![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Merlin - Sorcerer [1/3]
Title: Sorcerer
Genre: Gen, Angst, Friendship, Future!Fic
Rating: R
Length: ~18,300 words
Spoilers: Through the end of Series 3
Warnings: A bit of violence, a bit of angst, a bit of injury.
Synopsis: Magic is revealed and the ban repealed, but is Merlin now no more than a title?
Author’s Notes: For the wonderful![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sinka, who bid on me at the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_japan auction. This ended up far more Gen than I originally planned, but there’s plenty of angsting and such, so hopefully you will find it acceptable. *g*
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Arthur did not lift the ban on magic once he became king, not immediately at least. There were long months of coronations and conferences, of delegations to and from other kingdoms who proudly displayed their sorcerers and sorceresses and dared him to do something about it. He finally did something, but it was not what they expected, nor was it for the reasons they all believed.
King Lot’s delegation had just arrived and made their grand entrance when a young serving girl, not much more than a child really, produced a dagger and attempted to drive it deep into the recently crowned sovereign. Merlin had been in attendance and noticed something off about the girl, the way her eyes were wild and she had a familiar looking strip of black with an elaborate red tree worked into the pattern upon her dress. He did not even think, not really. He saw the blade and the sigils of Morgause’s followers and simply reacted. The magic welled up within him and lashed out and, when it was all said and done, the girl lay on the floor unconscious and he stood in the centre of a room full of people, hand raised and very clearly having just committed an act of treason.
Lot apologized immediately, of course, though Merlin did not hear a word he said. He saw only Arthur’s eyes and the look of betrayal within.
Within a fortnight magic was decreed legal and Merlin released from the cells. He was not given his old room back, but escorted to separate chambers that had been set aside for him at the end of a dark and dank corridor. His precious few belongings were laid out along with a case of books and codices he knew to be taken from a hidden part of Geoffrey’s library, and the Sidhe staff lay damningly across the linen coverlet.
Arthur did not speak to him of it and barely looked him in the eye when Merlin came to his rooms that evening after he had washed and changed. With his back turned and gazed fixed solidly on the window that led to the courtyard below, Arthur advised Merlin that he was not to be put to death or even banished for his lies. Due to his performance in front of Lot’s delegation, word had spread that Camelot now had a sorcerer on their side and he would not seek to take away that advantage.
Merlin did not know what to say. He could feel the distrust and hurt rolling off of Arthur in waves. He managed a choked, “Arthur?” knowing it did not convey everything he wanted to say, needed to say about his secret and why he kept it for so long.
“You are dismissed, Sorcerer,” Arthur ordered in reply, and did not even have the decency to say it to Merlin’s face.
Merlin went back to his new room, not knowing what else to do. A serving maid brought him dinner, and the steward asked him what supplies he would need. Neither stepped further than the tiny table near the entryway, and neither looked at all comfortable in his presence.
Gwen came the next morning though, sat herself down at his dining table though the door was left open and a guard watched warily from the hallway, and demanded that he tell her everything he neglected to tell the steward. She seemed so real and true and like nothing had happened, like their world and relationship had not changed so drastically, that he found himself slipping back into their easy banter. In the end though, after she insisted that he procure a new wardrobe and possibly some decorations for the drab grey walls, she stood at the doorway and whispered, “I do wish that you had told me.”
“With everything that happened with Morgana, I just...” he started, but could not finish, the words sounding weak to his own ears.
She smiled ruefully, eyes shadowed and far from filled with their usual light, and replied, “Which is precisely why you should have told me.” With that, she was gone, the heavy door swung back into place, the footsteps of the guard echoing as they followed her.
Merlin looked around his room with its walls of stone and simple windows made of bars of glass, the tans of the linen blending with the browns of the woods, and could not help but wonder if he had just traded one cell for another.
The next morning he washed and readied himself like he would any other day. He feared he may have overslept a bit, not used to the softness of a proper mattress after so long, a fear reinforced when he got to the kitchens to find a bewildered cook tell him that no, there was no breakfast for Merlin to bring the king as the new serving boy had already done so.
Merlin was confused, but figured it did make sense that Arthur had someone take his place during the long days he had spent in the cell. He went to Arthur’s rooms anyway, saw more than a single guard look at him askance in passing, and knocked on the door. He entered, as usual, after barely hesitating, only to find Arthur sitting at the table with a platter of meats and cheeses, fully dressed and with his rooms nearly spotless.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked. His eyes were narrowed slightly, but Merlin could not tell if that was from exhaustion or anger.
“I was going to bring you breakfast, but the cook said it was already brought,” Merlin tried. “So I thought I would pick up, straighten a bit, maybe clean?”
Arthur looked around the room with a raised eyebrow. “As you can see, your services are unnecessary,” he replied.
“But...” Merlin began, but was cut off.
“You are not my manservant anymore,” Arthur explained with more than a slight huff of exasperation. “You are a sorcerer, the Court Sorcerer, really, and your talents are not needed at this time.”
Merlin recognized a dismissal when he heard one, and hung his head and left Arthur to his morning. As he walked back to his new room, he wondered just what he was supposed to do now with all the time he would have on his hands. He also wondered just how he was supposed to protect Arthur if he was not to be around him. Finally, he wondered if this is what it was like when a destiny was fulfilled and all that was left were the remnants of the tools used to reach that conclusion, and if they were to slowly rust and fade away without further use.
He confined himself to the room that day, and the day after that, but felt he was, perhaps, being a bit ridiculous. Not to mention the guilt he felt when a servant, a former friend, would come to deliver his meal, eyes averted like they were serving some tyrant or nobleman, and leave as quickly as they came.
The following morning, he rose with the dawn. He scrubbed his face clean and dressed in the clothing some unfortunate soul had left him the day before. He passed what he knew was to be his breakfast in the hallway and took an apple from the plate and told the girl to keep the rest for herself. He tucked the fruit away in his pocket and strode out to the main courtyard, only partially surprised when no one tried to stop him.
He walked further, through the gate and into the town proper. He nodded his hellos to people who dared to greet him, but noticed more than one person shy away, tuck a child behind them, and whisper the word, “Sorcerer,” like a curse.
Marus, one of the baker’s sons, stopped him and tucked a cloth of fresh bread into his hands. “From mum,” he explained. “She knows it’s your favourite.”
“Thank you,” Merlin told him, feeling a smile twitch at his lips for the first time in days.
Marus shrugged. “You have always been good to us; no extra title should change that, yeah?”
Merlin nodded his assent and watched him go. It was only as he nibbled on the still warm gift that he thought to wonder if it was a gift of friendship, or a payment in tithe to someone they now feared.
He passed the lower town, pausing only to purchase a small jar of preserves along the way to enjoy with the bread. The woman who sold it to him smiled and patted his hand and told him how happy she was that she and her sisters could be free to hang up their mother’s charms without trepidation for the first time in far too long. He said his pleasantries and truly hoped she did not undercharge him for a service he did not feel comfortable taking credit for.
He made his way through the familiar fields and through a tiny bit of woods to where he knew the grass tapered off to a gently rolling stream. There he propped himself up against a tree, gazed out at the water, and just took time to let nature seep in around him. It was a little chilly with the bite of the coming winter in the air, and he wished he had brought a heavier jacket or maybe a cloak with, but otherwise it was bliss to just sit and connect with the land and all it had to offer and wonder at all it could become.
He was throwing the last crumbs of bread to the wildlife when said wildlife took off in a panic, one of the ducks nearly clipping his ear with its wing as it passed. He turned in time to see an armed man swing a sword in his direction, the blade sending shards of bark flying about as it embedded itself near where Merlin’s head should have been.
“What do you want?” Merlin asked as he frantically searched for something to use as a weapon.
