![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Merlin - Sorcerer [2/3]
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Synopsis: Magic is revealed and the ban repealed, but is Merlin now no more than a title?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.
He returned to the castle with far less fuss than when he left. He nearly slipped from his horse when he dismounted, but if anyone noticed they did not say a word. The guards opened the doors for him and he trudged back to his room, which he found just as drab as before, save for the addition of a flagon of wine and a plate full of sweetbreads, reminding him of Gwaine’s visit before they were interrupted.
Famished though he was, he only managed to cram down a couple of the sweets. He drank a single mug of wine as well, though it was as much to wash down the food as it was to rally his courage for the obvious discomfort that awaited him when he removed his tunic and boots. As expected, his arm was stained with blood. Not so expected was the graze along his side that did not appear to match the pattern of Lancelot’s vambrace. Given the tiny little feather embedded in the material of his shirt, he assumed an arrow had perhaps got too close and maybe his friend was right to knock him down after all.
He bandaged his arm with the help of a spell, and wrapped a clean cloth around his waist even though the wound was shallow and slight. He did not bother rewrapping his ankle, but did pull on a sleep shirt before he crawled under the covers and let the warmth of the wine in his belly lull him to sleep.
The sun through the window was warm against his skin when he heard the whisper of voices.
“You can’t just barge in without knocking!” That was Gwen, her voice far too familiar after all these years.
“Oh, come on! He’s probably back in Gaius’ old room anyway and this will be a surprise.” Gwaine. Definitely Gwaine. The wheedle was his and his alone. Of course that wheedle turned to a surprised, “Or, maybe not...” when he stepped into the room to be met with a sorcerer sitting dishevelled and upright in his new bed, hand extended and flames at his fingertips.
“Go away, I’m sleeping,” Merlin mumbled as he drew the energy back into himself and extinguished the flame. He flopped back against his pillow and resisted the urge to pull it over his head.
“Yes, but you should not be if you hope to do so tonight,” Lancelot chided. Merlin had to give him credit for barely blinking at the magical outburst.
“Plus, we brought presents!” Gwaine cut in with a grin, recovering his own surprise quickly enough.
Sure enough, he held out a tray filled with enough food to feed a small army, a pitcher of something no doubt potent perched perilously on its edge. Behind him, Gwen carried a vase full of flowers and, to her side, Lancelot carried something large and cloth-like and likely actually found or gifted by the woman making a face at the room at his side. A woman whom, out of respect for and likely hoping to dispel rumours about, they left the door to the hallway open so any and all passers by would not think her a participant in something improper.
“Why haven’t you decorated yet?” she asked as she set the vase on the table.
“Been a bit busy stopping armies, you know how it is,” he yawned. The action turned into a wince when he stretched too far, but it did not look as though the invading trio caught it.
“I asked him the same thing,” Gwaine admitted as he set down his burden. “At the time it was something about being attacked and not knowing he had a salary and such. He may well have an excuse for anything,” he reasoned with false innocence.
It was Lancelot though, who proved Merlin’s earlier assumption wrong. He had laid out the material for Gwen to do with it as she pleased and now eyed Merlin carefully. “You are injured,” he declared. Gwen stopped her fussing with something shockingly blue to turn to him with raised eyebrows.
“I was injured,” Merlin waved off the concern. “Now I’m just tired.” It was not worth it to hide the fact from his friends, especially considering one had already seen at least two things for himself, but he could at least allay their concerns. Besides, he was fairly certain that the bandage on his arm was visible beneath his sleep shirt. Given that he still mostly had the blankets tucked up around him, it was doubtful they could see the rest, at least for now.
Gwen sniffed the flagon on the table knowingly and asked, “How much of this exhaustion is from saving the castle and how much is from drinking more than you should?”
“The wine is from me,” Gwaine took full credit for it. “I asked a maid to bring some in hopes of raising Merlin’s spirits and figuring out what to do with this place, but we were never got that far before the warning bells rang.”
Gwen looked sceptical, but let the matter drop. She did, however, do something even more terrifying and start to tug at the coverlet Merlin was currently wrapped up in. When he held it close, she chided, “Come on then, you can’t actually like that ugly thing. You said your room was boring so I got you something to brighten it up a bit.”
That at least explained the cloth, but Merlin really and truly was still tired and could sleep for far longer than just the afternoon if given the chance. Seeing the determined look on his friend’s face, he highly doubted that chance was forthcoming. “Sleep?” he tried anyway. He pulled the blanket back and tried to hold it down.
It was pulled away, Gwen’s face laughing down at him. “No sleep, not yet. Let me change this out for you while you get something other than sweets into you,” she corrected.
“I’ll eat if you join me,” Merlin tried even though he dreaded actually moving. He hated to see her work while he did nothing; at least this would be some sort of a compromise.
“You let Lancelot and Gwaine look at that arm of yours while I change the bedding and then all four of us can have supper together,” she said instead. He glared at her for seeing right through his plan.
A thought occurred to him though, and he asked, “Don’t you two have to patrol or something? Draw up plans?”
Lancelot shook his head. “That pleasure goes to the king and to Leon, though even they have already done so. You were asleep for longer than you thought. The Mercians seem to still be in retreat. We estimate at least two more days before they try again. In the interim, we are changing the patrols and adding guards to the gates.”
“We have the night off and are free until midday tomorrow, though I plan to make a pass along the parapets before bed,” Gwaine chimed in. Lancelot nodded in agreement with the idea.
