Chapter Text

Part 1: The Quest

Chapter 1

“Alright, Merlin?” Ellen calls from her little stand.

Merlin pauses in his perusal of the spice stand next door, and he grins at her. Ellen, an old woman known by everyone in the lower town to make the best pies in Camelot, had taken a shine to him shortly after he first arrived in the city. Apparently she took one look at his scrawny frame and trouble making ways, and decided she needed a seventh grandchild. He makes it a habit to stop by her stall whenever he comes through the lower town, and she always appreciates the company. If he times it right, she usually sneaks him a pie still warm from the oven for him to munch on for lunch.

He temporarily abandons his quest for dried chamomile, and wanders over to join her. Gaius has been waiting for chamomile for days, a few more minutes won’t make much of a difference, and he enjoys Ellen fussing over him. It reminds him a bit of his mother. He makes a mental note to go visit her soon.

“I’m well,” Merlin responds easily, “How are things here?”

“More of the same.” Ellen says, waving one wrinkled hand in front of her face, “Lettie still fancies that butcher’s boy from down the way, but still refuses to request time to spend with him no matter how many flowers he brings her.”

“Any chance Robert is going to pluck up the courage to ask Arthur to take him on as a knight hopeful?”

Ellen rolls her eyes, “He doesn’t think the King will allow it. No amount of pointing out that the King married a maid and knighted commoners, and values their opinions highest will convince him to give it a chance. He won’t even let me ask you to put in a good word—”

“I would if I saw him fight.” Merlin interjects.

Ellen smiles affectionately at him and pats his cheek, “I know that. Everyone knows the king values your opinion the highest of them all. Joined at the hip the two of you. Frankly, I think he’s just scared he won’t measure up.”

“He could still ask to be a squire.”

“No point in fussing over it if he won’t help himself,” Ellen says sagely, “Now what were you out here for?”

“Chamomile for Gaius.”

Ellen perks up at the mention of Gaius’s name, and ducks down with a little huff of breath at the stiffness of her back. She comes up holding a vial, and she presses it into Merlin’s hand. “Make sure he gets that back will you? It did wonders for easing my joints, but I’ve run out.”

Merlin pockets it, “Of course I will.”

“Such a good lad,” Ellen says, “I’m giving you a pork pie.”

Merlin opens his mouth to protest, like he always does, but Ellen holds up a finger to silence him. She wraps one of the pies in some waxed fabric, and hands it over. Merlin accepts it and slides it into his pocket alongside the vial. He’ll eat it later when he has a brief break between attending Arthur at council, and rushing off to prepare Arthur’s armor.

“You do know the castle feeds me.” Merlin points out.

Ellen shakes her head again, sending a few grey hairs frizzing from underneath her grey head wrap, “Not enough. You’re all skin and bones. You tell our king if he doesn’t start feeding you properly, I will come after him with my spoon.”

Merlin huffs a little laugh, “I believe you.”

“As you should,” Ellen says then waves her hands at him, “Go on then. I’ve kept you too long young man.”

Merlin listens to her command, and returns to the stand next door. He purchases the amount of chamomile that Gaius needs, and slides it into the medical satchel Gaius asks him to carry. When he asked why he couldn’t just keep the returned vials in the bag with all the other supplies, Gaius had gone on about cross contamination that Merlin was late bringing Arthur dinner.

He steps away from the stall, pauses to wave at Ellen one last time, and begins his trek back to the castle. The day is warm and sunny. People bustle about their chores, and it reminds Merlin of a beehive. Each person has their specific duty, and they all work in tandem to make sure those tasks can be completed. The castle feels much the same way, but in such a big place he can make it all the way to Arthur’s chambers and only encounter an occasional guard. This is much more closely packed.

He rounds the corner into an alley, intent on taking the short cut that takes him passed the Rising Sun, when a familiar ringing echoes inside his head. He hisses a little at the sudden onslaught of noise.

Emrys. the voice calls.

Merlin opens his eyes, and glances around the alley, looking for someone out of place, not that anyone looks exactly in place in an alley. He spots a hooded figure just ahead of him, their cloak is drawn close about their person, trying to hide. Merlin has a feeling that that is who he is looking for.

He walks over as casually as he can. He’s gotten good at seeming unsuspicious over the years, perfected the art of talking to someone without looking like that’s where he’s headed. He stops a few feet away, and pretends to be doing up a buckle on his boot. He looks up at the druid from under his lashes. He can make out spindly fingers, and a pointy chin.

It’s not safe in Camelot.

Then you know I would not have come if I did not think it was vital.

Tell me what’s going on.

The location of an item of great power has been discovered. We need your help to keep it safe. If it falls into the wrong hands it could mean the end of everything.

Merlin tries very hard not to roll his eyes. He learned his lesson with the Cup of Life. He is not at all suited to being the protector of magical items of great importance. He can clean up their mess just fine when everything goes wrong, but preventing things from going wrong to begin with is not his strength. If Iseldir were anyone other than a druid, there is no doubt in Merlin’s mind that he’d be missing his head at the moment.