“I’ll start with you dead and move on to a pretty purse of coin,” the man sneered. He pulled his sword free and spun around to continue his attack.
Merlin ducked and dodged and finally found a sizable branch to use in defence when he tripped over a stone nearby. The blade cut through the wood, but it managed to slow the momentum enough for Merlin to roll to the side, dirt and wood blinding him for a moment until he regained his bearings. The man continued to advance though and, finally, with enough time to think and feel and do more than simply react, Merlin remembered one more weapon at his disposal.
A word and the man flew against the same tree he had nearly destroyed at the start of their encounter, a solid thud signalling his journey into unconsciousness.
Merlin breathed heavily for a moment, but a moment was all he was given before a second man dressed in similar shades of blue and black emerged from the shadows of another group of trees. Merlin felt pain erupt along his right arm and knew his latest dodge was less than successful. A stumble and a push later, and he was on his back, likely tripping over the same blasted stone as before. The man stepped forward and Merlin uttered the same spell to send him flying, only this time his aim was off and there was no convenient tree to knock him out, and he fell on his arse instead.
Still unfortunately conscious, the man pushed himself to his feet and lunged towards Merlin, only to be stopped by a whirl of red and silver. A clang of a swords later, and the man joined his companion and Gwaine knelt by Merlin to check him for injury.
“Are you okay?” Gwaine asked, keeping his sword within reach in case there were more bandits waiting to attack.
“Fine,” Merlin assured him. His hand went to his arm just under his shoulder where the pain was the worst and his fingers came away stained red. “Okay, so maybe not so fine,” he admitted to the knight’s doubting gaze.
“Let’s get you back to the castle to have that looked at,” Gwaine said. He offered a hand and helped Merlin to stand.
Merlin winced as his ankle protested the movement, and knew he likely turned it on the damned rock. It was his left, which meant he had successfully damaged both sides of his body in one go, which may well have been a record for him. It was not broken, as there was not nearly enough pain for that, but it would be uncomfortable for a while and he was not looking forward to the return journey.
“I have a horse if you need to ride,” Gwaine offered with a knowing look.
“I’ll be fine,” Merlin waved it off. Both Gaius and Arthur had told him you need to walk off certain injuries anyway to keep the blood flowing and the ligaments from locking up. It would be less than comfortable, but would aid him in the long run.
Gwaine nodded and notably took the reins of his horse to walk beside Merlin instead of ride himself. “Any idea what they wanted?” he asked, sparing a glance at the unconscious men they left behind. The men’s weapons were tucked safely amongst the saddlebags so there was little chance of them trying again, even if they should awake in time.
Merlin shook his head. “The first one freely admitted he wanted me dead, thought he’d get some coin out of it or something.” He really did not wish to think the coin was from a price on his head and tried to convince himself the nicer than usual clothing simply made him look well-off, even if appearances were deceiving. When Gwaine frowned at his words, he could not help but ask, “And what are you doing out here anyway? Stalking me? Lurking in the shadows to see if I run away?”
Gwaine simply laughed and the sound of it put Merlin at ease as much as his promise of, “No, I’m here to make sure you get back to the castle. Lancelot and Gwen saw you leave and were worried about you. Turns out you can quite take care of yourself, but it also turns out you didn’t mind a bit of help there towards the end.”
Of course it all came down to magic. Merlin had no idea if Gwaine had seen him against Lot’s assassin, but he clearly had now and, from the tone of his voice, was still trying to reconcile the man he called friend with the man who could throw someone across a clearing with a single word.
“Gwaine, look, you have to know I did not want to keep this from you,” Merlin began. “It’s just... well, it seemed easier not to get anyone else involved, to put anyone else at risk for harbouring a sorcerer when...
“When you were just being what you were born to be?” Gwaine finished for him. He ran a gloved hand through his long hair and said, “Hey, I get it. Uther banished me for saving his son’s life so, really, I appreciate the fear of his tyranny. Why you stayed there knowing the risks when there were so many other places you could be I will never understand, but I think I could have at least tried to understand the magic, if you had given me a chance.”
Merlin bit his lip, and not just from the ache in his arm and ankle. “I am sorry,” he told him, and truly meant it.
“I know,” Gwaine assured him. There was a pause followed by, “Are you sorry enough to get on the damn horse so we can get you home faster, or is this some sort of self penance thing?”
Merlin snorted despite himself and shook his head. “Walking is good for it and we’re not that far away. Besides, there’s no one there to bandage anything but me anyway, so what’s the hurry?” He thought of Gaius and how he retired the day Arthur took the crown. He lived with Hunith in Ealdor now, safely tied to Arthur’s new lands, yet living the peaceful life for the last of his years. Arthur had not found a new physician yet, leaving Merlin to both Gaius’ rooms and to the position he had been training to take over anyway. That would be changed now, to be sure, but in what way Merlin had no idea.
“I’ll wrap it myself if need be,” Gwaine cut into his thoughts. At Merlin’s doubtful look, he defended himself with, “I have treated more than a single wound in my time, most from less than noble activities to be sure, but I do know enough about cleaning and bandaging a cut to get me by.”
They walked the rest of the way in relative silence. The people of the town seemed to pay him even less mind upon his return than when he left. Only one older woman tsked in sympathy to his wound, and one mother tucked her child away, though looked almost ashamed for doing so.
Gwaine followed him all the way to Gaius’ old chambers after handing the reins of his horse to a stableman and dutifully grabbed whatever Merlin requested. He paused though as he unrolled the cloth that would serve as a bandage to ask, “Why don’t you use your magic to heal it?”
Merlin struggled with his tunic for a bit and spared a thought as to what Gwen would say about him already destroying his new wardrobe, before he replied, “It doesn’t work like that. Well, not for me at least. There’s always a cost and why risk that price when a smear of herbs and a piece of linen can do the job just as well?”
Gwaine looked as though that made sense to him, at least on some level, and let the matter drop for now. He wrapped the wound to Merlin’s precise instructions, but also insisted that Merlin remove his boot to check the damage to his ankle. As expected, it was minor, though still tender. Merlin grabbed a satchel with the tea Gaius had used to reduce swelling and pain and hoped it was still potable, and then let Gwaine escort him back to his new room even though he was tempted just to stay and use his old bed one more time.
He passed out only to wake up sore and alone. There was another cup of tea waiting for him on the stand next to his bed, and flagon of wine next to a cold dinner on the main table. He could only guess they were gifts from Gwaine as Arthur would not let him have wine on a good day and this was far from ideal.
His mind then drifted to Arthur, and what the new king would think of all this, if he even cared to know. His supposed sorcerer, the one that was to match wits and power to those the other kingdoms had on offer, taken down by some random brigands and saved by knight who just happened to be curious enough to lurk along. Perhaps it was best that Arthur was actively avoiding Merlin at this point, because Merlin had no idea how to explain that one to him at all.
He allowed himself only one mug of wine and knew even that was an indulgence. He ate what he could manage of the meal and left the remnants for morning. He did not dare leave it on the doorstop as he did not know this area of the castle well enough to know if it would be free of rats and did not wish to take the chance of luring them to a new food source. That taken care of, he settled back in bed with a randomly chosen book from his newly stocked shelves and managed to get a whole five pages in before he fell asleep once more.
He awoke to the sun slanting in through his small set of windows, an aching head, and memories of a dream in which Arthur wandered in, took one look at him and shook his head at his sorry state. At least he thought it was a dream, hoped for it, really. His dishes were cleared and replaced with fruit and porridge, the flagon of wine nowhere to be found but there was enough water for him to brew some more of the tea with a simple spell to heat it. He sipped on that and debated what to do for the day.
The decision was made for him when he struggled with his tunic and aggravated his wound. He shoved his feet into his boots and tightened the left one as much as he could stand before he limped out into the hallway and down to Gaius’ rooms. The lock was easy enough to take care of, though he questioned who had closed it given he truly did not remember doing so the night before. He entered and found more of the makings for the tea and some more of the balm for his cut and sat down on the well-worn bench to take care of them both.
