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Chapter Text

Rocks hurled toward Merlin as he ran through the forest. Shouting and cursing, the villagers had chased him for so long without giving up that Merlin's muscles were burning and sweat was dripping down his forehead; he was panting hard and fast and had a hard time catching his breath.

The voices were getting louder and louder and the footsteps were getting closer. One of the many rocks struck him in the back and sent him crashing to the ground, legs tangled in the roots sticking out. His cheek plowed into the forest floor. Merlin gasped from the pain, closing his eyes. He shook his head, trying to stand up, but it was too late.

A hand tangled in his hair and lifted his head up, baring his throat and sending blood gushing from his cheek down to his collarbone, warm and wet against his sweaty skin.

“I’ve hunted animals faster and smaller than you,” Alric sneered, his smirk mean. He was the butcher’s son, two years younger than Merlin but nearly two times his size, with meaty arms and huge hands. “But thanks for the sport, lad. Now, you got anything to say to us?”

Merlin spat in Alric’s face, when he got close enough, and Rowan, Alric’s ever present mate, thick as a brick but stronger than most men in Ealdor, yanked Merlin’s head back again, hard enough to make Merlin’s eyes water.

“I didn’t do anything wrong! You were killing that deer!”

Alric wiped the spit off his forehead with the back of his hand, grimaced and rubbed the rest on Merlin’s tunic. “That’s what deer are for, stupid.” Then he straightened and looked around, hands on his hips, stretching his lips. “Come on, Row, I just had a great idea.”

He made a choking sound, clutching his neck, and Rowan snorted, while Alric just smiled at Merlin’s wide eyes.

When both their hands clenched around Merlin’s biceps and lifted him up with embarrassing ease, he started struggling, digging his boot heels into the ground, the ancient soles threatening to come off. And when that didn’t stop the two bullies from dragging him, he started kicking and punching, until they threw him on the ground.

This time he was quicker and stood up with every intention of running away, but he slipped in the mud and the force of the tumble knocked all his breath away. He heard twin laughs, ringing in his ears, deafening. Full of mockery and cruelty and worse than any blow.

And then, before he could properly catch his breath, he was being dragged again and his head forced down. 

And then he had no breath at all.

Water pressed against him from every direction, freezing, suffocating him, and he couldn’t… he couldn’t…

Resistance stopped, his nostrils flaring with fresh air before he took a gulping breath like a dying man. He emerged from the water, eyes opening to see…

Wrong. Night time. Two moons. Not even a tree in sight. And eyes staring back at him, leaning down. A man, square jaw, beard, long hair. Eyes wide, light but not like Merlin’s own, disbelieving. A hand reaching for him—down, somehow down—before he was yanked by the back of his hair down, but simultaneously up, up, up, until air gave way to water, water in his nostrils and mouth and still open eyes, then air again. He started to choke and sputter and cough the water in his lungs into the mud beneath him, shaking, barely supporting his weight on his elbows.

“Shit, you still breathing?” Alric asked, nudging his foot against Merlin’s side. Then, when Merlin didn’t react, he kicked him in to ribs, making him turn on his back with a whine. 

His eyes up, seeing only the sky—bright blue, sun hidden under the crown of the trees. No strange men, no eyes.

“Leave him. I’m hungry,” Rowan whined. Merlin hoped Alric wouldn’t want to continue tormenting him, and felt relief shake his body when Alric’s stomach growled and he sighed with defeat.

“You’re always fucking hungry, you bastard. But yeah, guess you’re right. We should check if that deer’s still there. It should be dinner for at least two weeks.”

Completely ignoring Merlin, he turned around and started walking away. Their footsteps and voices quieted down by the second.

Merlin lay there for a few moments, faint tremors wracking his body still, then when his legs finally allowed him to he stood, dried his face and hair, and started running.

He could take the longer, safer way, bypassing the road Alric and Rowan had used entirely, but decided to take the shortcut he found with his magic, through the bushes and up a hill. He was tired and all he wanted was to lie down. His lungs and throat hurt, everything hurt, but he had to do this one thing. He had to save this creature that had done nothing wrong.

Alric had found it with its foot stuck between a fallen log and the ground. He and Rowan were playing with it, laughing loudly, then they let it escape before shooting it with a spear. Only thanks to Merlin’s quick thinking had the weapon rammed through its leg and not its head. 

Merlin had started shouting insults at the two bullies until they got more interested in making him pay for it than tormenting the animal. He could only hope it had somehow freed itself from the spear and run away. Alric and Rowan were hungry; they wouldn’t go through the effort of hunting it second time.

But… no…

Merlin ran into the glade and his knees gave out. He was too late. The deer had already bled out from the wound in its leg, blood still warm on the moss it had fallen on. Merlin took it into his arms and focused all his power into the wound. It sewed itself back together, though you couldn’t tell with all the blood on and around him. But the deer stayed dead.

The terror and exhaustion he had been feeling throughout the encounter finally caught up to him, and only when he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand did he realise that the tears were falling freely in a steady stream down his cheeks, without any sign of stopping.

Mum always told him to hide. To hide his true nature, his magic. Miracles weren’t supposed to exist, but somehow the magic was found in him, a peasant boy. And he could do miracles with the blink of his eye. But what was the point of having it if he couldn’t help someone in need? If he was as useless with his magic as without it?

***

That’s how Will found him at dusk, soaked in blood, filthy with mud, sobbing and clutching the head of a dead deer to his chest.

“Merlin? Is that you? Your mum was going mental. What the fuck happened to you?”

He crouched down in front of Merlin, mindful of the blood. “Come on, leave it. We have to go home,” he said, prying Merlin’s fingers from the animal’s body, one by one. Merlin started to shake his head, but he let his friend do it, then hoist him up by his hands.

His knees felt weak, his muscles stiff and sore. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he got there, if Alric and Rowan had seen him and decided to let him be or if their threats were empty and they were too hungry to bother. Merlin had cried himself into a catatonic state, his thoughts running, running until he couldn’t think of anything anymore.

“I’m all right,” he said, though his hoarse voice proved that he was anything but. He wanted to wipe his face with the back of his hand, but Will yanked his wrist away.

“You have blood all over. You’re gonna mess up your face even more.”

Merlin looked down at himself and squinted, the woods making his clothes seem darker than they were. HIs trousers and tunic felt stiff and uncomfortable, he supposed because the blood had dried all over. He hadn’t cared about it few hours ago; he had stepped out of his body and just felt, until he was grieving with the earth, and the sky and the forest for this innocent creature that had died.

Now, Merlin felt a fresh wave of panic like a lightning bolt across his skin. He shuddered, realising how cold it had gotten, how exhausted he was. “My mum, she can’t know about this.” He searched his best friend’s eyes.

“She won’t find out, if I help you. Come on.” Will caught Merlin as he swayed, taking a step forward. Merlin steadied himself and clutched at Will’s elbow.

“But we can’t leave it lying like that.” Merlin couldn’t bring himself to look at the animal. His throat hurt and he coughed. “They might still come back.”

Merlin could fell Will’s hesitation. He didn’t want to hurt Merlin’s feelings, but he was never as soft as Merlin tended to be sometimes. They were friends maybe because of that. Because when Merlin was exhausted with his own mind, Will was there, a steady weight to stop him from flying away.

“We’ll come back for it first thing in the morning, yeah? No one would be stupid enough to wander about in the woods at night. Except you and me.” That earned him a weak smile from Merlin. “We’ll bury it somewhere. And you will tell me all about what you’ve gotten yourself into with Al and Row. They’d seemed pretty smug when they left the woods. I had hoped you’d have enough sense to not start with them while I’m not around.”

Merlin couldn’t find any objection to that, except that he wanted to bury the deer now. It didn’t deserve to be left like that on the ground in its own blood any longer. It deserved to be under the ground, connected with the forest, becoming a part of it.

But Merlin was hungry and tired, far too tired to dig that big of a hole, especially without his magic. He didn’t want to use magic ever again. So he relented, and followed after Will, who quickly led them to the road.

“They were hurting it, WIll,” Merlin finally said, looking at his friend’s back and willing his body to match Will’s brisk pace.

“They were hunting, Merlin. It happens.” 

Merlin knew Will couldn’t exactly understand what he meant, but he had to explain it; WIll had to see he wasn’t picking fights with anyone over nothing.

“I felt it. I was walking around and I heard it’s cries, and that’s never happened before. Not like this. I could feel it in my bones, the anguish, the fear.”

Will sighed, “I don’t know sometimes if it’s because of your Thing or if it’s because you’re such a bleeding heart.”

Merlin wasn’t ashamed of his bleeding heart. His mum had always told him it was one of his best qualities and something he should never lose. But he could admit it got him in a lot of trouble. Just like Will’s big mouth. They were a pair like that.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter much now, I guess.” He hummed to himself, slowing down. “Maybe we should go to the lake, so you can wash yourself.”

“No!” Will stopped at Merlin’s shout to stare at him. “I-I mean, not now. I’m tired. Can’t we go tomorrow, before everyone wakes up and wash the clothes?”

Will squinted his eyes, looking Merlin up and down. “DId they do anything to you? It’s too dark and you know my eyes are shit. I asked them what they were so happy about, but they just laughed. Then when I came from the field, your mum said you hadn’t come back, and I just knew.”

Merlin shrugged and started walking again. “They chased me to the lake and threw some stones at me,” he said lightly. It was their usual gig, scare Merlin and Will a bit, laugh and then leave. They had had plenty of chances to do them some serious harm, but they never had. It was all for show, to feel better or something.

Will sighed again, but matched his pace with Merlin’s.

Merlin was glad that it was so dark, so that his friend couldn’t see his worries. His face was always like an open book, and he had a hard time lying to Will or his mum. Besides, they knew him too well to believe his bullshit by now.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell WIll about the thing at the lake, with the man and the two moons. He just wasn’t sure it had really happened. Or if it was that important. Sometimes, Merlin would dream about something weird and he wasn’t sure it was because of his magic or just his brain’s invention. He could be a bat or a bird sometimes, and other times he dreamed of castles and dragons, even if he had never seen either in real life.

Besides, as much as WIll knew about his magic, he didn’t necessarily want Merlin to flaunt it about and got bored easily when Merlin started to talk about it. Merlin guessed it wasn’t very interesting to him, or he just couldn’t really understand.

They made their way as close to the village as they could. Will told him to wait, before he ran toward his own house to get some clothes and water for Merlin to clean himself up a bit. Merlin perched on a rock nearby, hugging his knees and placing his head on them, eyes closing against his own volition.

The next thing he knew, a hand was shaking his shoulder, and he was woken with a hushed and exasperated, “Merlin, oi! You just couldn’t wait, you lazy arse… Here.”

Will thrust a bowl into Merlin’s hand, water splashing onto his wrist. He blinked a few times, staring at it, before he finally shook his head and stood up. There was even a small cloth in the bowl, and Merlin placed it on the rock he was sitting on before taking his clothes off and tossing them on the ground.

“You have to take them with you, you know. Hide them, until tomorrow,” Will said, and Merlin nodded, more to himself than to his friend. Even if they had known each other since the cradle, and had seen one another naked more times that they had ever wanted to, Will still turned around and gave Merlin some privacy.

He quickly swiped the rag over his face, hands, under his armpits and over his cock and arse. He took the clothes from WIll and started tugging them on. “Your mum didn’t ask why you were taking this out?”

“She’s at Jonah’s place today,” Will answered, shuddering, and Merlin sniggered. He found Will’s distaste for Jonah hilarious. Jonah was the calmest and most soft-spoken man Merlin had ever met. He was also the most boring, but he guessed Will’s mum, after losing her husband in war, looked for someone who was stable and present. And anyway, Jonah was harmless. That was why Will hadn’t yet smashed his face in.

“Ready? Good. Tell your mum you got distracted by a pretty bird or something.” Will sniggered. “Not a girl, or she won’t believe you.”

If Merlin had had more energy, he would probably have been blushing to his ears by now, offended, but he just weakly smacked WIll’s arm as they went. Will was holding a bow, and Merlin was wrapping his bloody trousers into his shirt, which was clean at the back, so that he wouldn’t stain his hands again.

“What exactly did you tell her I was doing?” Merlin asked, because it was usually Will who made up excuses when they got into trouble and Merlin just nodded along.

“Wandering about, eating berries, wanking to fantasies of naked blokes and generally being a loafer.”

Merlin found enough strength in himself to kick Will in the shin, until he squealed and Merlin smiled in satisfaction.

“I just said you probably got lost. Just say you did, and I found you by the lake or something.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Just don’t do that again. And don’t tell her about the Thing. She worries enough.”

“ I know .” Merlin knew his magic was enough to make him mum worry twice as much for him than a mother usually would. And he hated that he was the reason she worried so much.

Will just ruffled his hair and said goodnight.

Merlin put the bundle of bloody clothes in a small barrel just outside their hut, which currently sat empty and not filled with potatoes. He didn’t even get to finish saying, “Mum, I’m ba—” before arms were thrown around his waist and his mother’s surprisingly strong hug nearly crushed his bones.

Hunith let him go quickly enough, hands still on his sides while she took a closer look at him and frowned. She raised her hand and touched his cheek. Merlin flinched and his own hand came up to his wound, high on his cheekbone, which had begun to bleed slowly down his face once more.

Hunith tutted and went to get the wooden mortar from a cupboard, while Merlin whined, “It’s not that bad, mum,” and went over to the bed to place some of the blankets on the floor for himself. He took a pillow, the one stuffed with goose feathers, and threw it at his makeshift bed.He just wanted to lie down and sleep, but his mother was persistent. She made him sit on her bed as she dipped two fingers in the thick paste she had made and spread it over his cheek with the confident touch of a skilled healer.

She kissed his forehead and said, “Be careful next time, darling. I’ve got only one son and I’d like to keep him in one piece.” 

He could hear a strain in her voice, and he could tell it was from worry, although whether she simply thought he’d tripped over his own feet or if she knew something more had happened, she kept it to herself. But it didn’t exactly help Merlin in not feeling guilty.

“You’ve always got Will,” he teased.

“Do you want to kill me, young man?” Hunith laughed, while she cleaned her hand from the salve. “I complain about you getting into trouble, but I don’t envy Will’s poor mother. That boy has the biggest mouth I’ve ever seen.”

“But you love him for it.” Merlin grinned.

Hunith rolled her eyes. “You were both such sweet children, how come you’ve become such troublemakers? The least I can thank the gods for is that you’ve found each other, the pair of you. And speaking of Will, I expect you will thank him for bringing you back. And loaning you his clothes.”

Merlin pouted. “I did already. And mine got dirty. He said he’ll go with me to clean them in the lake in the morning, before he goes to work.”

“And you’ll be all right getting back on your own?”

Merlin huffed, but nodded. His stomach rumbled like a starving beast and Hunith laughed, while Merlin went red to his ears.

“Of course, how can I count on you to take care of yourself while I’m not around?” she teased. “Fortunately for you, there’s a lot of broth left. Let me bring you a bowl.”

“I can do it myself, Mum!”

Merlin rose from his seat and took the bowl from his mother’s hand, shooing her away. She sent him an amused glare and went over to the corner of the bedroom to change into her nightclothes.

She didn’t ask any further questions about Merlin’s day, and he was thankful.

***

Half an hour before sunrise, they met at the brink of the woods. Merlin shoved his dirty clothes into his bag with the promise of cleaning them later and waited for WIll, who came carrying two big shovels with a hunting knife tucked into his belt. He told Merlin not to ask and Merlin didn’t want to know how he got the stuff.

Will had bags under his eyes and he carried himself stiffly, which were all things Merlin hadn’t noticed the previous night. Will had started to fill out, the muscles beginning to show under his tunic, but the work had taken its toll on his body. He was tanned in that unhealthy way that people got from toiling under too much sun without enough protection from it.

Will had talked of getting out of Ealdor for years. He didn’t want to spend his life hoeing potatoes and working himself to death; he dreamed of something bigger, something different. 

And it was the biggest irony of all that to achieve that dream, he had to do exactly what he wanted to escape from. Old Simmons had relented after Will’s pestering and agreed to hire him to harvest his potatoes along with ten others, men and women alike. It didn’t pay well by any means—no one in Ealdor was rich enough for that—but a few coins a month were better than nothing. And with every passing day, he was closer to achieving his dream.

Merlin didn’t want to leave Ealdor, mostly because of his mother. He couldn’t leave her by herself, and he didn’t particularly want to. Besides, what would he do out there, with his curse of magic? He didn’t want to fight for the king, either one. And he didn’t want to hide, either. Wherever he went, he would be forced to become someone he was not. At least in Ealdor, his mum and Will knew what he was. And that was okay.

But sometimes… Sometimes he dreamt about visiting foreign lands. About the castles and the knights, and the big feasts and festivals that took place in Camelot every year. When he let himself be bold, he imagined himself as a court sorcerer in fine robes that all the travelling bards sang about. The stories maybe were beautiful and captivating but the reality…

Merlin shuddered. He’d rather become a thick-headed knight than a puppet to a lord.

Merlin was aware of their inevitable parting, that it would come sooner rather than later, and he didn’t want to spoil their rare moments together with musings about the future. Will had a plan for his life that didn’t include Merlin, and Merlin still had no idea what the future would bring for him. 

He would enjoy Will until he no longer could. Until he was left alone and without a friend.

They found the deer where they had left it last night. The view of it now, in the light of day, was absolutely horrid. The blood had dried all over it and because of the sun and hot weather the body started to decay faster than they’d expected. The stench of rotten corpse brought a horde of flies and other insects around, the black cloud that almost swallowed the body of the animal.

Merlin couldn’t look at it; he gagged and shut his eyes. Will started to look a bit green too, but swallowed once and said, grinning at Merlin, “Still up for it?”

Merlin nodded and then shook his head, and Will laughed, clapping him on the arm. “We should dig nearby, so we won’t have to drag it through half the forest. Besides, the sooner we start, yeah?”

Will took his shovel took a few steps to their left, on the other side of the animal and stopped. He looked at Merlin for confirmation and when he didn’t get a response, he sighed. “Here, Merlin? Is it good? Does it feel all right or something?”

“What?” Merlin startled, ripping his eyes away from the deer. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I ask ‘cause you—”

“I know. But it feels all right… I mean I don’t feel anything bad, or— it doesn’t really matter. It’s got to be one with the forest, doesn’t matter where.”

Will nodded. He didn’t understand, but still he accommodated Merlin’s oddities as best he could, and Merlin was grateful for it. He sometimes couldn’t explain his feelings himself, but he knew better than to ignore them. One time his throat hurt for three days straight and it stopped the night Miss Polridge, who’d taught him and WIll numbers when they were younger, coughed herself to death. Or he had a nightmare about fire and a few days later there was a fire at a nearby field, destroying half of Old Simmons’ crops.

“You gonna stand here all day and stare at me, or what?” At those words Merlin scrambled to help, digging his own shovel into the small hole Will had already dug. He knew Will was losing precious hours of sleep because of him, and it wasn’t long before he would have to go back to work.

Merlin couldn’t help but think about the man from the lake. He wanted more than anything to ignore whatever it was he’d seen, but he had to wash those clothes, otherwise his mum would notice and ask questions. And their yearly visit to the city  was only two months ago, so it was nearly ten months before they would get another chance to buy new clothes. Besides, they couldn’t afford that. Merlin wanted to buy some more plants and food, not waste the money on clothes for him.

He’d have to go and check if anything felt wrong in the lake.

They worked in silence, which was not like them at all. They were used to joking around and talking about everything and nothing, but they’d grown apart for the last few months. Now there stood a barrier between them, a barrier of different futures and inevitable goodbyes, and as much as they tried to stick together, there wasn’t much time now. Not if Will wanted to leave before the winter.

“How will we move the deer back here?” Merlin asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead and leaning on his shovel. He was already tired and Will haven’t even worked up a sweat. All that potato picking had done him good. Maybe Merlin would work on his bod, too, but Old Simmons had said once and for all that he wouldn’t hire Merlin lest he die in his field somewhere and Hunith refused to heal him and his family because of it. Which was ridiculous, of course.

“It’s not far, so maybe with some cloth around its ankle we’ll be able to drag it.” The hole was big enough for Merlin’s tastes, but Will kept digging, so Merlin didn’t argue. Then his eyes flew to Merlin, then back down. “That thing around your neck will do.”

Merlin’s hand clutched at the red neckerchief at his throat with indignation and Will laughed. “It’s bloody hot! Why’re you even wearing it?”

“You know it was a gift, you arse.”

Will shrugged, and Merlin rammed his shovel into the ground before turning on his heel and stomping in the direction of the dead animal. “Don’t hurt yourself!” Will shouted after him and Merlin flipped him off, not turning back.

The smell was foul. Merlin stopped just before it became suffocating and breathed in the cleaner air. He untied the knot at the back of his neck and squeezed the neckerchief in his hands. Him mum would kill him. She’d given it to him last winter, and from then on the neckerchief had become a familiar weight at his neck. But he had to do it, and he would wash it later besides.

He quickly tied the thick cloth around the deer’s ankle. When he couldn’t hold his breath anymore, he retreated a few feet and breathed again. With another held breath, he wrapped the other end of the cloth around his fist and started dragging the body in the direction of the hole. The deer wasn’t fully grown yet, though it was big, and by the time Merlin reached Will, he was panting. It didn’t help that the temperature was rising by the minute.

With Will’s help, Merlin managed to place the deer in the hole, and Will helped him to bury it properly. Then Will announced that he had to go back and took the two shovels with him, and Merlin thanked him for his trouble. Will sometimes did things like that, things that didn’t matter much to him, but which meant the world to Merlin. Merlin would miss him, more than he could admit out loud.

He stayed for a few minutes by himself, collecting a few bigger rocks and piling them on the grave. He wanted the animal to reconnect with the forest, but for his own selfishness he wanted to mark the place, so he could visit it when he had the chance.

With the last glance back, Merlin set off towards the lake.

Chapter Text

The first thing Merlin did was put his head in the water, just as Alric had done to him the day before. He opened his eyes and promptly lifted his head, sputtering and shaking his head like a wet dog.

Okay, so that didn’t work. The lake didn’t look any different from how it always looked, a wide expanse of still water, rippling in a light wind, crickets  chirping softly and frogs croaking a symphony. Nothing particularly magical about any of that.

Merlin huffed and plopped down on the ground. He took his boots off, careful with the right one with the peeling sole. Next went his socks and, after some thought, his shirt. He rolled up his trousers to his knees and took the bloody clothes from his bag. They were all stiff with dried blood and he had no idea if he’d ever be able to wash all the red out of his blue tunic, but he had to at least try .

He dipped his toes into the water and shivered. The water was perfectly cold, and as Merlin waded in further he started to consider just going for a swim. He shook his head quickly. No, first the clothes, then maybe a bit of a swim, before he had to go back and help his mum or run some errands for one person or another. There was always someone who needed a message delivered, and Merlin usually found a few jobs whenever he needed a coin or vegetables for dinner.

He started to soak the shirt and trousers, looking at them sceptically. He bit his lip. Well, he could also do his Thing, as Will called it, and clean everything with the blink of an eye. But he  was still uneasy about doing it. Yesterday showed it didn’t always work the way he wanted. And he hated that. Maybe he had started to rely on it too much. Maybe he should take a break from doing magic for a bit.

Then he heard it. A splash, somewhere behind him. A small one, but it still made him turn around. He expected a fish or a frog, not—not a hand. A human hand, emerging from the water. Five fingers. A palm. A thick forearm. And then a body all at once, gasping for air, flailing his hands as if trying to grab onto something and not finding anything, then slowly, so slowly sinking back into the water.

Merlin was frozen. The forgotten clothes floated away as the last point of the stranger’s fingers slid under the water. The force of his earlier thrashing had created ripples in the water that were slowly making their way toward Merlin. In the place where the man had disappeared, the water was still.

Merlin shook himself. “Hey!” he shouted, forcing his feet to move. “Hey, this isn’t funny!” And why would it even be a joke? Merlin shouted some more ridiculous things like ‘Are you all right?’ and ‘Come out’ as he reached the deepest part of the lake and stopped at the sight of red in the water. Blood.

Making a split second decision, Merlin flung himself into the water and blindly searched for the body. His hand curled around something and he yanked at it, swimming up, up, up and taking a breath, before pulling the stranger with him.

His left hand circled around the man’s stomach — bare stomach, no clothes to clutch on. And he kept slipping. Merlin managed to catch him before his head slipped underwater, and dragged him the last few feet onto the sand.