I can’t help. I’m sorry.

Please, Emrys. We need you.

Why don’t you go get it yourself? My plans are always a half-baked disaster on top of half-baked disaster.

The druids are peaceful people, we do not war, but that does not mean that we can remain untempted by the power the ring possesses. We are also concerned that you may encounter the Lady Morgana for she will surely seek it, and we have not the strength to fight her.
You are the closest thing we have to a neutral party. You do not seek to expand your own power, and you have proved many times over that you are good at resisting temptation. Please, Emrys, we rely on you.

Merlin sighs, and straightens up. Bringing Morgana into this mess is a low blow, and no doubt this druid knows it, but he can’t leave them to be hurt by her. How long do I have?

He swears he can see the hint of a smile from within the darkness of the hood. The Lady Morgana has not yet learned of its location so you have many weeks yet. It lies over the border into Essetir in the caves of the old dragons.

What am I looking for?

The Ring of the Silver Dragon. It was created by the first Dragon Lord.

Let me guess, Merlin thinks with all the irritation he can muster and sounding suspiciously like Arthur as he does, Only a Dragon Lord is capable of retrieving it without great peril.

It was one of the many reasons I have listed that makes you most qualified to go. Anyone powerful enough may use it, but only a Dragon Lord may keep it safe.

Fine. I’ll help. Merlin thinks bitterly as he stands up.

Thank you, Emrys. The Old Religion owes you much.

If Merlin had a crown for every time a druid said something about the debt of the Old Religion, he’d be as rich as Arthur. Hell he’d have enough gold that the Old Religion’s debt would probably be more than paid for. He’s known for years now that the Old Religion does not operate that way. No matter how he sacrifices in service to it or Arthur, he will just have to go on sacrificing. Some days that knowledge threatens to crush him under its weight.

He continues his walk down the alley, and as he passes by the druid, they reach out and squeeze his wrist gratefully. This is why he keeps making foolish promises; because it is the right thing to do. He’s spent so much time around Arthur that some of their talks of nobility must have sunk in because it’s like he is physically incapable of turning those away that truly need his help.

He walks back to Gaius, and his irritation must show on is face because fellow servants who normally offer him a friendly hello whenever he walks by instead offer him a polite nod. He never regrets helping Arthur, even if he isn’t always proud of how he goes about it. However, when strange sorcerers come out of the woodwork seemingly to specifically mess with him, he genuinely considers handing in a resignation to the Old Religion.

To the Triple Goddess: I am tired of this. Find someone else. Sincerely, Merlin.

He pushes open the door to Gaius’s chambers and stands in the doorway. Gaius looks up from whatever tonic he’s working on and eyes Merlin critically. His sharp gaze takes in Merlin’s unimpressed face, and tense shoulders, and straightens all the way.

“What’s wrong now, Merlin?” he asks in a disapproving tone that does nothing to ease Merlin’s irritation.

Merlin closes the door behind him, and dumps the medical satchel on their scarred wooden table, “I’ve got another request for help from the druids.”

“Didn’t you just finish a request last month?” Gaius asks, frowning.

Merlin huffs a sigh, digs the pork pie out of his pocket, and takes a vicious bite. He had planned on saving it, but he needs something to vent his frustrations on. Once he’s swallowed his bite, he sinks down on the bench next to Gaius.

“Apparently the location of a magical artifact has just been discovered, and I’m the only one qualified to go retrieve it.”

“Then you must go.” Gaius says like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Merlin can see the future spreading out before him as if he was the Seer and not Morgana. He’s going to be lying to Arthur again, he’s going to have yet another near death experience, and after all that if he succeeds then he will get no gratitude for the risk he’s taken. Gratitude isn’t why he does this, but some would be nice. He’s exhausted all the time, and he can barely sleep through the night from nightmares. Perhaps it would be an easier burden to carry if people knew, but that would require telling Arthur and that’s not something that can happen until the time is right. He takes another bite of his pie.

“Eat too quickly and you’ll get hiccups again.” Gaius admonishes.

“The artifact is all the way in Essetir in the caves of the old dragons. Your tavern excuse won’t hold up. Arthur may think I’m useless and lazy, but even that won’t buy me two weeks in a tavern without questions.”

“Then we must concoct a way for you to be gone for all that time without suspicion.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Merlin complains.

Gaius raises an eyebrow, “It’s not like you to be so defeatist, Merlin.”

“It was a good day,” Merlin says by way explanation, “and then destiny reared its head again.”

Gaius sets aside the potion to cool, and shuffles so he’s standing behind Merlin. He digs his strong fingers into the knots of muscle in Merlin’s shoulders, and Merlin sags a little in relief. He knows his whole stance has changed since he came to Camelot. He walks with more confidence, yes, but he also carries constant tension now. He’s sure it has gotten worse since the last time he went to visit Ealdor, and at that time his mother had been so concerned she had actually refused to let him help with chores despite spending his entire childhood lecturing about pitching in to help.