It took Merlin just a moment too long to realize each had claimed a side of the bed and were edging upwards towards the head. By the time he figured out what they had planned, the blankets were pulled away from him, stripped from the bed, and in a heap on the floor. “I hate you both,” he glared as he shivered.
“I know you do,” Gwaine agreed without sympathy. “Now get up.”
He grabbed one arm and Lancelot the other and they tugged until he was upright and then tugged further until he was up and out of bed, clearing the mattress for whatever nefarious purpose Gwen had in mind. She even had the gall to hum to herself cheerfully and she got rid of the last of the linens.
He winced again when Lancelot’s fingers came too close to his wound, and this time he knew immediately that the action did not go ignored. “Off,” the knight ordered with a quick pull to his sleeve.
“I am not stripping while there is a lady in the room,” Merlin outright refused. Even with the door open and probably a guard stationed within hearing distance, that was far from proper.
“I’m busy over here,” Gwen called from behind another length of fabric. He did not want to know just how much she had brought with her. “Though, if you prefer, Lady Elaine left a beautiful screen inlaid with coral flowers that we could move in here for privacy.”
He could hear the wicked smile in her words and did not need to see it to know it was there. “I hate you,” he repeated.
To give his friends credit, Lancelot did position himself to give Merlin at least a suggestion of privacy as he pulled off the sleep shirt to expose skin and bandages to the cold room and Gwaine positioned himself to block the view from the doorway. Lancelot peeled back the wrapping on Merlin’s arm and seemed happy with its progress as he tied it back into place, but Gwaine, of course, noticed there was something new to be had. “What happened?” he asked. His fingers twitched at the cloth around Merlin’s middle as if unsure whether it was safe to remove it.
“Arrow, I think,” Merlin grimaced. “Barely a scratch but I thought it best to treat it since there’s no telling where those things have been.”
That was taken as permission for Gwaine to see for himself. He unwrapped the cloth and gently exposed the wound, reapplying the salve Lancelot handed him before wrapping it up again. Finished, they helped him pull the shirt back on and added one of the discarded blankets to ward off the remaining chill of the room.
“Next time, please let us know that you are injured so we can see to your wounds timely,” Lancelot chided.
Gwaine, however, offered a bit different advice. “Next time? Duck.”
Merlin snorted out a laugh and settled himself at the table, stomach growling when he took in everything on offer. Gwaine was over by the grate though, poking at the coals to try to bring them back to life. “Do you have a flint?” he asked when they seemed to flutter and fail.
“Don’t need one,” Merlin smirked. He lifted his hand, barely whispered the words, and the flames leapt anew.
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Gwaine agreed easily enough. He watched Merlin yawn again and asked, “Does it tire you out, doing so much magic?”
The others had gathered around now and Merlin knew it was likely only one of the multitudes of questions they wanted answers to. He thought about it for a moment before he admitted, “Not really, at least not like you think.” He saw their curious expressions and elaborated, “It’s like any task, really. It takes effort, but it’s not like starting a fire is going to knock me out for the evening. It, the magic, is so much a part of me and always has been, that it’s like breathing or walking or something else so mundane that it just seems so normal and non-extraordinary, really. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“You seemed quite tired after everything you did today,” Gwen pointed out. “More so than your usual duties of serving the prince, running errands for Gaius, or keeping me out of trouble.”
Merlin thought about that and was forced to agree. He was also forced to admit, “I don’t usually do quite so much. Little spells here and there, major spells when they are important, but never really so many major ones all at once before. Perhaps they did tire me out after all.” He shrugged and felt the newly wrapped bandages pull against him. He could not help but wonder if his injuries were also playing a role in his lethargy.
“Perhaps it is for you like it is for a knight after battle: during the fight you have all the energy you could need and stores to draw upon, after the fight you want nothing more than to curl up on the nearest piece of soft land and sleep for a fortnight,” Lancelot suggested.
It sounded likely, but Merlin simply did not know. He tried to think back to other times, times when he did more than light a fire or toss someone about, but it was hard to remember for certain. He vaguely remembered being tired, but he had usually been doing other tasks, both physical and magical, at the same time, so there was no way to be certain which drained him more or if it was a combination of them both.
A plate was pushed in front of him, piled high the things he liked best. “Eat,” Gwaine ordered before reaching for a plate of his own. Merlin picked up a small piece of meat and watched as Gwaine did the same, popping it into his mouth before he said, “You said major spells, just what all have you done anyway?”
It seemed like far too great of a task to list everything out, and Merlin was at a loss as to where to begin. Lancelot, however, stepped in and replied, “Well, there was the gryphon, and that time in Hengist’s stronghold.”
Gwaine’s head whipped around at that. “Wait, you knew?”
Gwen’s eyes narrowed as she added, “All this time and you never said a word?”
Merlin rather liked that Lancelot was the centre of attention for a change and he watched as the usually much more courageous man swallowed nervously and said, “Well, when the weapon in your hand suddenly glows blue or a locked gate falls when a certain someone tells it to, you begin to suspect.” He held up a hand to stop the next round of questions and pointed out, “And you know as well as I that to admit I knew of Merlin’s magic would have meant both our deaths. He asked me not to tell and I kept his secret. I simply did not know that I was the only one doing so.”
Instead of dwelling on the possible death aspect of things, Gwaine prodded him and asked, “What else?”
