arthur.
“What happen’d?” Merlin slurs, still dazed.
“You fainted.” Arthur informs him. Although his tone is mocking, Merlin can detect the undercurrent of concern even if he can’t see Arthur’s eyes.
“Did he break fast?” one of the courtiers asks and before anyone can answer another one butts in, “It’s not uncommon for servants to go without a meal when their master is very demanding.”
Merlin could have laughed when he sees half the retinue glaring at Arthur.
“I know for a fact he did, since he stole half of my fare!” Arthur snaps, full of righteous indignation.
The queen raises a hand to silence the dispute and approaches Merlin, then bends down to peer at him curiously, her eyes shrewd.
“It is not unheard of for those who enter the Hall of Meallanfion to suffer visions.” she pauses, “Did you have a vision?” Emrys.
Merlin gapes at her dumbly. Her lips hadn’t moved when she’d spoken that name. And how did she know that name?
“Visions?” Arthur grunts, obviously straining under Merlin’s practically dead weight.
“Did you then?” he asks roughly.
Merlin swallows thickly, his ears are still ringing with the bird’s shriek.
“It is high time for lunch,” the queen interjects easily, “There is much more to see, but after a meal, perhaps.”
She smiles at Merlin, her eyes piercing, before leaving the room, the courtiers filing out after her.
Arthur, to Merlin’s relief, helps him stand without a fuss and even keeps a steadying hand on his arm while Merlin regains his balance.
*
The midday meal was taken outside, under the speckled green shade of a fruit tree. Unorthodoxly, Merlin is invited to sit at the table with the rest of the party. He sinks into the chair gratefully, still feeling weak-kneed and a little dizzy.
Though the nobleman who had been so concerned about whether he’d had breakfast kept trying to get him to eat, Merlin finds he has very little appetite. He’s content to sip some cool lemonade and let the idle conversation wash over him as he sits and worries; when the name of Emrys surfaces, trouble inevitably finds Merlin.
He’s also disconcerted about what had happened at the Hall of Meallanfion. Merlin’s no stranger to seeing things others cannot see but he’s never experienced anything as debilitating and all consuming as the vision he’d just suffered. One more thing to worry about, as if the conditions under which they’d arrived at Derynder hadn’t been suspicious enough. It was the king who had purportedly issued the invitation for Arthur but they had yet to catch a glimpse of him and Merlin is starting to think they won’t be seeing him at all.
“My lord, perhaps it would be best to leave Merlin behind,” Kay mutters.
Merlin starts out of his reverie at the mention of his name.
“I’m going,” he says automatically. He doesn’t need to know where they’re going; he’s not about to leave Arthur alone with anyone from Derynder.
“I wouldn’t think you’d be so eager to carry my things,” Arthur says lightly. In spite of his apparent nonchalance, his eyes when they fall on Merlin seem troubled, which only strengthens Merlin’s resolve not to leave Arthur’s side.
“That’s what I’m for.” he grins.
“It’s too long a ride,” one of the noblewomen objects, “he should stay behind and rest.”
“I need-” Arthur begins.
“Prince Arthur,” a nobleman interrupts, “I’m sure my own manservant will have no trouble seeing to your needs.”
It is a generous offer and one difficult to refuse politely. Merlin glares at Arthur and struggles to sit upright in his chair.
“He still seems a little pale,” the queen says delicately.
Arthur casts Merlin a torn look and then shrugs.
“He’ll stay behind.” he says finally.
All of Merlin’s arguments and complaints are for naught. In the end, Arthur rides off with a small group of courtiers and the queen for an excursion to a nearby spring that was one of the kingdom’s main attractions. To Merlin’s relief, he also takes most of his knights with him, leaving only a few behind with Merlin and the other servants. It isn’t nearly enough to completely assuage Merlin’s concerns, but it allows him to lie down on his cot and eventually fall asleep once he’s seen the mounted party disappear into the horizon.
*
Merlin awakes to darkness. After seeing Arthur off, he’d come straight to their room and quickly fallen into an exhausted slumber. He remembers waking at some point to relieve himself and then tottering back to bed but the room is in gloom now and it is apparent he’s slept the afternoon away.
