Chapter Text
“WAIT!” The old man turned around, grinning like he'd been playing the long game all along, as if he'd been making a fool of Arthur, and by extension, the King. “There are other crimes I wish to confess!”
Dragoon was an irritating man, Arthur had long decided. He had appeared out of nowhere, putting a poultice under Arthur's pillow to- make him fall in love with Guinevere? It was fortunate that Arthur had caught him but it didn't seem like the man had much of a plan. Or if he did, it was terribly executed. Otherwise he would not be here, down in the dungeon, minutes away from being burned at the stake and Arthur remaining as unenchanted as he'd been 24 hours ago.
Arthur felt a bit sorry for him, especially since his stupid enchantment had been completely unnecessary. He and Gwen were not enchanted to be in love, it had been too gradual a change to be induced by magic. So, he'd either enchanted two people who already were in love, or he was shoddy at magic... Arthur would exclude the latter, since he'd seen his magic in action. (Arthur's head still hurt from where Dragoon had magically thrown a water pitcher at him.)
“What's the point?,” Arthur asked, a little confused by the man's talkactiveness. Sorcerers usually liked to remain silent. “You've already been condemned. We can't execute you twice.”
At that, the sorcerer's expression fell as if the thought hadn't even occurred to him. Or he hadn't thought Arthur was very smart. Or he hadn't thought that far ahead at all. At this point it was impossible to tell. Then his eyes fell to the guards. “Perhaps,” Dragoon began slowly, his expression twitching like he was searching for another way out. For that, Arthur couldn't blame him. “But would it not be beneficial for you to know who committed the crimes that you couldn't yet solve? It could end some of your searches.”
Arthur frowned. That was a good point actually. “And why would you help my father? You already expressed your hatred of his rule. Besides, I would expect you to lie, you ARE a sorcerer!,” he countered.
The sorcerer seemed to still yet again. Arthur wondered why the man didn't just try to attack the guards with magic. He had managed to knock Arthur out for a second, after all. Yet, the sorcerer didn't make a move to fight his way out. If this was a scheme to stall, then why was he so calm? Why was his resistance limited to witty remarks, shoddy insults and lame excuses?
The sorcerer closed his eyes for a moment. “Can you not grand a dying man a last favour?”
Arthur paused, humbled by the request. He sighed, feeling somewhat empathetic for the man. Arthur didn't know why this particular sorcerer made him feel for him. He was rude, loud, and probably insane. Yet, there was something about him that told Arthur that this man was no danger to him or Camelot. Arthur liked to think he had good instincts, so he didn't understand why this man, who was clearly a sorcerer and therefore clearly evil, left him completely unaffected.
Under normal circumstances, Arthur would not have granted Dragoon his request. Under normal circumstances, the last wish of a criminal was honored the night before their death, but that excluded sorcerers. “I suppose,” Arthur gave in. What were a few more minutes when the man would burn anyway? “You may confess your crimes. I'll pass it on to my father, if it means that much to you.”
The sorcerer beamed at him, then looked at the guards again. “Would you mind?” He spat at them as they tried to grab him, snarkily as ever.
Gosh, what a temper. Athur rolled his eyes. He already knew he would regret this. “It's alright,” he said, addressing the guards. “You two wait outside, he has two minutes to confess. Then you may get him.”
The guards stared at him, appalled by the idea. “But Sire! He's a sorcerer!”
“It's alright. I can handle him.” Arthur supposed that was not the smartest thing to say, considering they all still believed he was enchanted. But he was also the crown prince, so they still had to listen to him, except if Uther ordered them not to. But the King wasn't here, so Arthur had nothing to fear.
The guards bowed to him, then threw warning glances at the sorcerer, then walked out begrudgingly. Arthur remained in the cell, arms crossed, feeling beyond annoyed, and waited until they had closed and locked the door behind him.
“So?”
The sorcerer seemed to relax. “Soo-,” he croaked. “You are wrong, you know? You could not handle me.”
Arthur put a hand to the handle of his sword in quiet warning.
The old man, however, shook his head, then he folded his hands in front of him, the very picture of innocence. For a moment, he seemed to consider. Then, suddenly, he looked up, all humor gone from his face as sincerity took over his features. The same way they had done when he'd been brought before the King, where Dragoon had called Uther Pendragon a tyrant. “I did not ask you to stay to hurt you, nor did I do it to confess any more crimes.” Dragoon said quietly, then paused. His voice seemed calmer now. Now, Dragoon observed as Arthur glared at him, waiting for a reaction.