The man was naked. Absolutely naked, not not even a stitch of clothing on him. And while Merlin was very aware of the man’s nakedness, that was the second thing that caught his eye. The first was the number of scars across his chest, arms and legs. Some of them were old and faded, pale and blending into the golden skin, some of them were recent and angry red, but a few were new and still bleeding. Like the ugly burn on his right shoulder and the deep bite mark on his right thigh.

Merlin moved the man into the position his mum taught him, hands shaking badly, and checked for his breath. He sobbed when he heard none. He clenched his hands into fists a few times to get them to stop shaking and positioned his interlocked fingers on the man’s chest. He felt the bumpy skin of scars and ignored it, pressing down.

Then one, two rescue breaths. And chest again. Steady hands, steady… You practised, you did it dozens of times. Don’t panic. Two breaths. Steady hands.

Merlin yelped when he was shoved back and the man turned, leaning on his forearms coughing water and groaning. As quickly as he had raised himself, he fell back, eyes closed, cheek on the sand and quick breaths coming from his mouth.

Merlin went on his knees again and leaned close, carefully in case the man made tried to shove him again or attack him. He smoothed back the sandy hair that fell into the stranger’s eyes and yes, the man was unconscious again. 

Merlin bit his lip. He looked the man over. He had no possessions — no clothing, no food, and two wounds that needed immediate help. He had serious doubts that the man had been  a normal swim, but Merlin could go around the lake and look for his clothes or bag — unless it had been stolen. Maybe Merlin was just crazy, and it was just a traveler he hadn’t noticed going for a swim in the lake.

Merlin didn’t want to think about the other possibility.

Anyway, he needed a healer, and he needed them now. The wound on the man’s thigh looked awful, the blood was everywhere by now and the man’s body was starting to shiver. 

There was a tiny bit of fear in Merlin’s mind. This man was naked and weaponless, but not helpless. He had muscles in his arms bigger that Merlin’s head. Or at least, it seemed that way. He had scars and rough hands and he was definitely a warrior of some sort. Maybe an assassin or some other mercenary with no morals. Someone who would not hesitate to take Merlin’s life. And his magic had already proved to be untrustworthy. He couldn’t depend on it when push came to shove.

Still, he pushed that doubt to the back of his mind, because he couldn’t just let someone die. 

Merlin had just remembered there was some nettle growing near the lake. He sprang to his feet and said, “Don’t go anywhere,” for no particular reason. The man couldn't hear him, but it made him worry less.

Merlin went over to his bag and taking his small knife. He also had a bandage tucked in there somewhere, though he wondered if it wouldn’t be too small for that kind of wound.

Not even a foot away there was a nettle bush, and Merlin cut a few close to the ground. When he took them, his hands stung, but he was used to the sensation. When he was little, Will had pushed him into a bush like that, the nettles even taller than he was, and when he’d emerged, crying, he had the little red bumps all over his body. He thought he was going to die, but since then he had collected a lot of plants for his mum and he barely felt it anymore.

He ran over to the man, carrying a bag and an armful of nettles, which he placed on a stone nearby. Then he found a smaller rock and began to crush the plants into a pulp,  adding some water from the lake. He snatched his dry shirt from the bag with a sigh, then went over and dumped it into the water. He didn’t look for his clothes from yesterday — they had floated away and were probably on the other side of the lake by now.

Her wiped the man’s leg with his shirt and took a good look at the wound. The teeth had pierced the stranger’s thigh more deeply than Merlin ever seen an animal do. His mother treated some dog bites occasionally, and one time even a wolf bite, but this one was terrifying. Merlin shuddered. What kind of animal had so many teeth that were so sharp , and a jaw so narrow?

He couldn’t look at it anymore, so he took the pulp from the nettles and spread it over the wound. It was still kind of sting-y and the man thrashed under Merlin’s hands. Evidently, he was awake again, as he tried to swat at Merlin’s head with feverish, clumsy movements. 

Merlin tried to keep him still with one hand, but it wasn’t much help. His stick of an arm was nothing in comparison with the man’s big hands. “Stop it!” Merlin swatted at him back, hitting a hand that tried to push him off, and the hand stopped. Merlin quickly put the rest of the pulp over the teeth marks on the back of the thigh. Good. He could at least be sure it’d stop the bleeding.

Then a hand was closing around Merlin’s wrist and yanking his arm back, stopping him from reaching for the bandage. He yelped, more from surprise than from pain. The hand let go, and Merlin landed on his elbow. He saw the big hand of the man trembling in the air with its fingers splayed. The man had his eyes half-open and watery bright, looking at his palm with something resembling shock, like it had betrayed him in some way. Merlin ignored his unease. He put the back of his hand on the man’s forehead and then cheek, careful not to sting him with the nettle still on his fingers.

The eyes found his for a brief moment, before Merlin turned away and got to his feet. He washed his hands and dipped his shirt in the water again. He cleaned the stranger’s face with it as much as he could, folded it and placed it on the man’s forehead. He was burning up, and if Merlin wasn’t already in panic mode he would definitely be freaking out. A fever never meant anything good. But the cloth would maybe cool him a bit.

At least it would if the man didn’t keep trying to grab it. Merlin batted his hands away every time, while trying to get the bandages fastened the best he could.

He had treated his fair share of wounds and seen more naked people than he really wanted to. Usually with patients one was immune to nakedness. A body was a body, with all its parts. And there was no time for modesty when one had to stitch up the other’s arse because of some accident with a goat’s horn. He didn’t envy his mother her profession as village healer, he really didn’t.

But now he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. That he had to deliberately avoid a man’s cock to treat his wound was an experience. Especially with the man in question being half conscious and his eyes boring into Merlin with unnerving intensity. Absolutely mental.

When Merlin finished the bandaging, he actually chuckled and looked at the man, whose eyes were barely open. “The worst is behind us. We just have to get you somewhere out of this bloody sun.”

The man didn’t look like he understood what Merlin was saying. Maybe he didn’t speak their language. He could be a foreigner. Merlin actually never seen one, but there had been talk about warriors with braids in their light hair and beards that came from the sea. This man was just as Merlin always imagined those men to be — big and wild, kind of savage and full of battle wounds.

No much point in wondering about it now. He had to figure out where he was going to take this man. Ealdor was out of the question. People would be too nosy, and they wouldn’t want to waste their food and beds on a stranger, especially a potentially dangerous one. Merlin also didn’t want to take him back to his house, which would worry his mum and potentially put her at risk, if the man suddenly woke up one day and decided to harm her when Merlin wasn’t around to keep an eye on him. Besides, Will  would definitely try to talk Merlin out of taking care of strangers if he was there.

The safest place would be outside of Ealdor, in the caves near the mountains. It was easy to slip there and crack your head against the rocks, so people didn’t really go there often. And the cave would be cool even if the sun was melting his skin outside.

Decision made, Merlin got down on one knee, making sure to slow his movements and speak softly to the man to catch his attention and make sure he at least understood Merlin’s tone, if not his words. “Will you help me a bit? I’m going to take you somewhere safe. You’ll be safe. Okay?”

He needed the stranger to help him a bit. In no world would he be able to carry a man almost twice his weight even half a mile. They seemed to be the same height, but Merlin knew his limitations. Those muscles were ridiculously heavy. Merlin took the man’s hand and put it over his neck, curling his other hand around the man’s back, and tried to hoist him up, hoping for a bit of help. The stranger managed to catch one foot under himself, but could barely stand on the wounded one.

In the end, the man was leaning on Merlin too much, and he was dragging his right leg, but somehow  they made their way slowly toward the caves. He didn’t even know how long it took them, but they both were sweating and gross by the time they reached it, and the cave and the little stream beside it turned out to be a salvation. Merlin poured the cold water over his head and bought some over for the man to drink, though his eyes were barely open, and soon enough, they were closed once again. 

Merlin leaned the stranger on the cold rock inside the cave and made sure the wound wouldn’t start bleeding again. He sat bare arsed on the cold stone, but Merlin promised to bring him some blankets and clothes right away, even if the man couldn’t hear a word of it.

***

His mum was probably out doing a home visit or had met with Will’s mum or something, because she wasn’t there when Merlin arrived. And thank the gods she wasn’t, because he wouldn’t know how to tell her he had to take all those blankets and bandages and food and salve into the woods with him. Besides, she’d asked him to pick up some herbs and he still hadn’t done that. He’d do it after making sure the man would be all right.

On his way back, he bumped into Rowan, who barely managed to keep the water in the buckets he carried in each hand, probably for the pigs. He actually reeked like one, and Merlin had to keep himself from gagging at the smell and sight of his naked torso.

“Whatcha have there?” Rowan asked, eyeing the blankets and the bag packed to the brim. Out of all the times, he just had to pick now to be in a chatty mood. “You’re not stealing, are you?”

“No! I just...” Merlin shook his head immediately. He didn’t want to stand there and let more people see him, but he shouldn’t act so suspicious. Maybe Rowan wasn’t very smart, but everything he deemed weird or interesting would go straight to Alric, who would have no qualms about accusing Merlin of all sorts of untrue things.

It turned out that he didn’t have to think up an excuse, and Merlin thanked the gods that Rowan had no attention span. “And what about that deer?” He snickered to himself. “Alric said to leave it for you and your mum, so you can finally grow a bit.”

“I’ll make sure to thank him when I see him next,” Merlin said through his teeth.

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin. No need to get hung up about some harmless fun. And you should seriously eat something. King Cenred’s men will want to recruit the best of the best, and when they see you with your spindly legs they’ll run for the hills.”

Merlin was overcome with a sudden sense of terror. “Cenred’s men? When?”

Rowan looked at him like there was no hope for him. “In a few weeks. After midsummer. You’ll have to come too, you know. And as much as tormenting you is fun, it’s different out there. You’ll die the first day of training. If you’re lucky.”

Rowan bumped his shoulder, nearly making him lose his balance. Merlin didn’t know if it was a companionable gesture or a reassurance that Rowan still thought of Merlin as just a pushover.

Merlin nearly ran into the woods, heading for the caves. No one had told him the selection was in a few weeks. And he’d completely forgotten that he would have to go with them too. He’d turned eighteen barely a month ago, and he wasn’t ready to be knight. Barely a knight. More like a pig to slaughter. The commoners were never Cenred’s favourites and everyone knew it. That was why they fought tooth and nail to stand out with their good swordsmanship or strength, so the king would keep them close and they could die later. 

But Rowan was right, Merlin wouldn’t stand a chance. And if the king discovered — or even suspected — he had magic, his life would be over. He would become a slave to build castles and cast spells over armour and weapons, or a circus monkey for the entertainment of royals. Sorcerers in Cenred’s kingdom were treated worse than dogs.

But what was a better option? Going to Camelot? What a joke.

When Merlin returned to the cave, the stranger still propped where Merlin had left him. He quickly arranged the blankets on the ground and managed to drag the heavy body onto them, lying him on his back. He checked the man’s temperature again, putting a hand on his forehead, and sighed with relief when he found it cooler than before.

He took out a jug and filled it with water, then set out a few pieces of bread and some strawberries wrapped in a cloth. Merlin hoped that, if the man woke up, he would see them and have enough strength to eat and drink before the animals got there first.

Then Merlin spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to melt, picking dandelions in the grass around the cave. When he had his bag and his hands full, he returned to the cave. The burning sun was just giving way to the chill of the evening, and it was probably time for Will and the others to finish work. They still had to walk back a few miles to the village from the fields. And Merlin was just sitting there, complaining about being tired of the hot weather.

He had forgotten about his clothes  while picking the flowers, and he returned to the lake to find they had dried already, so he had a quick wash in the stream and changed out of his sweaty ones. He cleaned them with some soap from his mum’s cabinet and let them soak for so long that all the stains were gone, though he used too much on the tunic and it turned a light blue shade.

He also tried to look for clothes or bags or such left near the lake, but he didn’t find anything that could belong to the mystery man. As he was walking back, he remembered that a lot of men liked to hunt in those woods, from both kingdoms, but Merlin had a feeling this man didn’t hunt for pleasure. Maybe just out of necessity.

In the end, Merin decided he must be some sort of ranger — a man of the forest. Almost like Merlin himself.

Merlin entered the cave, hoping to see the ranger with open eyes, but he had no such luck. He was still asleep, but at least he didn’t have a fever. Merlin changed his bandages, washing off the paste from the nettles and putting on a salve that her mother used. It was almost magical how well it worked. In theory, Merlin knew how to put stitches in deeper cuts, but with these weird bite marks he could fuck it up. Besides, he still couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t get infected. He’d tried to clean it as best as he could, but he’d see in the morning if his worry was warranted.

The thigh was the worst by far. The burn on the shoulder wasn’t as fresh — it had maybe happened a few days ago, and it was healing nicely. So Merlin left it alone for now, though he had half a mind to try to heal it with his magic. His mum had been burned a few months ago in winter, and Merlin was able to make her hand smooth again within a few moments. He didn’t only because the man would immediately know what Merlin was, if he woke up without such a big wound.

Merlin had also brought a white shirt, something he sometimes used as a nightshirt, because it was too big for him and had come into their possession after some patient of his mum’s left it behind. Merlin carefully put in on the ranger. First he had to lift the man’s head a bit, his long hair falling into his face, the thick beard scratching at Merlin’s fingers. Then he put the hands into the arm holes. The shirt reached the ranger’s thighs and covered his cock, at last.

Merlin sat there for a while, hugging his knees, hoping for the eyes to open, but it had gotten dark surprisingly quickly, so he packed his bag. He took all the dandelions, not noticing when some fell out, and set out to Ealdor before he wouldn’t be able to find his way back.

***

He was woken up by shaking and screams. He opened his eyes and there was no light in their house, but he   could still somehow see his mother’s face clearly. She was kneeling over him with a hand on his shoulder and a scared expression on her face.

“You have to help them, Merlin,” she said hurriedly and took his hand. She led him out of the house, not even pausing to let him put on his shoes.

As she opened the door, the screams got louder. Merlin realised with mortification that the light wasn’t coming from a moon, it was coming from a big fire on the outskirts of the town. Children were screaming, women and men were shouting and running, carrying the buckets from the wells to pour the water over the fire.

It was Old Man Simmons’ barn. The goats and cows and two horses had been herded outside by his sons, who tried to calm the animals down. They had managed to get all of them out in time, before the fire spread, but it was a warm night and it was hard as hell to put the fire down. Most of Ealdor was on their feet and helping in some way. Men took buckets from women. They tried to stop the fire from the forrest’s side. The fire could destroy half of the forest and nothing would stop it. And it didn’t look like the rain was coming, either. It hadn’t rained in a week.

“I have to do something,” Merlin said to his mum. She nodded sadly. She didn’t want him to use his magic, especially in public, but they were desperate. And they needed the miracle. “Be careful, my love. Don’t let anyone see you. I’m going to help with the wells.” With those words, she kissed his forehead with all her might and let him go.

Merlin tried to figure out what he could do. He couldn’t just stop the fire, make it disappear. His magic didn’t work that way. He had to be specific. He had to redirect the air or—or make more water. There were no clouds in sight, but Merlin couldn’t think of anything else. It was the quickest way to put out the fire.

He tried closing his eyes and focusing on the air around him, on the clear sky…

Then someone shoved him back. “Why aren’t you doing anything, you idiot? Just standing there and looking! Are you mad?” Alric shoved him again, a snarl on his face. “I knew you were useless, but you could at least help like everyone else! Even women and kids are doing more than you!”

Merlin averted another shove. He knew where that anger came from—from fear. Everyone was scared about losing their homes. And Merlin would be angry too, if he saw someone just looking and not trying to help. But he was helping. He was, and he didn’t know how he could say it, tell Alric he wasn’t the useless scum Alric thought he was.

Nothing came out of his mouth.

“Hey, leave him alone! Don’t you have anything better to do?” someone shouted, and Merlin was relieved to see that it was Will. He stomped over to them and shoved an empty bucket into Alric chest. “Mind your own arse, yeah?”

“And what? Leave this idiot standing here like a stump of wood, doing nothing to help? You’re a coward like him, but at least you bring the water with the rest. Why won’t he dirty his hands once in a while, too?”

“He just woke up! He’ll help. And you’re not helping now, so what’ve you got in your defence? Go be useful and don’t stop to chat! Wanker!” Will spat on the ground and turned to Merlin, his scowl disappearing, but his expression still worried. “I know you were doing your Thing. Or at least trying to. Go closer to the forest, so no one disturbs you again, all right?”

Merlin clasped Will’s hand. “Thank you, I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

Will gave a short, strained laugh. “Don’t apologize to me. Or to anyone. Just try your best. Like all of us. Gods’ help, with you we actually might have a chance to put it down before morning.”

Merlin nodded and did as Will said. He hid between the trees where he still had a good view of the barn. He took a deep breath and tried to focus again.

The thing with his magic was that, when he did something unconsciously, it worked better than we he tried to focus. That was why he always had to be aware of himself, ever since he was a child. So there would be no accidents. It always pained his mum to ask him to keep his magic hidden, because it was a part of him, but he eventually learned to keep his magic on a tight leash. He didn’t use it as much, so usually when he tried—or did something without thinking—after a long period of not using it, it had a tendency to… backfire. In the worst of ways.

A lot of bards told stories about magic feeling like poison or a drug. Merlin disagreed. It felt like a warm winterfire in his heart and clean air in his lungs, like the smell of the forest and like a wave, swooping through his whole body, only to be released in an invisible surge of power that not even the most eloquent of bards could describe accurately.

Merlin felt it leaving his body and disappearing into the air, and for a few excruciating moments, there was nothing. He tuned out all the shouts and all he could see were spots behind his eyes. And then—

And then a droplet. Right on his cheekbone, making its way down to his neck and collarbone, disappearing into his sleep tunic. Merlin opened his eyes, a laugh bubbling out of him. There were more and more droplets falling around him. He’d done it! He raised his hands to feel the rain on his skin. He’d actually done it.

Soon, his hair was plastered to his forehead and his shirt clinging to his body, and he made his way to the gathering near the barn, his bare feet digging into the mud with delight. He stepped outside of the shadow of the huts and a body collided with him, making his breath catch.

“You bloody genius, you did it!” The words were screamed into his ear, and then arms were circling around his waist and Will swirled him in the air. Merlin couldn’t help himself and threw his hands up, laughing with all his might.

After Will put him down, he was a bit dizzy, but he managed to pull his mother into a hug too and whisper, “I did it.”

“You’re a hero, my boy. I’m so proud of you.”

As everyone made their way back to their houses, Merlin heard someone say, “Looks like the gods are looking out for us.”

Merlin fell asleep with muddy feet and a big smile on his face.

Chapter Text

“... and then the rain started just like that, and the fire went out easily after that. The barn’s been destroyed, and the Simmons’ have had to crowd all the animals in the other one, but all in all, I think it went well. No one died, which is always a good thing, you know. Even the animals… Oh, no, a goat ran away in all the commotion, but no one’s looking for it. I didn’t see it on my way here, so I don’t know where it could’ve gone.” Merlin sighed as he stirred a pot of porridge, simmering over the makeshift fire. “Anyway, I hope you weren’t too cold out here. I wasn’t expecting rain, you know. I was hoping for something more… down to earth, I guess. Sometimes I tend to—”

Merlin peered over his shoulder, only to startle when he saw a pair of eyes watching him closely and with a striking clarity.

He had come here just after he woke up, the forest smelling amazing after the rain and pleasantly breezy, even with the sun coming up high in the sky. He took out some of his mum’s medicine and a pot of porridge from yesterday. He changed the ranger’s bandages quickly, doing an even better job than he had the day before, feeling proud of himself for it. And for not getting flustered over the man’s still pantless state. Then he got the fire going to heat the porridge, humming to himself when he saw that the bread and water had been eaten and hoping the man would wake up.

He didn’t even remember when he had started talking about his day and the day before; all the while, the ranger was still as unmoving as Merlin had left him the other evening.

Now that he saw the man was awake, he felt a sudden sense of embarrassment for having been talking for so long, and a bit of fear that the man would try to do something to hurt him.

The eyes were observing his every move closely, and when Merlin turned around—and it wasn’t a sudden move or anything—the man went so rigid that Merlin could see the tendons in his neck clearly. It looked very painful. Merlin didn’t come closer, however, just sat cross legged where he was, a few feet away from the stranger.

“Uhm, hi?” He waved a bit awkwardly. “Can you understand me?” He smiled in encouragement, making himself as non-threatening as possible. Which was not difficult.

After a tense moment of silence, and an impressive, unblinking staring contest, the ranger nodded once, jaw tight.

Merlin was expecting it, even after all those musings about the man being from an entirely new land. What surprised him, though, was how tense the ranger was. How wild his eyes were, and how nervous his body language, as if prepared for an unexpected attack at any moment. Did he think Merlin would charge at him out of nowhere? Or maybe he was distrustful in general?

“My name is Merlin. And who are you?”

For many, a name so freely given to a stranger would be a sign of naivety, but Merlin liked to think he had at least some sense of self preservation. Not much, but still. He considered it to be more of an olive branch. Someone had to make the first move. And Merlin wanted the man to like him. It was more of a selfish desire than self preservation, if he were being honest. There was something captivating about this stranger that Merlin couldn’t quite put his finger on, and he wanted to know more.

The man stared at him blankly in response.

“You don’t have to tell me who you are, obviously. Not if you don’t want to. You were hurt, quite badly, you know? And where did you even come from? I found you in a lake!”

There was a flash behind the man’s eyes that could mean a hundred different things.

Merlin bit his lip. “Are you mute, perhaps?” he asked, trying to figure out a possible reason why this man didn’t mutter a single word, good or bad. “Then I’m sorry for all the questions. I didn’t want to—”

“No.” The word was spoken quietly, in a voice that cracked with disuse and felt foreign even on the speaker’s tongue. The word seemed to surprise even the ranger, because his eyes widened. He cleared his throat a few times, hand coming to rest on his throat.

Merlin threw his hand out for a pitcher with water to bring it to him, but the man caught his elbow again, in a move so fast Merlin had trouble understanding what had just happened. The water spilled on both of their shirts—Merlin’s light blue one and the man’s white. Both stared at each other again, merely a foot apart this time. Then, slowly, slowly the man took the pitcher from Merlin’s hands and moved it to his mouth, not taking his eyes off Merlin.

The man gulped the water down, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and Merlin watched it, unnerved by the stare and trying to avoid it.

“Is this…?” The man finally said, after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he seemed to stop and consider his words carefully, with a calculating look no savage could possess. “You seem real.”

“I am real. Why would I not be?” Merlin was genuinely curious.

“Nothing is real here. Besides the beasts.” And the man became sad all of sudden. 

His voice was still rough, and it would probably take some time before it would be normal again. Still, even from so few words Merlin could recognize the accent, the way of speaking—it was the sort used by high lords and princesses. So this man was a royal, then? Or once had been. What was he now? A newly escaped prisoner? Or some kind of outlaw?

He didn’t seem to care much of his state of undress. He spared but a single glance down at himself, as if it was hard for him to recognize his own body. His gaze seemed to be permanently fixed on Merlin, waiting for Merlin to do something to threaten him. 

Well, then he’d wait long, because Merlin didn’t plan on attacking anyone today.

And what was he talking about?

“Where do you think we are?”

The man looked at him as if he had a severe mental affliction. “In hell,” he said, with the conviction of a man long resigned to his fate.

Merlin swallowed thickly. Not knowing how to answer, he remembered suddenly the warm pot of porridge and brought it over, along with two spoons. “You should eat. I’m going to get some more water.” He scrambled to his feet and got the pitcher, but after two steps he was stopped with a firm command.

“Wait.” The ranger was in the process of sitting up, wincing and trembling through it, though he succeeded fairly easily and leaned his back on the cave wall. “You’re going like that?”

Merlin tilted his head in confusion. “Like what?”

For a man who was bleeding out on Merlin just the other day, he looked incredibly judgmental. “Where are your weapons? Shoes? Better yet, where are mine?”

Merlin looked at his bare feet and remembered that his shoes were drying in the sun just outside the cave.

“You didn’t have any with you. And, umm, I don’t think anything will attack me? I’m just going to the stream, there, you can see it from here. No one usually comes by these caves, if you’re worried about that. Wolves and bears tend to stick to the areas further south. Besides, I can take care of myself.”

The man nodded along with Merlin’s ramblings, but his face remained blank. For some reason, he looked even more distrustful than before. Moving quickly to the stream, Merlin filled the pitcher, drinking some himself before taking it back to the man.

Who hadn’t even touched the porridge. Instead, he just stared at Merlin as he sat down beside him and started to take his own spoonfuls slowly. “It’s not the best, I admit,” he admitted after swallowing. “But it’s better warm, trust me. Come on, if you want to heal faster, you have to eat.”

