Chapter 2
“I can sense your displeasure from miles away, Merlin, so come on, spit it out,” Arthur said irritatedly, internally adding, ‘it has never stopped you before’. “Is your little bottom sore, is that it?”
Merlin huffed.
“Yeah, it’s not as fat as yours.”
“I am not fat!”
“If you say so, my lord.”
“Merlin!” Arthur turned on his horse to look back to where his manservant had lagged behind. He was used to Merlin riding right beside him and found he didn’t much like it when his right side was lacking the familiar presence. “Really, tell me what’s bothering you.”
Arthur was pleased when he saw Merlin’s horse trot up to walk next to his own, trying to stop his mind from being grateful to a horse.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Merlin confessed. Arthur wanted to roll his eyes in response, and tease Merlin about his paranoia, but Merlin’s face looked deeply troubled, so he relented. “It feels like we’re walking into a trap. I mean, how did Agravaine hear about Morgana looking for the amulet? Surely she wouldn’t go about announcing it to every passer-by, and if she did then it must be because she wanted it to get back to you. And how did Agravaine come to know where the Keepers –sorry, Seekers– are? Gaius said only the old high priestesses knew where they were, and Agravaine doesn’t really look like a priestess of the Old Religion, does he?”
“Merlin,”
“At least he’s severely lacking in a dress fit for a priestess, but then again, I haven’t really checked his wardrobe, so what do I know?”
“Merlin!”
“Sire?”
“Are you afraid of Morgana?” Arthur asked. Although the question was supposed to be teasing, his tone betrayed its true intent.
“I’m afraid for you.” Merlin insisted exasperatedly, looking discreetly away from Arthur’s soft eyes, feeling like he had somehow revealed too much.
“I can take care of myself, Merlin.”
“You can’t even dress yourself without me,” Merlin rolled his eyes and Arthur coughed subtly. The cough sounded suspiciously like ‘shut up Merlin’.
“What I mean is, I can hold up in a fight.”
“Not against Morgana,” Merlin insisted.
“We’ve managed in the past.”
“And not against ancient magic.” Arthur finally quieted and looked back over at Merlin’s sharp gaze. “Gaius warned me that there would be a price to pay for the truth.”
“Then I simply won’t ask them to tell me the truth.” Arthur shrugged nonchalantly, and Merlin felt the beginnings of an Arthur-induced-migraine fuel his frustration.
“What if you don’t have a choice?” Merlin challenged. “You can’t kill ancient immortal sorcerers, what will you do if you’re forced to ask for the truth in order to acquire the amulet?”
“Then I’ll just have you do it.” Arthur said jokingly. They both knew that he would never allow Merlin to come to any harm.
“Arthur!”
“You’re worried about me.” Arthur teased. Merlin was about to lash out, but when he looked back to Arthur, his smile was so genuinely pleased that he felt all the anger die out inside him, and he instead managed a smile back.
“I just don’t want to end up unemployed if you die, so.” Arthur affectionately shook his head. He had unintentionally steered their horses closer as they spoke, leaning towards Merlin as if he was magnetic.
“There is something else that worries me,” Merlin confessed, a smile playing on his lips.
“And what is that?”
“Gwaine has gone awfully quiet.”
Indeed, the earlier chatter of the knights had slowly died down as they spoke. They both turned to the knights behind them, who all (except for the guilty bastard in question) quickly turned to look elsewhere, pretending not to be listening in on their conversation. Gwaine however, simply smirked and raised his hands in defense.
“Hey, don’t mind me, princess, I’m just enjoying the show.”
“And what show is that, pray tell?” Arthur asked dryly.
“Oh, you know…” Gwaine winked, but was quickly cut off by Percival throwing a pinecone at his head with a perfect aim. The pinecone hit Gwaine’s forehead with a satisfying ‘twonk’. “Oi! Careful with the goods, mate, a face like this only comes around every other century, you know.”
“And thank god for that.” Elyan muttered, making the other knights break out into genuine laughter. Gwaine simply huffed.
“The borders of Essetir are right up ahead, sire,” Leon intercepted, quieting the teasing laughter. “Perhaps we should camp for the night while still within the general safety of Camelot, and continue on tomorrow.”