Lost, Arthur grabbed his sword tighter. If Dragoon wasn't here to talk, then was he about to attack? But then, why was he standing still and waiting? What was he waiting for? “Then what is the meaning of this?” Arthur was close to calling the guards back.
The sorcerer stepped closer to face him, but not close enough for Arthur to feel frightened. “Your father may be a tyrant, Arthur Pendragon, but I believe you are no stranger to reason. I may have insulted you in front of him, but I didn't mean any of it. I believe that one day, you'll be a worthy King.”
Arthur's hand twitched back. He was stunned. At court, Dragoon had called him out for mistreating servants and for being 'a toad'. It had been irritating then, but for Dragoon to take it back now was just plain confusing. For a moment, Arthur found himself unable to retort. “I don't understand. Then why-”
“You are not enchanted, prince Arthur. And neither is that serving girl. Neither of you were. Have you not wondered why?”
Arthur blinked, his hand losing its grip on his sword. “What did you do!” Still unafraid, Arthur couldn't help but worry. If the sorcerer knew that his magic had had no effect, then what on earth was going on?
The sorcerer wore an expression so painful it matched that of Uther when the weight of the crown seemed to wear him down, like whenever he had to make a sacrifice for Camelot. It took Arthur only a moment to understand that that was what the man had been doing. What Dragoon was trying to do, what he was trying to convey, was that his death was a sacrifice. “The serving girl is no enchantress.” The sorcerer said tiredly, but firmly. “You already know as much. Someone planted the evidence to have her burned. I have watched too many people burn for magic, I could not see an innocent girl die who has done even less than that.”
Arthur now blinked rapidly. “Wait, hold on. So, what you're saying is, that someone else, another sorcerer planted the poultice and you want me to believe that you stepped in to save Guinevere?” Save her? Why? “If that were true, tell me who it is! Or are you protecting them?!” It didn't make sense. This had to be a ruse.
Dragoon simply watched Arthur's change of expression. It was as if he was questioning Arthur. But there was pity there as well.
Arthur shook his head, the confusion now messing with his head. “You are a sorcerer. I would never believe the word of one of your likes! Who even would want Guinevere dead-”
“I'm sorry, your highness.” For the first time this evening, the sorcerer looked truly sorry. “I'm afraid if I were to tell you who the enchantress is, you wouldn't believe me.”
Arthur snarled. He drew his sword and held it to the sorcerer's neck, nearly nicking it with the sharp tip. “I already don't believe you.”
“I am aware.” The sorcerer said, sounding resigned. He did not move at the sight of the sword in front of him. He didn't even watch the blade, only Arthur. “But the witch is not someone the likes of me could ever point at without fearing for my life.”
“You're being executed!” Arthur snarled at him for the second time that day. It should be enough of a reason, so why wasn't it enough?! Why didn't it convince Arthur?!
“But Gwen isn't!” The sorcerer said this in a voice so pleading that for a moment, Arthur thought he saw someone else in those eyes. As if Gwen's life mattered more to this man than pointing at a criminal. Arthur's eyes widened as he was confronted with an expression so desperate, it gave him whiplash. “And that! Prince Arthur! Must count for something! If it, at the very least, makes you consider that not all magic is evil, then my death will be worth it!” Suddenly, the sorcerer held out his hands and whispered something.
Arthur flinched back, but what he saw then made him freeze. A blue, familiar, shimmering orb appeared in the air. Blue and electrifying, it hung in front of Arthur's face, making him feel warm and cared for. It seemed to whisper to him, reminding him of that cave, that cave where a sorcerer had saved his life.
“That was you!” Arthur was whispering now. He wasn't sure whether to be amazed, shocked or astonished. “You were the sorcerer who guided me then!” Irritating didn't cut it anymore. “I don't understand. Magic is evil! YOU are evil, I-”
“True Love, Arthur Pendragon, will make you a stronger King. To have the support of the woman you love will be Camelot's strength. It will not bring chaos like your father tries to make you believe. It is not a love spell that would have been Camelot's downfall, it would have been your broken heart.” Dragoon spoke with such conviction that Arthur felt floored. Someone had wanted Guinevere dead? Dragoon seemed to find something in Arthur's expression because he dared to step a little closer. “It was never my intention to hurt Camelot, it was to save it. Magic is neither good nor evil. We can choose what we do with it. It is true that magic corrupts, but that is what all power comes with. I'm as evil as your crown is, Arthur Pendragon. My dying wish is that you remember that. For when you are King, I hope you will be fair and just to my kind. Even if the time is not yet near.”
Arthur had never felt so compelled to believe someone he wanted to disagree with so wholeheartedly. Arthur stepped back. “I-”
Before he could make up his mind, before he could swear or deny, the guards returned. The two minutes were up.