He perhaps stayed there longer than he truly needed, but he found the workroom comforting and familiar. He knew every bottle and every bundle, knew which texts were real and which were just for show. Most importantly, he knew that Gaius had told him he would always be there for him in some way and he really did believe that some part of him remained in the room of wood and glass.
He noticed the balm was some of the last and knew how often it was needed, so he decided to brew another batch. He was halfway through the process when the door opened and a less than amused Arthur walked in and demanded, “What are you doing?”
Merlin was startled, but managed not to burn himself as he regained his composure. He limped slightly as he stepped away from the fire, and knew Arthur saw the action despite his best attempts at hiding it. “We were low on balm so I thought I would make some more. Nearly every knight has his own supply, but it is always wise to have stores,” he replied, only slightly flustered.
Arthur wrinkled his nose, either at the explanation or the smell of the ointment in production. “I thought only witches brewed in cauldrons, not sorcerers,” he said disdainfully.
“Witches, sorcerers, physicians, anyone who needs to boil down ingredients to make their wares,” Merlin corrected. If he had hoped for a smile, he was sadly mistaken.
Arthur simply looked about the room with a practiced eye and announced, “The room is yours to do with what you will. If we do find another physician, he can have separate chambers assigned if need be, ones without secret tomes and spells cast about I’m sure.”
Merlin struggled to find something to say to that, but was still too tired and too sore, and perhaps a little light-headed from sitting too close to the brew to think coherently. It did not matter anyway, as one of the newer knights that Merlin did not know so well came to grab Arthur’s attention away, an attention he seemed to give quite willingly if it meant he did not have to spend further time than necessary in the sorcerer’s presence.
Merlin tried to think about Arthur’s reactions as he waited for the balm to cool so he could separate it out into little pots. He could understand some anger and, yes, some resentment at not being told for so long; Gwen and Gwaine had freely admitted the same. Arthur lifted the ban on magic, so he must have seen that it was not pure evil, despite the challenges presented time and time again. What did not make sense to him was the absolute dismissal of anything remotely to do with Merlin himself.
Perhaps it was a difference between theory and practice? Arthur knew in theory that magic did not need to be evil. He also knew that the root of the majority of all problems presented to his father Uther had been his absolute ban on anything and everything magical and the zero tolerance of the slightest infraction. It was easy to make enemies when you killed their kin. Perhaps Arthur hoped to limit his enemies? Or to make Camelot more in line with the given way of thinking of other kingdoms?
Arthur would do it for diplomacy’s sake, much like he courted the daughters of dukes and kings that he despised just to have a chance at a better treaty or a sounder ally. That did not mean he necessarily liked it. This could mean that he did not necessarily like anyone to do with it, something that most definitely included Merlin when it came to magic, or so it seemed.
Merlin had no idea what he could do to fix things though. Arthur was raised to hate magic and everything to do with it. Just because he was shrewd enough to pretend to understand the need for it to calm the people and gain support did not mean he was going to change something that was at the very core of his being. In time, maybe, he would come to better terms with it, but Merlin feared the last remnants of any sort of friendship would be dead and buried long before that happened. He also feared he was just as much responsible for that destruction as Arthur’s own biases given that he had willingly deceived and lied to Arthur for far too long to go without guilt in the matter.
He mourned the loss even as he tried to come to terms with it. If he could not be Arthur’s friend, he could at least still be his protector, whether the stubborn man wanted it or not. He could stay by his side for as long as possible and use everything at his disposal to keep him safe. Their destiny was to see in a new age for Albion and that age was at its cusp, but not yet fully concluded. Merlin would carry out that destiny, help create a land where people could be happy and free even if he himself did not get to enjoy that freedom, knowing he served a higher purpose. And maybe, just maybe, Arthur would one day see him as a friend again, if not at least a man and not just a title of “sorcerer” beside him. If not, well, then once Albion was united, maybe Merlin could retire like Gaius, find himself a small place to call home, and fade into history with a little less fuss than he currently found himself surrounded by.
He finished his task and lined the pots out neatly across the table. He was a little hungry, but the fire was still warm and he was quite tired and so he settled into Gaius’ old rocking chair, propped his feet up, and drifted off to sleep.
He awoke to the sound of the door closing with a thud and he opened his eyes to see a meal had been delivered without a word. The little pots were shifted to the side to fit the plate, and a tankard was set beside it. No wine this time, only water, which was fine enough by him, though he took it also to mean that it was not Gwaine’s doing this time around.
He built the fire back up before he dug in to the stew. When he finished, he puttered around a bit more, organizing and shifting and utterly avoiding going back to his barren residence. Finally, when he could find nothing more to occupy his time with, he stood to leave, stopped both by a vicious yawn and the spike of pain in his ankle.
He eyed the door to the corridor with its long halls and many staircases, and then eyed the door to the little hovel he had called home for so long. The decision was easy enough, even if he was not certain his bedding remained. No one wanted a tiny cot like he had slept on, so he found it in its usual place, worn blanket tucked around the edges. He kicked off his boots and tucked himself in to that, the familiar thin mattress with its poking supports lulling him to sleep in no time.
The next time he woke it was to the feeling of being watched. He opened his eyes to find Gwaine leaning against the door jamb, free of the usual trappings of a knight and a fond smile on his face. “You know the king gave you far nicer quarters than these, right?” he verified with raised eyebrows.
Merlin stretched and swung himself up into a sitting position, feet cold against the stone of the floor. “Don’t like them and Arthur said Gaius’ rooms were mine to do with what I wanted for now,” he yawned.
Gwaine just shook his head fondly. “You would prefer to stay in a tiny little place with a tiny little bed instead of actual real chambers set aside for you: are you sure you didn’t hit your head during the attack?”
Merlin looked around the admittedly tiny and crumbling room and shrugged. “I’m used to this. The other room, it just isn’t me.” He stood and hobbled towards the door to gesture at Gaius’ chambers full of herbs and books and everything else. “This at least has something to look at other than grey stone walls.”
Gwaine seemed to take that affably enough, but his eyes narrowed at Merlin’s still swollen ankle. “Let me wrap that for you and then we can see what we can do about making your actual room more interesting, yeah?”
Merlin was tempted to say this was his actual room, but knew enough not to argue the point. Gwaine seemed to think it was some sort of honour or prize to be thrown in room at the end of a nearly abandoned corridor but, then again, the man preferred his own company more than that of most of the knights, so maybe it was something to him even if Merlin did not see the merit to it at this time.
He was also tempted to tell Gwaine that his ankle was fine, but one glance to the purpling mess and another to a rather determined knight told him he would be wasting his breath. Instead, he grabbed his boots and shuffled down the short staircase to the main room to find the fire stoked and the scraps from his meal cleared away. There was none in its place, which meant some poor serving girl likely trudged all the way to his room and was now trudging all the way back while another was told to clean up his mess from the night before and had missed the fact he was still asleep in the back. The wood for the fire was stacked the way Gwaine always set up his campfires, so Merlin was fairly certain it being more than smouldering embers was a recent occurrence.
He sat down on the bench and let Gwaine do his thing, which he did with a surprising amount of care. The wrap could have challenged one of Gaius’ own for as well as it was tied, and had the benefit of still fitting in his boot – something Gaius never cared for as it meant the patient would be up and around and less likely to rest. Gwaine insisted on checking his arm as well, but was apparently satisfied with what he saw as soon enough he pulled Merlin to his feet and out of his little sanctuary.