Merlin swallowed the bit he had just taken and thought for a moment. “Lots of things, really,” he admitted. “I’ve picked more locks than I can remember, fought trolls and fairies and Sidhe, stopped bandits a few times, and all sorts of other things. I even took care of some of the wyverns that time.” He raised his eyebrows at Gwaine, who raised his own in response. Neither had spoken of that little adventure with Arthur, not even between just the two of them, so he feared even this much of an admission bordered on too much.
“It seems we all have secrets,” Lancelot commented wryly.
“What time? And what is wyvern?” Gwen asked.
“A wyvern is kind of like a dragon and the time in question is one I have sworn upon my very life not to mention to anyone not already there,” Merlin explained, adding a sheepish smile at the end to hopefully lessen her frustration at not being told the full story.
Her eyes narrowed again and she set down the piece of cheese she had just taken as she declared, “My father. That was you, wasn’t it?”
“Not the alchemy and not the stone. You must believe that was never me,” Merlin insisted. “And if I had known you would have been accused of witchcraft with his sudden recovery, I never would have done that either.” The thought of her being put to death for his crimes still haunted him, and he knew it was something he could never seek forgiveness for, even if she dared to offer it.
“You saved him,” she whispered. Her voice was so filled with sorrow and he wished again that he had been able to do more.
“Not in the end and for that I am so very sorry,” he replied.
Gwen shook her head and a curl slid free to coil about her shoulder. “You gave me more time with him, and for that I am eternally grateful.”
Merlin looked away, not able to accept her thanks, not now and possibly not ever. His gaze drifted to the door where he found an unexpected visitor. Arthur stood there, expression shuttered, arms crossed before him as he leaned against the jamb and looking as though he had heard far too much. Somehow, Merlin doubted this would help his case given that it served as further proof of his deceit and lies.
“Sire?” he asked nervously. He so rarely used the word with Arthur, even after he had been made king. Somehow though, he felt it was warranted now. If they truly had returned to something less than friends, at least it was a way of showing he respected the man, if not the attitude he bore.
The rest of the room turned as one to face their king and Merlin noticed the smallest shift in his stance, the way his eyes went from nearly wary to near stone. “Sorcerer,” Arthur replied, furthering Merlin’s belief that he had listened in on the conversation. “Do try not to keep my men too late with your tales of wizardry, they have tasks to complete tomorrow and I would prefer if their minds were on the matters at hand and not whether or not you will be setting fire to your rooms with a thought.”
With that, he pushed himself upright and left, leaving Merlin holding his head in his hands and bemoaning his fate in life. “He hates me, doesn’t he?” he sighed to no one in particular.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, too light to be anyone’s but Gwen’s. “He does not hate you,” she insisted. “He just needs time to understand just how much you have done for him, for us, in your time here.”
Merlin wished he could believe her, but it was far too clear that he was not currently in his king’s favour. The fact Gwaine poured a near overflowing mug of wine and pushed it in his direction simply reinforced the issue as far as he was concerned. He took a deep draught and wondered if he would ever be able to look upon Arthur and see his friend again instead of the betrayed king that he now found himself with. Somehow, he doubted it would happen any time soon.
The three friends stayed until the platter was nothing but scraps and both the pitcher and the leftover flagon were dry. Gwaine batted his eyes hopefully at Merlin as he held out his mug, but Gwen took it away from him and chided him for asking a clearly injured and exhausted man to work magic for him solely for more drink. None of them stuck around much after that, cleaning up as they left and leaving Merlin with the same boring room, now washed over in bright shades of blue, but with the original drabness still peeking through.
The legion did not come the next day, or even the day after that as was expected. On the third day, a throng arrived to press at Camelot’s borders, but made no effort to attack, no move to cross the proverbial line Merlin had drawn in the sand mere days before.
Merlin used the time to prepare. He read up on anything and everything he could find regarding warding and protection spells, going so far as to march right into Geoffrey’s realm and open the hidden panel in front of him to search for more. He helped Gwen set up an area for the inevitable injured and created the salves and medicines she would need to treat them.
Midday of the second day he had been called into a Council meeting, only to be advised that “the sorcerer” will do this, that, and that other thing during the battle – no names were used, only titles, and it served to reinforce the fact that he was not a soldier, but only a tool to be used at the king’s discretion, a weapon and nothing more. He buried himself in his texts again after that, hoping to live up to the promises made and to master feats he had barely even read about, knowing the attack could begin at any time.
His wounds healed to faint red lines and his ankle faded to pale shades of yellow and green. He felt almost normal, at least for his new definition of normal. More importantly, he felt useful, and that is all that mattered.
It was not until the sun set on the fourth day that the sentries saw the faintest hint of movement in the camp below.
“What do they want? What are they waiting for?” Arthur demanded of the room at large.
Most of his men simply shook their heads, questioned the sanity of a legion idiotic enough the challenge Camelot’s might. Merlin had an answer though, knew it in his very blood as a surge of magic sent him stumbling nearly to his knees, caught only by Gwaine’s quick thinking.
“Their sorcerer has arrived,” he declared, the words sticking in his throat, thick and cloying as a new form of power pressed in across his borders. Arthur’s face paled at the pronouncement and Merlin bit back a sick sense of satisfaction at knowing his precious king had not planned for this.
Arthur swallowed heavily and clearly tried to regain his composure. “Can you defeat him?” he demanded with his usual brashness.
Merlin stood near the window and looked out into the blackness as campfire after campfire surged as one. “I don’t even know who it is,” he admitted. He turned to Arthur, hoping to convey the seriousness of the situation. He had never gone up against another sorcerer in battle before, not in all out combat like he knew this would be. He had taken them on one by one, lurking in the shadows while others fought the physical fight. This would be him versus his opponent on a field of battle, the lives of friends and family reduced to mere pawns even as they clashed against others in the background. “I don’t know how powerful he will be, or even if it is a he instead of a she. I will fight to my dying breath, but I don’t know if...” He trailed off, unable to find the words.