“Very well,” Arthur agreed, dismounting from his horse. “Begin setting up, men. Merlin, get a fire going, Percival and Elyan, you will gather some more firewood for the night, and Gwaine, there is a stream about half a mile down, go fill up our water skins, would you?”
The knights quickly chucked their water skins in Gwaine’s direction, who begrudgingly scrambled to catch them all. He scowled at Arthur.
“Why do I always get the worst job?” he complained.
“Because you always manage to get on my nerves.” Arthur shrugged, but his tone had no bite.
Gwaine gave Merlin an incredulous look that practically screamed ‘what did I do now?’, to which he could only give him a shrug which succinctly said ‘who’s to say what has vexed the king now, but let’s be fair, you probably deserved it’. Gwaine’s answering smirk relayed his smug agreement perfectly before he turned to fulfil his task.
Arthur watched this interaction with a displeased expression, but hurriedly turned away when Merlin looked in his direction.
It wasn’t long before Merlin had a fire burning (with a little help from a fire spell when the slightly damp leaves wouldn’t catch) and a pot of stew bubbling merrily. The starving knights sat around the fire, switching between praising the delicious smell and whining about their rumbling stomachs, to which Merlin could only roll his eyes fondly. Only Arthur sat quietly, staring lazily at his manservant as he stirred. The fire was shading his dark hair with an orange glow and filling his blue eyes with golden light.
Merlin finally served the knights in turn –beginning with the biggest portion for Arthur– before serving himself.
“It’s delicious Merlin,” Gwaine was the first to compliment the meal, not even swallowing the first bite before singing his praises. “They certainly don’t have this quality of food down at the tavern.”
“I sincerely doubt you are at the tavern for the fine cuisine, Gwaine.” Percival said sarcastically.
“No, just for the friendly atmosphere and dazzling company.” Gwaine smirked.
“I feel sorry for the ladies at the tavern who are privy to your inopportune ‘company’.” Elyan snorted.
“Hey, now, my company is never inopportune, nor unwanted,” Gwaine defended, a bit miffed at the implication. “Nor exclusive to the tavern ladies. Wouldn't be fair to deny anyone the pleasure.”
“Even old lady Martha behind the counter?”
“Or the guy carrying the ale barrels?” Leon joined in.
“Anyone.” Sir Gwaine the Slutty wiggled his eyebrows and the knights groaned in unison.
The stew was all eaten within minutes, and Percival graciously offered to wash up, thanking the cook politely for the meal. Merlin was really very fond of the big knight – he of course loved all the knights, but there was something so affectionate in the quiet yet playful manner of the gentle giant. Gwaine immediately hopped up from the fire and followed Percival with an excuse of "showing him where the stream is," despite his earlier complaining about being relegated to 'stream duty'. When Merlin raised his eyebrow at him, Gwaine simply winked and ran off. Their absence wasn’t felt too keenly as Leon and Elyan fell into a friendly conversation about their newest training drill, swapping ideas and discussing the techniques and talents of the recruits.
“Tell me about what Gaius told you,” Arthur inquired quietly as they sat leant against a tree a few metres from the knights and the merry fireside chatter. This slight retreat to speak privately just the two of them had become something of a routine by this point. “About the price for truth.”
“The warning of the high priestesses: ‘to learn that which you desire most, your heart will be wrought and torn within its chest; this is the price we pay for truth’.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Maybe,” Merlin hesitated, swallowing subtly, “it means that telling the truth can be painful.”
“Or that knowing the truth can.” Merlin’s head snapped up to look at Arthur, his heart pounding wildly in his chest and his mouth going dry. But Arthur was looking into the fire, his expression deeply pensive. Merlin’s eyes fell back to his lap, his hands wringing anxiously around themselves.
There had been numerous moments since Arthur had become king (some even before then) where Merlin had wanted to tell Arthur about his magic; moments like this, when they didn’t need to mask their sincerity with jokes, when they were sitting so close to each other that it felt like they had to almost whisper so as to not break the fragile calm shielding them, the quiet comfort fuelling the confessional desire in Merlin’s chest. But despite his unconditional trust in Arthur, he could not deny that he was afraid. Not necessarily for his life. There had been years when he first came to Camelot where images of being burnt on the pyre had haunted his nightmares – sometimes they still torment him. But as his feelings for Arthur grew stronger, growing past pride or fondness or even friendly affection, he had come to realise that if Arthur was the one who pointed the sword at him, he would bare his neck voluntarily. But he couldn’t stand thinking about the betrayal and hurt he would cause him. Or even more, Merlin was afraid of seeing the hatred in Arthur’s lovely eyes turn toward him.