He stopped along the way to try to charm a serving girl into sending wine and sweetbreads to the chambers, something Merlin snorted at as the girl was Marie and would have found a way to do anything Gwaine asked, charm or no, as she was quite enamoured with him to say the least. Gwaine got confused as to which actual room was Merlin’s as he had never been down that corridor before, but opened the door with a flourish once verified he had the correct one. Once inside, he took in the browns and the greys and the utter emptiness of it all and made a face. “Okay, so bland it is,” he agreed as he walked around the perimeter.
“Told you,” Merlin sighed as he lowered himself into one of the chairs. As expected, the table was clear with no food to be had.
“Well, then do something to make it more home-like,” Gwaine suggested. At Merlin’s questioning look, he expanded, “I don’t know, conjure something or buy something with that new salary of yours.”
“I barely got paid for working my arse off every day, I highly doubt I am to get a raise for sitting on it,” Merlin challenged. He was not about to admit that the thought of conjuring something rather frightened him as he had no idea if he would be creating it out of thin air or stealing it from someone else.
He could not quite read the look Gwaine gave him next, but the tone was far too familiar. “Didn’t anyone tell you about you are to do?” The words “you idiot” were silent, but still audible all the same.
Merlin snorted in response. “Who? Arthur? Our great king has barely said two words to me since he discovered my little secret. Pushed me away to this corner of the castle and told me to leave him be. I highly doubt I can schedule a review of job duties and salaries when I can barely say hello.”
Whatever Gwaine was to say in response was drowned out by the warning bells the echoed across the courtyard and through the room. Both men were beside the windows in an instant, looking out to see guard after guard and knight after knight assemble. Merlin pushed the glass open enough to hear the panting squire announce that they were under attack, with an estimate of a scouting party before a full legion approaching. A patrol had been slaughtered and its reinforcements were already under fire, the squire sent back to warn the others in hopes of saving the city.
“Merlin, st-” Gwaine started to order, but never got the chance to finish.
Merlin was out the door, pained ankle and empty stomach forgotten as he barely remembered to grab his cloak as he ran. He knew Arthur would want to meet the enemy on the fields outside the city, to try to destroy any potential attack there and protect as many of the townspeople as he could to give them a chance to seek refuge within the heavy walls of the castle. He also knew that this meant the men were already in motion, flooding through those same walls to reach whatever location had been deemed safe enough to damage if it gave them a potential advantage.
He heard the pounding of boots behind him and knew Gwaine followed. He reached the courtyard to find Lancelot and Leon already buckled into their armour, squires tightening the saddles of their mounts to take the weight, others readying themselves as they ran either to the horses or to the gates.
“Merlin? What are you-” Lancelot asked as Merlin stepped between him and the horse he was ready to ride.
“Sorry, but another one will be along in a bit, yeah?” he called as swung himself up and over the saddle and took off. Behind him he heard shouts and something that sounded suspiciously like Gwaine stealing a sword, and possibly Leon’s horse, but before him he could only hear the chaos of the townspeople panicking and the ring of steel on steel.
It was easy enough to find Arthur, his knights not having let him run down into the thick of it yet so he was shouting orders from atop the hillside, waiting for an opening to join the fray. “What are you doing here?” he demanded as Merlin dismounted.
“Showing you why you have a bloody sorcerer in the first place,” Merlin retorted. He realized that he may have not truly planned this out as he currently stood before a small horde of armed men with not even a hauberk or sword of his own, something Arthur was no doubt noticing at the same time.
“They are wearing the same colours as the men who attacked Merlin,” Gwaine panted as he dismounted.
Arthur whirled about at that, mouth opening and closing a few times before he managed, “When was he attacked and why are you not armed?”
“Trying to stop him from getting himself killed and he hasn’t been limping about because he stubbed his toe,” Gwaine replied without care that he was speaking to his supposed sovereign. He lifted the stolen sword to show that he was, in fact, armed, just not armoured at the time.
Merlin spared a thought of conjuring something for him, only to realise he was likely to take Arthur’s own away from him in the act and that would not end well for anyone. It was, however, tempting when Arthur huffed, “And what is he going to do now, wave his arms about and hope to scare them? This is not a single child; this is a vanguard for a legion!”
“Similar concept, grander scale,” Merlin advised him. Just to be contrary, he did wave his arms, though it was mainly to free them from his cloak. He could feel the magic rise through him, the pulse of the earth match his own, the fire and light within draw down to his fingertips and set his vision alight.
He imagined a wall pushing against the horde and could feel it as it came into being. He pressed and pulled and tossed about anyone who dare challenge that wall, forcing them from Camelot’s lands, Arthur’s lands, his lands. It was not a perfect solution as he knew several men were already engaged against Camelot’s knights and he could not use the same strategy without affecting his own allies, but it severely limited the number of men those knights had to take on, so that would have to be good enough until he could find another way.
A single soldier charged up the hill towards Arthur, and Merlin flicked him away like a flea. Another tried to circle around the back and was met by the newly arrived Leon, sliced down when he would not stop. There was something else though, something more tickling on the edge of Merlin’s awareness. He turned slowly to the right and saw them, hidden in the branches of several tall oaks. “Archers!” he announced, but at least two had already released a volley of arrows that currently soared towards his position.
Gwaine pulled Arthur down, shielding him with his own body until Arthur pushed him off and switched their positions, and Lancelot tossed Merlin to the ground, vambrace cutting painfully into his abdomen as he held him in position. “Let me up!” Merlin demanded, but his friend would not budge.
“They are still firing,” Lancelot replied, grunting as an arrow embedded itself only a handbreadth from his head.
“And I can stop them,” Merlin countered, pressing against him. He was tempted to throw him off with magic, but both did not wish to hurt his friend and did not know if it would leave that friend momentarily exposed as a target. He was fairly certain he could keep up the rest of what he was doing regardless, but there was always the chance that the wall too would fail.
“So can our own archers now that they know where they are so stay down!” Lancelot ordered, shoving him lightly into the ground for good measure.
Now it was Merlin’s turn to grunt as the simple action seemed to take far more out of him than it should have. He watched as Lancelot raised his head to get his bearings, and then winced when the armoured man eventually let him go and pulled him to his feet. He immediately checked to make sure no one had broken through his wall while he was distracted, but it looked as though the enemy had called a retreat and all he could see was soldier after soldier swarming away.
“You did that?” Gwaine asked, clearly impressed as he took in the fleeing men.
“It’s a bit more than tossing a thief about, but yeah,” Merlin shrugged. It was rather hard to catch his breath and he was not sure if it was from the excitement of everything that had happened, or if he was simply bruised from having a full-sized knight on top of him. He was also fairly certain the wound on his arm had reopened during the debacle, but he was not about to make himself look inept or weak by checking it now.
“That wall of light you used, is it permanent?” Arthur asked. His eyes traced the perimeter and Merlin wished he could have told him what he so clearly wanted to hear.
He shook his head instead and admitted, “No, it’s only there when I put it there. I haven’t found a spell for that kind of warding yet.”
Arthur nodded, but said no more. Merlin took it as a small victory he had even addressed him directly, even if he had not dared to look him in the eye.
He looked behind him to where the castle stood whole and unharmed and breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever it was that attacked would likely regroup and try again, but at least they had time to plan now, and meet them on their own terms instead simply respond.
He took a step towards that castle, his ankle reminding him that his arm was not his only concern, but found a hand on that very arm and looked up to find Lancelot standing there, ready to catch him when he faltered. “Why don’t you ride back to the castle? I seem to have found myself with an extra horse,” he said, eyes lit with amusement.
Merlin was chagrined, but not sorry. He let Lancelot help him up onto the horse and hand him the reins, sparing a glance to where Gwaine was sheepishly trading swords with Leon, and turned back towards home. The knights would sort out the watches and patrols and everything else that needed to be done. He planned on sleeping, and possibly taking a double dose of Gaius’ tea to make certain he did.