This close, Merlin could see how tired the man was. He had exhausted a lot of energy being tense like that and sitting up on his own. His wound might be healing fast, but it was still a serious injury. Merlin supposed their conversation had to also have tired him out, and now he was fighting tooth and nail to stay awake.

Merlin felt a pang in his chest at the thought that the ranger mistrusted him so much he was afraid of going to sleep. On the other hand, he had no right to feel that way. They were strangers to each other, nothing more.

Merlin stayed silent as they ate. In the end, Merlin took a few spoonfuls for himself and let the man eat the majority of his mother’s porridge, then wash it down with fresh water. By then his eyes were almost closed.

“You’re safe here. Just sleep. I’m not useless, you know. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Am I safe... from you?” The man sighed the last part.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Merlin said, but the stranger could no longer hear him, his breathing deep and steady.

For the whole afternoon, the man didn’t wake up. Merlin changed his bandage, washed the pot to take back to him mum and left him some bread again for the night. 

***

The next day, Merlin was dragged from his sleep by a piercing scream and his mum telling him that Joyce, who was two years younger than Merlin, had gone into labour. She ran around the house, grabbing everything they might need, then told Merlin to meet her there and bring as many towels as he could find.

So he went to a few of his neighbours, asking to borrow their towels and cloths and whatever they had, and only three out of five even gave a shit. One of them told him to keep the screams down, and Merlin nearly hexed him right then and there. A woman was giving birth, for God’s sake. It usually wasn’t a very quiet affair.

He took the towels to Joyce’s house, where her mother and sister took them from his hands and went to help Hunith. Merlin was too nervous to go to the forest, until he found out what had happened with the baby.

It was the third time Merlin had found himself waiting for his mother to deliver a baby safely. The first time, he was nine, and he’d clutched Will’s hand the whole time, hearing the screams and imagining the worst, until Hunith came out of the room smiling brightly, with a weird-looking red boy in her arms . When Merlin was sixteen and helped bring the towels and water, his mother had come out with a grim expression and a shake of her head. 

And now, with Joyce being so young, so many things could go wrong. Merlin wouldn’t be able to focus on anything until he knew for sure everything had gone well.

After about three hours of Merlin milling about, going from his house and back to Joyce’s, and worrying about the ranger, and packing some food to his bag, it was over. When he stepped into the house, the room was open and Joyce was holding a freshly washed baby, wrapped in soft blankets. She looked exhausted, but so happy, tears falling freely from her cheeks.

Merlin was unsure if he should be there at all—it seemed too intimate a moment— but his own mother beckoned him closer, and when he was in arms reach, she took him into a hug, breathing a sigh. Merlin felt a knot in his stomach being loosened. Everything was all right.

Joyce’s mother and sister were fussing over her and asked her to give the baby to them, but she had no intention of parting with it, looking at the little bundle in her arms with a sleepy smile.

“Isn’t she beautiful, Merlin?” she asked, and Merlin was startled that he was being addressed. They had known each other since they were just about the baby’s age, their mothers lifelong friends, but they were all grown up now and spoke to each other rarely, if at all.

“She—she is,” Merlin walked closer to her bed. For some reason, tears welled up in his eyes. The baby was so small, so innocent, and Merlin wanted to protect her with all his heart. “Does she have a name yet?”

“Fianna. After her dad’s gran.”

“It’s beautiful.” Merlin wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Oh Merlin, you were always a crybaby,” Joyce joked, even if her own tears were fresh on her red cheeks. “It’s nice to have a man here. It makes me miss him less, you know. Hope he gets back soon...  Now he has more of a reason to.”

Merlin hand found hers and he squeezed. “He will,” he lied, and the lie was breaking his heart.

Merlin kissed his mother’s cheek and said he had to go, keeping his voice as even as he could. Hunith said she was going to make sure everything with Joyce and Fianna was all right, and she would go home and rest.

***

“Your eyes are red.”

Merlin turned his head away. He’d managed to slice an apple in his hand without cutting himself and was currently munching on it, so it was a good excuse not to answer.

“Is it perhaps a rash of some sort?”

“What? No!” Merlin spluttered, heat rising to his cheeks. The man’s mouth twisted in a grimace that Merlin realised a few moments later was a smile. Or a smirk. His eyes were two slits—not from mistrust, like yesterday, but from mirth.

Merlin hit him on the arm on a reflex, just like he always did with WIll when he was being a prick. They both were surprised at the contact, but before Merlin could apologize, a flash of something passed through the ranger’s eyes, something sad but not exactly. He lost his grimace, but his look didn’t turn serious again, or neutral like it had yesterday. And he kept talking. It felt like progress.

“That’s good, then. Wouldn’t want to lose my leg and my eyes.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You won’t lose your leg! It’s healing fast.” It was actually healing a lot faster than a wound like that should be. Merlin had a few theories about that, but he couldn’t voice any of them. Not then, at least.

The man nodded. “You’re the healer here.”

“I’m not actually. That’s my mother; she’s the village healer and she’s amazing. She was trained by the best physician from Camelot. She lived there once, you know, but she had to go away, because… well, it doesn’t matter, but here she is now, twenty years later and with a community that loves her and appreciates her more than Camelot ever could.”

“Something tells me it doesn’t show the same kindness to you.”

Merlin waved his hand. “I’m different.”

“Different, how?”

“Just different,” Merlin shrugged and stood up.

“You can tell me what’s on your mind.”

Merlin snorted to himself, hand messing up his hair. “How can I, when I’m getting nothing in return?”

The man’s eyes turned sharp. “I don’t owe you conversation.”

“Yet you expect me to tell you more about myself.”

“You’re doing it already. Do you want me to tell what I know about you, Merlin? Just from two conversations with you?” Merlin frowned. It sounded vaguely threatening. “I know that you’re an idiot. You are naive and reckless. You are poor and lonely. You let a stranger into your life and you don’t keep your mouth shut. We are thirty minute walk from your village, a small village where your mother is a healer and your best friend’s name is Will. It would be so easy for me to hurt you, as you seem to never carry any weapon. I don’t need a weapon to kill, and even you have to know this. You seem to be prancing about barefoot in the woods like some kind of forest sprite without a care in the world.”

“Excuse me! I know what I’m doing.”

“Clearly not. You should’ve left me in that lake.”

“I couldn’t let you die!”

“No. You couldn’t.” The man looked at his lap, his hand lightly resting on his injured thigh. “I want you to take me there.”

“You can’t yet. When the wound has healed more, maybe, but you can’t stand up on your own now. I could get you some crutches, but it’s still quite a walk, and we’ll have to take the longer path. You’re going to tire easily and I won’t carry you this time. You’re quite heavy, anyway.”

“Are you implying that I’m fat?” The man seemed genuinely offended and Merlin just had to laugh. They both knew there was nothing but muscle under that shirt, but Merlin made a neutral face and shook his head, saying, “Maybe I’ve been feeding you too well...”

“You are. I don’t think you’d believe what I’ve eaten on the other side of that lake.”

That made Merlin pause. “The other side?”

“In the Otherworld.” Arthur shivered. “And this isn’t it. Do you know how I know that?” Merlin raised his eyebrows. “There is no numbness anymore. Nor the stench of death. There are mosquitoes and flies and foxes and squirrels, and the forest is bright and alive. And so are we.”

***

“Tell me about Camelot.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. Of all the things he might have expected the ranger to say, this wasn't one of them. 

He had been fidgeting in place for most of the afternoon, clenching and unclenching his fists, working his jaw, a frown graced his face whenever he looked at Merlin. It didn’t take long for Merlin to figure out that he wanted to say something, but something seemed to stop him every time. 

Merlin let him work out his doubts in peace, going in and out of the cave—to pick some berries, to gather wood for a fire just in case. He managed to pick some more herbs for his mother and generally considered it a productive afternoon.

The man had had enough of sitting in the same position in the near-darkness of the cave, so with Merlin’s help he’d hopped the few steps to the stream and sat down, mindful of his injured thigh. Merlin brought him a jug and a cloth so he could wash himself a bit, and turned his back immediately after the man started taking his white shirt off.

The request caught him off guard. “What do you want to know?”

Merlin turned to look briefly and caught the man leaning back, pouring water over his hair. His chest in the sun looked golden, the long expanse of his throat exposed for Merlin’s view. With his eyes closed and lips barely open, he looked like a…

Merlin turned around, feeling his ears and cheeks getting warmer. And where the hell had those thoughts come from?

“Tell me everything you know,” came the gruff reply.

Merlin hesitated. “Why?”

“That will be my next destination, after my leg heals a bit. I can’t stay in this cave forever.”  Which felt like a reason, but not the real one. 

Merlin couldn’t help the leaden weight that settled in his stomach. You just got here, he wanted to say, why would you go so soon? But the man was right, wasn’t he? He couldn’t live in the cave and he couldn’t live in Ealdor. Sooner or later he had to go. Just like Will. Merlin just wanted to—to stop time or something. Just for a while. Just for a while so everything would be just like this, quiet and pleasant. Not happy, per se, but who was truly happy these days? Merlin would be fine with just knowing he was okay.

“Well, I don’t know what you mean to do in Camelot, but you won’t get to the castle, if that’s what you want.”

“I’ve been there before. Just because you—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “ Thou shalt not set foot onto the holy terrain with impure intentions . Isn’t that what they’re saying?”

The man went quiet for a while, and Merlin turned to look at him from the corner of his eyes. He sat with a straight back, head held high, and the posture couldn’t belong to a ranger, to someone trained in being inconspicuous, hard to track and hunt. Everything about this man was eye-catching, from his looks to the way he spoke and carried himself.

“Supposing I don’t know what they’re saying… what do those words mean?”

“It’s like a rule or something. Travellers and bards say that about the castle. The king put enchantment over his citadel, so no enemy of his would find him. It’s called The Veil.”

The man nearly choked on his sip of water. Merlin took a step to help him, but the man brought himself under control. “What’s the king got to do with—with enchantments?”

Merlin placed his hands on his hips, just looking at the ranger. He had no right to be so surprised at that fact. “How long you’ve exactly been in… Otherworld? What I’m telling you is common knowledge, even here outside of Camelot.”

For the first time in two days, the man looked unsure. “Are we not in Camelot, then?”

“We’re in Essetir. Close to Camelot’s border.”

The man hummed. “I don’t… Time flows differently there. But the last time I was in Camelot, there was still a Great War going, with sorcerers being slaughtered and all kinds of people dying in the process. And now you’re telling me about enchantments? Approved by the King of Camelot himself? Or are you making fun of me?”

Merlin rested on the rock beside the ranger, cross legged. “I saw you appear out of that lake, but it’s still… hard for me to believe you were really somewhere else. In a different world.”

“Imagine, then, my own surprise, at waking up in a completely different world.”

“You’ve said it was bad. Will you tell me what you saw?”

“Someday,” he said, with his usual confidence, and Merlin felt his heart swell. This word sounded like a promise. Merlin would hold him to it. “Now, tell me about Camelot.”

Merlin chuckled. “Impatient, are we?” Then his smile dimmed a bit. “So you haven’t heard about Prince Arthur, then?”

The man stiffened. Merlin, so close to him, could see every muscle in his arms and chest clearly, and he wondered at the reaction. Maybe this man had known the prince or something. He could’ve been a knight before. Yes, Merlin felt like some of the pieces were coming together. Maybe he had been trained personally by the prince—maybe they were friends.

Or maybe they were enemies. Merlin still didn’t know where the ranger came from, after all.

“He… died?” The man’s voice shook a bit and Merlin nodded.

“They couldn’t find a body. King Uther searched for his son himself, leaving a sea of red and fresh bodies in his wake. His temper was famous before that, but after that incident… he became mad. All of the kingdoms heard of it and feared his wrath. He became God of War, like in the Old Religion, his path followed by death and destruction. And still, there was no body.”

“And he gave up? On the war, too?”

Merlin looked up on the sky. It was pink and yellow and orange behind the crowns of trees. “Oh no, he became mad, became ill. There was no appeasing his blood lust. Sorcerers weren’t enough. He ordered his men to kill everyone even remotely suspicious. Women, children, whole families hanged and burned, based on mere accusations. No one was safe. 

Some talk about how, twenty years earlier, he killed the last dragon, but five years ago it felt like he became that dragon himself. A creature with no purpose other than to destroy. We know he was grieving, people say his son was the last thing keeping him sane, but I think he was not sane, not for a long time. Come on, let’s get you back.”

“No, no, go on.” The man batted his hands away, but put on his shirt with a shiver.

“I need to make a fire and warm some soup. Besides, it’s almost your bedtime. Come on.”

“I’m not a child,” the man said, childishly. With a grumble, he helped Merlin get him standing and hopped back to his blankets. Merlin saw blood seeping through the bandages and sighed. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea to let you get up yet.”

“Give me the salve, then, and start talking again. What did my—king do, in the end?”

Merlin gave him fresh bandages and a cup. He was strong enough that day to change them by himself. Merlin was too embarrassed to do it when he was awake. Especially considering the fact that he still hadn’t found him some trousers to wear.

While the ranger was taking care of his wound, Merlin started on the fire. “The king grew more and more ill, and, I don’t know how it was exactly, but then his brother in law came out of nowhere.”

“Brother in law?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think. From what I’ve heard, at least. Agravaine is the late Queen Ygraine’s brother. I’m not sure how it works, but he challenged Uther for the right to the throne. I think he could, based on…”

“On the fact that there was no living heir or other relative of direct Pendragon descent, yes. Even if it’s true he was from the de Bois house, the law states he has a right to question the king’s right to the throne. But the king could just as easily have refused the challenge, because he’s not bound to accept it by any means. But he did, didn’t he? He’s a proud man, after all.”

“Yes, and then he lost,” Merlin said, and the ranger spluttered. Merlin frowned at him. “Well, that was our reaction, too, when we heard about it. We spent so much time being afraid of him that considering him a mortal man was difficult. But it’s true. King Uther died, and King Agravaine has taken his place.”

The flames were stronger now, illuminating the cave as the light from outside dimmed. If Merlin turned his back to the entrance, it almost seemed like they were the only two people in the world, with only a little fire to keep them warm.

After a long while, Merlin realised the ranger’s hands were shaking—clenched into fists and shaking. “I spend so much time hating him, despising him. I wanted him dead. I wanted him to look me in the eyes as he died by my sword. I would do it, and I would not feel guilt, only satisfaction. Nothing would stop me, I used to think. And now...”

Merlin gasped at the admission. As much as he’d heard people from Ealdor talk about Uther in a not so pleasant a manner, not one of them had dared to follow it with a statement quite like this. Full of such anger and hatred. Merlin had no doubt the man would have done his best to try it, too. Maybe that’s what had kept him alive in the Otherworld. Thoughts of revenge.

“I don’t think that would be the right thing to do. There’s already so much blood spilled because of him. He would only relish more. There’s no point now, anyway. What are you going to do?”

“It’s not over. Finish your tale, bard Merlin.”

Merlin’s cheeks felt warm. “I’m not that good of a storyteller.”

“You’re good enough. Tell me about Morgana next.”

“About the witch Morgana?”

“What?” Merlin started at the raised voice. “How is that possible? She never…” The man stopped mid sentence as if remembering something. He didn’t speak, so Merlin took that as a clue to continue.

“You need to know that times have changed since Uther died five years ago, in ways we never expected. The Great War Against Sorcery ended with King Uther. With King Agravaine, the Age of Magic has come. With magical help, he rebuilt what was broken and the impossible happened. People started to see the good side of magic again.”

“You don’t speak as if it was good.”

“I don’t know what to think. All I know is what people told me. How can I make up my mind based on other people’s opinions? I haven’t seen the king or the witch Morgana or anyone from Camelot ever in my life, but from what I hear… Sorcerers are still not safe. Or tolerated. People are still prejudiced and hostile. And the king… the king keeps track of every sorcerer in Camelot, is what I’ve heard. The most powerful ones he invites to live in the castle. That’s how he got The Veil; some sorcerer gave it to him in thanks.”

“But you’re unsure of this.”

“Not really. I mean, it could be true. But I find it hard to believe things could have changed so much in just five years, when my whole life I’ve had to,” fear for my life, hide in the shadows, never use magic even if it’s a part of me. “live in fear over a war so bloody, and then Uther dies and instantly it’s all roses and sunshine and the King of Camelot loves magic. He made Lady Morgana his advisor, and a year later it turned out she’s a powerful seer. It’s… mad.”

“Seer means…?”

“Future teller.” 

“That’s… certainly a lot to take in.”

Merlin smiled. “Take your time. We all had five years.”

“I don’t have that much time.”

Merlin didn’t know what that meant, so he hummed and started warming the soup.

Chapter Text

Merlin was in the middle of packing his bag when Will came barging into his house without knocking. Merlin nearly had a heart attack, jumping up and hiding the bag behind his back like a guilty child.

Which was, apparently, the worst kind of reaction, because it made WIll pause, and then a slow smile spread across his lips as he approached. “Oooh, Merlin, what have you got there?”

Merlin could, theoretically, show him; he was more worried about his mum seeing him take another one of her better salves, but on principle he blocked Will’s view. 

“And how is it any of your business?” he asked, trying to smother a laugh.

“My business?” Will pursued his lips with a mock serious expression. “I’ll show you my business!” And he lunged forward, digging his fingers into Merlin’s stomach. Merlin, not anticipating the attack, bowed in half and howled with laughter. 

The next thing he knew, his bag was on the other side of the room, its contents all over the floor, and Will flinched away in surprise. He looked at Merlin and frowned.

“I don’t know what happened!” Merlin said, looking at Will apologetically. He went over to get the items off the floor. “I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

Will got on his knees to help and picked up the jar of salve that was closest to his foot. He looked at what Merlin was packing—bandages and food. “Don’t tell me you found another injured animal in the woods?”

Merlin hesitated, then said, “Um, no? It’s just in case.” He took the jar from WIll and threw it into a bag. “Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be picking potatoes right about now?”

“Yeah, we have a day off, I guess. Old Simmons said something about a wolf stealing his goats?”

“Wolves? Here?” Merlin frowned. They had practically been raised in these woods and they’d never seen any wolves. Some foxes maybe, but nothing bigger. And lately, Merlin had been taking those long walks to the cave and back and he still hadn’t seen or heard anything that might’ve been a wolf. 

“Yeah, not bloody likely, eh? But he says he saw it last night.”

“But he’s half blind!”

WIll snickered. “Yeah, but he’s stubborn as a mule and no one can talk him into going to work and leaving his cattle unattended. He thinks his sons are slacking off when he’s gone or something, I don’t know. Anyway, it’s good to have a day off at least. We’ve been missing each other lately. What’re you up to?”

“Um, I was going into to the woods?”

“Why does that not surprise me? You practically live there now. So, let’s go. At least I can make sure you’re not eaten by wolves, yeah?”

Merlin sputtered, “I’m stronger than you!”

“Keep telling yourself that. Let’s go. We can stop by the lake—I should probably wash.”

“Yeah, you stink.” Merlin scrunched his nose and got a smack on his back and push towards the door. Just as he was closing the door behind WIll, he remembered. “Hey, remember your granddad’s crutches? You still have them?”

WIll looked at him funnily. “Just one, and it’s a coat rack now. Why?”

“Can we get it, before we go?” Merlin blinked at Will innocently, and he just shrugged.

Will’s house was a complete dump. Merlin wasn’t big on cleaning, but Hunith liked to keep things tidy and neat, and smelling as fresh as possible. Will had his mum to help him clean up, but now as Merlin peered inside, it was clear to see she hadn’t been there for a while. Instead, she spent most of her time with her new sweetheart, and Will was at work most days anyway, when he wasn’t sleeping. So the house looked like it had been abandoned for at least a few weeks. 

Merlin leaned over the windowsill and looked inside as Will barged over to the corner, threw two jackets to the floor and took the crutch, playfully aiming it at Merlin as if it was a spear or something.

“Beware my power, dirty scum.” He mock threw it at Merlin, who ducked with a laugh, sitting on the grass outside. He took an imaginary white flag and stuck his hand over the window so Will could see, yelling, “No, my friend! I’ve just come here for the potatoes and wine!”

Will stuck his head outside with a big sigh, giving him the crutch. “It’s not even funny. I’ve had enough of potatoes to last me my whole life. I swear as long as I live I will never eat one of them again.”

“They’re big words, you know. How do you know you won’t be picking them for the rest of your life?”

Will shuddered. Merlin could see him rearranging some things here and there. He made his bed, threw some strewn pieces of clothing on the chair near the fire, then went over to the big wooden chest that was standing in the corner—the only valuable thing Will’s family had. It was everything that was left after his dad died in the war. Some pieces of clothing and armour, a dull sword. Neither Will nor his mother had ever touched it after it was brought to them with a few coins.

Men once recruited rarely came back home, that was a fact of life. All was left of them was some fond memories and some coins as a farewell gift for their service. Sometimes a piece of clothing or armour. Never a body back, for a proper burial.

Merlin guessed that was what Joyce will get someday, too. If she was even that lucky. With her husband away as one of Cenred’s knights he had no real chance of getting back. And little Fianna will only have the chest and a few words to remember her dad by.

For many years the trunk had been collecting dust, but the sheet that covered it was clean. What would Will take from this chest, Merlin wondered. The little key to the lock he always carried on his belt, after his mother threw it away and he and Merlin spent the whole afternoon looking for it amongst the rocks and bushes.

“I know no one really wanted to hire you to work, Merlin, but I finally opened it some time ago,” Will said, eyes serious, gazing at the chest, fingertips barely touching the sheet. He turned back from it finally and started again. Merlin met his gaze, not knowing where this was going. “You probably know I won’t stay here long.”

Merlin nodded.

“And you probably know why. Cenred’s men…”

“I know.”

“So you know before they come here I will be long gone. And I want you gone, too.”

Merlin was taken aback. “I—I, no . I can’t go. I have… things .”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s with me or not. You want to go alone, good. But if you want to go with me, you can. That’s what I’m telling you right now. I have enough coins for the both of us, now that I found them in my dad’s chest. We would have enough to live and eat and sleep for a few weeks at least.”

Merlin gritted his teeth and didn’t answer.

“Think about it. Even if it’s in the last possible moment, even if you have to chase me through the woods, I’ll be waiting for you to change your mind.”

Will closed the window and Merlin heard his steps and then front door closing. As Will rounded the house, Merlin said, “I can’t leave my mum alone.”

“She won’t be and you know it. Mine won’t, so yours definitely won’t be. Maybe sad for a while, yeah. But not as sad as she’ll be when Cenred’s knights barge in and drag you off by the hair to be their cannon fodder.”

Merlin felt like he’s been slapped. Everyone—even he and Will—had always danced around the subject, wanting to pretend that Merlin wouldn’t be the first one to go. Having it said so bluntly, just like Rowan had said to him, hurt.

It wasn’t like he wanted to stay in Ealdor forever. But that was all he’d ever known. The houses, the people, the woods… What was waiting for him outside? Would he even be able to handle it on his own? He’d never been on his own. He just wasn’t ready.

“And did you tell your mum?”

WIll allowed him to change the topic. He fell in step with Merlin, heading to through the woods. “No, but it’s not like she’ll give a shit either way.”

“WIll,” Merlin scolded, pretending to hit him on the bottom with the crutch he was carrying. “She cares about you, you know that.”

“I know, I know. And I’ll tell her. But I think she knows anyway. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you keep dodging my questions about the crutch. Just tell me, what’s it for?”

Merlin made the decision in an instant. “Come on, I’d better show you or you won’t believe me.” He wanted to tell his mum about the ranger anyway, and she and WIll were the two people he most trusted in this world. 

What could go wrong in letting at least one person know, anyway?

***

The ranger wasn’t in the cave, and Merlin’s heart stopped. Will was looking over his shoulder at the makeshift camp with a frown. He placed a hand on Merlin elbow, trying to get his attention and then several things happened at once.

A body slammed Will against a wall, Merlin jumping back from the force. Will was groaning, and the man, Merlin’s ranger, was looming over Merlin’s best friend with his forearm against Will’s throat, growling — an awful sound, almost like an animal. Merlin had a second to be shocked before he was between them, forcing them apart, shoving the man away so that he stumbled and fell back against the opposite wall of the cave. 

The three of them were breathing heavily, the ranger’s eyes going between Will and Merlin, Will staring right back at him in absolute shock and Merlin trying to check if Will was all right.

“What the fuck?!” finally came out of Will’s mouth. “Merlin, who the fuck is this?”

“He’s… he’s, well, he’s injured and I’ve been taking care of him. I don’t know what came over him; he’s never hurt me.” Merlin tried to make Will understand. He wanted to say the ranger was probably scared and defending himself like a injured animal, but that didn’t matter. The fact was that he had attacked Will and almost hurt him, and that was not okay.