Camelot isn’t all bad, really. He has Arthur, and Gwen. He has a purpose for his life. He has Percival, Elyan, and even Leon is the closest thing he’s ever had to a big brother. He has Gaius, and Gwaine. A small smile tugs at his lips at the thought of Gwaine, he may be the cause of much chaos among the knights, but Merlin knows it’s just to keep them all cheerful in the darkness. Not even Will could get Merlin to smile as much as Gwaine.

“I think I have an idea.” Gaius says finally.

Merlin blinks sleepily and nods his head, “I’m all ears.”

“We tell Arthur that you’re going to pick up a rare medicinal herb for me. We can say that my supplier was making his way to Camelot, but his horse became lame. I am far too old to make the trip myself, but as my unofficial apprentice you would know enough to know whether the supplier was providing us what we need.”

“Think he’ll buy that?”

“Unless you have any better ideas, I think it is the story we go with,” Gaius says and pats Merlin on the shoulder, “You’ve run errands for me before, I think Arthur will grant you the time, especially if we phrase it that we can use these herbs to better treat the people.”

Merlin shrugs and heaves himself back to his feet. “I better go now before council starts. Arguing with them all afternoon always gives him a headache.”

*

“So let me get this straight,” Arthur says with that dismayed and confused look that Merlin is so often the source of, “Gaius is sending you to collect herbs from a supplier stuck in Essetir?”

“That’s right.” Merlin says cheerfully, and smiles his best eager grin.

“Even though we have no official treaty with Essetir and the last thing we need is war with another kingdom to go along with our war against Morgana?” Arthur says disbelievingly.

“I think that’s why Gaius wanted to send me,” Merlin leans in conspiratorially, “I’m not a noble or knight or anything like that. It won’t be seen as strange for another young man to pop up in a village for a few days and leave again.”

Arthur bobbles his head slightly, clearly thinking it over, and nods, “Very well, but I want you to take a knight with you.”

Merlin wants to tear his hair out. Leave it to Arthur to listen to a warning about no knights crossing into Essetir, and then ask for one in the next breath.

“Arthur—” Merlin starts, but Arthur holds a hand up and leans back against his table.

“I understand your reluctance, but they will not take anything that identifies them as a citizen of Camelot.” Merlin thinks this is starting to sound suspiciously like when they tried to track down the Cup of Life and ended up fighting an undead army, “and all of them can easily pass themselves off as commoners. Besides, if you’re attacked by bandits, I want you to be with someone who has a shot of keeping you safe.”

“Are you saying you care about me?” Merlin can’t resist teasing.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but doesn’t dignify the response with one of his own. Instead, he says, “It increases your chances of bringing home those herbs as well.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to consider. If he’s going to be fighting against forces of magic to bring this damn ring home, then he wants someone who will turn a blind eye to his magic, or even better, encourage it. Only one knight fits the bill.

“I’ll take Lancelot.”

“Sorry. Lancelot is on patrol. He won’t be back for another week, and this seems urgent.”

Icy panic grips Merlin’s heart. Leon is out of the question, as much as Merlin may like him. His stance on magic will always reflect the one the King holds, and Arthur has yet to come around to the side of magic. Elyan grew up in Camelot, so even if he doesn’t hate it all the mistrust might still run deep. Percival might be okay, but Merlin doesn’t know him all that well yet.

“Gwaine,” he blurts, “I’ll take Gwaine.”

Arthur’s face crinkles in confusion, “Gwaine? Why on earth would you take Gwaine instead of Leon?”

“It will be nice to get some alone time with him.” Merlin answers, still operating on blind panic. As soon as the excuse has left his mouth, a million better ones come to mind. They rescued Arthur at the Fisher King’s palace together, Gwaine stepped in to protect him from the ruffians at the tournament that time, and risked execution to make sure Arthur came out of said tournament alive.

Before he can voice any of this, though, Arthur’s face has gone blank, “I didn’t realize you and he were,” Arthur gestures vaguely at Merlin, “you know…”

Merlin frowns, head cocked to the side, “We were what?”

“Courting.” Arthur answers stiffly.

“Oh! No! I mean—he—I… it isn’t…” Merlin stutters.

Arthur’s face softens a little, and a small smile graces his mouth, “It’s alright. I suppose he was bound to wiggle his way into one of our beds eventually.”

“It’s not like that!” Merlin says desperately, but Arthur is already clapping him on the shoulder.

“There’s nothing to hide. You have my permission to take Gwaine with you,” Arthur says as he walks to the other side of the table, and looks up with a concerned frown, “Just be careful, won’t you?”

“That’s why I’m taking a knight.”

“I meant with Gwaine,” Arthur says seriously, “He’s a good man, but I have yet to see him commit to someone for longer than a week.”

Merlin is so startled by Arthur being supportive, that he forgets all about trying to explain away the misunderstanding until he’s already standing outside of Arthur’s chambers holding a pile of dirty laundry in his arms.