More so than the sensation of burning, Merlin’s nightmares were haunted by the image of Arthur standing on the balcony above him, and staring coldly down with contempt as his deep blue eyes reflected the scorching flames of the pyre.
Merlin shuddered at the thought and pulled his knees closer to his chest. Arthur misinterpreted his actions as a reaction to the cooling night air.
“Do you want to move closer to the fire?” he asked softly. Merlin looked up and saw the subtle radiance of the fire dancing in his eyes. But instead of the harrowing images of an unforgiving king standing above the pyre, the firelight only made him glow ethereally – the golden Once and Future King. His sun.
Merlin smiled helplessly and simply shook his head, irrationally not wanting to share this Arthur with anyone else.
Arthur did not ask again, but after a few minutes of comfortable silence, Merlin suddenly felt the thick cloak he had picked out just this morning being placed over his shoulders. He looked over to Arthur, but he was staring determinedly at the tree opposite them. Merlin felt the familiar warmth curl in his stomach and travel up his ears, and wrapped the cloak closer around himself. It smelled of rosemary and woodsmoke and with the sharp tinge of iron – like Arthur. Arthur’s eyes followed Merlin’s motions attentively as he wrapped himself up in his cloak and breathed in its scent, Merlin slowly gazing back from above the edge of the red fabric.
“Perhaps we should get some sleep, sire?” Leon spoke up, ever the voice of reason. They had not even noticed Gwaine and Percival returning, despite Gwaine’s loudmouthed storytelling of daring ventures and tavern fights. Arthur held Merlin’s gaze for a second longer before he reluctantly turned to the knights and nodded affirmingly.
Merlin sighed, and rose to lay out his and Arthur’s sleeping pallets, putting Arthur’s closest to the heat of the fire, and placing his own in its normal spot right next to Arthur’s, shielding him against the cold or the danger of the forest surrounding them. And if they were unusually close to each other, no one commented on it – after all, everyone knew that body heat was necessary to stave off the cold.
~~~
Once they crossed into Essetir, they had to keep a low profile to avoid stirring up trouble. The king of Essetir was no friend of Camelot, and would certainly see King Arthur riding through his lands with his knights as an act of war. Not willing to risk this, the knights and the king himself had put away their armour in favour of a peasant disguise, the clothes identifying them as knights of Camelot (including the Pendragon-red cloak) packed away. Merlin had packed Arthur’s disguise himself, favouring the blue shirt and brown leather vest he often wore when they travelled together. However, their inconspicuous garb left them more vulnerable, Merlin noted as his ominous feeling grew.
“It’s quiet.” He complained.
“Means we’re not being attacked.” Arthur replied.
“Too quiet.”
“Really, Merlin, only you would be upset by our journey going smoothly.”
“It doesn’t bode well is all.”
“One of your ‘funny feelings’ again, then?” Arthur teased. Merlin sent him a dirty look which quickly withered when the sound of rustling made him jump in alarm. “It’s just a bird flying off, Merlin, don’t be such a girl.”
“You never know, could be a messenger for Morgana.” Merlin argued indignantly.
“Yes, I am sure that crow has countless nefarious dealings.” Arthur deadpanned before smirking lightly. “Relax, Merlin, nothing is going to happen.”
However, the world loved to prove Arthur wrong (and Merlin right).
Soon after Arthur had spoken, the forests around them were filled with the cries of men rushing down the hills for a surprise attack. Their black and silver uniforms suggested they were part of the royal guard of Essetir, and the strategic location between the thick forests and steep ravines indicated the ambush had been planned.
Merlin turned to Arthur with a look like ‘you were saying?’, to which Arthur summarily replied “shut up Merlin.”