“Merlin,” Arthur said, and he wished he could enjoy the fact the king finally remembered his name.
“I need to prepare,” he said instead, and strode out of the room with a confidence he did not feel.
His magic tingled at his fingertips, pressing against the sense of intrusion that he felt within his own home. He wondered what he must have looked like as he walked quickly back to his room as servants and noblemen alike stepped out of his way to clear a path. He closed his door with a thought, but whipped around when it opened again, wondering if the battle was already to begin only here on his ground instead, but found Lancelot looking as serious as he had even seen him as he demanded, “What do you need?”
“I... don’t know,” he admitted with a slump of his shoulders. “I need to be strong enough and fast enough and to know enough spells to counter whatever is thrown at me. I need people to be far enough away to not get caught in any sort of crossfire and to not be used as weapons against themselves. I need to defeat this, whoever it is, before they have a chance to hurt Arthur, to hurt Camelot, because I will not be able to live with myself if that happens because I failed. I need-”
Lancelot’s hands were on him now, seemingly suddenly as he had just been at the door and now he was in the room, steadying him even as he shook him slightly. “Then you will have all of that, and more,” he promised.
Merlin shook his head. “You can’t just say that and have it be true,” he protested.
“Why not?” Lancelot shrugged and there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Is that not what magic is all about?”
Merlin wanted to say there was so much more to it than that, but knew the words would be lost. This was his encouragement talk, his rallying just as he had done for Arthur countless times before. He was starting to understand why Arthur always looked at him askance during those times even as he felt a warmth descend over him that someone somewhere cared enough about him to try.
He looked about his room for anything he may need. There were spells that required ingredients, others that needed tools. He could not bog himself down with items, but he could bring with smaller things if their worth was enough in trade. He dug through trunks and cupboards to find what he had, piled them onto the table to compare and contrast and pick and choose through to find what would be the most effective. Lancelot filled a pouch for him, placing the items in carefully and subtly testing its weight to make sure it would not overwhelm him should things break down to the physical.
He passed out only when guided towards the bed and physically pressed down, and only when Lancelot promised to wake him when needed. He awoke to find the knight propped in a chair at his side, clearly having spent the night there as well, racketing up the guilt to a whole new level as that was most certainly not to help with his fighting prowess come the battle. Lancelot waived him off and claimed to have slept far worse places than that, and tried to force food that tasted like sand down his gullet instead.
Merlin made one more pass around the room and could feel the other magic press in upon him as though trying to size him up. There was a knock on his already open door and he really did not want someone there telling him that the battle had already begun and it was now or never. Instead, he found Gwaine with a hauberk draped over his arm and a squire at his attendance. Considering Gwaine was already armed and armoured, this struck Merlin as odd.
The squire and the gear he carried were for Lancelot, but the hauberk was for him. At his questioning look, Gwaine replied, “We are not sending you into battle without some sort of protection, Merlin.”
He waved his hand, sparks at the fingertips, and said, “Er, sorcerer, remember?”
Gwaine and Lancelot were decidedly unimpressed, though the squire took several steps away from him. Gwaine pulled him back and pushed him towards Lancelot while he managed the hauberk for Merlin on his own. He tightened the buckles one by one and jabbed him both in the arm and the side, right atop where his injuries had been, and commented, “You are not invincible, do try to remember that.”
Merlin wanted to reply that he not only knew that, but it was a fact at the forefront of his mind. He held back though, figuring it really was not a good show to admit he thought he was about to march to his death in front of people who did this sort of thing all the time. Well, not the going up against another sorcerer thing, he doubted they had the exact experience he was about to have, but they put their life on the line time and time again with only steel and skill to protect themselves, and the hope someone else did not have more of those two things than they did.
When he thought about it, maybe it really was the same thing. He had no idea what the other sorcerer had to offer, not yet, and could only hope to at least match skills if not conquer them. Given how many times his friends had come back from battle, perhaps he should let that thought warm and bolster him a little. So long as he ignored the times they came back bleeding and broken and needing more than Gaius could offer to make them whole again.
Gwaine had his attention again, a dagger Merlin faintly recognized waved before his eyes. “In case things get too close, yeah?” he said as he tucked it into place at Merlin’s waist.
Lancelot slung the satchel over Merlin’s shoulder, careful to leave access to the more physical weapon, and asked again, “What else do you need?”
Merlin bit his lip and made his decision. He would need every weapon at his disposal and it would simply be foolish to leave one behind. He ducked beneath his bed and pulled out the Sidhe staff, having no idea why he still stored it there considering his secret was well and truly out other than from long practice and not wanting something so powerful within easy reach.
“A stick?” Gwaine asked doubtfully. “While I am sure it is a very nice stick, I have yet to see you practice with staves and have to wonder if that won’t actually slow you down in battle,” he admitted with a scratch to his stubble.
Merlin let a ghost of a smile grace his features for the first time in days. A thought and the crystal began to glow a blue to challenge that of the colours draped about his room. “It’s a bit more than a stick,” he confided.
“A very nice stick indeed,” Lancelot corrected. Gwaine simply nodded in agreement.
The squire looked frightened again and, really, some day Merlin would remember his name but it likely would not be today. He heard the alarm bells sound even as the push against him grew and he knew it was time.