“Then maybe he’s well enough to do that, finally,” Will snarled, more at the ranger than at Merlin, and Merlin was surprised to see the man snarling back. Although with Merlin he was eloquent and sometimes even funny, this feral side of him was as real as that other one. 

Even in only a shirt, the ranger cut an intimidating figure. He was just a bit taller than Will, close to Merlin’s height, but he had the muscle and the presence to make stronger men crumble. Will was scared, though he didn’t want to show it. But Merlin wasn’t.

He looked at the ranger he’d saved out of the lake. He had seen him in various states of dress and in his lowest moments, when he was snapping at Merlin, not wanting to show he was afraid that he wouldn’t ever stand on his own again. Even if the fears were unwarranted, they still plagued him more than he admitted. Merlin didn’t know when he stopped fearing him, but that was the truth.

He stomped over to the other side of the cave. Will reached for him, but Merlin shook his arm off. He stood in front of the ranger and said, with all the sternness he could muster, “If you’ll ever hurt my friend, I will… do something terrible to you.”

The man’s eyes flashed with amusement, but under Merlin’s glare and his threat he made himself relax and lowered his head. “Sorry, I was just...”

“I know. And if you have so little faith in me, maybe we should call it a day and leave.” The ranger looked panicked for a second, but quickly covered his emotions under the mask of neutrality.

“If that’s what you want…” he whispered, so only Merlin could hear, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Of course it isn’t. You just have to… control yourself. And I’m sorry, I guess I should’ve told you I’ll bring someone, and you were probably hungry and worried, and oh gods, your leg’s bleeding...  Get onto the bed.”

Under WIll’s watchful eye, Merlin helped the ranger hop the few steps back to his blankets. The man didn’t meet Merlin’s nor Will’s eyes after sitting, a flush of shame gracing his features.

Merlin fished fresh bandages and the salve from his bag and gave them to the ranger, who took them gracefully but refused to change the bandages while Will was there, his chin held high. Merlin thought him a stubborn mule.

Merlin cleared his throat. “Stop being so fussy. This is Will, my best friend, from Ealdor and Will, this is…. um…”

“Wart,” the man answered, and Merlin stared at him in disbelief. So many days and that was the big secret. Did he think Merlin would rat him out to someone or what?

“Goodbye, Wart. Merlin?” WIll practically hissed and motioned with his head for Merlin to follow him—not subtle at all.

“Tend to your leg, Wart ,” Merlin said over his shoulder, following Will out of the cave.

By the time Will deemed it best to stop, Merlin was ready for the rant of his life. He closed his eyes, prepared for the yelling.

And as he expected Will began shouting, maybe not angrily but certainly incredulous. “This isn’t some injured bird, or even a deer. It’s a man!”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed,” Merlin answered curtly. As much as he loved Will, he was never pleased when someone questioned his decisions.

“I bet you did,” Will murmured, more to himself than to him, but so quiet that Merlin didn’t hear it.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Isn’t it because of that? Because he’s a man?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Merlin, I know you even better than even your mum does. Sometimes more than you know yourself. That bloke thing… I knew before even you knew. And I’m asking you now. Is it because he looks how he looks and he’s practically naked all the time and you can ogle his square jaw as much as you want?”

Merlin huffed, “I would have done the same for anyone!”

“But would you stick around for so long? He’s not gonna fall on his knees for you, not gonna give you back what you’re giving him. What do you expect?”

Merlin was close to tears, but he didn’t let them fall. “Nothing! I swear, I’m not doing it to get anything out of him. Gods, Will. He’s just… fun to be around. To talk to.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that…”

“You don’t know him how I know him!”

“And how do you know him?”

“He’s a... “ He didn’t say ‘friend’ because that’s not what they were. They had only known each other for a few days, but those days were the best Merlin had had in forever. “He’s lost, just like me. And it’s easy with him. We are worlds apart, we’re so different, and I know that, but when we talk… it just doesn’t feel that way. It feels…” Merlin shook his head. “We just chat and joke, and when his leg heals he’ll be gone. That’s what we are.”

“Then I hope, for your sake, that’s all you are.”

“Why are you even arguing with me about this? You always question my decisions, and worry and—and—and make me feel like a child or something! Like I can’t do anything on my own.”

“Because when you’re left to your own devices you bring strange men to the caves to play doting wife with.”

“Don’t call me a wife!” Merlin pushed Will’s shoulders. “Take that back!”

“Don’t push me!” Will shouted and pushed him back.

“Fine!” Merlin said, turning around to go back to the caves. “Have a pleasant day off, then.”

“ You have a pleasant day off!” Will yelled after him, but Merlin didn’t turn around.

***

“Is Wart you real name?” Merlin asked, and Wart, or whoever he was, was not impressed.

“Remind me when I said yes to bringing strangers to visit me? I am not an odd new species for you to show me around to your friends, or to anyone,” he said, equally irritated and well on his way to getting angry. Just like Merlin.

“I’ve done nothing but to help you. Answer one bloody question, when I’m asking you. I’ve been calling you ‘ranger’ for the longest time, but you are not that either, are you?”

The man observed him closely. After a moment, he said, “I haven’t used my name in so long it feels like a lie. I am not the same man I used to be. Ranger might be the closest to a name I have now. Though I suppose it’s not exactly true, either.”

“You always do this! You think you’re so mysterious and everything, but I am not dumb enough to not recognise you as a royal prat. I am just not interested in politics, and I think I’ve proved that I’m worthy of your trust. I would never bring anyone here to harm you, or tell others about you, if that’s not what you want!”

“Then why—?”

“Because I’m sick of all the lies! I have to lie all the time, other people have to lie for me, and everyone thinks I’m so fragile or weak that they won’t tell me anything, or they tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, like I don’t know myself. And then you show up and I thought we had something. If anything of what you said and showed of yourself is true, then I think I could…” Merlin cleared his throat. He had tears in his eyes. Oh gods, he was such a crybaby, like everyone said. He couldn’t keep his emotions in check. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, not letting the tears spill. “I think we would get along. I think I could like you.”

Wart’s anger deflated. He was always the first one to get irritated, but also the first to forget a grudge. Merlin hated him for that. Why would he stop being angry when Merlin was yelling at him and being completely unreasonable? Just because of Merlin’s glassy eyes or loud sniffling? Wart should be angry. Merlin would be, in his place.

Wart crossed his arms and hung his head. He looked, defeated and it did not suit him at all. 

“You would not think that if you knew who I am. You would not like me, Merlin. I am not the man you think I am. I want to be what you see in me, but it is simply not something I am. I see how you look at me.” 

Merlin felt his cheeks warming, and he wanted to protest, but Wart continued, “I see admiration in your eyes, respect and curiosity. I am a change of your routine, someone who was on an adventure in places you’ve never even dreamed of. Yet you forget, I think, that I’ve been in hell, and I had to become a beast in order to survive among them. I don’t know how much of a man is left in me. I am not worth your admiration. I have killed with my bare hands and I will again, without batting an eye. I am not worth your curiosity, for if you knew more about me, you would lose all your respect  for me… which is, please understand, something that I selfishly am afraid to lose. You feel obligation toward me, because you saved me from that lake. You have none, and if you still think that, then I release you from it.”

Merlin pursued his lips. He was stubborn, he knew, and he understood the explanation, but he still had a hard time agreeing with it.

“Is it because you think me weak? Because you want to protect me?” Hearing no protests from Wart, Merlin was proud of his own reasoning. “Then do you think a beast would care about me, or about not wanting to hurt my feelings? Which I assure you are not that fragile. And what about attacking Will— a wrong move, I think you’d be first to admit, but with the intention of keeping me from harm’s way? What about handling me gently, as if my thin body is any indication of how weak I am? And I am way stronger than anyone gives me credit for. And what about valuing my silences and attempting terrible jokes when the mood calls for it? Or politely asking me for stories or to bring you something? If a beast does all of that, then I’ll gladly be friends with it.”

Wart sighed. “Merlin, stop it. There’s no point. You get attached too easily and then you hurt because of it. We will part ways sooner rather than later, and all you’ll give yourself is broken heart.  I already feel sorry for your poor mother for having to mend it. ”

“I… I’m not denying that, but I’ve always been known to have good intuition. If I felt even for a moment that I wasn’t safe with you, I would’ve left you here and never come back. And where I have good intuition, you have good instinct. And if it told you to run from me, you’d be crawling your way out of this cave when I wasn’t here. But you stayed, and I came back, and I think that says enough.”

Wart looked tired, not only physically but also mentally, like he wanted to agree with Merlin, but Merlin knew as soon as their eyes met that it wouldn’t be that easy.

“I’ve tried to be polite, Merlin, but you clearly can’t accept the truth. You’re more fond of me than I am of you. It is not an equal feeling. It’s one sided.”

Merlin flinched as if struck. “You don’t mean that,” he said with conviction. He knew he was right.

“I do, Merlin. Excuse me for saying it so bluntly, but it’s true. You were just a means to an end. I was always going to leave, and I will. You haven’t changed me or my decision.”

“And you expect me to believe you? When you’ve lied about everything else? When you seem incapable of telling the truth, even now? You’re a coward.”

“Go back to Ealdor, Merlin. That’s your home. You have friends there who will give you more than I ever would.”

“I don’t have friends there!” Merlin shouted. He hated it when people just assumed things about him. “I have Will, only Will and my mum. And he’s leaving me. And if I go with him, I won’t ever see my mum again, but if I stay with her, I won’t see either of them ever again. I’ll have to leave either way. If I don’t go with WIll, they’ll force me. They’ll come and pluck me out to be their cannon fodder and they’ll laugh, and no one will even try to stop them, except my mum. And my mum will cry and that’ll be my last image of her. And then she’ll cry again, when she gets a few coins for my service, if anything at all. She won’t even be able to say goodbye or hold me one last time, because my body will be long buried under the ground with other anonymous knights, because that’s what they do. And she’ll be alone. She’s going to lose her son after losing her husband to the war, and I know she’s strong but I don’t know if she’s that strong. I don’t know what to do, Wart.”

Merlin sat on the ground and buried his head in his knees, hugging them.

After a few moments of silence, Wart said, “Camelot...”

“There’s no place for me in Camelot! Or here! Or anywhere! I’m already hiding. I’ll have to hide my whole life. And wherever I go, I’ll end up alone. That’s my destiny.”

Merlin stood up suddenly and said, “Keep the fire going tonight. Old Simmons thinks there’s a wolf in the woods, and it’s already killed a few sheep and goats. I don’t want you to get eaten. If you have to, use the knife I gave you.”

“It’s a herb knife, Merlin.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Merlin said sharply. “If you want to go, go after sunrise. You should be able to go along the stream to the merchant road to Camelot. It’s where that big rock is on the left side of the road, you won’t miss it. But whether you go or not, I will be here in the morning to bring you food as always. I hope I will see you, but it’s your decision. See you around, Wart.”

Chapter Text

The tension in the village was high. Merlin had thought it was just a tale about the wolf, but the villagers took it seriously. As the sun was changing colours and slowly bleeding into the night, all the doors and windows were locked, all the cattle secured in the barns; a few poorer farmers had even been forced to take their own cows and goats to their homes. Only few volunteers stayed outside, hidden in the trees or on rooftops, looking for the famous wolf, their pitchforks and hammers ready for the fight.

Merlin had a hard time getting to sleep, the fight with Will and his argument with Wart weighing on him. When sleep finally came, it felt like only a few moments later that he was awakened by shouts from the outside. He was on his feet in an instant, telling his mum to stay in the house despite her protests, and he went outside to see what was going on.

There was a man on fire running through the village, screaming and thrashing. At least five other men yelled after him, trying to stop him. Merlin reacted without thinking, and with his help the man was able to rip off his blazing shirt. He crashed to the ground. The men behind him quickly put out the fire, while rest of them helped him up.

They dragged him in Merlin’s direction, yelling at him to wake his mother. When Merlin went inside, she was already preparing her vials and told Merlin to put a blanket on the floor for the patient.

It turned out to be Alric. There was an ugly burn where the shirt had stuck to his side and right hip—nothing big, but ugly as all hells. The men who held him were his father, the butcher, Kirwyn, and one of the Simmons brothers. After them came Old Man Simmons, cursing up a storm, the younger of his sons, and Rowan, cowering behind all of them with worry and fear in his eyes. 

His mum was working and talking softly to Alric, who was crying and couldn’t seem to stop himself. She and Kirwyn were trying to calm him down, though Kirwyn’s methods seemed to be less reassuring and more of a command to start acting like a man. Merlin couldn’t listen to this, so he turned to Rowan and the Simmons’, asking what happened.

“Was it a wolf?”

Old Man Simmons screeched, “Does it looks like the job of a wolf, boy? It was a beast, bigger than a wolf, bigger than anything my ancient eyes have ever seen.”

“It was spitting fire,” Rowan added quietly, still shaking like a leaf. 

Merlin frowned, but before he could ask, Old Man Simmons said, “Don’t be stupid, boy! That’s impossible. The only things that can spit fire are the great fire drakes, and we know the Mad King of Camelot slew the last one of them with his bare hands twenty years ago.”

Simmons’ older son nodded slowly. “It wasn’t big. So not a dragon. The size of a wolf. Or bigger.”

“With wings!” The younger son added quickly, “I saw wings. It flew.”

“It was jumping real high, you horse-arse. It couldn’t have been flying.”

“It flew! I saw it. I have good eyes, I saw it.”

The two Simmons brothers started to bicker, until Old Man Simmons swatted them upside the head and told them to go home to their wives and children. Rowan, too, turned around to go, but not before he said to Merlin, “It was spitting fire. And nothing could pierce its skin.”

Merlin frowned.

***

The next morning, before Merlin went out to the cave, he had to stay an hour with Alric, because Hunith went out. When Alric woke up, with a gasp of pain, Merlin gave him two cups of water.

After a moment of silence, Alric said, “I’m going to hunt it down and gut it.” 

Merlin shuddered at the pure hatred in his voice. 

“You can’t, you’re—”

“Like hell I can’t! And this wound, it’s small, it’s nothing. If you do your job properly, it should be okay by evening. So do your job.”

Merlin didn’t say anything after that. Alric quickly went back to sleep. Merlin bit his lip and thought about helping him heal a bit with his magic. Nothing major, just enough that Alric could stand on his own two legs when the evening came. Merlin knew that Alric would stand up and go, no matter how injured he was. And Kirwyn expected his son to go on the hunt with them that night. So it would just be enough so that Alric wouldn’t die, when push came to shove.

Merlin focused on healing the wound, hoping it would work. He startled when his mother opened the door, and she smiled at him and said she wasn’t the wolf.

“Very funny, Mum. I have to go. I’ll be back… I don’t know when.”

“Be careful, dear.” WIth a hand, she gestured for him to lower his head, and she went on her toes so she could kiss his forehead. “Or maybe you should just…”

“Mum,” Merlin sighed.

“I know, I know. Just come back before dark. Don’t want you wandering the woods with this dangerous creature out and about.”

“I will, I promise.”

“And you should talk to Will. You two didn’t have a fight, did you?”

Merlin shook his head and quickly slipped outside.

***

Wart wasn’t in the cave. He also wasn’t around it anywhere. Merlin checked everywhere for any footprints or tracks and found nothing. Well, he guessed a ranger knew how to cover his tracks better than anyone, even walking with a crutch. And if Merlin was an ordinary man he probably wouldn’t be able to find him at all, but seeing as Merlin was no ordinary man he used his magic to cheat a bit.

It led him to the lake, though when he stepped from behind the trees he didn’t see anyone—not on his side of the lake, nor on the other. He let his bag fall to the ground and sat himself down with a huff.

He had been sure Wart would be there. Even his magic told him that. He hid his face in his knees. He couldn’t believe he wouldn’t see Wart again. That he’d just left without saying goodbye. It was wrong. They were supposed to be… Nothing, Merlin was dreaming again. Still, it would be polite to at least say goodbye. 

Someone appeared behind him. He could sense it before he heard it. The unsteady crunch, crunch, stop, crunch of bare feet on small rocks near the lake. Merlin's shoulders tensed when that someone stopped to pick up his bag and then came over to him and flopped beside him on the ground, still in the same loose trousers and the shirt Merlin had brought him.

Merlin knew it was Wart even before he said, “Your ears aren’t even that ugly, you can stop crying over yourself.”

Merlin let out an undignified squeak, covering his ears. It was familiar, the teasing about his ears, and as much as it annoyed him it also made him happy, because Wart teased him only when it was all right between them.

“I’m not even crying, you clotpole. You think when I’m not with you I cry all the time, or something?”

Wart was looking at the lake, but Merlin could see a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Crying when you see a bird flying or when someone stomps over a bug on the ground? You’re like an open book, really.”

“Oh, am I?” Merlin shoved him on the shoulder, hard. He was pleased to hear Wart’s startled laugh. “Sorry for yesterday.”

Wart shook his head with a put upon sigh, “Now you’ve ruined it.”

Merlin frowned. “What?”

“Now it’s going to look like I say it just because you said it first. I was supposed to say it first.”

“Well, you still haven’t said anything, so…”

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I said things I didn’t mean. The truth is, I have to go, and I’ve decided to go tomorrow morning. I want you to promise me you won’t go to the cave tomorrow or do something stupid like follow me.”

“Where will you go? Back to the castle?”

“Far away. There’s nothing waiting for me in that castle.”

“B-but surely your family or friends or…”

“They’re dead, Merlin. Or better off without me,” he said, but he didn’t sound so sure of himself. It sounded more like a Plan B than the original plan somehow. But what would make Wart change his mind? He’d seemed pretty determined to go there a few days ago.

“So... you have no one?”

“I have myself.”

“That’s not enough.”

“It is enough for me.”

Merlin bit his tongue before saying anything more. Then he started talking about his day and why he was late, and just like always Wart let him ramble on. But after Merlin told him what had happened the previous night and this morning, Wart’s brows gradually furrowed as he looked at Merlin. Merlin stopped, muttering, “What?”

“Describe the beast for me.”

“Umm, it was bigger than a wolf? With wings? And it spat fire? At least, that’s what the others say. Why? Have you seen it before?”

“Not only seen. These gifts are from that exact beast.” He motioned at the bite marks on his thigh and the burn on his shoulder, and Merlin gasped. If this was the same beast, then… “It’s called a wyvern. There aren’t any of them in this land—or there shouldn’t be.”

“So you’re saying one had to have come out after you? But I didn’t see anything.”

“We don’t know how long the portal was open. Wyverns hate the sun, so they wouldn’t come out of the lake in the middle of the day. Maybe they got out that night. Or…” Arthur trailed of, looking back at the lake. “Maybe it’s still open.”

Merlin shook his head. “It isn’t.”

Wart raised a wry eyebrow at him. “Your intuition told you?”

“Something like that.” Merlin turned his head away.

“If it’s true, men from your village don’t know what they’re fighting. They’re all going to die. Wyverns are mean fuckers. If they spot anything that looks like food, they kill it and eat it, without mercy. They never back down. And if they’re at a disadvantage and there’s a potential danger for them, they sneak around it and steal food. Like the goats and sheep you mentioned. You have to know how to deal with them, if you want to kill them.”

“So those wyverns were the ones who bit you? And do they really spit fire?”

“Two of them attacked me near the lake. There was no place to hide out in the open like that, so I had to fight. Running away is pointless—they like the entertainment and they can fly faster than any man can run. I stabbed one in the wing so it couldn’t fly, but the other bit me and before I knew it, we were a good few feet above the ground. I kicked it in the muzzle and it let me go. The last thing I remember was falling into the lake, and then I just closed my eyes, you know. When I opened them again I was here, and you were standing over me.”

“Someone has to warn them, then.”

“Merlin, they’re farmers, not hunters. They’ll be lucky if they get out of it alive.”

“So what should we do?”

“Wait. Wyverns get bored easily; they’ll go south in a few nights and you’ll never see them again. The best outcome will be a few more dead sheep, but at least people will be alive.”

“Are you insane? We’re just supposed to sit on our arses and do nothing?”

Wart’s eyes were sharp, merciless. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Go tell the villagers what I told you.”

Merlin frowned, “And what about you?”

“I know how to avoid them.”

Melin bit his lip. “All right, but let me help you back to the cave first.”

***

Just like Merlin would have predicted, no one listened to him. Still, he had to try.

Alric was up and about, walking around with his father, his wound not healed but the pain mostly gone. Everyone said it was a blessing from the gods, so that Alric could hunt and kill the beast, and with that sort of fame spreading throughout Ealdor, nothing could stop him.

Kyrwin ignored Merlin, the Simmons’ cursed him out, and some of the other men who had volunteered to stand guard over the village that night told him to quit it. They had to deal with the creature once and for all, and Merlin’s gibberish only served to irritate them. 

Alric and Rowan took Merlin by the elbows and dragged him from Old Man Simmons’ house where the volunteers were discussing the plan of action. Merlin struggled against them the whole way back to his house. 

“Let me go! You have to listen to me!” he shouted, desperation lacing his voice.

Alric looked at him with cold eyes as he let Merlin fall to the ground. “Stop it, Merlin, or we’ll make you explain how exactly do you know all this. Maybe it was you who brought that thing here from the woods...”

Merlin had no idea what to say, because it was true to a point. He swallowed. “I-I would never—”

“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t want trouble, just get out of our way. And thank Hunith for healing me. She’s truly a miracle worker. My side barely hurts anymore.” He sent Merlin a longer look, one that made Merlin stomach drop. He couldn’t have known, could he? Surely he didn’t suspect Merlin’s mum...? “Or I guess the gods are in my favour today. That’s good, isn’t it, Merlin? I will deal with this beast once and for all, and it will be tonight.”

Alric and Rowan turned away to go back to Old Man Simmons’ house, and Merlin closed his eyes thumping his head back against the ground. He didn’t open them when he heard footsteps, but when they stopped just beside him he somehow knew who it was.

“What the fuck was that?” Will said, disbelief in his voice. He stood over Merlin with his hand outstretched, waiting for him to take it.

Merlin did, not because he wasn’t still mad at him, but because he wanted to stop being mad, wanted them to stop fighting. He could never bear being mad at Will for long.

“I did something really, really stupid,” Merlin announced, guilt gnawing at his stomach. He hoped Will wouldn’t yell at him too much.

Will just looked at him for a moment, Merlin expecting a speech, but after a while he only said, “Well, that’s unexpected.”

“What? Me doing something stupid?”

“No, you admitting it,” Merlin rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Come on, my third eye tells me it’s got something to do with your Thing. Better not talk about it in the middle of the village.”

“Is this the same third eye that lost you a silver coin in that card game with Alric in February?”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“All right, all right. Is your mum home?”

“No. We can talk there.”

***

Will sat on a lone chair and looked at Merlin, who was sitting cross-legged on WIll’s bed. He was breathing heavily from trying to summarise everything he knew in ten seconds. Will would offer him a glass of water if he had one clean nearby. He’d been drinking from a well his whole day and hadn’t bothered bringing any water to his house.

“So you’re saying… Wart knows what that creature—”

“A wyvern is, yeah. He fought it before.”

”So let him deal with it.”

Merlin’s eyes widened, and he gasped. “He’s injured, you arse!”

Will grimaced, saying, “He seemed quite all right to me yesterday.” Before Merlin could say anything else, Will added, “Are you sure he doesn’t want to fuck off just because he knows how dangerous the wyverns are? Maybe he’s scared shitless and that’s why he wants you to deal with it...”

“He doesn’t want me or—or anyone to deal with it, precisely because he knows how dangerous it is! I can’t believe we’re actually arguing over this, Will. He’s injured, he can’t fight—”

“But he can walk?”

“Will!”

“Just saying. What did he say? Where is he going?”

Merlin looked petulant; he crossed his arms and huffed. “He didn’t want to tell me. Maybe to Camelot—that’s what he wanted to do in the first place. He has some family there, I think. Anyway, not like it’s my problem anymore. We said our goodbyes today and he made me promise not to go to the cave tomorrow. I won’t see him again. Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

Will resisted the urge to sigh. That was exactly what he wanted—this Wart bloke gone and Merlin to start thinking about himself and his future for once in his life. What he didn’t want was exactly what was happening before his eyes. He could never bear seeing his best friend upset or sad. That was why he teased Merlin out of his moods, protected him from Alric and what the other villagers were saying about him, why he helped him where he could even if it meant burying a bloody deer, because Merlin felt the forest wanted that.

They had known each other for so long, practically their whole lives, that there were no secrets between them, mostly because they always did everything together. This had changed a few months ago. And Will realized—maybe Merlin did, too—that they had no idea how to really talk to each other anymore. So they never did. Because Merlin hated seeing Will mad, and Will hated seeing Merlin upset.