The knights had immediately drawn out their swords and jumped off their horses, turning to face the coming onslaught of Essetir’s knights. They were severely outnumbered, but the knights of Camelot were some of the greatest knights in all the lands, headed by the incomparable Arthur Pendragon – and (without their knowledge) assisted by the most powerful sorcerer in history.
Said sorcerer kept himself partly concealed in the brushes by the road, ushered on by Arthur’s command to hide (not wanting to be distracted by constantly looking over his shoulder to see where his helpless manservant was). Merlin held a spare sword clutched in his hand, but knew that if it came to it he would be nearly useless in a sword fight – truly, his first weapon of choice before a sword was weaponised incompetence. Instead he stood by and watched out on the battlefield, and, using his magic, he would take them out quickly to turn the tides when it looked like one of his friends was about to be overwhelmed, his actions drowned out in the chaos of battle. Throughout it all, he would always keep one eye trained on Arthur, ready to protect his king at a second’s notice. He almost didn’t need to; Arthur fought skillfully, and frankly, beautifully, taking out any man who dared go up against the king of Camelot.
Merlin’s focus on his friends however meant that he didn’t notice when he was discovered by two knights who saw him as easy prey. He did not realise he was in their line of attack before Arthur turned to him, his eyes widening in fear as he screamed Merlin’s name in warning. Merlin whipped around and stood face to face with the knights of Essetir holding their sword raised in attack. He hurriedly raised his own useless sword to protect himself, but although Arthur had repeatedly tried to drill some sword fighting skills in him over the years, he was still far from being as good as a trained knight.
The knight’s sword fell heavy on Merlin’s blade, the reverberation stinging his arm and making him lose his grip on the sword. Before he could bend down to pick it up, the knight’s boot had connected hard with his chest, knocking him onto his back. Merlin scrambled to get back up, his magic screaming within him as he stared with wide eyes at the knights’ cruel smirks as one of them again raised his sword high, intending to cut through the weak servant in a single slice. Both the Essetir knights and Merlin himself were shocked when his sword was met with the blade of another sword, the iron ringing painfully. Merlin looked up to see Arthur had made it across the field just in time to save him from either losing his head or exposing his magic. But he could also see that Arthur was hurt; in his rush to save the life of his friend, he had met the enemy’s sword at an awkward angle, and the force of the impact had ripped into his shoulder, making his grip on his sword precarious.
“Merlin, RUN!” He yelled out as the knights recovered from the initial shock, now both coming at the king with everything they had.
Outnumbered, and with his wounded shoulder, Arthur’s counter-attacks were slowed significantly, his moves becoming erratic and desperate. He was steadily retreating instead of meeting their attacks head on as he usually would, using the steps backwards to try and lighten the force of his opponents’ attacks instead. However, the knights were slowly herding him towards the ravine, forcing him to eventually fight back to win back ground. But, impeded by his shoulder, Merlin could see he was struggling.
Unable to use his magic so close to Arthur’s line of sight, Merlin instead determinedly picked up his sword and rushed towards the Essetir knights crowding his king. With their attention having entirely shifted from the insignificant servant, they didn’t see it coming when he rushed up behind them, stabbing his sword through the chest of one of the knights before they even realised he was there. The other knight turned around furiously, but was again distracted by Arthur.
It looked like the tides were turning again, that they would survive this encounter, when a further three Essetirian knights joined the battle against the king and his manservant. Merlin was almost entirely useless against one trained knight – against four he was dead meat.
That is, without Arthur there.
Arthur Pendragon, the greatest warrior in generations, fought furiously back against Essetir’s knights. Although his shoulder screamed in pain with every parry, the thought of Merlin behind him –and the image of Merlin on his back with a sword raised above him– pushed him forwards in a blind rage fuelled by the adrenaline which currently numbed the pain in his shoulder. But ultimately, his worry for Merlin’s safety was inevitable with the lanky servant sidled up next to him, wielding his sword like a man who has never used a weapon before. His eyes switched between focusing on his opponents, and defecting to Merlin. Despite his obvious lack of skill, the adrenaline and intensity of battle had made Merlin fight with everything he had, somehow managing to stay on his feet and hold his own against those who turned their attention to taking out the meddlesome servant.