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.
He returned to the castle with far less fuss than when he left. He nearly slipped from his horse when he dismounted, but if anyone noticed they did not say a word. The guards opened the doors for him and he trudged back to his room, which he found just as drab as before, save for the addition of a flagon of wine and a plate full of sweetbreads, reminding him of Gwaine’s visit before they were interrupted.
Famished though he was, he only managed to cram down a couple of the sweets. He drank a single mug of wine as well, though it was as much to wash down the food as it was to rally his courage for the obvious discomfort that awaited him when he removed his tunic and boots. As expected, his arm was stained with blood. Not so expected was the graze along his side that did not appear to match the pattern of Lancelot’s vambrace. Given the tiny little feather embedded in the material of his shirt, he assumed an arrow had perhaps got too close and maybe his friend was right to knock him down after all.
He bandaged his arm with the help of a spell, and wrapped a clean cloth around his waist even though the wound was shallow and slight. He did not bother rewrapping his ankle, but did pull on a sleep shirt before he crawled under the covers and let the warmth of the wine in his belly lull him to sleep.
The sun through the window was warm against his skin when he heard the whisper of voices.
“You can’t just barge in without knocking!” That was Gwen, her voice far too familiar after all these years.
“Oh, come on! He’s probably back in Gaius’ old room anyway and this will be a surprise.” Gwaine. Definitely Gwaine. The wheedle was his and his alone. Of course that wheedle turned to a surprised, “Or, maybe not...” when he stepped into the room to be met with a sorcerer sitting dishevelled and upright in his new bed, hand extended and flames at his fingertips.
“Go away, I’m sleeping,” Merlin mumbled as he drew the energy back into himself and extinguished the flame. He flopped back against his pillow and resisted the urge to pull it over his head.
“Yes, but you should not be if you hope to do so tonight,” Lancelot chided. Merlin had to give him credit for barely blinking at the magical outburst.
“Plus, we brought presents!” Gwaine cut in with a grin, recovering his own surprise quickly enough.
Sure enough, he held out a tray filled with enough food to feed a small army, a pitcher of something no doubt potent perched perilously on its edge. Behind him, Gwen carried a vase full of flowers and, to her side, Lancelot carried something large and cloth-like and likely actually found or gifted by the woman making a face at the room at his side. A woman whom, out of respect for and likely hoping to dispel rumours about, they left the door to the hallway open so any and all passers by would not think her a participant in something improper.
“Why haven’t you decorated yet?” she asked as she set the vase on the table.
“Been a bit busy stopping armies, you know how it is,” he yawned. The action turned into a wince when he stretched too far, but it did not look as though the invading trio caught it.
“I asked him the same thing,” Gwaine admitted as he set down his burden. “At the time it was something about being attacked and not knowing he had a salary and such. He may well have an excuse for anything,” he reasoned with false innocence.
It was Lancelot though, who proved Merlin’s earlier assumption wrong. He had laid out the material for Gwen to do with it as she pleased and now eyed Merlin carefully. “You are injured,” he declared. Gwen stopped her fussing with something shockingly blue to turn to him with raised eyebrows.
“I was injured,” Merlin waved off the concern. “Now I’m just tired.” It was not worth it to hide the fact from his friends, especially considering one had already seen at least two things for himself, but he could at least allay their concerns. Besides, he was fairly certain that the bandage on his arm was visible beneath his sleep shirt. Given that he still mostly had the blankets tucked up around him, it was doubtful they could see the rest, at least for now.
Gwen sniffed the flagon on the table knowingly and asked, “How much of this exhaustion is from saving the castle and how much is from drinking more than you should?”
“The wine is from me,” Gwaine took full credit for it. “I asked a maid to bring some in hopes of raising Merlin’s spirits and figuring out what to do with this place, but we were never got that far before the warning bells rang.”
Gwen looked sceptical, but let the matter drop. She did, however, do something even more terrifying and start to tug at the coverlet Merlin was currently wrapped up in. When he held it close, she chided, “Come on then, you can’t actually like that ugly thing. You said your room was boring so I got you something to brighten it up a bit.”
That at least explained the cloth, but Merlin really and truly was still tired and could sleep for far longer than just the afternoon if given the chance. Seeing the determined look on his friend’s face, he highly doubted that chance was forthcoming. “Sleep?” he tried anyway. He pulled the blanket back and tried to hold it down.
It was pulled away, Gwen’s face laughing down at him. “No sleep, not yet. Let me change this out for you while you get something other than sweets into you,” she corrected.
“I’ll eat if you join me,” Merlin tried even though he dreaded actually moving. He hated to see her work while he did nothing; at least this would be some sort of a compromise.
“You let Lancelot and Gwaine look at that arm of yours while I change the bedding and then all four of us can have supper together,” she said instead. He glared at her for seeing right through his plan.
A thought occurred to him though, and he asked, “Don’t you two have to patrol or something? Draw up plans?”
Lancelot shook his head. “That pleasure goes to the king and to Leon, though even they have already done so. You were asleep for longer than you thought. The Mercians seem to still be in retreat. We estimate at least two more days before they try again. In the interim, we are changing the patrols and adding guards to the gates.”
“We have the night off and are free until midday tomorrow, though I plan to make a pass along the parapets before bed,” Gwaine chimed in. Lancelot nodded in agreement with the idea.
It took Merlin just a moment too long to realize each had claimed a side of the bed and were edging upwards towards the head. By the time he figured out what they had planned, the blankets were pulled away from him, stripped from the bed, and in a heap on the floor. “I hate you both,” he glared as he shivered.