He lifts himself onto his elbows and squints at his surroundings, trying to make out if the lump on Arthur’s bed is Arthur or just a bundle of cloth.
“Arthur?” he croaks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
His breath quickens at the lack of answer; Arthur should definitely be back by now.
“Arthur?” he asks again with greater urgency, sitting up all the way.
“Go back to sleep, Merlin.” Arthur groans, the lump shifting and materializing into the familiar shape of Arthur’s body.
“I’m hungry.” Merlin sighs, being contrary just out of pure relief. Arthur grunts and rolls so that he’s facing Merlin. Their faces are shadowed but Merlin doesn’t have to see clearly to know that Arthur is rolling his eyes at him.
“There’re a couple of apples in my pack.” he concedes. Merlin stretches and after pouring himself a cup of water, slips back into his cot with the apples.
“Thanks,” he says around a mouthful of fruit.
“‘s fine,” Arthur mumbles, and for a few minutes there’s only the sound of Merlin chewing.
“Did you really have a vision?” Arthur asks suddenly, quietly.
Merlin nearly chokes on his apple. He swallows with difficulty and looks anywhere but at the glittering reflection of Arthur’s eyes.
“No.” he lies, voice tinny.
“Merlin.” Arthur growls, exasperated. “What did you see?”
“I- I’m not sure.” Merlin begins hesitantly. He glances at Arthur out of the corner of his eye and sees that he’s raised himself on an elbow and is staring at him in rapt attention. “I saw a sorcerer turn another man into a bird.”
Silence greets this statement. He hears Arthur inhale noisily through his nose.
“Well,” he says finally, “when was this, do you know? And who was the man?”
Merlin hesitates. He can scarce believe he’s talking to Arthur, of all people, about a vision he had. It seems awfully surreal. Then again, things had been awry ever since they’d set off from Camelot and the magic is so obvious in Derynder, he’s not sure if Arthur and the others are enchanted or simply oblivious.
“I think- It was the king.”
“Conall.” Arthur says deadpan.
“Yes.” Merlin clarifies, afraid he’s just lost any chance of having Arthur believe him.
“We haven’t seen him.” Arthur admits.
“I know.” Merlin agrees quickly, pleasantly surprised at how open-minded Arthur’s being about the whole thing.
“Merlin,” Arthur says, voice odd, “Merlin, we had chicken for dinner. You don’t think-”
Merlin gapes at Arthur who starts laughing.
“He turned into an eagle, not a chicken-“ Merlin protests, but Arthur cuts him off.
“You fainted, Merlin. I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t real. The king is out hunting, Queen Maeve said so. They weren’t expecting us to arrive so soon.”
“I saw her too. She knows the sorcerer!” Merlin argues, more hurt than he’s willing to admit at Arthur’s mockery.
“Just what are you accusing her of, Merlin?” Arthur says angrily.
“Nothing!” Merlin protests, “Only, she has to know what’s happened-”
“I think the queen would have said something if her husband were a bird!” Arthur snaps, “It even sounds ridiculous when you say it.”
“I’ve never given you reason to doubt me.” Merlin bites out.
“It’s not the first time you’ve come to me with some absurd story...”
“True stories!”
“That’s enough, Merlin.” Arthur says, voice raised, “You had a dream, nothing more. Queen Maeve is quite lovely and everyone’s been inordinately nice to you, poor way to repay them with these unfounded suspicions!”
Merlin scowls at Arthur and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from shouting back. Abandoning his half-eaten apple, he throws himself back on his cot and rolls over so that he doesn’t have to face Arthur any longer. A minute later, he hears Arthur settle back in his own bed.
*
The next morning Merlin wakes up alone. He soon discovers Arthur had somehow managed to get dressed on his own (without waking him!) and left for an early hunting trip with a party of courtiers. Merlin’s undecided on whether he should be relieved or concerned; even less certain if leaving him behind is Arthur’s apology for yesterday’s argument or a sign that he was still cross with him.
Whatever it is, it means some rare free time for Merlin, as well as an excellent opportunity for him to explore and do some surreptitious investigating. Pocketing the uneaten apple from last night, he heads towards the marketplace.