It was Will’s fault for creating the barrier between them. It had started with Will nagging Old Man Simmons to let him work on his farm without telling Merlin, then lying that he wanted to buy some things for himself, and then, in a spectacular fight, finally revealing that he was saving money to leave Ealdor. By then it was too late to fix things between them. It was his own damn fault Merlin stopped telling him things, that Merlin felt he couldn’t trust WIll enough to tell him about Wart.

That was exactly what their argument was about—about Merlin getting too attached to that bloke too soon. If they were the kind of friends who kept score of who won in a fight, then this time it would be Will. A small and jealous part of him wanted to tell Merlin that he had known Wart for a week. He wanted to shake some sense into his friend. Merlin had no right to be so upset about it, so heart-broken even. Will was his best friend. It had always been just the two of them against the world, and Will wanted to cling to that and let it stay the way it was.

The bigger and more sensible part of Will didn’t feel like a winner at all. He felt like shit for being a terrible friend. How he could expect Merlin to always be by his side, when he was leaving in a few days and he knew Merlin wouldn’t go with him? Merlin had his own heart and mind and different desires than Will, and even if they never really talked about any of that, they knew that about each other. Will wanted a loving family, a wife and a few kids, he wanted to work anywhere and earn enough for a peaceful life. But Merlin had no idea what he wanted. Will always suspected that he never let himself really dream about anything. There was always something holding him back, always some I can’t because m y mum needs me or what if someone finds out about my magic or I don’t want people to treat me differently because I like blokes or I will never be safe to be myself, no matter where I go .

And there was nothing Will could do about it.

Will cleared his throat, feeling incredibly awkward, and asked, “Did you really like him that much?”

Merlin bit his lip, still looking at his hands, and nodded.

“And did he like you?”

Merlin pursed his lips and hesitated, before answering, “Not in the same way, but—but I think he did. And I’m not saying he thought he had to be nice to me because I brought him medicine and food. I can tell when someone is fake. But he listened to me, even if I told him about some really boring stuff, and he teased me a bit, but not in a way Alric and Rowan do, just like you and me do sometimes. And he told me I’m a good story teller and a healer, even if I’m not. And he actually wanted to see me before he left. And I know you think it’s stupid, because I didn’t know him for long, but I’ve never felt that way before. It kind of feels like I’ve known him forever. Even if he’s a bit prattish and and stupid and big-headed sometimes.”

Will shook his head, wondering if Merlin even realized how he sounded. “I don’t think it’s stupid. You feel what you feel, yeah?” He came over to Merlin to pat him on the shoulder. “But now we have to think about what we’re going to do with the wyvern. We have to convince those idiots to listen to what we know about it. We can say it’s from an old book or something.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, but his thoughts weren’t with Will anymore. His fists clenched on his knees, and he raised his head. “Yeah, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll have to intervene.”

Will’s eyes widened. “What? No.”

“It’s not your choice, Will.”

“It’s suicide, Merlin.”

“It’s what I’ve decided, and it’s what I’m going to do. Don’t question me, okay?”

Will bit his tongue and shook his head again. They’d had enough fights in a few months for a lifetime. And if Will said that Merlin had made the wrong decision again, he was afraid he’d lose his best friend.

He just had to come up with something less risky so Merlin wouldn’t have to use his magic except as an absolutely last resort.

They came out of Will’s house and instead of trailing after the Simmons’ like some lost puppies, they decided to offer to help them instead. Old Man Simmons looked at them with respect and told them to go with the other volunteers to find something they could use as weapons. While they did so, Will and Merlin talked a bit too loudly.

“I read in an old bestiary that it’s called a wyvern, and it has only two legs and a set of wings.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of those. Their hearts are on the right side. And if they’re really angry, they can spit fire.”

“They attack with their mouths, and their teeth are as sharp as blades.”

Maybe most of the villagers thought they were crazy or stupid, but they still heard them. They only could hope they would remember what to do when they saw the creature.

After a while, Hunith called for Merlin to help her clear some space in their house, because they expected a lot of wounded that night. The whole village was preparing for the fight. The women took the animals and kids to their houses early, and all of them kept a few buckets of water nearby, in case the wyvern caused fire again.

Will had to get away from all of the madness. Everyone was acting like this was their last night on earth, and Will could just about see the steam coming from Merlin’s ears from overthinking. When they parted, Will said their job was done; the volunteers had learned more about protecting themselves and how to possibly kill a wyvern, and in Will’s mind there was nothing more they could do. They were no fighters—they could maybe hold a knife to cut herbs, or in Will’s case, potatoes, but that was it.

Will was sure Merlin was planning something stupid. And even with his Thing, his magic, he wasn’t invincible. It could always go terribly wrong and do more harm than good. Will wouldn’t risk it, but Merlin…

Wart had told him to leave the beast alone, and not go down to the cave in the morning. But if Will was in his place, with the knowledge and means to kill the fucker that injured him, he would do it without question. He had to be pissed, didn’t he? If he had a sword in hand and a wyvern in front of him, he would kill it.

Will’s eyes rested on the chest standing close to his bed, and he remembered his father’s armour and sword. It was a fucking stupid idea, but worth a try. Anything was worth a try.

Will opened a window and saw the sky slowly starting to change colour outside. He cursed under his breath. He didn’t have much time. He took the key from his belt and opened the chest. He took out his father’s old clothes—a simple shirt, trousers, knee-length boots, some chainmail and gloves—and shoved everything in a potato sack. There, at the bottom of the chest, right beside his box of coins was a sword. Its leather sheath was old and worn, and when Will took out the blade it was dull, but he supposed it was better than a kitchen knife or a pitchfork.

He lifted the sack onto his back and headed into the woods. Never had he been more grateful for his work with potatoes for causing him to become so sun-resistant and build up good stamina. He was able to get to the cave in half an hour with a big heavy sack on his back.

He dumped it all on the rocks in front of the cave before entering. He didn’t want to give his father’s things to a stranger for nothing, after all.

He was spared from making the big speech he’d practised in his mind by the sight of Wart already sharpening a makeshift spear with a rock in front of the fire. His eyes were on the entrance of the cave even before he realised who was standing there.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Will gulped. He still only half-trusted the bloke and was intimidated by the sheer size and the weird presence of him. “A-are you going to kill the wyvern?”

“And what if I am?” Wart sniffed. Will understood what Merlin meant by calling him a prat.

“Then I am going to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” came the expected, cold answer.

Will rolled his eyes and muttered, “You really are a pair of idiots,” before retrieving the sack he had left. He pulled it forward until it rested in front of Wart, who eyed it dubiously.

“And what is that?”

“Help.” Will knelt and began to take everything out, clothes and chainmail and belts, and with every item Wart’s eyes grew bigger and bigger. Will felt smug for surprising him. “Chop, chop, put it on. We don’t have much time.”

He turned around to give the bloke some privacy.

“Why are you doing this?” Wart asked, and Will shrugged.

“Not for you, obviously. I’m doing it for my best friend. Before he does something stupid, like go after the beast on his own.”

“Merlin? I told him to—”

“Yeah, because he’s so good at listening. If he thinks he knows better, wild horses couldn’t drag him back.”

Will heard a sigh, and he recognized it as similar to his own when he lamented Merlin’s stupidity.

“You told him not to come here in the morning, because you knew you could die tonight, right?”

“It’s not your business what Merlin and I talked about, William.”

“Don’t call me that, you asshole. What the fuck, even my mum doesn’t call me that.”

“I think you deserved it,” Wart said. Will heard the clink of chainmail being put on and a sound of a belt buckle clicking. “Where did you get this, anyway? You don’t look like a knight to me. No offence.”

Will shrugged. He wasn’t even that mad; he knew he didn’t look like much of a warrior. “It was my father’s. He was one of King Cenred’s knights. This is all that we have left of him.”

Wart hummed. “And how come you aren’t a knight yet? I thought Cenred recruited every boy of age to his army.”

Will got the feeling he’d wanted to ask the question for a while. Merlin had never told him how old he actually was, then.

“We’re eighteen. Hang out here for a week and you’ll see our recruitment for yourself.”

“You mean Merlin, too?”

“Yeah, he turned eighteen about two months ago.”

“Then how come you’re leaving before the recruitment and he’s staying?”

Will sighed. “I ask myself that every day. He’s scared, I think. Well, I am too, of course, we’ve lived in Ealdor our whole lives, but he’s… different. He’s got more to lose.”

Will finally turned around, and his first reaction was surprise to see his father’s clothes on someone else and how well they fit.

Wart held held a sword like it was an extension of his arm. He swung it this way and that, using moves Will had only seen on a real warrior. Wart was rusty and clumsy but he held the sword steady. He had to have a training with it obviously, sometime ago.

The armour hadn’t seen any action for so long—it had been more than ten years since his father died for nothing. Will had always wished they’d never sent them his things. There was no point. Will was no knight: the only sword he’d wielded was a wooden one when he was a kid, and he still wasn’t any good with it. He had never believed in the old gods, but maybe they had planned this all along. They had made him never get rid of his father’s things, so that one day they could be worn by a real warrior.

“We have to hurry if we want to make it to Ealdor before the search party leaves.”

Wart nodded. “Lead the way.”

***

Merlin’s eyes fluttered open. Someone was saying his name, shaking him by the shoulders. The world was spinning in slow motions that made his stomach churn unpleasantly, and his back and stomach hurt like hell. He tried to say something, only to turn on his elbows and gag, so sick he was surprised when he didn’t retch his guts out.

Someone clutched their hand in his and took his shoulders, helping him sit. After blinking the spots from his eyes, he met with a concerned look from his best friend.

“Will? What are you…?” His mind became clearer and clearer the longer he sat on the ground, and the world came into focus.

If it wasn’t for Will’s torch, Merlin wouldn’t have been able to see anything in the pitchblack of the woods. The night was dark, and even the pale slit of the moon didn’t cast any light, hidden behind the crowns of the trees.

Merlin could see bodies, unconscious men strewn across the bushes and trees, with pitchforks and axes lying on the ground.

“Are they…?” Merlin shot up on his feet, then swayed, his hand going to his belly while the other held on to Will’s for dear life.

“They’re alive,” came a deeper voice, somewhere behind Will. Merlin knew who it was before he spotted him.

“What are you… Will, what is he doing here?” Wart came into view and Merlin gasped. “Is that your dad’s armour?”

“No time to explain. Can you walk? We have to hurry. Alric and Rowan are missing.”

Merlin nodded and steeled himself, breathing evenly, before taking a few cautious steps. After three he could walk without getting dizzy. “What are you waiting for, then?”

Merlin didn’t wait for Will or Wart to follow him. Maybe he was a bit upset that they had conspired against him. Merlin hadn’t been able to find Will and had hoped his friend was safe, while the both of them were… what? Planning to go after the wyvern alone? Without telling him?

“What happened?” Will asked and Merlin looked at him for a bit, thinking that he doesn’t want to answer. But those childish thoughts vanished quickly. They had big problems at hand.

“The volunteers followed it for a few miles after it stole another sheep, and I went after them. Then the younger Simmons attacked the beast as soon as it slowed down. It—it looked like it was expecting company. It started snarling and lashing its tail. It got me in the stomach before I could do anything, and the next thing I knew… you were there.” Merlin gritted his teeth. How stupid could he be? He had known what he was getting into, and still he’d frozen up at the most important moment, forgetting about his magic and spells and the knife in his hand that had been lost in the fight. He shuddered. “I don’t know for sure, but at some point after my back hit the tree I heard…” Merlin shook his head. “I think I heard another one, growling somewhere. And that’s why it left us alone. There were two of them.”

Will caught up to his friend. Will could feel himself was shivering, his voice was strained when he asked, “Are you sure?”

Wart stopped them with a hum and guided them to the bushes to the left. He was the best at tracking and hunting from the three of them, and Merlin couldn’t explain how he also knew where to go. So instead he followed him, admittedly with a grimace. 

Wart was limping slightly, putting more weight on his uninjured leg. If Merlin hadn’t seen his wound for himself, he would never have guessed it was anything more than a simple cut or something. Wart was walking like it was merely an inconvenience.

“They live in pairs. And hunt. They’re pack animals,” Wart said, or grunted more like.

Will’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Couldn’t you have said so before? That information would’ve been useful, you know.”

“Did you plan to go after them, when we talked?” Merlin asked, proud of himself for how steady his voice was. “You asked me to not go to the cave tomorrow because you knew what could happen tonight, didn’t you?”

Wart looked over his shoulder, just a glance, but Merlin could discern his regret in the faint light of the torch.

Before Wart could respond, a scream pierced through the woods and all three of them started to run. As they dew closer, they noticed a wyvern flying over their heads, its wings catching on the trees. Its claws were around Rowan’s middle, squeezing him while he yelled and thrashed and kicked.

Alric was running after them, trying to save his friend. His face twisted in strain as he threw his spear, it pierced the beast’s and its claws let go of Rowan, throwing him into a tree.

Rowan slid to the ground, and then Merlin and Will were right beside him. Rowan kept crying, yelling and punching with his eyes closed. Will tried to keep his hands away while Merlin checked for injuries. He had red marks on his sides, and they were certainly going to bruise something awful, but nothing had pierced the skin.

“Rowan, Rowan, it’s all right, you’re on the ground, hey, it’s all right…” Merlin kept saying, but to no avail. After another blow to the head, Will slapped him. Merlin sent a glare in his way, but Will just shrugged. For some reason, it seemed to work, and Rowan opened his eyes in shock, letting out a breath of relief.

“Stay with him,” Merlin said to Will and looked around, trying to see where Wart, Alric and the wyvern had disappeared to.

“Merlin, n-no. He’ll take care of it,” Will’s voice shook, and as much as Merlin was loath to leave him, he had to do everything in his power to help the others.

Merlin squeezed Will’s hand and let go with a smile. “Don’t go anywhere, and try to be quiet. We’ll be back in a tick.”

He ignored Will’s furious whisper and followed the sound of the beast, the loud snarling and growling loud enough to be deafening. The wyvern and Wart were circling each other, and Merlin couldn’t believe the inhuman noises were coming out of Wart’s mouth. He was mimicking the roars and insulting the beast in turns.

“Here, you scaly fucker! Bloody lizard! Come finish what you started!”

A noise came out of the wyvern’s throat, a bellow of pure rage, and it pounced on Wart, knocking the sword from his hand. He caught the beast’s jaws between his hands, holding them open so it wouldn’t bite and crush his head. He kicked it in the stomach, but the wyvern was relentless, dripping spit and blood onto Wart face.

Alric, who was watching the whole thing from the sidelines, picked up the dull sword from ground and charged at the beast, who waved its tail and knocked him to the ground, the sword going with him.

Merlic stretched out his hand and begged the sword to appear in Wart’s grip. With a wave of his hand, he sent the sword flying through the air to land just beside Wart’s head. Too far away for him to reach. 

But just as Merlin was making his way towards the beast, Wart grunted, letting his hands slip from the wyvern’s jaw and turning his head to the side so the beast’s muzzle plowed into the ground. With his right hand, ,he reached for the handle of the sword and stabbed it right through the wyvern’s neck. Blood gushed from the wound as if from a waterfall, and the beast’s huge body dropped onto Wart.

The next things happened within a few seconds of each other. When Wart pushed the dying wyvern out of the way, standing up and leaning his weight on the sword, another piercing snarl rang out just above them. Merlin could clearly see another massive beast flying in at full speed, and its target was clearly Wart. And he reacted a split second too slowly to run away or fight.

Merlin sprinted forward with every intention of coming between Wart and the wyvern, but he was pushed away. He fell to the ground as another body jumped in his place, bearing the wyvern’s wrath.

Merlin screamed, “No! Stop!” as the claws dug into Will’s body, tears flooding his vision. The beast seemed to waver, stopping in its tracks as if under a spell even though Merlin knew he hadn’t used one. And that moment of hesitation was all Wart needed to slice its neck and eyes. The beast roared and tumbled onto its side, and with a scream, Wart plunged a sword deep into its body.

Merlin dropped to his knees and crawled his way to Will. His best friend Will, who was covered in blood and white as a sheet, shaking like a leaf and crying. Merlin’s own hot tears burned their way down his face. He sobbed openly, barely taking any breaths. He clutched Will’s hand, never wanting to let it go.

“It’ll be alright, Will. Please, stay with me. You’re going to be okay. Please,” he sobbed, and murmured reasurances. For himself or for Will, he didn’t know. What they both knew, however, was that it was not going to be okay. Merlin’s magic was unpredictable enough as it was, and even if he could focus his mind, his magic right now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to heal a chunk of meat bitten off from Will’s side. 

There was too much blood. Merlin was going to be sick. 

 “Not… your… patient…” Will said in a whisper, his lips doing an imitation of a smile, like trying to reassure Merlin was the most important task right now. “The chest…”

“Oh my gods, I won’t take that chest, Will. You’re going to use it yourself, please. Please,” Merlin kept saying, even if he didn’t know why he was begging, why it was the word he chose to hang on to.

“... was… wrong… Go live, Merlin…” Will managed through a cough of blood, and with the last tears spilled and on the last breath taken, he said, “Live.”

Merlin wail must have woken up all the forest, for he never knew what it meant to be truly broken until he felt his heart shattering into thousand pieces that one night.

***

All of Ealdor celebrated the defeat of the beasts throughout the next day and night. It was truly a miracle that the search party came back with so few wounded, and those who did return came back spreading a tale of Alric the Beastslayer and Will the Brave, who gave his life for his beloved village and its people.

The celebrations started with a solemn moment of giving Will’s soul to the elder gods, his body turning to ashes in a sacred burial, with Old Man Simmons and a few old women singing prayers in the old tongue.

Merlin made Will’s flame burn brighter than anyone else’s, so the gods and knights and other villages could see and admire its light. 

A shadow fell at his side, and a body stood next to him, dressed in new clothes, with fresh bandages and a tender bruise on his cheek.

“I am unsure if I have a right to tell you now, and burden you with the knowledge…” Wart hesitated.

“Speak the truth or leave,” Merlin said, impatient.

“My name, my real name, is Arthur. Arthur Pendragon.”

Merlin’s head whipped to face him, mouth open, eyebrows raised. Of all things… he hadn’t quite anticipated that turn of events. “The Prince of Camelot,” Merlin choked out.

Wart—or Arthur, now—let out a mirthless chuckle. For a moment, he didn’t speak, maybe because he was arranging his thoughts or maybe because he didn’t know what to say. Merlin could relate.

Prince Arthur. The hero, the sun child of the Mad King: young, bright and brilliant, destined for the greatest things, now a half-dead ranger who wanted to forget his past. His scars would remind him of the things he’d survived for the rest of his life. His eyes were old, older than Merlin, older than the whole of Ealdor, old enough to rival the old gods, all because of the unspeakable things he’d seen. They weren’t cold, however; even now, with flames reflected in them, Merlin thought they were warm and welcoming, kind even. Even if they sometimes flashed with righteous anger, they were beautiful.

And they belonged to Arthur Pendragon. With his beard and long hair, he couldn’t have looked less like a royal or a prince. Merlin wondered if anyone in Camelot would even recognise him now.

“I am assuming this will be the last time we seeing each other, and whether I’m right or if we meet again someday, I want you to know where I’m going. I am going to take my rightful place on the throne of Camelot.”

Merlin’s breath hitched. Arthur spoke it with a certainty Merlin and anyone in Ealdor could only envy.

“I was blinded my whole life. By my father, by my own pride and foolishness, by hatred. I am far from being the right person to rule, not anymore, and maybe I never was. But I can’t let happen what is happening right now, what was happening before. I lived long enough in a land of lies and hatred, then in the Otherworld, and I don’t want to anymore. The only way, I fear, is to change it myself. I swore to protect my people, all of my people, from the evil in this world, and even if that evil is my father, my uncle or any of my blood, I will not hesitate to destroy it. So you, Merlin, or anyone like you, won’t have to live in fear anymore.” He met Merlin’s wide startled eyes and smiled gently, reassuringly. “I will bring the magic back to Camelot. Goodbye, Merlin.”

His fingertips grazed the back of Merlin’s palm, then he nodded and turned around, leaving Merlin staring after his back.

***

Everything he owned could fit in his bag. Eighteen years and all his possessions fit in just one stupid leather bag. He tried to adjust the straps, but he kept making it all wrong.

“Fuck!” He wanted to throw the bag on the floor, and he would have, making all the jars he had packed crack, but his mother called to him softly.

“Merlin,” she said, and all the anger left him in a moment. She turned him to face her; his head hung, and there were bags under his red-rimmed eyes. She enveloped him into a hug as dry sobs wracked his frame. He had no more tears to spill.

“I’m going away, Mum,” he whispered into her hair when he’dt calmed down a bit. “I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything. But you want to, don’t you?” She was sad, he could hear it clear as day. That was what he had been worried about for so long, hearing that tone. Not only was she hurting for Will, but Merlin was also adding fuel to her grief.

But that was his decision. He had decided to leave, maybe wanted it all along, but the timing was never right. Now it was. He felt it deep in his bones, like he’d never felt anything else. Leaving Ealdor, going with Arthur, was the right thing to do.

He said goodbye to his mother, leaving her a chest full of coins to share with Will’s mother under her pillow. She’d find it when he was already far away.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure we can spend the money?” Merlin asked for the thousandth time.

“There no reason not to treat ourselves. Better take the chance while we have it.” There’s no way of knowing when we’ll get another , was left unsaid.

In truth, Arthur would have saved the coins they’d found had he been alone, but with Merlin along, it was necessary. They’d found the coins in an old boot Merlin had nearly stumbled over. It could have been pure accident, but Arthur had started to doubt that, with Merlin, anything was an accident. He had noticed as much from their first meeting. 

Being naive or stupid was one thing, and Merlin wasn’t it, not really. He just had the mind of someone with incredible luck. He reminded Arthur a bit of himself from before the Otherworld. Maybe not of the spoiled prince he had been, but someone whose life had always been easy—or easier, at least—compared to the others around him. Who hadn’t met death and thought it would stay that way. That was why it hurt the most, when it turned out differently.

Merlin was a walking enigma in and of himself. He had decided to go with Arthur for no other reason at all than his belief in him. He didn’t look like someone who took the easy way out, even if it literally dragged him along by the ankle. He had refused to go with his best friend, who’d offered him money and a familiar face to start a new life with. He’d refused to use Will’s money even when Will had no need for it. He refused the easy way. Yet Arthur’s own foolish, half-baked plans had been enough to convince him to make a decision he had been running away from for months.

About one thing he was right. He hadn’t been prepared for leaving Ealdor, and he wasn’t used to living on the road. He was constantly exhausted, sweating profusely and refusing to eat more than a few bites of the rabbits or birds Arthur prepared. Arthur even roasted them over the fire, which, granted, wasn’t his strongest suit, for in the Otherworld he’d had no time to sleep and even less to eat, never mind for boiling or roasting meat.

Adapting to a new environment was one of his best qualities, however, and he quickly adapted to Merlin. He had to. Especially after the fiasco when he’d fed Merlin raw meat and had to stop for half a day because his delicate stomach couldn’t handle it.

He decided the coins would be best used to buy some decent ale and food for Merlin to restore his strength and, hopefully, his humour.

Of course, it didn’t work out that way. Part of the reason Merlin had no appetite and was tired more often was because he was still grieving, and as much as Arthur loathed hearing the muffled sobs at night and was tired of the silences, the wistful sighs, and the absent-mindedness, it was a process no one could rush. 

The Wretched Rat was a tavern of dubious reputation, but it was as clean as they could get with a few coins and still keep a low profile. Arthur supposed he was hard to recognize now, but he couldn’t take any chances.

There were a few patrons when they entered—mostly men drinking ale, alone or in groups, sweating like pigs and laughing when one of them pinched the waitress’ bum. One bloke even grabbed it without restraint. She turned on her heel and slapped him, his head snapping to the side. He turned red like a beetroot, spluttering and cursing as his companions laughed their arses off. The waitress turned away with a huff.

“Arthur.” Merlin leaned closer to Arthur on the table, his hands curled into fists in front of him, and Arthur shook his head. Sometimes being a hero wasn’t the right choice. Merlin had to learn to pick his battles wisely.

The waitress came up to their table, and before she could ask them about their order, Merlin said, “Are you all right, Miss?”

She looked surprised for a moment, before she let out a loud chuckle. “Oh dear, what a nice boy you are. Of course I’m all right. You can’t work here as long as I have without learning not to let things like that bother you. My name’s Anne, and what’s yours, nice boy?”

“I’m no boy,” Merlin said, petulantly, like a boy. “And I’m Merlin.”