Live Journal
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Dreamwidth
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Genre: Gen, Angst, Friendship, Future!Fic
Rating: R
Length: ~18,300 words
Spoilers: Through the end of Series 3
Warnings: A bit of violence, a bit of angst, a bit of injury.
Synopsis: Magic is revealed and the ban repealed, but is Merlin now no more than a title?
Author’s Notes: For the wonderful
sinka, who bid on me at the help_japan auction. This ended up far more Gen than I originally planned, but there’s plenty of angsting and such, so hopefully you will find it acceptable. *g*Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Arthur did not lift the ban on magic once he became king, not immediately at least. There were long months of coronations and conferences, of delegations to and from other kingdoms who proudly displayed their sorcerers and sorceresses and dared him to do something about it. He finally did something, but it was not what they expected, nor was it for the reasons they all believed.
King Lot’s delegation had just arrived and made their grand entrance when a young serving girl, not much more than a child really, produced a dagger and attempted to drive it deep into the recently crowned sovereign. Merlin had been in attendance and noticed something off about the girl, the way her eyes were wild and she had a familiar looking strip of black with an elaborate red tree worked into the pattern upon her dress. He did not even think, not really. He saw the blade and the sigils of Morgause’s followers and simply reacted. The magic welled up within him and lashed out and, when it was all said and done, the girl lay on the floor unconscious and he stood in the centre of a room full of people, hand raised and very clearly having just committed an act of treason.
Lot apologized immediately, of course, though Merlin did not hear a word he said. He saw only Arthur’s eyes and the look of betrayal within.
Within a fortnight magic was decreed legal and Merlin released from the cells. He was not given his old room back, but escorted to separate chambers that had been set aside for him at the end of a dark and dank corridor. His precious few belongings were laid out along with a case of books and codices he knew to be taken from a hidden part of Geoffrey’s library, and the Sidhe staff lay damningly across the linen coverlet.
Arthur did not speak to him of it and barely looked him in the eye when Merlin came to his rooms that evening after he had washed and changed. With his back turned and gazed fixed solidly on the window that led to the courtyard below, Arthur advised Merlin that he was not to be put to death or even banished for his lies. Due to his performance in front of Lot’s delegation, word had spread that Camelot now had a sorcerer on their side and he would not seek to take away that advantage.
Merlin did not know what to say. He could feel the distrust and hurt rolling off of Arthur in waves. He managed a choked, “Arthur?” knowing it did not convey everything he wanted to say, needed to say about his secret and why he kept it for so long.
“You are dismissed, Sorcerer,” Arthur ordered in reply, and did not even have the decency to say it to Merlin’s face.
Merlin went back to his new room, not knowing what else to do. A serving maid brought him dinner, and the steward asked him what supplies he would need. Neither stepped further than the tiny table near the entryway, and neither looked at all comfortable in his presence.
Gwen came the next morning though, sat herself down at his dining table though the door was left open and a guard watched warily from the hallway, and demanded that he tell her everything he neglected to tell the steward. She seemed so real and true and like nothing had happened, like their world and relationship had not changed so drastically, that he found himself slipping back into their easy banter. In the end though, after she insisted that he procure a new wardrobe and possibly some decorations for the drab grey walls, she stood at the doorway and whispered, “I do wish that you had told me.”
“With everything that happened with Morgana, I just...” he started, but could not finish, the words sounding weak to his own ears.
She smiled ruefully, eyes shadowed and far from filled with their usual light, and replied, “Which is precisely why you should have told me.” With that, she was gone, the heavy door swung back into place, the footsteps of the guard echoing as they followed her.
Merlin looked around his room with its walls of stone and simple windows made of bars of glass, the tans of the linen blending with the browns of the woods, and could not help but wonder if he had just traded one cell for another.
The next morning he washed and readied himself like he would any other day. He feared he may have overslept a bit, not used to the softness of a proper mattress after so long, a fear reinforced when he got to the kitchens to find a bewildered cook tell him that no, there was no breakfast for Merlin to bring the king as the new serving boy had already done so.
Merlin was confused, but figured it did make sense that Arthur had someone take his place during the long days he had spent in the cell. He went to Arthur’s rooms anyway, saw more than a single guard look at him askance in passing, and knocked on the door. He entered, as usual, after barely hesitating, only to find Arthur sitting at the table with a platter of meats and cheeses, fully dressed and with his rooms nearly spotless.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked. His eyes were narrowed slightly, but Merlin could not tell if that was from exhaustion or anger.
“I was going to bring you breakfast, but the cook said it was already brought,” Merlin tried. “So I thought I would pick up, straighten a bit, maybe clean?”
Arthur looked around the room with a raised eyebrow. “As you can see, your services are unnecessary,” he replied.
“But...” Merlin began, but was cut off.
“You are not my manservant anymore,” Arthur explained with more than a slight huff of exasperation. “You are a sorcerer, the Court Sorcerer, really, and your talents are not needed at this time.”
Merlin recognized a dismissal when he heard one, and hung his head and left Arthur to his morning. As he walked back to his new room, he wondered just what he was supposed to do now with all the time he would have on his hands. He also wondered just how he was supposed to protect Arthur if he was not to be around him. Finally, he wondered if this is what it was like when a destiny was fulfilled and all that was left were the remnants of the tools used to reach that conclusion, and if they were to slowly rust and fade away without further use.
He confined himself to the room that day, and the day after that, but felt he was, perhaps, being a bit ridiculous. Not to mention the guilt he felt when a servant, a former friend, would come to deliver his meal, eyes averted like they were serving some tyrant or nobleman, and leave as quickly as they came.
The following morning, he rose with the dawn. He scrubbed his face clean and dressed in the clothing some unfortunate soul had left him the day before. He passed what he knew was to be his breakfast in the hallway and took an apple from the plate and told the girl to keep the rest for herself. He tucked the fruit away in his pocket and strode out to the main courtyard, only partially surprised when no one tried to stop him.
He walked further, through the gate and into the town proper. He nodded his hellos to people who dared to greet him, but noticed more than one person shy away, tuck a child behind them, and whisper the word, “Sorcerer,” like a curse.
Marus, one of the baker’s sons, stopped him and tucked a cloth of fresh bread into his hands. “From mum,” he explained. “She knows it’s your favourite.”
“Thank you,” Merlin told him, feeling a smile twitch at his lips for the first time in days.
Marus shrugged. “You have always been good to us; no extra title should change that, yeah?”
Merlin nodded his assent and watched him go. It was only as he nibbled on the still warm gift that he thought to wonder if it was a gift of friendship, or a payment in tithe to someone they now feared.
He passed the lower town, pausing only to purchase a small jar of preserves along the way to enjoy with the bread. The woman who sold it to him smiled and patted his hand and told him how happy she was that she and her sisters could be free to hang up their mother’s charms without trepidation for the first time in far too long. He said his pleasantries and truly hoped she did not undercharge him for a service he did not feel comfortable taking credit for.
He made his way through the familiar fields and through a tiny bit of woods to where he knew the grass tapered off to a gently rolling stream. There he propped himself up against a tree, gazed out at the water, and just took time to let nature seep in around him. It was a little chilly with the bite of the coming winter in the air, and he wished he had brought a heavier jacket or maybe a cloak with, but otherwise it was bliss to just sit and connect with the land and all it had to offer and wonder at all it could become.
He was throwing the last crumbs of bread to the wildlife when said wildlife took off in a panic, one of the ducks nearly clipping his ear with its wing as it passed. He turned in time to see an armed man swing a sword in his direction, the blade sending shards of bark flying about as it embedded itself near where Merlin’s head should have been.
“What do you want?” Merlin asked as he frantically searched for something to use as a weapon.
“I’ll start with you dead and move on to a pretty purse of coin,” the man sneered. He pulled his sword free and spun around to continue his attack.