In this at least, Camelot and Derynder are much more alike. A couple of hours before noon, the market place is at is busiest: idle nobles and harried peasants at their shopping, chatting old women, loud haggling and vendors shouting out their produce, street dogs slinking around the corners and a score of noisy chickens, pigs and goats. With the bustle, it takes him almost a half hour to realize he’s being followed.
At some point he seems to have acquired a retinue of small children that trail after him like ducklings. Though Merlin is normally very fond of children, under the current circumstances he can’t help but find it suspicious, as well as dangerous- he can’t even imagine how he would explain this phenomenon if anyone from Camelot were to see.
He tries losing them amidst the crowd, but the imps are persistent and, in the end, he’s forced to confront them.
“Well, “ he asks exasperated, yet not unkindly, “what is it you want?”
The children seem too overwhelmed to speak, gaping at him in obvious fascination. Merlin glances around, embarrassed, “Well?” he insists.
Then a pair of them step up, brother and sister by the looks of them and no more than eight or nine years old.
“Emrys, won’t you do some magic for us, please?”
“What?” Merlin chokes. It’s not a request he has heard before, and one he hardly dared imagine he ever would. He’s positively staggered, looking down on the children’s hopeful, excited faces.
“I- don’t think that’s a good idea.” he says nervously. Merlin has only ever known active pursuit of magic, with terrible consequences upon discovery, so that secrecy and the fear of discovery are deeply ingrained in him.
The children, however, are relentless, shamelessly redoubling their pleas until Merlin’s convinced doing magic will draw less attention to him than his tattle of little scamps. As it is, he’s also kind of thrilled. Throughout his life, tolerance has always seemed the best to be hoped for, even with Arthur as king he’d only ever dreamed of this acceptance.
“Alright,” he agrees finally, “alright!”
Merlin’s had many opportunities to hone his magical improvisation skills and the magic flows naturally for him, especially in a place as inherently magical as Derynder feels. With a grin, he rescues the apple from his pocket and breathes a few words into the fruit before handing it to the nearest child.
The boy cradles the apple between both hands as the others look on expectantly. For a few seconds, nothing happens… then the apple shudders. A few of the smaller children gasp when the apple begins to grow, shuddering and shaking all the while, until it’s the size of a small pumpkin. When it stops growing, a girl pokes it hesitantly and squeals, surprised, when it wobbles. Merlin can’t help but laugh as one by one, they all poke and prod the over grown apple.
“Drop it,” he suggests once they’ve all had their turn.
The boy looks at him, obviously confused, but lets it fall. When it hits the ground, the apple bounces- once, twice- then bursts with an explosion of green light… leaving behind a dozen tasty apples, one for each.
Merlin laughs when the children cheer, but his delight quickly turns to mortification when he hears the applause from the people who had gathered round to watch his trick. Flushing, he beats a hasty retreat, ignoring the praise and blessings that follow him. He turns a corner and comes to a sudden stop as he realizes that they too, like the queen, had known his name. Emrys, they had all called him. The fact that he is known here, as many of the Old Religion had known him before, only serves to increase his suspicions that they- that he- has been brought to Derynder for some reason.
“That was kindly done.”
Merlin is startled out of his reverie by the man’s comment and the touch on his shoulder. He turns with a frown, bothered that the man followed him, but his annoyance fades in spite of himself when he sees how much the old man resembles Gaius. Merlin misses him already, imagines his raised eyebrow and gentle rebuke if he heard of Merlin’s imprudent behavior.
“It was nothing,” Merlin replies shyly.
“Those children will tell the tale to their grandchildren.” the man affirms.
“I hope they’ll have more interesting stories to tell by then…” Merlin says, blushing.
The man smiles apologetically, noticing Merlin’s obvious discomfort.
“Have you eaten?” he asks, and without waiting for an answer he addresses the nearest vendor, “Liam, your best pie for the lad!”
“Freshly made, best you’ll find roundabouts, sir.” Liam proclaims, handing Merlin a delicious looking pie, “No charge, of course, it’s an honor.”