“And your, uhm, companion?” She eyed Arthur dubiously.

“Oh, his name’s—” Arthur kicked Merlin in the shin, hard, and gave him a look. “Wart,” Merlin squeaked, then cleared his throat. 

“Well, hello, Merlin, Wart. How can I help you on this fine morning?”

Arthur took out three small coins from his pocket. “Whatever we can get with this for two.”

“Of course,” Anne said, with a wink to Merlin, and set off toward the kitchen.

Some of the closest patrons, observing this, snickered or huffed at the gesture. Merlin seemed to be completely oblivious to the attention. He put an elbow on the table and leaned his chin on his fist, sighing. Some of the onlookers might have thought Merlin was gazing after the girl, but Arthur knew better. Merlin’s eyes were unseeing; he was losing himself in his thoughts again.

“She’s sweet on you.” Arthur pulled him back to earth before he flew too high.

Merlin actually choked on his own spit, before coughing up a laugh. It was a good thing that the waitress chose that exact moment to bring their ales, as Merlin gulped down half of his in three seconds.

“Are you okay, Merlin?” Anne asked.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and Merlin’s cheeks flared red in an instant. “Y-yeah, it’s nothing, sorry.”

She looked dubious but nodded nonetheless and left them to their own devices. Merlin sent Arthur a glare, which wasn’t intimidating in the least, but Arthur let him believe it was. He raised his hands to calm him down and inclined his head. Not sorry for the comment, but for Merlin being a clumsy sod.

“She’s definitely not,” Merlin whispered furiously.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and trying not to laugh.

“No point in being shy. I’m sure plenty of girls in Ealdor has found those ears of yours endearing.”

“Don’t mock me,” Merlin hissed. He looked angry, but it was mostly embarrassment, Arthur guessed.

“I wasn’t, truly. You have to forgive me this slight.”

“I’ll forgive you nothing until you’ve learned how to apologize like a normal person.”

Arthur chuckled. “You know, Merlin, you should be honoured. Not many people have heard me apologizing, after all.”

Merlin eyes lightened, the way they did every time Arthur mentioned something about his life in Camelot. “So you admit that you were a spoiled pr… at.”

“Better watch your mouth. We’re not alone anymore.” Arthur leaned in, his tone serious, but there was no bite to it.

“You were the one who wanted to talk about my Thing here!”

Arthur’s eyes widened slightly. “Your what?”

“My... Y-you know, my... “ He proceed to mouth the word magic in an obnoxious manner, leaning forward with a palm nearly covering his mouth. Subtlety wasn’t Merlin's strongest suit, apparently.

From what Arthur remembered of Camelot, merely uttering the word magic or sorcerer in a wrong crowd could get you thrown into the stocks on suspicion of witchcraft, or just plain executed without a trial. He knew how to be careful with what he said. He could speak in riddles and metaphors and have people around him believe he was talking about the weather.

Merlin, it seemed, had his own way of speaking about forbidden topics.

“Is it still dangerous to talk about it?” Arthur was genuinely curious. He would have thought, from what Merlin told him about the rule of Agravaine, that people would be allowed to speak freely about such topics.

Merlin’s face scrunched up. “No. I mean—not really? It’s legal now, at least, but talking about it… Depends on who you’re with, you know? Someone trusted. Or even then, sometimes… Yeah.”

“So your Thing?”

Merlin smile dimmed, and he got that far-away look again. 

And they had been so close to getting back to normal.

“It was Will’s idea,” Merlin looked at Arthur with hesitation, then must have seen something in Arthur’s eyes, because he continued, “We had to find a way to talk about it without raising suspicions. Especially when we were younger; we couldn’t risk anyone finding out. Talking about it actually helped a lot. My Thing isn’t actually very… obedient.” Merlin scrunched his nose up. “Ugh, pets are obedient. This is more… unruly. I can’t control it. I mean, I can!” 

He was flaying his hands around and almost hit Anne the Waitress, who managed to duck in the right moment. Merlin started apologizing, but she just laughed and told him not to worry. She was definitely sweet on him. The other barmaid, the blonde one who was rolling her eyes at a long-haired bloke near the bar, was ready to smack him, and they had only been talking for about ten seconds.

“Here’s your meal. Enjoy! And,” She bit her lip, glancing at Merlin from under her lashes, “tell me how you liked it later.” She brushed Merlin’s shoulder with her fingertips and turned around.

Merlin turned even redder and looked at the plate of hot stew in front of him. It definitely had more meat in it than Arthur’s did. No matter how oblivious Merlin was, that was proof in and of itself. Arthur raised his eyebrows to show his smugness.

Merlin took the spoon aggressively and mumbled, “Shut up,” under his breath.

Arthur chuckled and tucked into his own meal. “As you know, I haven’t had much contact with people like you, besides the… obvious.” How could he describe it as anything other than killing? There were dozens of images burned forever behind his eyelids, faces twisted in grotesque expressions of fear, hate, disgust, determination until their eyes dimmed, until there was nothing else for them. Arthur had to carry their lives on his shoulders alone until the end of his own.

The image of Merlin, sweet and no more harmless than a butterfly, in the middle of the battlefield, crying and scrambling back from a blade, Arthur’s blade, before the blow came and froze his features forever in a rictus of fear and hatred… 

Arthur shook his head, suppressing a shudder. It was hard to believe now how foolish he’d been. How he had accepted lies disguised as the ultimate and only truth, how he’d believed himself a merciful and just executioner, dreaming of a better and safer kingdom built on the flesh and bones of his own people, their blood in every river and road leading to his castle.

Arthur still remembered the hatred that was planted in his mind during childhood and carefully nurtured for years and years. It was not something anyone could forget at the drop of a hat. It would always be in him, those years spent as a pawn on a chessboard with no will of his own, moved around by more experienced players.

The words echoed in the back of his mind. Sorcerers are no better than animals, corrupted spirits from the deepest pits of Otherworld, not fit for any society, only to be eliminated and forgotten. And the druids the worst of them all — uncultured savages living in the woods with no language of their own, making blood sacrifices to the old gods.

But how could it be true, when the living proof against it was sitting right in front of him, gulping down his stew like it was the last meal he would ever have, making a mess of his chin and wiping it down with the back of his hand? His eyes met Arthur’s, oblivious to the turmoil in his mind, and he smiled, a brief absent-minded thing, with an ease that almost rivalled the innocent smile from before Will’s death.

“We have to find the druids,” Arthur said eventually. At Arthur’s words, the spoon stopped midway to Merlin’s open mouth, the piece of meat falling back to the bowl, and Merlin stared at Arthur in disbelief.

“Didn’t you want to go to Camelot?” he asked, frowning, his voice louder than Arthur liked. Maybe he wanted all of the patrons to know they were going to storm Camelot and kill the king. Or he just didn’t care.

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “We have to find a place to stay for a while and think of a plan. As you might have noticed, we are on our own against a powerful enemy. We need all the friends we can get. And we have to think about you.”

“What about me?”

“You wanted to help. You won’t be able to do that if you can’t control your Thing well. They’re the only people who can tell you something about it, help you more than I can.” Hopefully, they’d let Merlin stay with them, at least for a while.

“All right, I guess we can do that. But no one knows where they are, remember? They disappeared a long time ago. How are we going to find them?”

“You can find anything, Merlin. You just have to know where to start looking.”

The front door of The Wretched Rat slammed open, and at least eight men entered, all more fat than muscular, but still intimidating. Especially for a small creature like Anne, who came up to them and tried to shout over them as she explained that there were no free tables for such a big group.

These were no knights, or even warriors; maybe traveling workers with small knives at their belts. Anne didn’t back down, and the other waitress, the blonde chubby one, told them flat out to leave because they were bothering other patrons.

Just as the man closest to Anne was raising his hand, Arthur pushed back his chair and…

The man’s hand hit the wooden pillar with so much force the crack of bones was heard in the silence that followed. Arthur’s eyes snapped to Merlin. He was turned almost back to Arthur, but still his profile was visible and he looked absolutely furious.

The man screamed with pain and clutched his hand to his chest. “You — you — are you a fucking witch?” He spat to the blonde, who, despite also being surprised at the turn of events, stood her ground. “I’m going to show you your place.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Merlin’s voice was an octave lower than normal, and despite his misleading appearance he sounded threatening. His chin was high and his blue eyes blazed, almost like there was some magic in them.

“What the fuck did you say?”

Merlin stood up from his seat, and Arthur immediately followed, ready for a fight. He guessed it was too late to stop what would inevitably follow.

“I said — ”

There was also one bloke who stood and came between Merlin and the bulky man. He had long brown hair and the whitest smile Arthur had ever seen. He looked like a liar. Arthur immediately disliked him.

“Gentlemen, let’s not get too rash here.” The stranger gently led the women out of the man’s way, all while talking with a light tone that completely didn’t match the situation. “I’m sure we can all agree it was no one’s fault. So all we can do now is forgive and forget any hard feelings, can’t we?” He stole someone’s mug and took a big gulp, before handing it to the bloke who was cradling his hand near his chest. 

His free hand closed around the mug without much thought, and then the stranger headbutted him straight in the forehead. Every last soul in The Wretched Rat held their breath as the bloke fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, knocked out, and the stranger staggered back, stumbling into Merlin. 

“Hello there. Gwaine.” Merlin’s arms kept him from falling, and he answered, 

“Merlin.”

Arthur would have just let him fall, but Merlin pushed him forward, until Gwaine righted himself. He turned to the big bloke’s companions and bowed unsteadily, smiling like an idiot. “Now we’re even.”

Everything happened at once. 

The goons rushed at Gwaine and Merlin. Arthur stepped forward, and all of the five patrons got on their feet, with mugs, bowls and forks in their hands. In all the chaos, Merlin almost got crushed by a chair and a falling body, but he managed to hide behind the bar and use his magic to fling some plates at the bloke harassing Anne, while the blonde broke a jug on another goon’s head.

Arthur took a hit in the stomach and had to take his eyes off Merlin to focus on the actual fight. He kicked the guy in the knee and made him crash to the ground. Arthur’s back hit something, and immediately he heard that smug voice belonging to Gwaine. “Couldn’t help but hear a bit of your talk, mate.”

Arthur ducked and Gwaine hit the goon attacking them with a chair. Gwaine took two legs and gave one to Arthur. 

“Not your business, is it? Mate.” Arthur swung the wooden pole at the next bloke trying to attack him and his body twisted while falling, his head striking the tabletop.

Gwaine whistled, impressed. “So, you’re looking for the druids?” Arthur didn’t answer “And I know how to find them.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted, and Arthur turned to him without a thought. He saw a flash of something in Gwaine’s eyes at the name, but he had no time to think about it.

Merlin was trying to melt into the wall as some bloke ran at him in a full speed. Arthur sprinted toward him and tackled the man to the ground before he could collide with Merlin. The chair leg got lost somewhere as Arthur wrestled with the goon on the floor, all the while trying not to get stomped to death. A few moments later, the wooden chair leg appeared in his hand and he knocked the man out with a blow to the head.

Merlin and Arthur’s eyes met and they both stood up at the same time and went to the front door. The last man had been knocked out, and the villagers took them by the arms one by one, throwing them outside.

Once outside, Arthur took Merlin’s jaw between his thumb and forefinger and moved it this way and that. There was a rapid bruise forming on his forehead and a cut on his cheek, both of which had to be cleaned and would probably benefit from that salve from Merlin’s mother that worked miracles. His ribs had to be bruised from his fall, but nothing was broken, which was more than Arthur had hoped for when this madness started.

They both were breathing heavily, Arthur with his hands on Merlin’s jaw and Merlin with wide eyes clutching at Arthur’s shirt, which was stained with blood and dirt. Their breaths mingled together, smelling like the awful ale they had bought with the last of their money. Somehow, it felt like it was worth it, to stop here at The Wretched Rat . 

Someone cleared his throat and they jumped apart, nearly stumbling on perfectly even ground.

Gwaine was standing few paces behind, watching them curiously. His smile diminished a bit. He stopped looking like a fool starved for attention and even looked friendly. “So, about those druids...”

“We don’t need help, thanks,” Arthur answered. There was something shady about this bloke. 

Merlin stopped Arthur from turning away with a hand on his forearm. He took a step forward and said, “You know where we can find the druids?”

“Merlin — ” Arthur warned, but he stopped when Merlin raised his hand.

Gwaine nodded graciously, having been granted a chance to speak. “It’s better if we talk somewhere private. You know what they say: walls have eyes, trees have ears. Follow me.”

“Merlin,” Arthur hissed, quietly so that Gwaine wouldn’t hear. “We shouldn’t.”

“We have to! If we want to find the druids, he’s our only lead. I don’t think he’s much of a threat, and even if he was… between you and me he doesn’t stand a chance. Gwaine, wait!” Merlin scrambled to follow, and Arthur had no choice but to go after them.

They rounded the corner, and just as someone whacked him on the head, Arthur had a brief moment to think, You just had to open your big mouth, Merlin.

Then there was only darkness.

***

Someone was shaking Arthur’s shoulders. His eyes flew open, and he was on his feet in an instant. He saw Merlin, heard him speak his name, but had to shake his head to actually focus on their surroundings. There was a dull throbbing at the back of his skull from where he’d been hit. Merlin, too, if the dried trickle of blood on the back of his neck was anything to go by.

Merlin’s eyes were glazed. He had to have woken up only moments ago.

They were in a tower, locked up with about twenty other men, all stinking and filthy. How long had they been there? Some of them couldn’t have been there more than a few days, some of them two weeks at most.Each and every one of them had shackles around their wrists, looking at Arthur and Merlin and each other like predators on prey. 

There was one door, most likely locked. A few feet above there was an open space, definitely too high to reach, even if they stood on each other’s shoulders.

No easy way out then.

Someone was making his way towards them, and when Arthur recognized who it was, he slammed the bloke into a wall, the breath stuttering out of him. “Bloody liar!” he snarled into Gwaine’s face.

There was no mask on his face anymore, no twinkling eyes and bright smiles or smug smirks. His hair was greasy, his beard a bit too long, his clothes with holes in them. His eyebrows were low, his mouth downturned but his eyes steady. He wasn’t surprised or intimidated, or even sorry. 

He would be.

There was a few hoots from the crowd, but all Arthur could see was red. He felt Merlin’s presence on his right side, as steady and as furious as he was. There would be no stopping Arthur on his part, if Arthur decided to punch Gwaine, and Arthur felt the urge to grin.

“Be quiet, if you don’t want him to hear,” Gwaine said, calm as you please.

“Who?” Merlin asked.

“Jarl,” someone whispered behind them and spat on the ground.

Arthur and Merlin’s eyes pierced into Gwaine as he smirked, strained and insincere. “Lovely bloke! Slave trader.”

“Why us?” Merlin asked, always the first to reach out an olive branch. “You aren’t a bad person.”

Gwaine laughed quietly. “You’ve more faith in me than I have in myself, Merlin. Maybe too much faith.” He looked briefly at Arthur’s shackled hands, keeping him pinned to the wall. He looked Arthur in the eyes. Maybe because he was afraid to look into Merlin’s. “I’ve struck a deal with the devil: I bring him some fresh blood, he gives me more time. It’s nothing personal, you just happened to be in the way.”

“And you think a slave trader will honour his promise?” 

Gwaine only smirked.

“How did you end up here?” Merlin asked.

“I was minding my own business, traveling from town to town… Until, you know, wrong place, wrong time, wrong drink. You know how that goes.” Gwaine shrugged. “Can you let go of me now, mate? We’re in the same situation, I’m not gonna try to kill you here. You’ll stink. And Jarl isn’t the sort to have maids at hand to clean up the mess.”

“I think you forgot the fact that our situation is solely your fault. Mate .” Arthur shoved him into the wall again.

Gwaine huffed and looked at Merlin, who had to have mellowed out or at least looked pitying, because after a while Gwaine said to Arthur, “You’ll be the first one to go. A week or two here for a couple of fights, and if you don’t die, you’ll be shipped to the training camp with all of Cenred’s new knights.”

“And you think we’ll agree to that?”

“You’ll agree to anything after a few nights here with barely any sleep. The lot behind you, they searched you two after you came here and you had no coins for them, and I barely talked them out of stealing your clothes. So yeah, you’ll agree to free food and weekly coins and if you don’t they’ll beat it into your thick skull, princess.”

Arthur gritted his teeth and made to shove Gwaine again, but Merlin stopped him with a hand on his arm. He was trembling.

“They — ” He swallowed audibly. “They don’t do that, do they? With new knights?”

Gwaine frowned, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly his eyes started widening as he understood the source of Merlin’s fears. “How old are you, Merlin?”

Merlin took a step back and Arthur’s hand stopped Gwaine from following. He huffed. “If I’d known — ” He shook his head. “Cenred doesn’t care what happens outside of his castle as long as it gets done. He has a deal with Jarl; he gets few of his strongest catches and the rest goes to Camelot. The hottest on the market are people with magic. But you’ll be all right, Merlin. You’ll be sent to squire for some knight in Camelot or to serve a nobleman and not a blood slave to the king.” Gwaine hummed to himself, trying to sound light, but he was angry, his eyes burning with hatred. “Cenred’s a sick fuck. Works his knights into the ground and has them kill each other for the false promise of a better life and a few empty words of glory for the family.”

“Slave to the king?” Arthur repeated slowly, dread sinking low in his stomach. Merlin beside him stood rigid, and it sounded like he had stopped breathing altogether.

“If Cenred’s a cunt, I don’t know what to call Agravaine. He’s a different sort entirely. Better to stay away from him, that’s for sure. When Camelot’s people come, volunteer if you have to. Jarl will be amused enough to let you.”

There was a thud of boots and a roar from above them, forcing them to look up, “All right, you filthy vermin! Which one of you is ready to face my champion in the arena?”

Jarl was a tall man, or at least he seemed tall when looked from below. He was as filthy as any of them down there, hair cropped short so as not to risk the lice. From what Arthur could see, he was missing some teeth here and there, and the rest of them were yellow. He wore a leather outfit and a black fur coat. To anyone else, it might have looked expensive and distinguished. To Arthur, it looked plain and cheap.

Jarl’s name meant he had some sort of title, but he had to be a long forgotten noble at best. Cenred had never cared much about his followers, unless they were of some use to him. Most of them were nobles only in name, as without the king’s help they couldn’t keep their money and estates and were forced to work as any other townsmen. 

Some of them, like Jarl, had a flair for business and didn’t care how they made money, just that they made it. Hence the slave trading.

Jarl pouted in an ugly manner when no one threw themselves at his offer. “You really want me to choose one of you bastards, huh?” He squinted down at them and hummed, “You, then. Let’s have some laugh or two out of you, lad.”

Arthur’s stomach tightened at the finger that shot down in their general direction. He turned to Gwaine, his hope crushed as he found him staring at Merlin with a regretful look on his face. Arthur looked at Merlin, who pointed a finger at himself with his mouth open in disbelief.

Arthur stepped in in front of him, before Jarl could get any other ideas, “I’ll do it. I’ll face your champion. So spare him,” he looked at Merlin briefly, but then lifted his gaze back to Jarl as Merlin looked like he wanted to protest.

“Huh,” Jarl looked at his finger, “Did I point at you? I didn’t point at you. So why the fuck are you speaking?”

“You want entertainment, right?” Arthur voice was loud, too loud in the quiet of the barrels. Everyone waited at what he had to say with a bated breath, praying for Jarl to pick Arthur so they would be safe for another day. “You leave him alone, I fight your champion. Fists or swords, whatever. And if I win — ” Gwaine tried to say something, leaning in to Arthur, but he raised a hand to stop him. “If I win, you will let us out. Both of us.”

Jarl burst out laughing. “You have some balls, son. I like that. What do you say, champion of mine? Do you accept the challenge?”

Arthur and Merlin frowned sharing a glance. Their unspoken question was answered when Gwaine said, sighing with reluctance, “I accept.”

Arthur wanted to strangle him.

Jarl descended from his pedestal and approached the other side of the door himself, with three of his own men trailing behind and looking intimidating. All the captured men were released into a room with low ceiling.

Arthur was pushed to the middle of the crowd as they formed a circle. Gwaine stood in front of him, looking apologetic. “Tried to warn you, princess. You know I can’t hold back.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Jarl took two swords from one of his men and gave them one each. They weren’t in the best shape, but Gwaine’s sword handle was full of carefully crafted ornaments. It fit Gwaine’s palm like a glove and he held it like it was something precious. Arthur’s blade was in the same condition, but obviously Gwaine’s sword held a meaning to him Arthur couldn’t fathom.

Jarl sat on a chair that resembled a throne, looking like a particularly disgusting king with his yellow teeth and dirty face.

“You know, I’ve been here for a month and I’ve been his champion from day one. You sure you wanna do this? In the bar, you seemed rusty. Maybe we shouldn’t fight with swords?”

“A chair leg doesn’t count as a sword. Besides, I may not have had a proper fight in a while, but I bet I can beat you with my eyes closed. Say goodbye to your good luck.”

“Stop chattering like a pair of maidens and fight! Now!” Jarl shouted.

The two men grinned at each other, and their swords clashed. 

Arthur had to admit, he was rusty and Gwaine had level of a mastery over his sword that Arthur hadn’t seen in a while. Ever, probably. Arthur had been taught how to fight with honour, like any other knight of Camelot, with solemnity and focus. Gwaine was bending his body in ways that Arthur’s stiff movements would never match, and he was a dirty cheat, unafraid to kick Arthur in the shin when he was losing. And as much as he had sounded reluctant to fight with Arthur earlier, he seemed to be enjoying it now.

The crowd was wild; shouting, laughing, cheering for Gwaine or for him, he couldn’t tell. The sounds were deafening, and when someone practically screamed in his ear, he remembered battlefield and bodies on the ground, roar of thunder and screams, oh, the screams …

The crowd pushed him forward and he almost stumbled. If Gwaine’s reflexes had been quicker, Arthur would have had his head chopped off on the spot. Arthur shook his head and wrenched his sword around to parry Gwaine’s blow.

The loss of focus could’ve cost him a life in any other battle. He had to get his head straight. He had to get into his thick skull that he wasn’t there anymore, that this was now and there were plenty of enemies here.

Then there was a crash somewhere above them and the ceiling at the end of room collapsed, rocks crashing to the ground, dust settling thick over the whole place. Everyone froze.

“It’s going to collapse!” Someone shouted. Arthur recognised Merlin’s voice.

Someone else screamed, and that was all it took. There was no stopping the panic that ensued. Arthur was pushed to the side. Everyone had forgotten about the fight, even Jarl, who was screaming at his guards while fumbling for the only set of keys to the door at his belt. Arthur debated tackling him to the ground and taking the key himself, but he had at least seven men around him, all of different shapes and sizes.

And then someone barreled into Jarl. The slave-trader crashed to the ground and with him went all the keys, which scattered around on the floor, kicked about by the frantic rush of feet. Gwaine was gathering the strongest men to break through the door, while trying to keep the oldest and weakest at a distance. He kept failing only because it was difficult to keep track of about thirty terrified people, and because they were castle doors, admittedly old, but made to withstand more men than that — a whole army of them. Nothing short of a battering ram could break them open, because they were just designed that way.

Something grabbed Arthur's forearm, and he turned on his heel, yanking his hand back. Merlin was looking at him with an unreadable expression, his mouth in a firm line, brows furrowed.

“We need to get them away from the door,” he said.

“And then what? The ceiling's going to collapse any second now,” Arthur said, cringing at the sound of creaking above them. A fresh set of stones and wood crashed to the ground.

Merlin's face was set into a stubborn expression. “Get them away. I'll do the rest.”

Before Arthur could argue, Merlin disappeared into the crowd, elbowing his way to Gwaine, probably to tell him the same thing. Arthur sighed and grabbed two blokes in front of him by the backs of their shirts and yanked them back, shouting, “Get away from the door! If you want to live, get the fuck away from the door!” None of them believed him and it was impossible to drag them all back, even with Gwaine and his champion authority at hand.

Merlin had a hand on the door and closed his eyes, and Arthur had no idea what he was doing or what his plan was.

There was a growl, and someone pushed past Merlin to throw his weight at the door and before the next blink everyone was pushed two steps back. Arthur stopped in his tracks and saw the others do the same. The silence was a blessing on his grated nerves. Merlin stood in front of the door, facing the men, and his face was pale and dirty, as were his simple red tunic and trousers. His dark fringe was pushed back from his forehead, but his eyes...

His eyes were slowly fading from gold to the usual blue. He looked annoyed. “Get away from t-the door, okay?” he asked, his voice betraying his nervousness. His hands were balled into fists before he unrolled them and sighed.