Merlin ducked and dodged and finally found a sizable branch to use in defence when he tripped over a stone nearby. The blade cut through the wood, but it managed to slow the momentum enough for Merlin to roll to the side, dirt and wood blinding him for a moment until he regained his bearings. The man continued to advance though and, finally, with enough time to think and feel and do more than simply react, Merlin remembered one more weapon at his disposal.
A word and the man flew against the same tree he had nearly destroyed at the start of their encounter, a solid thud signalling his journey into unconsciousness.
Merlin breathed heavily for a moment, but a moment was all he was given before a second man dressed in similar shades of blue and black emerged from the shadows of another group of trees. Merlin felt pain erupt along his right arm and knew his latest dodge was less than successful. A stumble and a push later, and he was on his back, likely tripping over the same blasted stone as before. The man stepped forward and Merlin uttered the same spell to send him flying, only this time his aim was off and there was no convenient tree to knock him out, and he fell on his arse instead.
Still unfortunately conscious, the man pushed himself to his feet and lunged towards Merlin, only to be stopped by a whirl of red and silver. A clang of a swords later, and the man joined his companion and Gwaine knelt by Merlin to check him for injury.
“Are you okay?” Gwaine asked, keeping his sword within reach in case there were more bandits waiting to attack.
“Fine,” Merlin assured him. His hand went to his arm just under his shoulder where the pain was the worst and his fingers came away stained red. “Okay, so maybe not so fine,” he admitted to the knight’s doubting gaze.
“Let’s get you back to the castle to have that looked at,” Gwaine said. He offered a hand and helped Merlin to stand.
Merlin winced as his ankle protested the movement, and knew he likely turned it on the damned rock. It was his left, which meant he had successfully damaged both sides of his body in one go, which may well have been a record for him. It was not broken, as there was not nearly enough pain for that, but it would be uncomfortable for a while and he was not looking forward to the return journey.
“I have a horse if you need to ride,” Gwaine offered with a knowing look.
“I’ll be fine,” Merlin waved it off. Both Gaius and Arthur had told him you need to walk off certain injuries anyway to keep the blood flowing and the ligaments from locking up. It would be less than comfortable, but would aid him in the long run.
Gwaine nodded and notably took the reins of his horse to walk beside Merlin instead of ride himself. “Any idea what they wanted?” he asked, sparing a glance at the unconscious men they left behind. The men’s weapons were tucked safely amongst the saddlebags so there was little chance of them trying again, even if they should awake in time.
Merlin shook his head. “The first one freely admitted he wanted me dead, thought he’d get some coin out of it or something.” He really did not wish to think the coin was from a price on his head and tried to convince himself the nicer than usual clothing simply made him look well-off, even if appearances were deceiving. When Gwaine frowned at his words, he could not help but ask, “And what are you doing out here anyway? Stalking me? Lurking in the shadows to see if I run away?”
Gwaine simply laughed and the sound of it put Merlin at ease as much as his promise of, “No, I’m here to make sure you get back to the castle. Lancelot and Gwen saw you leave and were worried about you. Turns out you can quite take care of yourself, but it also turns out you didn’t mind a bit of help there towards the end.”
Of course it all came down to magic. Merlin had no idea if Gwaine had seen him against Lot’s assassin, but he clearly had now and, from the tone of his voice, was still trying to reconcile the man he called friend with the man who could throw someone across a clearing with a single word.
“Gwaine, look, you have to know I did not want to keep this from you,” Merlin began. “It’s just... well, it seemed easier not to get anyone else involved, to put anyone else at risk for harbouring a sorcerer when...
“When you were just being what you were born to be?” Gwaine finished for him. He ran a gloved hand through his long hair and said, “Hey, I get it. Uther banished me for saving his son’s life so, really, I appreciate the fear of his tyranny. Why you stayed there knowing the risks when there were so many other places you could be I will never understand, but I think I could have at least tried to understand the magic, if you had given me a chance.”
Merlin bit his lip, and not just from the ache in his arm and ankle. “I am sorry,” he told him, and truly meant it.
“I know,” Gwaine assured him. There was a pause followed by, “Are you sorry enough to get on the damn horse so we can get you home faster, or is this some sort of self penance thing?”
Merlin snorted despite himself and shook his head. “Walking is good for it and we’re not that far away. Besides, there’s no one there to bandage anything but me anyway, so what’s the hurry?” He thought of Gaius and how he retired the day Arthur took the crown. He lived with Hunith in Ealdor now, safely tied to Arthur’s new lands, yet living the peaceful life for the last of his years. Arthur had not found a new physician yet, leaving Merlin to both Gaius’ rooms and to the position he had been training to take over anyway. That would be changed now, to be sure, but in what way Merlin had no idea.
“I’ll wrap it myself if need be,” Gwaine cut into his thoughts. At Merlin’s doubtful look, he defended himself with, “I have treated more than a single wound in my time, most from less than noble activities to be sure, but I do know enough about cleaning and bandaging a cut to get me by.”
They walked the rest of the way in relative silence. The people of the town seemed to pay him even less mind upon his return than when he left. Only one older woman tsked in sympathy to his wound, and one mother tucked her child away, though looked almost ashamed for doing so.
Gwaine followed him all the way to Gaius’ old chambers after handing the reins of his horse to a stableman and dutifully grabbed whatever Merlin requested. He paused though as he unrolled the cloth that would serve as a bandage to ask, “Why don’t you use your magic to heal it?”
Merlin struggled with his tunic for a bit and spared a thought as to what Gwen would say about him already destroying his new wardrobe, before he replied, “It doesn’t work like that. Well, not for me at least. There’s always a cost and why risk that price when a smear of herbs and a piece of linen can do the job just as well?”
Gwaine looked as though that made sense to him, at least on some level, and let the matter drop for now. He wrapped the wound to Merlin’s precise instructions, but also insisted that Merlin remove his boot to check the damage to his ankle. As expected, it was minor, though still tender. Merlin grabbed a satchel with the tea Gaius had used to reduce swelling and pain and hoped it was still potable, and then let Gwaine escort him back to his new room even though he was tempted just to stay and use his old bed one more time.
He passed out only to wake up sore and alone. There was another cup of tea waiting for him on the stand next to his bed, and flagon of wine next to a cold dinner on the main table. He could only guess they were gifts from Gwaine as Arthur would not let him have wine on a good day and this was far from ideal.
His mind then drifted to Arthur, and what the new king would think of all this, if he even cared to know. His supposed sorcerer, the one that was to match wits and power to those the other kingdoms had on offer, taken down by some random brigands and saved by knight who just happened to be curious enough to lurk along. Perhaps it was best that Arthur was actively avoiding Merlin at this point, because Merlin had no idea how to explain that one to him at all.
He allowed himself only one mug of wine and knew even that was an indulgence. He ate what he could manage of the meal and left the remnants for morning. He did not dare leave it on the doorstop as he did not know this area of the castle well enough to know if it would be free of rats and did not wish to take the chance of luring them to a new food source. That taken care of, he settled back in bed with a randomly chosen book from his newly stocked shelves and managed to get a whole five pages in before he fell asleep once more.
He awoke to the sun slanting in through his small set of windows, an aching head, and memories of a dream in which Arthur wandered in, took one look at him and shook his head at his sorry state. At least he thought it was a dream, hoped for it, really. His dishes were cleared and replaced with fruit and porridge, the flagon of wine nowhere to be found but there was enough water for him to brew some more of the tea with a simple spell to heat it. He sipped on that and debated what to do for the day.
The decision was made for him when he struggled with his tunic and aggravated his wound. He shoved his feet into his boots and tightened the left one as much as he could stand before he limped out into the hallway and down to Gaius’ rooms. The lock was easy enough to take care of, though he questioned who had closed it given he truly did not remember doing so the night before. He entered and found more of the makings for the tea and some more of the balm for his cut and sat down on the well-worn bench to take care of them both.