Liam is stubborn and Merlin can’t persuade him to take his coin in any way. The other vendors seem to take their cue from him and by the time they’ve walked back to the castle, Merlin finds himself with so many gifts he had to borrow the old man’s basket to carry them.
“You’ll be taking home quite a supper.” Merlin grins.
The old man, who’d introduced himself as Edan, shakes his head.
“They are meant for you.” he says firmly.
“It’s not right, I haven’t done anything to deserve these gifts.” Merlin argues.
“You will.” Edan replies enigmatically.
“I- really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ll help us.” the old man smiles.
“I might be able to,” Merlin says carefully, “if I knew what the problem was.”
Edan frowns at him while Merlin fidgets with the wickerwork.
“He has my brother.” he murmurs sadly.
“Who does?” Merlin asks eagerly.
“You’ll figure it out, I know you will, but I can’t-” the old man shakes his head again, “No. He’ll find out and then I might never...”
He takes a deep breath and looks at Merlin with painful hope. “You’ll figure it out.”
Edan walks away with surprising swiftness for a man his age, leaving Merlin standing alone in the corridor. Merlin’s sympathetic with Edan’s concern for his brother but he’s also frustrated. He’s been in this situation too many times, with everyone expecting something of him when he doesn’t even know what’s going on.
With a sigh, he starts heading back to their chamber, thinking that he’ll give the basket of edibles to Arthur, who has a fondness for the more simple food that can’t be found in a castle’s kitchens. A moment later he remembers he’s still upset with Arthur and decides he’ll give the tarts and pies to the first servant he sees. Well, except the fruit tarts, because Arthur’s certain to love those and Merlin, Merlin is an idiot who will always do everything in his power to make Arthur happy, no matter what.
Emrys.
Merlin stops in his tracks, looks around distrustfully. He’s decided he had imagined it when he hears the voice again. Emrys. He sees a dark shape hurry down the adjacent corridor and runs after it, doesn’t stop when a pie tumbles to the floor. When he turns the corner, he thinks he’s lost them, but then she speaks.
“Emrys.”
Merlin narrows his eyes as he approaches; he knows that voice. When he stops before her, she places a trembling hand on his arm.
“He is after you.” she says solemnly, her eyes fixed on his, “You must be careful and you must hurry.”
The queen doesn’t give him a chance to reply to this cryptic warning.
“He fears to face you, Emrys.” she whispers, “Yet he is cunning and he knows you stand alone, while he’s protected by our fear... and his dishonor.”
Merlin blinks at the contained fury in her tone and the earnest concern in her gaze. He’d doubted her before but no more. He remembers Edan’s words and the empty seats at the banquet hall... the empty throne.
“Who is he?” he asks, thinking of the hooded figure of his vision.
“His name is cursed.” Maeve demurred, “He is a traitor to the kingdom and a sorcerer of great evil power.”
“Tell me where to find him.” Merlin insists, “I can’t help you unless you tell me something!”
Merlin understands their fear and he’s always ready to help anyone who might need him, but he’s also irritated at the subterfuge that had led them here and put Arthur in danger. He’s tired of the games and the secrecy.
The queen senses his anger and draws back her hand.
“Gods protect him.” she murmurs, then takes a deep breath, “Look for the Tower of An Ghrian. You’ll understand when you see.”
Merlin opens his mouth to question her further, but the sound of footsteps approaching sends her hurrying off, just in time to avoid the two wandering noblewomen who smile at him as they walk past. When they’re gone he bites his lip as he considers what to do. Although he wants to warn Arthur he can’t think of what to tell him. Another evil sorcerer isn’t exactly going to help Merlin’s cause but he’s put aside his interests for others before and he’d do it now if he could only explain why Derynder had sent a masked call for aid to Camelot. Claiming Camelot’s reputation for triumphing over evil magic users is shaky at best and there’s no way to justify anyone confiding in him when it’s purportedly the knights’ and Arthur’s assistance they need.
In the end he decides Arthur’s probably safer in his ignorance than Merlin dragging him off with him in a fight against an unscrupulous sorcerer.
“Right.” he nods to himself, hurrying off, basket still absurdly dangling from one wrist.