He turned around, apparently trusting everyone to listen to him – and, to Arthur's utter surprise, they did. He placed his left hand on the wooden door and closed his eyes, breathing out a sigh before opening them.

Then he slapped the door with his right open palm and the doors were sent flying several feet, digging into the ground before they collapsed with a loud thud.

The cheers were deafening and everyone moved forward, slapping Merlin on the back on the way.

Arthur and Gwaine were among the last the get out, running from the tower which had started to collapse in on itself. A thick cloud of dust settled around them, making Arthur cough.

Gwaine looped an arm around Merlin's neck and gave him a half-hug, while his other hand ruffled his hair. Arthur was surprised to see the sword at his belt. “Whoa, Merlin, my friend! Didn't know you had an ace up that sleeve of yours!” He laughed when Merlin shoved him off.

There was a scream in the crowd in front of them, and Arthur immediately elbowed his way to the middle, Merlin and Gwaine close behind him. There were two men trapped inside a closely formed circle – Jarl and one of his goons. The other must've run away or been crushed under the remains of the tower.

The one remaining bloke hadn’t fared well, either – he was on the the ground, a thick gash on his skull, blood streaming down like a waterfall and a large rock close to him. He was having a fit, and his body trembled all over before going still, his head lolling back.

There was a moment of tense silence before the shouting started again. A few men had taken steps forward, and Arthur heard Merlin gasped somewhere behind them as he saw Jarl take a step back and fall to ground. Before he thought much about it, he was standing in front of Jarl.

“You will pay for what you did,” he said. There was a cheer behind them and shout of, Kill him! Hang him!

“You will be my executioner, then? A nobody like you? Or him, that bloody pet mage of yours?” Jarl spit on Arthur's boots, proud till the end.

“No! No more deaths today” Arthur could hear Merlin from behind, but he didn’t turn to look. Someone must have said something to him or stopped him, because he didn’t speak anymore.

“He has softer heart than me,” Arthur said, low so that only Jarl and a few of those closest to them could hear. “You’ve seen what he’s capable of. He could easily stop me, if he wanted. He could stop all of us. Won’t you beg him for your life, this mage you underestimated?” Arthur stepped to the side, so that Jarl could look forward and see Merlin. “No one but him will show you mercy.”

Jarl spit on his boots. Just as Arthur thought, people like him couldn’t change.

“You don’t deserve to die quickly,” Arthur said. It was more of a statement than anything. They both knew how it would end, though.

There was another cheer, but Arthur wasn't proud of his words. He didn't feel much of anything in particular, not even righteous anger for all the people around them. Well, maybe he had a bit of pity for them, and a sense of obligation. He had to be the one to end the life of this rat in front of him, exactly because he didn't feel anything for him.

Gwaine stepped up to Arthur and grinned at the slave trader, a cruel grin. Jarl grinned back.

“My champion. You could've been filthy rich and powerful. I could make that happen.”

Gwaine scoffed. “All the riches in the world can’t buy you loyalty. And that's what will be your end.” He unsheathed his sword and Arthur immediately raised a hand to stop him, but Gwaine shook his head, “I want to kill you, for what you made me do–“

Jarl laughed. “I didn't make you do anything, fool!”

Gwaine laughed bitterly. “I guess that's true. I am as at fault as you are. That's why I won't kill you. I won't stain my hands with blood because of you anymore.” He thrust his sword toward Arthur, and Arthur took it slowly. “Remember the sword you took from me? Held away from me? It was a noble’s sword, forged in a royal forge, held by a knight who died because his morality stopped him from killing a rat, a rat like you. Fortunately for you, this sword has no morality, therefore no problem with slaying forgotten nobles turned into rats. Your title, money or power doesn't mean anything, not to me nor to my sword.”

Gwaine held Jarl's gaze. Arthur respected his decision not to take revenge when it was practically presented to him on a silver platter. It took a strong man to do that. Arthur wasn't sure if he was strong enough to do it himself, when presented with a similar occasion.

Arthur took the sword, which was of a good weight and sharp enough for the task. He swung it without further ado. Jarl's head rolled onto the ground and then his body gave up with a soft thud. Arthur wiped the sword in Jarl's cheap fur and gave it back to Gwaine, who took it, looking at the body on the ground.

Arthur debated with himself for a moment before squeezing Gwaine's shoulder. “You did the right thing,” he said, before turning to find Merlin.

They left the circle followed by cheers and the clacking of chains. Merlin must've taken his off somewhere before they’d left the tower, and Arthur had his hands freed because of his fight, but the other prisoners were still bound.

Merlin was quiet, constantly looking back and biting his lip, and Arthur wished he could comfort him somehow. But he didn't know how. When he didn't feel much after something like that, how could he offer sincere comfort to someone else?

“Did you have to do that?” Merlin asked finally.

“You’ve seen them. If I hadn’t done that, they would have done something worse. And it wouldn’t have been quick.”

“Did you have to mock him like that, though? He was already on the ground. He lost. There was no point in… in making him beg. You knew how it would end.” Merlin’s ears and cheeks were dusted red from anger and embarrassment.

Arthur sometimes forgot Merlin was no knight, that he hadn’t spent time with Arthur when he was training, on a battlefield or between battles. He hadn’t gone with him to war. There was a reality known only to fellow brothers-in-arms, who were no noble knights at times like those. When blood was spilled and the only thought was to eat or be eaten , noble men turned into beasts. And when the war ended the beast simply followed them home.

Even Arthur couldn’t explain how having a powerful man at his mercy made him feel impressive and important. How, if Jarl had begged for his life, it would have made Arthur laugh right along with those freed slaves, and how he would have relished the knowledge that the slave trader, by pleading with Merlin, someone even stronger than Arthur, would have been forced to admit his mistake. If Merlin had spared his life, he would have had to live with it, and having experienced Merlin’s power would never again underestimate him.

But Arthur didn’t really know how to put this into words, afraid that the mistake of admitting to such a twisted thought would push Merlin away.

Arthur was spared from answering as someone caught up to them, and they both knew who it was.

“I believe we're going in the same direction.” Gwaine said.

“No.” Arthur sighed.

“I believe we are,” Gwaine insisted, a weak smirk on his face. The sword still hung on his belt. A knight’s sword, huh? Arthur had to admit he was curious. “You were looking for druids? I didn’t lie before. I know where you can find them. You have to go east; there's a village there. I don’t mind being your guide for a time.”

Merlin perked up. “That would be–“

“What do you want in return?” Arthur interrupted.

“Nothing much. A willing ear and a pint or two in the closest tavern. What do you say, princess?” He bumped his shoulder into Arthur's.

“Sorry, we don't have any money.” Merlin looked apologetic and wary of Gwaine’s response.

“Yeah, me neither.” Gwaine grinned, and Merlin chuckled reluctantly.

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Chapter Text

They headed east in the direction of Forest of Geancy. There was a small village there where druids were supposed to meet up, according to Gwaine’s long and convoluted story about how he overheard two men talking about going to Gancy for the celebrations. The one who’d said it had a tattoo on his wrist, a simple black triskelion. It wasn’t the first time Arthur seen one of those. 

It was certainly a symbol of old religion, and if the man turned out to be a follower of the old gods he’d certainly tell them more about the druids, even if he wasn’t one.

Gwaine turned out to adapt to their little group well, much as Arthur was loath to admit it. He seemed to fit in perfectly wherever he was, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.

Gwaine took a special liking to Merlin, perhaps because between the two of them Merlin didn’t seem to have any urge to strangle Gwaine because he couldn’t shut up. More than that, he looked as though he were enjoying the constant bullshit Gwaine was spewing. He was worse than any bard Arthur had ever met in Camelot. He had hundreds of stories up his sleeve, and what was even more interesting, he was a first hand witness to or a main hero of most of them.

Arthur allowed the stories to continue only from a goodness of his heart. Most of them, if not all, were pointlessly romanticized and Gwaine had a habit of glossing over some important details which made Arthur bite his tongue and keep a fair amount of distance between himself and them. Merlin was enjoying them, asking questions, making sounds of awe and sometimes snorting when something seemed particularly exaggerated. Which in turn prompted Arthur to wonder if Merlin knew the stories were bullshit and he was just playing along.

Either way, Gwaine made Merlin come out of his shell more than Arthur ever could, so he let them be.

Gwaine had no real sense of direction; he resembled a leaf in his willingness to follow the direction of the wind, with no bigger purpose in life.

“It’s the easiest way to live,” he said. “No expectations, no ties, nothing to worry about.”

“No friends, either,” Merlin countered. He’d spent his whole life in one place, Arthur knew; he knew nothing but the familiar forest near Ealdor and Will’s teasing and his mother’s soft words. He’d had everything and he was right to miss it, to question his decision of leaving all of it behind.

Gwaine laughed at this, dropping the firewood on the ground in a messy pile. Merlin was sitting on one knee, stirring the pot of broth with a wooden spoon. Arthur sat at a distance, leaning back on a tree, skinning the rabbits. It was a messy job, and seeing as Merlin cringed every time he had to watch it, Arthur had learned to sit as far away from him as he could while being still close enough to listen.

He had had enough of Gwaine’s voice, so when they walked he ignored it; it was like a background noise at this point. On the other hand, when Gwaine sometimes let slip things about himself, especially his previous life, Arthur couldn’t help but listen in, curious.

“That’s the thing, Merlin. I have friends everywhere, women everywhere. Anywhere I go, there’s someone lucky enough to know me or get to know me. It’s not a life for everyone, but it’s perfect for me. As long as I’m free, I’m happy.”

“It sounds so simple, when you say it like that.”

“Pretty cowardly, too,” Arthur said, as he brought over the three spits with skinned rabbits on them and placed them over the fire. 

Arthur usually would keep it to himself. He wasn’t the kind of person to argue over pointless matters, and while he usually had a different opinion than whoever he talked to, snide comments weren’t in his nature. With Gwaine, however… He was a skilled liar, a storyteller, he could talk hours not revealing even one true thing about himself. He was also an easy-going bloke and Arthur had nothing against his way of life — each to their own. But giving him a hard time seemed to get him annoyed, and an annoyed Gwaine, or an angry Gwaine, was one who lost his composure and accidentally told the truth.

“See, Merlin, the princess here is a prime example of how responsibility can make you completely miserable. Where is your joy in life, your freedom? Who has it?” he said with airy tone. He was a skilled liar, because he knew too much not to be. Arthur could clearly see Gwaine debating with himself before saying, deliberate and cruel because underneath the charm was a vicious creature. “Your daddy or your master?”

“Gwaine,” Merlin said sharply. 

Guess Gwaine had had enough of Arthur’s drilling. He felt caged, and when he was losing his freedom, he struck like a viper. The slave trader’s champion, willing to do anything to keep himself from being sold to an army, choosing the lesser evil.

“You would make a good soldier,” Arthur said. Gwaine wasn’t the only one who could hurt without raising a fist or losing a smile. Well, Arthur didn’t particularly enjoy smiling, and he prefered raising a fist, but sometimes there were other methods to deal with things. His father had been sure to drill that into him.

Arthur was certain Gwaine was going to spit on him. There was a flash of genuine anger on his face, twisting his handsome features into something ugly and dark. It was gone in a second. He didn’t lose his composure easily; only when it came to his past. And that was what Arthur had been looking for.

“Oh no, the life of celibacy isn’t really my thing.” Gwaine gave him a wink with a smirk. He was a better man than Arthur, giving them a chance to let it go.

Arthur, unfortunately, wasn’t, so he barreled on. “They’re not monks. But I admit, the life isn’t for everyone. It was for someone close to you, wasn’t it? Your daddy or your master?”

Gwaine froze. He looked ready to snarl at Arthur, but Merlin got up on his knees, cutting off their view of each other, and the tension between them was gone. “The meal is ready!” Merlin smiled, a  hard edge to his voice. Gwaine and Arthur relented, for his sake.

Three of them started devouring their meals, hungry after so many hours on the road. The sky was starting to darken and they watched as it slowly turned to night, the only light coming from the simple fire Merlin had made. He usual did so by rubbing two rocks together, but every time he let a bit of his magic seep in to help with that one first spark. Of course, he’d deny it until the day he died, most likely. But Arthur knew it was true.

The silence was deafening. It was the only time, not counting when he was asleep, that Gwaine had stopped talking. It was wrong and the atmosphere was tense, and it was all Arthur’s fault.

“This sword of yours,” Arthur started finally, voice cutting through the quiet night. Merlin send him a glare, but Arthur refused to be cowed by a skin and bones boy whose eyes promised murder on the spot. “Why do you cling to it so much, if you claim you’re free? I don’t understand. That’s one last thing that’s holding you back and you can’t let it go. I know what it’s like,” he admitted, quietly, “to do things to spite someone. This sword was a tool used to kill in the name of someone, and you brought it with you and made it kill for you. You’re selfish, because the last person to wield this sword wasn’t. You’re free, because the last person to wield this sword wasn’t. I understand you, that’s why I can never truly like you. Don’t take it personally.”

“Questions are dangerous, mate. Sometimes you’re not ready for the answers. I’m know I’m definitely not ready to hear what a sorcerer as powerful as Merlin is doing with a knight-turned-ranger looking for druids in Essetir. And I don’t need to know. You’re both good men, I enjoy your company, and in a few days we’ll part ways and never see each other again. I try not to complicate things. And this sword… It’s a souvenir, to remind me to be free. It doesn’t mean much more than that.”

“And yet it earned its own name.” Arthur had a feeling about that.

“ King Slayer .” Gwaine spat. “No one has called it that in a long time. And I don’t plan to change that.”

“You said I was a knight. Why do you think that?”

“You taking the piss?” Gwaine laughed, the semi-serious tone gone. “The way you talk, ugh. Maybe you don’t look it, but let me tell you, you open your mouth and it’s like you’re spewing poetry or something. The same with Merlin. He’s from a small village, sure, but educated more than any peasant ever should be, you know that. Not that it’s wrong or anything. You two just stand out. Try to tone it down with the poetry, though, yeah? That, and the other thing…” Gwaine mused, scratching his beard absentmindedly. “And even if that didn’t give you away, there’s also the way you fight. Very chivalrous and very stiff. Just asking for a stab in the back. And your swordsmanship…”

“What about my swordsmanship?” Arthur asked.

“Good form, yeah. But you’re rusty. You can see that from six miles away. If it wasn’t for the roof collapsing, we both know what would have happened.” He grinned and had the guts to wink in Arthur’s direction.

The bowl in Arthur hands clinked on the rocks when he put it down harder than he needed to. “Yeah, I was winning. If the roof hadn’t collapsed, you’d have had your arse handed to you. Besides, you kicked me in the shin, you knew you were losing.”

“In your dreams, Princess! Besides, all’s fair in love and war. And If the roof hadn’t collapsed--”

“If the roof hadn’t collapsed, you both would have bled to death on the floor and I wouldn’t have raised a finger to help you two dollopheads!” Merlin stood and left his bowl on his place. “Go to sleep, before I do raise my finger.”

Arthur and Gwaine scrambled to obey, both finally agreeing on something. Merlin didn’t even have to raise his finger to win with either or both of them.

***

“Arthur,” he heard, as though through a daze. He swatted half-heartedly at the hand shaking his shoulder. “Arthur!” 

He scrunched his nose. What the hell? And he’d been having such a pleasant dream, too. He was a knight in shining armour on Winter Fire’s back, rushing into battle with the sound of hooves. He had slain a sorcerer riding on a dragon, and both lay dead in a pool of blood on the ground while he preened, hands on his hips, chest out. The peasants from the nearby villages were throwing flowers at him and clapping. His father was looking at him with pride in his eyes and Morgana was sulking in the corner, because no one was paying her any attention.

“Idiot, wake up!”

Arthur sprang upright, nearly knocking a chair over in his haste to grab his sword from ihe nearby shelf. He made all the movements, only to realise the sword wasn’t there. He then opened his eyes properly and noticed that this wasn’t his room.

But most importantly, Morgana was standing in front of him, hands on her hips, face twisted in an ugly manner. Not that she wasn’t ugly anyway, always scowling, shouting, snorting or teasing him. The only time she was maybe somewhat pretty was when she wasn’t talking. Which was like twice a week, for a few minutes.

“What do you want?” Arthur grumbled, sitting back on the chair. There were various maps spread out before him on the table, one big one and some smaller ones. He frowned when he noticed one was crumpled and smoothed it out. “I was studying.”

“Yeah, I see how you were studying.” She sighed. “You have ink on your cheek, genius.”

“You’re not my mother, stupid. You don’t get to judge me, when you stay up late reading your romances or sneak off to see Geraint’s squire. Anyway, how is he? Still a puny twig, right?”

Morgana gritted her teeth and decided to ignore him. That was just like her, to ignore what was inconvenient for her.

“I knew you had fallen asleep, so I, as the perfect sister that I am, came all the way here to wake you. Better get going, if you don’t want Uther to know you smudge his maps over your cheeks because you’re too stupid to learn them.”

Arthur scoffed. “Yeah, right, because you know everything. You’re twelve and you’re just so smart you don’t even have to see a thing to know it. How did you know I was here, anyway? One of your dreams?” Arthur grinned, not at all pleasant. “You sure you’re not a witch, Morgana?”

“Take that back, you idiot!” Morgana’s face started to get red in anger. She was too ugly to look at her, but Arthur enjoyed riling her up, and calling her that always got to her cold heart. 

“Why? It’s true, isn’t it? Normal people don’t know things the way you do sometimes, do they? Normal people don’t have dreams, like you do. Some of us need to actually try and learn things by ourselves.”

“I knew you were here, you bloody grain-sized idiot, because you’ve fallen asleep here three times this week and you always yawn at breakfast. And, if you have to know everything, you can ask Gaius about the medicine he gives me and he’ll tell you I haven’t had any nightmares for two weeks.” She stomped her foot on the floor. “And I had to learn those maps, too, you know. But some of us don’t have the advantage of being the king’s son. I can’t believe you’re going to be the next king someday. You’re already so stupid.”

“You’re stupid!” Arthur retorted on reflex. “And I have to memorise it all by next Sunday! I’m to accompany father to the Druid’s castle in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. I can’t be a disappointment or he won’t take me with him again.”

“Maybe it’s better, you know. Nothing good ever happens in the Valley of the Fallen Kings.” Morgana sat on the edge of the big table and crossed her arms on her chest. Maybe she was guarding herself from the thought, or she was just cold. She was dressed only in her white nightdress. 

“Maybe for you it’s okay to sit on your arse and soak in perfume all day long. Besides, you’re always expecting bad things to happen and they never happen anyway.”

Morgana bit her lip. “I guess Denaria’s Druids aren’t looking for a fight, so it’s okay for you to go. They don’t even have weapons, I heard.”

“But they have magic, Morgana. That’s their weapon. They can kill with it. We’re never safe from them.”

“But they won’t use it.”

“How do you know?”

“They swore to the ancient gods not to harm the innocent. To always seek peace.”

“And how do you know all that?”

“I actually listen when Sir Bedivere talks, you know.”

“I listen too! But he’s so old and boring, and I can’t help it that I’m bored sometimes. I’m a man of action!”

“Hopefully, you won’t have to use your action skills. Good thing you’re not going far or outside Camelot’s borders. I heard sorcerers there have no qualms about killing.”

“I guess you can’t help but worry, you’re a woman after all.” Before Morgana could get angry, Arthur said, “It’s not bad. I’m just saying, the worst doesn’t always happen and nothing good will come out of worrying. Besides, we have the best knights; they can kill all the sorcerers if they need too. Now stop worrying!”

“Don’t patronize me, Arthur Pendragon, that’s my role. And get some sleep, for the king’s sake!”

She turned on her heel and stomped off to her room. Arthur stuck a tongue at her retreating back.

Morgana could be so stupid, sometimes.

***

Not this time.

Someone attacked them, killed Kay, almost killed the king. The Head Druid, or whoever he was, tried to scream at them to stop fighting, but no one believed in his good intentions anymore. His people had decided to fight alongside the few who attacked them.

There was so much blood and screaming.

There were his father’s barked orders.

They lost many men that day, on both sides.

The first blood spilled, for many years to come.

***

The druids were forced to flee from their town in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. They hid everywhere, along with other sorcerers, and King Uther’s knights had to go in all directions to capture them. It wasn’t always as easy to spot them. Many looked almost like normal men and women. But they weren’t. They couldn’t be.

They were monsters. Always had been.

They found the same man again, the Head Druid, in the forest close to Camelot’s border. Arthur grown up by them, understood his role. He had no mercy to spare, because he wasn’t taught mercy. He ignored his stomach churning with disgust and his heart squeezing painfully, he ignored the Druid’s silent scream, because that was what he was taught.

The Druid village in the woods was no more.

Sorcerers were hunted like animals.

***

Arthur was hunted like an animal. There was something big coming after him, with the body of a serpent with two heads, slithering on the ground, ready to strike. 

He was sure he was going to die. He had no clothes and only tears in his eyes.

Then, there was blood and fire and Arthur stood over the body of a strange magical creature, thinking, This is only an animal wanting to eat, fighting for survival in this barren land.

He hadn’t thought about sorcerers as people, not even as animals.

He was just an animal himself, there in the Otherworld, hungry and wet, fighting for his life.

***

Arthur had his eyes open, air leaving his lungs quietly and his body still frozen, but slowly he unclenched. He woke up from nightmares more often than not, but he had forgotten the times when his body could just jerk forward. Now, it was instinct to be as quiet as possible, and his body remembered what had happened when he was loud and attracted the wrong kinds of animals to his hidden spot.

There was someone close to him, but it was  a presence Arthur recognized immediately.

“Bad dreams?” Merlin said. He apparently also had trouble sleeping.

“Not necessarily,” Arthur hummed. Even the quietest of whispers put Arthur on edge. Nothing could hear them here, though, except bears and maybe wolves, and those Arthur could deal with. And maybe Gwaine, who slept a few feet away from them. Him, Arthur wouldn’t be able to deal with right now.

Merlin was quiet for a moment, then took his blankets and moved them closer to Arthur. There were only inches separating them. Merlin’s skin was cold. Arthur had no idea how, because the night was bloody hot and he was sweating like a pig. Merlin must have used a spell or something to keep himself that cool. His presence nearby was rather pleasant.

“They’re usually bad, right?” Merlin asked. 

The first time Merlin had asked, Arthur almost shouted at him to not pity him or try to comfort him, and he granted Merlin the same courtesy when he woke up screaming and thrashing from a nightmare about Will.

Tonight, Merlin must have been feeling brave. Arthur felt this bravery seeping into him, too.

“I had a sister, you know,” Arthur said, looking up even as he felt Merlin shifting to the side, looking straight at him.

“She was older than you, right?” Merlin guessed. Arthur had mentioned Morgana once in passing, and from that he was able to figure that out. Merlin would be a terrifying enemy, Arthur suddenly thought.

“Yeah, two years. Sometimes it felt like a thousand.”

“Me and Will were pretty much the same age, thought he loved pointing out that he was three months older than me.” Merlin laughed quietly to himself. 

It was the first time he had mentioned Will to Arthur since the burial. Arthur had heard Merlin talk about it to Gwaine, when they were relatively alone and Gwaine wasn’t joking. Arthur assumed Merlin just wasn’t able to talk to him about it, because he’d lived through it. And it was his fault, in part, too.

“He was a good man,” Arthur said. He’d wanted to say it for so long, he thought he’d burst one of these days. He might not get another chance. 

“He was, but he was sometimes stupid, too. Like the one time he tried to impress a girl in our village and climbed a tree to get the prettiest, reddest apple for her and he fell from the first branch and broke his wrist.”

“And what else has he done?” Arthur asked, getting comfortable.

“Well, another time, we tricked Alric and Rowan into doing all our work. I think they still don’t know it...”

***

There was a sword at his neck and Arthur tensed, before someone let out a laugh behind him and took the weapon away.

“What the fuck, Gwaine?” Arthur’s head jerked violently to look at the grinning bastard.

“You said something about being rusty. Let’s put a stop to that.” He dropped the sword on beside Arthur and took out his own from his belt. “I found it in the bushes nearby. Someone left their sword and some clothes, probably was leaving in a hurry.”

“And what the fuck were you doing in the bushes?”

“Whatever the fuck a man can do in the bushes. Now stand up, Princess, and stop being prissy about me coming so close with a blade near your neck. That’s what we’ll work on.”

Arthur grabbed the sword with a bit more force than necessary and stood up. He followed Gwaine to the open space, near the lake where Merlin was checking the contents of his backpack. He frowned at them, but didn’t say a word.

“Lesson one: stop staring at Merlin.” 

Merlin almost choked on his own spit, and Arthur glared at Gwaine.