He perhaps stayed there longer than he truly needed, but he found the workroom comforting and familiar. He knew every bottle and every bundle, knew which texts were real and which were just for show. Most importantly, he knew that Gaius had told him he would always be there for him in some way and he really did believe that some part of him remained in the room of wood and glass.
He noticed the balm was some of the last and knew how often it was needed, so he decided to brew another batch. He was halfway through the process when the door opened and a less than amused Arthur walked in and demanded, “What are you doing?”
Merlin was startled, but managed not to burn himself as he regained his composure. He limped slightly as he stepped away from the fire, and knew Arthur saw the action despite his best attempts at hiding it. “We were low on balm so I thought I would make some more. Nearly every knight has his own supply, but it is always wise to have stores,” he replied, only slightly flustered.
Arthur wrinkled his nose, either at the explanation or the smell of the ointment in production. “I thought only witches brewed in cauldrons, not sorcerers,” he said disdainfully.
“Witches, sorcerers, physicians, anyone who needs to boil down ingredients to make their wares,” Merlin corrected. If he had hoped for a smile, he was sadly mistaken.
Arthur simply looked about the room with a practiced eye and announced, “The room is yours to do with what you will. If we do find another physician, he can have separate chambers assigned if need be, ones without secret tomes and spells cast about I’m sure.”
Merlin struggled to find something to say to that, but was still too tired and too sore, and perhaps a little light-headed from sitting too close to the brew to think coherently. It did not matter anyway, as one of the newer knights that Merlin did not know so well came to grab Arthur’s attention away, an attention he seemed to give quite willingly if it meant he did not have to spend further time than necessary in the sorcerer’s presence.
Merlin tried to think about Arthur’s reactions as he waited for the balm to cool so he could separate it out into little pots. He could understand some anger and, yes, some resentment at not being told for so long; Gwen and Gwaine had freely admitted the same. Arthur lifted the ban on magic, so he must have seen that it was not pure evil, despite the challenges presented time and time again. What did not make sense to him was the absolute dismissal of anything remotely to do with Merlin himself.
Perhaps it was a difference between theory and practice? Arthur knew in theory that magic did not need to be evil. He also knew that the root of the majority of all problems presented to his father Uther had been his absolute ban on anything and everything magical and the zero tolerance of the slightest infraction. It was easy to make enemies when you killed their kin. Perhaps Arthur hoped to limit his enemies? Or to make Camelot more in line with the given way of thinking of other kingdoms?
Arthur would do it for diplomacy’s sake, much like he courted the daughters of dukes and kings that he despised just to have a chance at a better treaty or a sounder ally. That did not mean he necessarily liked it. This could mean that he did not necessarily like anyone to do with it, something that most definitely included Merlin when it came to magic, or so it seemed.
Merlin had no idea what he could do to fix things though. Arthur was raised to hate magic and everything to do with it. Just because he was shrewd enough to pretend to understand the need for it to calm the people and gain support did not mean he was going to change something that was at the very core of his being. In time, maybe, he would come to better terms with it, but Merlin feared the last remnants of any sort of friendship would be dead and buried long before that happened. He also feared he was just as much responsible for that destruction as Arthur’s own biases given that he had willingly deceived and lied to Arthur for far too long to go without guilt in the matter.
He mourned the loss even as he tried to come to terms with it. If he could not be Arthur’s friend, he could at least still be his protector, whether the stubborn man wanted it or not. He could stay by his side for as long as possible and use everything at his disposal to keep him safe. Their destiny was to see in a new age for Albion and that age was at its cusp, but not yet fully concluded. Merlin would carry out that destiny, help create a land where people could be happy and free even if he himself did not get to enjoy that freedom, knowing he served a higher purpose. And maybe, just maybe, Arthur would one day see him as a friend again, if not at least a man and not just a title of “sorcerer” beside him. If not, well, then once Albion was united, maybe Merlin could retire like Gaius, find himself a small place to call home, and fade into history with a little less fuss than he currently found himself surrounded by.
He finished his task and lined the pots out neatly across the table. He was a little hungry, but the fire was still warm and he was quite tired and so he settled into Gaius’ old rocking chair, propped his feet up, and drifted off to sleep.
He awoke to the sound of the door closing with a thud and he opened his eyes to see a meal had been delivered without a word. The little pots were shifted to the side to fit the plate, and a tankard was set beside it. No wine this time, only water, which was fine enough by him, though he took it also to mean that it was not Gwaine’s doing this time around.
He built the fire back up before he dug in to the stew. When he finished, he puttered around a bit more, organizing and shifting and utterly avoiding going back to his barren residence. Finally, when he could find nothing more to occupy his time with, he stood to leave, stopped both by a vicious yawn and the spike of pain in his ankle.
He eyed the door to the corridor with its long halls and many staircases, and then eyed the door to the little hovel he had called home for so long. The decision was easy enough, even if he was not certain his bedding remained. No one wanted a tiny cot like he had slept on, so he found it in its usual place, worn blanket tucked around the edges. He kicked off his boots and tucked himself in to that, the familiar thin mattress with its poking supports lulling him to sleep in no time.
The next time he woke it was to the feeling of being watched. He opened his eyes to find Gwaine leaning against the door jamb, free of the usual trappings of a knight and a fond smile on his face. “You know the king gave you far nicer quarters than these, right?” he verified with raised eyebrows.
Merlin stretched and swung himself up into a sitting position, feet cold against the stone of the floor. “Don’t like them and Arthur said Gaius’ rooms were mine to do with what I wanted for now,” he yawned.
Gwaine just shook his head fondly. “You would prefer to stay in a tiny little place with a tiny little bed instead of actual real chambers set aside for you: are you sure you didn’t hit your head during the attack?”
Merlin looked around the admittedly tiny and crumbling room and shrugged. “I’m used to this. The other room, it just isn’t me.” He stood and hobbled towards the door to gesture at Gaius’ chambers full of herbs and books and everything else. “This at least has something to look at other than grey stone walls.”
Gwaine seemed to take that affably enough, but his eyes narrowed at Merlin’s still swollen ankle. “Let me wrap that for you and then we can see what we can do about making your actual room more interesting, yeah?”
Merlin was tempted to say this was his actual room, but knew enough not to argue the point. Gwaine seemed to think it was some sort of honour or prize to be thrown in room at the end of a nearly abandoned corridor but, then again, the man preferred his own company more than that of most of the knights, so maybe it was something to him even if Merlin did not see the merit to it at this time.
He was also tempted to tell Gwaine that his ankle was fine, but one glance to the purpling mess and another to a rather determined knight told him he would be wasting his breath. Instead, he grabbed his boots and shuffled down the short staircase to the main room to find the fire stoked and the scraps from his meal cleared away. There was none in its place, which meant some poor serving girl likely trudged all the way to his room and was now trudging all the way back while another was told to clean up his mess from the night before and had missed the fact he was still asleep in the back. The wood for the fire was stacked the way Gwaine always set up his campfires, so Merlin was fairly certain it being more than smouldering embers was a recent occurrence.
He sat down on the bench and let Gwaine do his thing, which he did with a surprising amount of care. The wrap could have challenged one of Gaius’ own for as well as it was tied, and had the benefit of still fitting in his boot – something Gaius never cared for as it meant the patient would be up and around and less likely to rest. Gwaine insisted on checking his arm as well, but was apparently satisfied with what he saw as soon enough he pulled Merlin to his feet and out of his little sanctuary.