Of course, when he needs someone to question he can’t find anyone. He prowls empty corridors for what seems like an absurdly long time until he sees a young serving girl exiting a room.
“Oi!” Merlin halts her as she starts to walk away.
Her eyes are very dark and, after everyone’s warm treatment, her gaze seems oddly cold.
“Yes?”
“Hello, I’m sorry to bother you, but, do you know the Tower of An Ghrian?” Merlin asks with a winning smile.
The girl looks at him strangely and then smiles, startling Merlin as she takes his free hand and starts guiding him down the hall.
“This way.”
“Uh- thank you.”
It’s not until he sees the doors that he realizes where she’s taken him.
“Isn’t this the Hall of Meall-” he asks, confused.
“It’s through here.”
She looks around quickly before opening the door. Merlin’s hesitant to enter after what had happened the last time but when he steps inside and follows her to the plain wooden door he’d noticed before, nothing happens.
“There are a lot of stairs.” she warns him.
“Thanks. Oh, could you take this to Prince Arthur, please?” Merlin asks, handing her the basket.
The girl doesn’t take it. “I’ll go with you.”
“It’s alright, it’s probably better if you stay here.”
“The door at the top is locked. I have the key-”
“You can just-”
“I can’t give it to you.” she says, anticipating his words, “Only castle servants can carry it, it’d be my job to give it to a stranger, even to you, Emrys.”
Merlin doesn’t like it, but there’s no way around it. She takes his hand and guides him up the stairs. He loses count of the steps halfway through. His hand is clammy in her warm palm and he feels nauseous, out of breath. It’s a long, winding climb, but he’s not that out of shape and he can’t explain to himself why he feels so tired.
“Just a little bit further.” she says, gripping his hand tightly.
Merlin’s sagging by the time they reach the top landing. His breathing’s shallow and there’s cold sweat on his brow. The basket feels unnaturally heavy and he drops it, hears a few pies rolling down the stairs.
“Through here.” the girl says, standing back.
Merlin pushes the door open, trails his hand over the wood, eyes narrowed as he notices vaguely there’s no lock. He steps cautiously into the room, his feet dragging on the floor.
“What is this?” he thinks out loud when he sees what’s inside. He turns around when he hears the door shut behind him. It’s no longer a young serving girl before him but a tall man, wearing a long black cloak. He is hooded and Merlin can’t make out his features.
“I would say it is a pleasure to meet you at last, but, frankly, it has been a disappointment. I expected much more from you.” the man says.
Merlin swallows thickly, knows he’s fallen dumbly into a trap.
“Why?” Merlin asks, raises his hand with difficulty to gesture around him.
“I am a collector and I am powerful. The powerful are meant to rule, Emrys.”
“You were the king’s friend.” Merlin accuses, trying to squash his panic as his attempts to summon his magic fail. It feels remote, thrumming under his skin… if only he could blink away the fog before his eyes and shake off the weight of his limbs.
The sorcerer laughs. “King’s have no friends, only servants.”
“‘s not true.”
“You think you are a friend to your prince? He won’t even notice you’re gone.”
“What d’ you mean?” Merlin asks. It’s getting harder and harder to follow the conversation. He feels numb.
“I will take your place, Emrys.” he explains, “And for that, I need a few drops of your blood.”
Merlin is powerless to resist. The sorcerer steps forth and, brandishing a small dagger, cuts a shallow line on Merlin’s palm. After he collects the blood in a vial, the liquid inside turns a clear golden color.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I need you out of the way. A necessary precaution, you understand.” the man says, almost apologetically, before quickly swallowing the contents of the vial.
“As sweet as I thought you would taste.” he smiles, “You will make a beautiful acquisition for my collection. And so will Prince Arthur.”
“No. A’thur.” Merlin slurs, feels the sorcerer easing him onto the floor as his legs give out under him.
“Emrys, just imagine the power I will have when I take control over both Derynder and Camelot.”
“Don’ hurt-”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.”
He slides his arms under Merlin’s knees and back and lifts him easily. Merlin’s lids feel like lead as he tries to raise them to look at the man’s face.
“Shhh, sleep now.” the sorcerer soothes in a whisper.
His face is Merlin’s own.
Part Two