“I’m serious. You watch him too closely. The fight in the tavern, the tower. He has to be in your immediate field of vision, or you’re more likely to fuck up. I get that you have history together and for some reason or the other, you took on yourself the role of being his protector -- or babysitter. But from what I’ve seen, he’s not weak.” He turned to Merlin, who was listening with eyes wide and mouth open in disbelief. “How is it, Merlin, that you let yourself be babysat by our dear Wart, despite having enough power to break his bones in a blink?” When neither of them answered, Gwaine shrugged. “Either way, you can take care of yourself. Use your power, if need be. And you, eyes on the enemy, or you die first.”

“I can’t do that, though.” Merlin sat with his legs crossed, looking between them. “Break his bones in a blink. At least, I don’t know how. It’s like you said: Wart needs his training, and I need mine. That’s why we need the druids. They have to know something about my powers, don’t they? Before that… I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Or yourself,” Arthur added. He rolled his shoulders. “We have three afternoons left to spar before we reach Gancy.”

“If you’re a diligent student, then that’s plenty. We just have to correct your form and show you a few dirty tricks. And, Merlin!”

Merlin almost jumped at being addressed so suddenly. “Yes!”

“When he starts to whine, remind him he agreed to do this of his own free will.”

Merlin snorted. “Noted.”

“Fuck you,” Arthur mumbled, though he still clasped Gwaine’s outstretched forearm. “I know I’m going to regret this, anyway.”

“Most likely. But it’s too late, Princess. Lesson number two: save your strength. We all know you can take a hit, but try to dodge once in a while.”

***

Gwaine was making this training also a lesson in patience. Arthur was used to demanding teachers, and he had been one himself to the younger knights, once upon a time. Gwaine, though, had his unresolved issues with nobles and knowing Arthur was one he enjoyed pushing all of his buttons simultaneously.

Despite all of that, he was a good teacher. He made Arthur remember a few things, good things, about himself from his past. About his knights and those innocent days spent bantering back and forth with Leon or Gareth. 

He missed the brotherhood.

Arthur wasn’t wrong; Gwaine would have made a good knight. He would fit right in with the rowdy bunch. And even he wouldn’t be able to resist the bond between them, of brothers fighting shoulder to shoulder. Between battles and training, the knights would huddle close to the fire, sharing their stories and thoughts. Gwaine would like that. He  was already a grand story teller, but the knights would make him tone down the theatrics a notch. No one needed that much ego, after all.

For the past few days their rest time was spent with Gwaine and Arthur sparring. Gwaine was not confident enough to ask Arthur to fight without swords, saying it wasn’t a thing he needed tested. Arthur assumed he just was looking out for his face.

The plain, cheap sword Gwaine found in the bushes was more than enough for Arthur. He was not learning a new skill, merely remembering something that was in his veins, sleeping. The few hours he spent with Gwaine were more than enough to help him remember and grow used to the weight and feel of a sword in his palm again.

There were times when he caught himself thinking he felt more like himself. But then, he didn’t really know what that really meant anymore.

Merlin, on the other hand, was always busy with something, whether it was cooking, washing his clothes, picking up interesting herbs he found the further east they went, or something else. He was one of those village children that parents chased off to work early, so they could be of use and get used to physical labour. He couldn’t sit still and he didn’t want to.

When Arthur and Gwaine were busy, Merlin would sneak off, never far enough to be dangerous, since he always seemed to hear if they raised their voices or shouted. When he came back, he would always look a bit more dejected, which prompted Arthur to think he was trying to train his magic on his own, with questionable results.

Arthur was glad of that. From what he’d seen of that power, it was not exactly normal. He’d seen and fought sorcerers, countless numbers of them. He knew what they were capable of. They generally could not summon rain or break down the doors of a castle with the flick of their fingers. They had no idea what other things Merlin could do and their priority right now was for him not to hurt himself by accident.

The druids would know what to do next.

Chapter Text

The second they stepped into Gancy, the villagers, instead of being wary of them, greeted them with open arms and a promise of hot meals, drinks and celebration in exchange for helping hands.

“You, big fella!” An older woman shouted, pointing her finger at Arthur. “Go take that barrow up the hill. Look where I’m pointing!” She swatted at his bicep with a harsh slap that stung more than it probably should have.

“All right, all right,” Arthur sighed.

“And you two, be useful!” the woman said to Merlin and Gwaine, who were snickering beside them. “Start taking these baskets to the healer. Can’t have him being empty handed on the most important day of the year, no?”

With no further explanation, she turned on her heel and stormed off to berate a young couple, who had stopped their work and started chatting in the shade of a tree.

There was a barrow full of firewood and a few baskets full of flowers and herbs left. There were only a few people at the foot of the hill now, and the whole village felt almost empty, just some villagers here and there getting food and whatnot to bring it up the hilltop where the celebration was apparently going to take place.

“You heard the lady, boys.” Gwaine laughed, then quieter said, “Look out for the tattoo, then don’t let them go, yeah?”

He took the two baskets in his hands and started in the direction of the winding road that led up the hill.

Arthur touched Merlin’s forearm,  fingertips barely grazing his tunic, and leaned in. “Find me if you see one of them, all right? They’re known for being pacifists, but we can never know what they’re up to.”

Merlin nodded, his lips pursing. “But won’t it be difficult to look for this triple tattoo if they’re covered? I mean, it could be anywhere, right? We could just not notice it or something.”

“Back when I was… it was easy to spot a druid. Even with normal clothes on.”

“Yeah, but they’re hiding now, aren’t they? Probably know how to hide, if they escaped the Mad Ki—I mean your… you know.”

“Try looking for clues, then. Something suspicious.”

Merlin nodded wisely. “Something suspicious, got it.”

***

The sky turned shades of pink and orange and yellow, and the anticipation was almost suffocating.

Most of the space on the top of the hill was occupied by a circle of wood made from tree branches and firewood, and in the four cardinal directions were four smaller ones. Each held close a group of different people. Girls and young women stood near the one on the east, while the boys and young men stood by the one to the west. The south and north held older men and older women respectively.

A representative of each group ignited a light starting from the east; then, as the sun slowly hid over the horizon, the north fire was lit. 

When the sun had set and the sky turned black, an older woman circled the group of people. She had a small branch from an oak tree in her hand, and she lit up the branch from the four fires before she entered the circle and headed in the direction of the large bonfire. She said something, quiet enough so that no one else heard, and threw the branch onto the stack of wood.

The flame slowly died down, and there were a few whispers and murmurs.

The old gods are upset with us, I knew it.

What, that’s it? That’s all the old gods have to offer us?

The Oak King doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to die tonight.

That means a terrible fate in the upcoming year, I’m telling you.

There was a commotion before the older woman, turned to the people. She turned out to be the loud woman who put Arthur, Merlin and Gwaine to work. 

“Who wants to try to soothe the Oak King’s temper?” She asked.

Arthur heard someone whisper her name, Mara. When she spoke, every head turned to her, attentive. She must’ve been someone important, chief of the village or someone close to that.

A few younger people, men and women alike, jumped over the fires in their eagerness to volunteer. Someone pushed Arthur along with them, and he watched as five of them found their own branches and took the flames from the smaller fires to the one in the middle.

A young girl gave Arthur a part of her own branch, and he decided to indulge their traditions, despite having no such beliefs himself. When he threw his branch at the top part of the bonfire, a flame burst out like a geyser and devoured the wood, sending sparks high in the sky in seconds.

Arthur jumped back as if burned. He craned his neck around, looking for the familiar golden eyes, but he couldn’t see them in the crowd. People were quiet for exactly half a second.

The cheer they let out was deafening. Arthur felt claps on his back, squeezes on his arms and words of luck and something in the old tongue that he didn’t know the meaning of.

“You were blessed by the Oak King. You’re going to have a good year ahead of you. Look more cheerful, boy,” Mara said, clapping him on the shoulder. 

With the five fires burning in that black night, the celebrations started full force. The only thing heard over the laughter and chatter of the crowd was the music of the flutes and drums played by local bards and minstrels dancing around.

Arthur hadn’t taken part in a celebration like this in ages, maybe never. Songs in the castle were chaste, sung by a shrill voice accompanying a harp. They weren’t sung about carnal pleasures and killing and adventures and certainly not about the old god Cernunnos kidnapping fair maidens and lads to Otherworld, sleeping with them and turning them into dryads and fairies because they didn’t want to leave.

People didn’t push drinks that stunk of mint and tasted unbearably sweet into his hands. Nor did they grab him by the shoulders and wrists and take him closer to the fire to dance. He knew every step of the Court Dance by heart, and if threatened he probably could even try speeding it up to add to the fun, but this—this wild chaotic throwing yourself around with abandon… he wasn’t cut out for it.

The men had taken off their tunics and vests, and girls lost their shoes, leaping through the smaller fires for good luck.

It would be so easy to spot the triskelion, yet Arthur hadn’t seen it yet.

He’d seen Gwaine here and there, always with that wretched cup in his hand and a man or a woman at his side, a bit too close. Merlin was harder to spot, yet Arthur’s eyes, used to it, found him easily. He was dancing with a girl not far from the large bonfire. His eyes were looking around, though, searching for the triple tattoo. But he had obviously had no luck either, if he hadn’t come looking for Arthur yet.

Then someone grabbed Arthur’s hand. It turned out to be Mara, the chief of the village. She had no tattoo, or maybe Arthur had missed it. She had only a sleeveless dress on and a bunch of different ornaments decorating her wrists and neck. Her long hair was loose, like every woman that night—except for the little girls, who had to have their hair pinned up in braids or ponytails.

Mara was small, barely reaching Arthur’s neck, and yet she had a presence that even tall and mighty men usually did not have.

“You won’t find what you are looking for here, boy,” she said. “But I know where you can find it.”

Arthur was wary of her proposal, but she already joined their elbows and started to drag him from the crowd. They had no place to go; they were on a hilltop, and everything was happening in a circle, not even a living soul outside it. When Arthur tried to look for the village or the forest, he could see nothing besides black. It felt like they were the only ones in the world.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, more curious than cautious. 

“I can see you’re not from here,” she stated, stopping suddenly and turning to face him, looking up. “It’s the night to let things go. A new season is beginning, and the Oak King must die so the other one can be born. And yet you refuse to let him rule, clinging to that world like it’s the only one.”

“I—I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Because you don’t listen!” She reminded him briefly of the Camelot’s cook with that stern expression. “You have to let yourself die, so someone else can be born, someone more suited for the season. That’s why we’re all here. On this hilltop, where heaven and earth collides to make way to Otherworld.” Arthur flinched at the name. What was this woman saying…? “This is our tradition, respect it. Lose your old self and everything that comes with it to the fire and die, or never find a way out of this labyrinth you’ve created for yourself.”

“I don’t… know how. We’re looking for the druids. Do you know…?”

“They won’t be able to help you.” 

“Then how do you want me to…?”

“You need to listen.” And with that she gave him another cup do drink and disappeared into the crowd. “Enjoy yourself tonight. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

***

Not long after Arthur started making his way back to the crowd, he could feel that there was something wrong. His vision was blurry, his head was pounding, and all he heard was a steady hum—no songs, no voices. 

He remembered Mara’s voice: Because you don’t listen! This definitely wasn’t what she meant. The only explanation beside some sort of curse was the drink. There had to have been something in it. He’d seen almost everyone drinking it and then losing all sense in their talk and movements.

That had to be it. The only explanation.

He had to find Merlin.

“Merlin!” he shouted, elbowing the people out of his way, only to realize no sound had come out of his throat.

He could only see things close to him; all the bodies blended with the firelight and the darkness in the distance.

He shook his head to clear his vision, but instead of being in Gancy on the hilltop celebrating midsummer, he opened his eyes to see chaos: fires devouring the houses, people trying to escape, some of them bumping into Arthur, who had stopped in his tracks. His feet refused to move.

He saw knights with blood red cloaks slaying all the villagers. He was looking at this very hilltop he was on, but from different perspective. He was close to Gancy’s entrance and he was looking at the mass slaughter.

A movement caught his eye, and he was in a forest looking at a boy, no more than ten, gazing up at Arthur with blue eyes that looked too old for him. They looked like they were glowing in the dark of the night. The hood of his blue cloak covered his dark hair, sweaty and clinging to his forehead. Seconds later, he was yanked by the elbow by a man, who was shouting something Arthur couldn’t hear.

They were running away from something. The boy turned around for the last time and Arthur had a feeling those eyes pierced straight through him. The boy’s expression was blank, but there was a deep fear in them too.

Arthur was yanked back to the present by a hand on his wrist. He turned his head to see Merlin looking at him. His expression was one Arthur had never seen on him before. His smile was warm, his eyes creased at the corners. If Arthur dared he would almost call it tender. Why was Merlin looking at him like this, of all people?

“I chased you around for a while, calling your name. I can’t believe you couldn’t hear me, Arthur!” he said, breathing hard but still smiling.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Merlin, only for Merlin to fall into his arms, unconscious. Arthur gasped, lowering him to the ground. They were alone, and the gray bleak sky was one Arthur recognized all too well.

Merlin was dead in Arthur’s arms in the middle of the wasteland that was the Otherworld.

His skin was too pale, too cold, too clammy. Despite his grief, Arthur had the sense that this was inevitable, this had to happen, and Merlin looked peaceful, like he was sleeping. He even had a little smile on his face.

Arthur was clutching Merlin’s hand in his own, the other supporting the body. He couldn't hear himself sobbing, but what he could hear was another scream, piercing through his veins, and hands around his bicep trying to drag him back from Merlin’s corpse.

“Please, don’t do that! Don’t kill him! Arthur, you can’t! You can’t do that, please! I beg you!” Morgana screamed into his ears, drowning out anything else.

The dread of realizing he was the one who had done it, who had caused this… And to Merlin, of all people… Another sob escaped him.

Another voice spoke, this one deep, husky and definitely male. There was something otherworldly about this voice, something dangerous. 

The words were, “This is your fate, young warlock. A life for a life. A future for a future. There is no other way.”

With a shudder, Arthur was again in the present, his vision clear and his ears at once were bombarded with sounds and sensations. Singing, dancing, laughing, eating, jumping through fire.

And the hand circling his wrist was definitely Merlin’s. His face looked as surprised as Arthur felt.

“Where were you?” Merlin asked. His brows furrowed, confused, concerned. The expression Arthur had seen before many times.

Arthur’s heart was still beating like he’d just run a few miles without stopping. He cleared his throat, hoping to sound calm, and said, “I’m here now.”

Merlin tilted his head to the side, looking him as if he were a puzzle that he had no idea how to solve.

“I couldn’t find you,” Merlin finally said, apparently deciding not to question Arthur’s odd behaviour.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I wanted to find you sooner. I spotted a man with that tattoo Gwaine showed us on his shoulder in plain sight—you know. With everyone else.” Merlin was shaking his head. “And a few others. A girl and a older woman, even. They weren’t trying to hide anything.”

Arthur had to lean closer to hear Merlin properly. There was still a ringing in his ears. Besides, talking about druids was a sensitive topic, and it wouldn’t do good to be overheard.

“Did they do something?” There was no need to keep holding hands, but nonetheless they didn’t want the other to get lost.

“They all approached me first, one by one. They said it was good to see me and all of them called me something. I don’t really know what that means. They called me—”

“That’s a great idea!” Someone yelled from the middle of the circle. They both knew that voice.

Gwaine was in front of the large bonfire, lifting his sword in the air. His hand wavered and he almost cut someone standing close. The people around him roared with laughter. He took a gulp from the cup he was holding and threw it over his shoulder.

“Sweet dreams, bastard!” And with that, he threw the King Slayer into the fire. There was a cheer from the crowd, and people around him started throwing their own possessions too. Arthur couldn’t really make out what they were, but they were definitely smaller than the sword.

“What on earth is that idiot doing?” Arthur said to himself.

Merlin chuckled. “It’s tradition, isn’t it? To burn your old self and everything that comes with it. At least, that’s what that girl told me. The smaller fires represent the people, and the large one is for the spirits, and when they light it up, it opens the passage to…” He bit his lip before he could finish, but Arthur knew what he wanted to say.

“To Otherworld. Is that something important in the old religion, then? Did you do it in Ealdor?”

“Oh no, definitely not like that! It was rather a quiet celebration, but there was a fire—not that big of course, but… I never really questioned it, but I guess it came from the old religion. My mum had no idea about it, but there was an old lady who remembered some things. And she used to say… She used to say Otherworld was a paradise. That it was where the spirits of those who died here went. I guess she was wrong.”

“Maybe it became hell just for me.”

Merlin looked at him sharply. “You’re not funny.”

“I am, you just don’t understand my sense of humour.” Even to himself, Arthur laugh was a bit hollow. He turned to Merlin. His cheekbones cast sharp shadows against his face and his light eyes had turned into embers, imitating the fire around them. “What did the druids say to you, Merlin? You didn’t finish.”

Merlin glanced at him briefly before looking back at the people throwing their possessions into the fire.

“They called me Emrys. And they said they had been waiting for me for a long time.”

Arthur took a sharp breath. “DId they say where…?”

Merlin nodded. “Tomorrow, someone will take us to them. I didn’t even have to ask, they just knew.”

***

Someone poured what felt like a whole pitcher of ice cold water over Arthur’s face. And someone kicked him in the thigh.

“Courage! Wake up!” was the greeting he got as he jerked awake.

There was a dwarf standing a foot away from him, in the process of pouring another pitcher of water over Gwaine’s hair, while Merlin just sat there and stared at the whole scene in disbelief, still half-asleep.

Arthur frowned. He and Merlin had decided to lean on an old oak tree in the village as they had had enough of the celebrations and screaming and wanted to go somewhere peaceful. It seemed Arthur was so tired he didn’t even realize when he fell asleep.

But what the hell was Gwaine doing here? He’d been so drunk last night the only way he could have gotten down that hill would have been to roll himself down.

Gwaine swatted at the hands poking him and didn’t even react to the kick to the side he’d received.

“Go wake him up, Courage,” the dwarf said, shaking his head with exasperation. 

“You called me that twice already,” Arthur accused, then came up to Gwaine and yanked on his shoulder.

“Would you like me to call you Arthur? Or my lord?” The dwarf bowed with a smirk.

“And who are you?” Gwaine said upon waking up. He tried to take his sword out to apparently battle the trickster man, but all he had was a branch that vaguely resembled a weapon.

The dwarf laughed and raised his hand. The branch turned into a flower and even Merlin chuckled at Gwaine’s confused expression.

“My name is Grettir. I’ll be your guide. That’s all of you, yes? Courage, Strength and Magic? What are you waiting for, then? Get up and let’s go. I have a schedule to keep.”

They complied, admittedly reluctantly. It was their only clue as to where the druids were, and if they had sent someone so powerful that he could turn branches into flowers, they weren’t going to complain.

Arthur and Merlin followed Grettir, until they realized Gwaine was still in the same spot.

“Gwaine?” Merlin said. “Do you need help or something?”

“Or if you want to piss, we can wait.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

Gwaine chuckled, brushing his hair from his forehead. It was a strained sound, didn’t match Gwaine at all. “I’m not really going further, you know.”

“Don’t fuck around, Gwaine,” Arthur said. He might have sounded a bit offended, and that’s because he was. He wasn’t foolish enough to think Gwaine will change his lifestyle in the span of a few days, but he was a good bloke, and a swordsman. They could use someone like that on their side.

“I know you’ll miss me, my friends. Especially you, Wart. Or Arthur, whatever your name is. I never cared much about your past and I still don’t. You’re a decent man, and those are hard to find in this day and age, believe me.”

Arthur grimaced. “I will not ask you to come, if you don’t want to. But you will have a place by our side, whenever we meet each other again.”

“If,” Gwaine said.

“ When ,” Arthur emphasized and took Gwaine’s outstretched arm, and they both shook their hands with a nod.

Gwaine turned to Merlin with a brilliant smile. “And you, Merlin… you still owe me a drink, you know.”

“Yeah, I do.” Merlin’s smile cracked and he bit his lip. “You know, you can come with us. We want you to. You don’t have a place to stay, but we can…”

“Maybe another time, Merlin.” Gwaine said softly and accepted Merlin’s fierce hug with a laugh and a groan. “By then you will be a great sorcerer and magic me a ton of money.”

Merlin nodded into his shoulder. When they parted, Merlin wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Can’t promise that!”

Grettir, who had taken a few steps back to give them some privacy, waved his hand. “Come on, already. The druids are going to kill me for delivering only two out of three, you know.”

“I thought they were pacifists,” Merlin said as he and Arthur joined Grettir and headed into the Forest of Geancy. 

The only response was the dwarf’s obnoxious laugh.

***

Grettir quickly strayed from the main road onto a smaller path that led through the bushes and clearly was seldom used. The branches were low and the plants were untouched there. Their boots were doing more damage to the ground underneath, but thanks to Grettir’s magic, the path behind them looked just as it had before.

They reached a bridge, an old and creaking thing that was almost wholly covered in moss.

“This is it. I can’t go further. The rest of the way you have to go alone.”

“Thank you for going with us so far,” Merlin said, always the first to be polite.

“No problem. I actually wanted to see Emrys in person. My friends always tell me I’m too nosy for my own good. Anyway! Safe travels, Magic, Courage.” Grettir winked and vanished into thin air.

***

A mile or so in a straight line from the bridge there was a man sitting, or rather leaning on a tree. Upon seeing them approaching, he stood quickly and shook off the dirt from his dark cloak. 

He was a tall man with a shock of white hair, despite being quite young. He looked between them with a stern expression, before resting his eyes on Merlin.

Arthur felt Merlin jerk, before he frowned at the man.

“So, are you the chief here?” Arthur asked, taking a step forward.

“There are no chiefs here. But on this occasion, you can say I am an representative of my people. You can call me Iseldir.” His voice was rather quiet, but confident and calming, in a way. He didn’t look like he might attack them. But on the other hand, none of the druids looked like that.

“I don’t know if you know, but I am—”

“Arthur Pendragon. We’ve been expecting you.” Iseldir nodded. “And you brought Emrys to us, for which we are grateful.”

“Everyone keeps calling me that. What does that mean? My real name is Merlin. I’ve never been called anything else in my life.”

“There has a legend amongst our people for thousands of years, of a child born with a great power. Emrys is their name. And they wield great destiny on their shoulders.”

“But…” Merlin couldn’t seem to believe what the man was saying, but Arthur had no such reservations. He had known Merlin was special, even before he had seen the extent of his power with his own eyes.

“We offer you shelter and accomodation, and whatever else you may need for any period of time you may want.” Iseldir bowed his head in Merlin’s direction. Then he looked at Arthur, and his eyes hardened a bit, barely noticeable. “We, unfortunately, cannot offer the same to your companion.”

“I won’t go anywhere without him!” Merlin immediately said, standing up straight and ready for a fight for his rights.

But justice was not in Arthur’s favour. He was prepared for this, for letting of of his pride. He went down on his knee and looked at the ground. 

“I did awful things to your people. There are no words to redeem me in any way. I deserved what happened to me, to go into that hell and live there with nothing but my own mind to keep me occupied. It was a wasteland, and the only thing that grew there and bloomed was my hollow desire for revenge on my father, who made me do those things, who let all of that happen. But I did it on my own and if I have even a bit of a chance of redeeming myself, then I will do everything in my power to do that.”

“You’re saying your actions now are to redeem yourself, then. Not caused by a genuine change of heart.” Iseldir took to Arthur’s words like he knew them by heart already, like Arthur was only repeating them back to him and they had lost all meaning.

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who was also waiting for his next words.

“No,” Arthur said. “I’ve realized a problem with my and my father’s thinking. I want to bring magic back to Camelot and make people see what I learned to see. That sorcerers can live among the people in peace and they are not evil. I understand your decision; I was the lowest of low, and I helped in killing your own kind. But I have nothing right now. I am a dead man, not the prince or future king you might remember me as. For a king has to have a kingdom and people to rule, of which I have none. I am not looking for them, for subjects. Nor am I looking for enemies. I’m looking for friends and for help. I can’t do anything alone. I will respect your choice whatever you make. I’ll leave if that’s what you want, but please reconsider.”

There was a moment of tense silence, before Iseldir spoke with a kinder voice than before, “You’ve changed, indeed. But it is not my decision. The choice is that of all druids, and they demand you leave and never come back, or show us proof of your change of heart.”

“What sort of proof?”

Iseldir stepped closer to Arthur. “You must be born anew. You will know when it happens, and then you’ll find us.”

And with those words, he opened his palm and blew some sort of green powder on Arthur’s face. In a few seconds, he was asleep.

When he woke up, the sun was high in the sky, but most importantly—he was alone.