“I know you do,” Gwaine agreed without sympathy. “Now get up.”
He grabbed one arm and Lancelot the other and they tugged until he was upright and then tugged further until he was up and out of bed, clearing the mattress for whatever nefarious purpose Gwen had in mind. She even had the gall to hum to herself cheerfully and she got rid of the last of the linens.
He winced again when Lancelot’s fingers came too close to his wound, and this time he knew immediately that the action did not go ignored. “Off,” the knight ordered with a quick pull to his sleeve.
“I am not stripping while there is a lady in the room,” Merlin outright refused. Even with the door open and probably a guard stationed within hearing distance, that was far from proper.
“I’m busy over here,” Gwen called from behind another length of fabric. He did not want to know just how much she had brought with her. “Though, if you prefer, Lady Elaine left a beautiful screen inlaid with coral flowers that we could move in here for privacy.”
He could hear the wicked smile in her words and did not need to see it to know it was there. “I hate you,” he repeated.
To give his friends credit, Lancelot did position himself to give Merlin at least a suggestion of privacy as he pulled off the sleep shirt to expose skin and bandages to the cold room and Gwaine positioned himself to block the view from the doorway. Lancelot peeled back the wrapping on Merlin’s arm and seemed happy with its progress as he tied it back into place, but Gwaine, of course, noticed there was something new to be had. “What happened?” he asked. His fingers twitched at the cloth around Merlin’s middle as if unsure whether it was safe to remove it.
“Arrow, I think,” Merlin grimaced. “Barely a scratch but I thought it best to treat it since there’s no telling where those things have been.”
That was taken as permission for Gwaine to see for himself. He unwrapped the cloth and gently exposed the wound, reapplying the salve Lancelot handed him before wrapping it up again. Finished, they helped him pull the shirt back on and added one of the discarded blankets to ward off the remaining chill of the room.
“Next time, please let us know that you are injured so we can see to your wounds timely,” Lancelot chided.
Gwaine, however, offered a bit different advice. “Next time? Duck.”
Merlin snorted out a laugh and settled himself at the table, stomach growling when he took in everything on offer. Gwaine was over by the grate though, poking at the coals to try to bring them back to life. “Do you have a flint?” he asked when they seemed to flutter and fail.
“Don’t need one,” Merlin smirked. He lifted his hand, barely whispered the words, and the flames leapt anew.
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Gwaine agreed easily enough. He watched Merlin yawn again and asked, “Does it tire you out, doing so much magic?”
The others had gathered around now and Merlin knew it was likely only one of the multitudes of questions they wanted answers to. He thought about it for a moment before he admitted, “Not really, at least not like you think.” He saw their curious expressions and elaborated, “It’s like any task, really. It takes effort, but it’s not like starting a fire is going to knock me out for the evening. It, the magic, is so much a part of me and always has been, that it’s like breathing or walking or something else so mundane that it just seems so normal and non-extraordinary, really. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“You seemed quite tired after everything you did today,” Gwen pointed out. “More so than your usual duties of serving the prince, running errands for Gaius, or keeping me out of trouble.”
Merlin thought about that and was forced to agree. He was also forced to admit, “I don’t usually do quite so much. Little spells here and there, major spells when they are important, but never really so many major ones all at once before. Perhaps they did tire me out after all.” He shrugged and felt the newly wrapped bandages pull against him. He could not help but wonder if his injuries were also playing a role in his lethargy.
“Perhaps it is for you like it is for a knight after battle: during the fight you have all the energy you could need and stores to draw upon, after the fight you want nothing more than to curl up on the nearest piece of soft land and sleep for a fortnight,” Lancelot suggested.
It sounded likely, but Merlin simply did not know. He tried to think back to other times, times when he did more than light a fire or toss someone about, but it was hard to remember for certain. He vaguely remembered being tired, but he had usually been doing other tasks, both physical and magical, at the same time, so there was no way to be certain which drained him more or if it was a combination of them both.
A plate was pushed in front of him, piled high the things he liked best. “Eat,” Gwaine ordered before reaching for a plate of his own. Merlin picked up a small piece of meat and watched as Gwaine did the same, popping it into his mouth before he said, “You said major spells, just what all have you done anyway?”
It seemed like far too great of a task to list everything out, and Merlin was at a loss as to where to begin. Lancelot, however, stepped in and replied, “Well, there was the gryphon, and that time in Hengist’s stronghold.”
Gwaine’s head whipped around at that. “Wait, you knew?”
Gwen’s eyes narrowed as she added, “All this time and you never said a word?”
Merlin rather liked that Lancelot was the centre of attention for a change and he watched as the usually much more courageous man swallowed nervously and said, “Well, when the weapon in your hand suddenly glows blue or a locked gate falls when a certain someone tells it to, you begin to suspect.” He held up a hand to stop the next round of questions and pointed out, “And you know as well as I that to admit I knew of Merlin’s magic would have meant both our deaths. He asked me not to tell and I kept his secret. I simply did not know that I was the only one doing so.”
Instead of dwelling on the possible death aspect of things, Gwaine prodded him and asked, “What else?”
Merlin swallowed the bit he had just taken and thought for a moment. “Lots of things, really,” he admitted. “I’ve picked more locks than I can remember, fought trolls and fairies and Sidhe, stopped bandits a few times, and all sorts of other things. I even took care of some of the wyverns that time.” He raised his eyebrows at Gwaine, who raised his own in response. Neither had spoken of that little adventure with Arthur, not even between just the two of them, so he feared even this much of an admission bordered on too much.