That’s when Arthur saw one of the knights coming up in Merlin’s blind spot. The knight was moving too fast for Arthur to shout his warning – Merlin would be dead before he could form the words. Instinctively, Arthur grabbed Merlin around the waist, pushing his surprised manservant behind his back to shield him from the blow. However, the attack that would have fallen on Merlin instead met Arthur, who only had the time to retreat enough so that the blow instead cut across his chest; deep, but not immediately fatal.
“ARTHUR!” Merlin screamed in panic as Arthur fell backwards into his waiting arms.
The weight of the collapsing king made Merlin fall backwards, and when he wrapped his arms around Arthur’s chest, his hands immediately became covered in blood. He desperately began trying to pull Arthur backwards away from the Essetir knights, who now stood laughing at his pitiful attempt.
“Nowhere to go now, servant boy.” One knight yelled in delight.
“What should we do with him?” Another asked as they slowly followed Merlin’s retreat.
Merlin looked back to the other knights of Camelot, his eyes pleading for them to help him. They had noticed the turn of events and were urgently trying to cut through the wall of Essetirian knights to assist their friends. But it looked almost as if their opponents’ strategy was to keep them contained, preventing them from stopping the fall of their king. Gwaine’s furious eyes met Merlin’s, and they seemed to be pleading for him to please do something, to not let himself die before they could make it through. But Merlin’s attention was quickly snapped back to the knights in front of him.
“We could kill him,” said the first knight, smiling directly at Merlin, “or we could sell him to slavers. The boy has a pretty face, I’m sure someone would pay handsomely for him.”
Merlin shivered as he continued to drag Arthur’s bleeding body away.
“Merlin,” Arthur groaned, clutching onto Merlin’s bloodied hands. “Merlin, you clotpole, I told you to run.”
“That’s my word,” was all Merlin could say in reply, his smile shaky at best.
His efforts at retreating had brought them as far as they could go, balancing at the precipice of the ravine, with the knights of Essetir still leisurely walking towards them. They were dragging it out now, playing with them – they knew there was nowhere else to run.
“Merlin, please,” Arthur begged, making him shudder violently. Pleading didn’t sound right on Arthur Pendragon. It’s how Merlin knew he had no other choice.
“Arthur, forgive me,” Merlin whispered, burying his face in his king’s golden hair and hugging him closer even as he groaned in pain. “Forgive me.”
Merlin looked up to the knights with fury burning in his eyes. They only laughed.
“What are you gonna do, servant boy?” One laughed mockingly.
Then the ground beneath their feet trembled, the wind picked up, whipping around them and making the trees howl. Even the sky seemed to darken above them. And when the knights looked back to the fallen king and the servant, they were met with the deep golden eyes of the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived. The knights stepped back, having learnt to fear the might of magic, but they were already too late – they had hurt Arthur, and now they would pay with their lives.
The first knight, the one who had suggested they sell him to slavers, began screaming in pain as magic tore through his veins and ripped him apart. He fell to the ground first, a mess of blood and bone. The others fared no better; unhinged by his fear and rage, Merlin unleashed a destructive fury of gold and red. The battle had halted as the knights of Essetir and the knights of Camelot stopped to watch the powerful magic tear the earth in two, swallowing up the remaining knights. The cracks seemed to travel backwards as Merlin turned his attention back to his friends, chasing after the fleeing Essetir knights, but leaving the knights of Camelot standing, unharmed and paralysed by the shock of seeing their friend bathed in the radiant light, agonising tears running freely down his face.
Soon, all their attackers were either dead or retreating. Finally, Merlin’s golden light dimmed, his eyes returning to their original colour. The world seemed to still.
Gwaine was the first to break the spell, breaking out into a sprint towards them and simultaneously waking the other knights from their stupor. Arthur, having been immobile during the magical storm, now tried to get up from Merlin, who immediately loosened his grip and scurried back.
“Arthur–”
The earth that had swallowed the Essetirian knights gave another loud crack before loosening, sending the ground beneath Merlin and Arthur down into the ravine as Gwaine and the rest of the knights reached the drop. Merlin gasped as he felt the rush of gravity, and Arthur lunged around toward the frozen sorcerer, holding around him as they fell in a hail of rocks and golden light.