He stopped along the way to try to charm a serving girl into sending wine and sweetbreads to the chambers, something Merlin snorted at as the girl was Marie and would have found a way to do anything Gwaine asked, charm or no, as she was quite enamoured with him to say the least. Gwaine got confused as to which actual room was Merlin’s as he had never been down that corridor before, but opened the door with a flourish once verified he had the correct one. Once inside, he took in the browns and the greys and the utter emptiness of it all and made a face. “Okay, so bland it is,” he agreed as he walked around the perimeter.
“Told you,” Merlin sighed as he lowered himself into one of the chairs. As expected, the table was clear with no food to be had.
“Well, then do something to make it more home-like,” Gwaine suggested. At Merlin’s questioning look, he expanded, “I don’t know, conjure something or buy something with that new salary of yours.”
“I barely got paid for working my arse off every day, I highly doubt I am to get a raise for sitting on it,” Merlin challenged. He was not about to admit that the thought of conjuring something rather frightened him as he had no idea if he would be creating it out of thin air or stealing it from someone else.
He could not quite read the look Gwaine gave him next, but the tone was far too familiar. “Didn’t anyone tell you about you are to do?” The words “you idiot” were silent, but still audible all the same.
Merlin snorted in response. “Who? Arthur? Our great king has barely said two words to me since he discovered my little secret. Pushed me away to this corner of the castle and told me to leave him be. I highly doubt I can schedule a review of job duties and salaries when I can barely say hello.”
Whatever Gwaine was to say in response was drowned out by the warning bells the echoed across the courtyard and through the room. Both men were beside the windows in an instant, looking out to see guard after guard and knight after knight assemble. Merlin pushed the glass open enough to hear the panting squire announce that they were under attack, with an estimate of a scouting party before a full legion approaching. A patrol had been slaughtered and its reinforcements were already under fire, the squire sent back to warn the others in hopes of saving the city.
“Merlin, st-” Gwaine started to order, but never got the chance to finish.
Merlin was out the door, pained ankle and empty stomach forgotten as he barely remembered to grab his cloak as he ran. He knew Arthur would want to meet the enemy on the fields outside the city, to try to destroy any potential attack there and protect as many of the townspeople as he could to give them a chance to seek refuge within the heavy walls of the castle. He also knew that this meant the men were already in motion, flooding through those same walls to reach whatever location had been deemed safe enough to damage if it gave them a potential advantage.
He heard the pounding of boots behind him and knew Gwaine followed. He reached the courtyard to find Lancelot and Leon already buckled into their armour, squires tightening the saddles of their mounts to take the weight, others readying themselves as they ran either to the horses or to the gates.
“Merlin? What are you-” Lancelot asked as Merlin stepped between him and the horse he was ready to ride.
“Sorry, but another one will be along in a bit, yeah?” he called as swung himself up and over the saddle and took off. Behind him he heard shouts and something that sounded suspiciously like Gwaine stealing a sword, and possibly Leon’s horse, but before him he could only hear the chaos of the townspeople panicking and the ring of steel on steel.
It was easy enough to find Arthur, his knights not having let him run down into the thick of it yet so he was shouting orders from atop the hillside, waiting for an opening to join the fray. “What are you doing here?” he demanded as Merlin dismounted.
“Showing you why you have a bloody sorcerer in the first place,” Merlin retorted. He realized that he may have not truly planned this out as he currently stood before a small horde of armed men with not even a hauberk or sword of his own, something Arthur was no doubt noticing at the same time.
“They are wearing the same colours as the men who attacked Merlin,” Gwaine panted as he dismounted.
Arthur whirled about at that, mouth opening and closing a few times before he managed, “When was he attacked and why are you not armed?”
“Trying to stop him from getting himself killed and he hasn’t been limping about because he stubbed his toe,” Gwaine replied without care that he was speaking to his supposed sovereign. He lifted the stolen sword to show that he was, in fact, armed, just not armoured at the time.
Merlin spared a thought of conjuring something for him, only to realise he was likely to take Arthur’s own away from him in the act and that would not end well for anyone. It was, however, tempting when Arthur huffed, “And what is he going to do now, wave his arms about and hope to scare them? This is not a single child; this is a vanguard for a legion!”
“Similar concept, grander scale,” Merlin advised him. Just to be contrary, he did wave his arms, though it was mainly to free them from his cloak. He could feel the magic rise through him, the pulse of the earth match his own, the fire and light within draw down to his fingertips and set his vision alight.
He imagined a wall pushing against the horde and could feel it as it came into being. He pressed and pulled and tossed about anyone who dare challenge that wall, forcing them from Camelot’s lands, Arthur’s lands, his lands. It was not a perfect solution as he knew several men were already engaged against Camelot’s knights and he could not use the same strategy without affecting his own allies, but it severely limited the number of men those knights had to take on, so that would have to be good enough until he could find another way.
A single soldier charged up the hill towards Arthur, and Merlin flicked him away like a flea. Another tried to circle around the back and was met by the newly arrived Leon, sliced down when he would not stop. There was something else though, something more tickling on the edge of Merlin’s awareness. He turned slowly to the right and saw them, hidden in the branches of several tall oaks. “Archers!” he announced, but at least two had already released a volley of arrows that currently soared towards his position.
Gwaine pulled Arthur down, shielding him with his own body until Arthur pushed him off and switched their positions, and Lancelot tossed Merlin to the ground, vambrace cutting painfully into his abdomen as he held him in position. “Let me up!” Merlin demanded, but his friend would not budge.
“They are still firing,” Lancelot replied, grunting as an arrow embedded itself only a handbreadth from his head.
“And I can stop them,” Merlin countered, pressing against him. He was tempted to throw him off with magic, but both did not wish to hurt his friend and did not know if it would leave that friend momentarily exposed as a target. He was fairly certain he could keep up the rest of what he was doing regardless, but there was always the chance that the wall too would fail.
“So can our own archers now that they know where they are so stay down!” Lancelot ordered, shoving him lightly into the ground for good measure.
Now it was Merlin’s turn to grunt as the simple action seemed to take far more out of him than it should have. He watched as Lancelot raised his head to get his bearings, and then winced when the armoured man eventually let him go and pulled him to his feet. He immediately checked to make sure no one had broken through his wall while he was distracted, but it looked as though the enemy had called a retreat and all he could see was soldier after soldier swarming away.
“You did that?” Gwaine asked, clearly impressed as he took in the fleeing men.
“It’s a bit more than tossing a thief about, but yeah,” Merlin shrugged. It was rather hard to catch his breath and he was not sure if it was from the excitement of everything that had happened, or if he was simply bruised from having a full-sized knight on top of him. He was also fairly certain the wound on his arm had reopened during the debacle, but he was not about to make himself look inept or weak by checking it now.
“That wall of light you used, is it permanent?” Arthur asked. His eyes traced the perimeter and Merlin wished he could have told him what he so clearly wanted to hear.
He shook his head instead and admitted, “No, it’s only there when I put it there. I haven’t found a spell for that kind of warding yet.”
Arthur nodded, but said no more. Merlin took it as a small victory he had even addressed him directly, even if he had not dared to look him in the eye.
He looked behind him to where the castle stood whole and unharmed and breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever it was that attacked would likely regroup and try again, but at least they had time to plan now, and meet them on their own terms instead simply respond.
He took a step towards that castle, his ankle reminding him that his arm was not his only concern, but found a hand on that very arm and looked up to find Lancelot standing there, ready to catch him when he faltered. “Why don’t you ride back to the castle? I seem to have found myself with an extra horse,” he said, eyes lit with amusement.
Merlin was chagrined, but not sorry. He let Lancelot help him up onto the horse and hand him the reins, sparing a glance to where Gwaine was sheepishly trading swords with Leon, and turned back towards home. The knights would sort out the watches and patrols and everything else that needed to be done. He planned on sleeping, and possibly taking a double dose of Gaius’ tea to make certain he did.
Live Journal
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Dreamwidth
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3