“It seems we all have secrets,” Lancelot commented wryly.
“What time? And what is wyvern?” Gwen asked.
“A wyvern is kind of like a dragon and the time in question is one I have sworn upon my very life not to mention to anyone not already there,” Merlin explained, adding a sheepish smile at the end to hopefully lessen her frustration at not being told the full story.
Her eyes narrowed again and she set down the piece of cheese she had just taken as she declared, “My father. That was you, wasn’t it?”
“Not the alchemy and not the stone. You must believe that was never me,” Merlin insisted. “And if I had known you would have been accused of witchcraft with his sudden recovery, I never would have done that either.” The thought of her being put to death for his crimes still haunted him, and he knew it was something he could never seek forgiveness for, even if she dared to offer it.
“You saved him,” she whispered. Her voice was so filled with sorrow and he wished again that he had been able to do more.
“Not in the end and for that I am so very sorry,” he replied.
Gwen shook her head and a curl slid free to coil about her shoulder. “You gave me more time with him, and for that I am eternally grateful.”
Merlin looked away, not able to accept her thanks, not now and possibly not ever. His gaze drifted to the door where he found an unexpected visitor. Arthur stood there, expression shuttered, arms crossed before him as he leaned against the jamb and looking as though he had heard far too much. Somehow, Merlin doubted this would help his case given that it served as further proof of his deceit and lies.
“Sire?” he asked nervously. He so rarely used the word with Arthur, even after he had been made king. Somehow though, he felt it was warranted now. If they truly had returned to something less than friends, at least it was a way of showing he respected the man, if not the attitude he bore.
The rest of the room turned as one to face their king and Merlin noticed the smallest shift in his stance, the way his eyes went from nearly wary to near stone. “Sorcerer,” Arthur replied, furthering Merlin’s belief that he had listened in on the conversation. “Do try not to keep my men too late with your tales of wizardry, they have tasks to complete tomorrow and I would prefer if their minds were on the matters at hand and not whether or not you will be setting fire to your rooms with a thought.”
With that, he pushed himself upright and left, leaving Merlin holding his head in his hands and bemoaning his fate in life. “He hates me, doesn’t he?” he sighed to no one in particular.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, too light to be anyone’s but Gwen’s. “He does not hate you,” she insisted. “He just needs time to understand just how much you have done for him, for us, in your time here.”
Merlin wished he could believe her, but it was far too clear that he was not currently in his king’s favour. The fact Gwaine poured a near overflowing mug of wine and pushed it in his direction simply reinforced the issue as far as he was concerned. He took a deep draught and wondered if he would ever be able to look upon Arthur and see his friend again instead of the betrayed king that he now found himself with. Somehow, he doubted it would happen any time soon.
The three friends stayed until the platter was nothing but scraps and both the pitcher and the leftover flagon were dry. Gwaine batted his eyes hopefully at Merlin as he held out his mug, but Gwen took it away from him and chided him for asking a clearly injured and exhausted man to work magic for him solely for more drink. None of them stuck around much after that, cleaning up as they left and leaving Merlin with the same boring room, now washed over in bright shades of blue, but with the original drabness still peeking through.
The legion did not come the next day, or even the day after that as was expected. On the third day, a throng arrived to press at Camelot’s borders, but made no effort to attack, no move to cross the proverbial line Merlin had drawn in the sand mere days before.
Merlin used the time to prepare. He read up on anything and everything he could find regarding warding and protection spells, going so far as to march right into Geoffrey’s realm and open the hidden panel in front of him to search for more. He helped Gwen set up an area for the inevitable injured and created the salves and medicines she would need to treat them.
Midday of the second day he had been called into a Council meeting, only to be advised that “the sorcerer” will do this, that, and that other thing during the battle – no names were used, only titles, and it served to reinforce the fact that he was not a soldier, but only a tool to be used at the king’s discretion, a weapon and nothing more. He buried himself in his texts again after that, hoping to live up to the promises made and to master feats he had barely even read about, knowing the attack could begin at any time.
His wounds healed to faint red lines and his ankle faded to pale shades of yellow and green. He felt almost normal, at least for his new definition of normal. More importantly, he felt useful, and that is all that mattered.
It was not until the sun set on the fourth day that the sentries saw the faintest hint of movement in the camp below.
“What do they want? What are they waiting for?” Arthur demanded of the room at large.
Most of his men simply shook their heads, questioned the sanity of a legion idiotic enough the challenge Camelot’s might. Merlin had an answer though, knew it in his very blood as a surge of magic sent him stumbling nearly to his knees, caught only by Gwaine’s quick thinking.
“Their sorcerer has arrived,” he declared, the words sticking in his throat, thick and cloying as a new form of power pressed in across his borders. Arthur’s face paled at the pronouncement and Merlin bit back a sick sense of satisfaction at knowing his precious king had not planned for this.
Arthur swallowed heavily and clearly tried to regain his composure. “Can you defeat him?” he demanded with his usual brashness.
Merlin stood near the window and looked out into the blackness as campfire after campfire surged as one. “I don’t even know who it is,” he admitted. He turned to Arthur, hoping to convey the seriousness of the situation. He had never gone up against another sorcerer in battle before, not in all out combat like he knew this would be. He had taken them on one by one, lurking in the shadows while others fought the physical fight. This would be him versus his opponent on a field of battle, the lives of friends and family reduced to mere pawns even as they clashed against others in the background. “I don’t know how powerful he will be, or even if it is a he instead of a she. I will fight to my dying breath, but I don’t know if...” He trailed off, unable to find the words.
“Merlin,” Arthur said, and he wished he could enjoy the fact the king finally remembered his name.
“I need to prepare,” he said instead, and strode out of the room with a confidence he did not feel.
His magic tingled at his fingertips, pressing against the sense of intrusion that he felt within his own home. He wondered what he must have looked like as he walked quickly back to his room as servants and noblemen alike stepped out of his way to clear a path. He closed his door with a thought, but whipped around when it opened again, wondering if the battle was already to begin only here on his ground instead, but found Lancelot looking as serious as he had even seen him as he demanded, “What do you need?”
“I... don’t know,” he admitted with a slump of his shoulders. “I need to be strong enough and fast enough and to know enough spells to counter whatever is thrown at me. I need people to be far enough away to not get caught in any sort of crossfire and to not be used as weapons against themselves. I need to defeat this, whoever it is, before they have a chance to hurt Arthur, to hurt Camelot, because I will not be able to live with myself if that happens because I failed. I need-”
Lancelot’s hands were on him now, seemingly suddenly as he had just been at the door and now he was in the room, steadying him even as he shook him slightly. “Then you will have all of that, and more,” he promised.
Merlin shook his head. “You can’t just say that and have it be true,” he protested.
“Why not?” Lancelot shrugged and there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Is that not what magic is all about?”
Merlin wanted to say there was so much more to it than that, but knew the words would be lost. This was his encouragement talk, his rallying just as he had done for Arthur countless times before. He was starting to understand why Arthur always looked at him askance during those times even as he felt a warmth descend over him that someone somewhere cared enough about him to try.
He looked about his room for anything he may need. There were spells that required ingredients, others that needed tools. He could not bog himself down with items, but he could bring with smaller things if their worth was enough in trade. He dug through trunks and cupboards to find what he had, piled them onto the table to compare and contrast and pick and choose through to find what would be the most effective. Lancelot filled a pouch for him, placing the items in carefully and subtly testing its weight to make sure it would not overwhelm him should things break down to the physical.
He passed out only when guided towards the bed and physically pressed down, and only when Lancelot promised to wake him when needed. He awoke to find the knight propped in a chair at his side, clearly having spent the night there as well, racketing up the guilt to a whole new level as that was most certainly not to help with his fighting prowess come the battle. Lancelot waived him off and claimed to have slept far worse places than that, and tried to force food that tasted like sand down his gullet instead.
Merlin made one more pass around the room and could feel the other magic press in upon him as though trying to size him up. There was a knock on his already open door and he really did not want someone there telling him that the battle had already begun and it was now or never. Instead, he found Gwaine with a hauberk draped over his arm and a squire at his attendance. Considering Gwaine was already armed and armoured, this struck Merlin as odd.
The squire and the gear he carried were for Lancelot, but the hauberk was for him. At his questioning look, Gwaine replied, “We are not sending you into battle without some sort of protection, Merlin.”
He waved his hand, sparks at the fingertips, and said, “Er, sorcerer, remember?”
Gwaine and Lancelot were decidedly unimpressed, though the squire took several steps away from him. Gwaine pulled him back and pushed him towards Lancelot while he managed the hauberk for Merlin on his own. He tightened the buckles one by one and jabbed him both in the arm and the side, right atop where his injuries had been, and commented, “You are not invincible, do try to remember that.”
Merlin wanted to reply that he not only knew that, but it was a fact at the forefront of his mind. He held back though, figuring it really was not a good show to admit he thought he was about to march to his death in front of people who did this sort of thing all the time. Well, not the going up against another sorcerer thing, he doubted they had the exact experience he was about to have, but they put their life on the line time and time again with only steel and skill to protect themselves, and the hope someone else did not have more of those two things than they did.
When he thought about it, maybe it really was the same thing. He had no idea what the other sorcerer had to offer, not yet, and could only hope to at least match skills if not conquer them. Given how many times his friends had come back from battle, perhaps he should let that thought warm and bolster him a little. So long as he ignored the times they came back bleeding and broken and needing more than Gaius could offer to make them whole again.
Gwaine had his attention again, a dagger Merlin faintly recognized waved before his eyes. “In case things get too close, yeah?” he said as he tucked it into place at Merlin’s waist.
Lancelot slung the satchel over Merlin’s shoulder, careful to leave access to the more physical weapon, and asked again, “What else do you need?”
Merlin bit his lip and made his decision. He would need every weapon at his disposal and it would simply be foolish to leave one behind. He ducked beneath his bed and pulled out the Sidhe staff, having no idea why he still stored it there considering his secret was well and truly out other than from long practice and not wanting something so powerful within easy reach.
“A stick?” Gwaine asked doubtfully. “While I am sure it is a very nice stick, I have yet to see you practice with staves and have to wonder if that won’t actually slow you down in battle,” he admitted with a scratch to his stubble.
Merlin let a ghost of a smile grace his features for the first time in days. A thought and the crystal began to glow a blue to challenge that of the colours draped about his room. “It’s a bit more than a stick,” he confided.
“A very nice stick indeed,” Lancelot corrected. Gwaine simply nodded in agreement.
The squire looked frightened again and, really, some day Merlin would remember his name but it likely would not be today. He heard the alarm bells sound even as the push against him grew and he knew it was time.
Live Journal
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Dreamwidth
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3