The sorcerer did not fight them when they grabbed him by the arms and pushed him towards the exit. He chanced one last look at Arthur, but didn't press him for a swear. It was as if sowing the doubt in Arthur's heart had been his entire plan.
Arthur remained behind for a couple seconds, rooted to the floor and completely unsure what to think. He wanted to believe Dragoon. He wanted to believe that magic could be used for good and that Dragoon was proof of that. But if it were true, then an innocent man was about to burn at the pyre. If it were true, then there was a traitor in Camelot.
At the same time, Arthur wanted to believe this man a liar. It was the easiest option, it made the execution seem fair and Guinevere's rescue the just thing.
But there had been something in Dragoon's eyes and Arthur felt the weight of uncertainty on his shoulders because of it.
Dragoon had escaped.
Arthur sat in his chambers on his chair, leasuredly, while he played with a pen. It had taken Dragoon a single glance to set the pyre aflame from a distance – and now that Arthur thought about it, how come no other sorcerer had ever tried that? - and then managed to disappear.
The man had not had the same power as Anhora had but Dragoon clearly was a powerful man. One powerful enough to sow doubt in Arthur's mind. The longer Arthur thought about it, the more sense it made. Dragoon had simply wanted to sway Arthur's loyalties and that's why he told him that stupid story. Perhaps it was why he'd planted the poultices to begin with.
Tapping the pen against his desk, Arthur watched as Merlin cleaned up his room all clumsily, as if he'd forgotten how to do his job. Perhaps he still had a hangover from how many nights he'd spent at that tavern. Or it was just a normal Tuesday, Arthur wasn't sure, but he liked the familiarity of Merlin's movements. He didn't know when it had begun but Arthur found himself seeking comfort in Merlin's presence more often than not. He could think more clearly when Merlin was there cleaning up or sharpening his swords or doing whatever manservants usually did. Sometimes Arthur would make a comment and Merlin would give a witty retort or offer a useful solution. Sometimes it felt like Merlin was made to be by Arthur's side, doing just that. Being a relief, a comfort, a wise voice over his shoulder and of course, entertainment.
“Tell me, Merlin, do you think magic is evil?”
The plate that Merlin was just about to put on Arthur's table was promptly dropped and clattered against the ground. Several fruits rolled around, disappearing under the table or even as far as Arthur's bed. Merlin stood straight. “Eh- sorry. I'll pick that up-”
“You're right, why DO I ever ask you of anything.” Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed. “Leave it, Merlin, I'll call a competent servant later.” He rubbed the space between his eyes and nose to calm himself from throwing something at Merlin. “Just answer the question.”
Merlin pressed his lips into a thin line. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Arthur frowned at the sight. Merlin wasn't speechless often. Arthur sat up more straight and finally put his pen down, then folded his hands. “It's alright, you can speak freely.”
Merlin shook his head, a troubled expression making him look almost fed up, as if he were upset. “I don't know what to tell you,” he finally let out.
Arthur raised his brows. That was a complete denial for advise, and THAT was even rarer than Merlin's speechlessness. “Just do what you always do. Cite a book or something.”
Merlin inhaled a deep breath before he turned to Arthur, as if mad. As if Arthur's comment had pressed a switch. “I can't cite anything if there ARE NO books.”
Arthur's expression fell. “Yes I know, but-”
“Your father burned all the books on magic.” Merlin suddenly said and he sounded strangely emotional when he did. “So there is nothing to cite and nothing to know. You'd have to ask a sorcerer, but they are either dead, hate your guts or are in hiding. All the information that IS left is written in a language no one speaks and therefore can't be identified or reasonably burned. As far as I know, no one can tell you anything about magic.” Merlin paused, leaving Arthur burned with a wisdom that burned its way through his confusion. “Sorry.” Merlin looked down, as if appalled that he'd spoken out of turn. He rarely did that too. “I just really don't know what to say.”
Arthur stared at his table, then blinked up a couple times. “No. No I think I understand quite well.” Too well, in fact. Merlin was right. Arthur's lack of knowledge on the matter wasn't simply a lack of interest, it was so much more than that, rooted deeply in the history of the purge.
“You do?” Arthur watched as Merlin paled in fear.
Arthur nodded, suddenly highly aware how much Merlin must fear his reaction. “You're right. I don't know anything.” And that was a situation that needed to be retrified. Arthur tapped his table with his fingers now before he got up. “Prepare the horses, Merlin, we're going on a hunting trip.”
“What? Why?”
Merlin was so easily frightened. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “We're going to visit the druids, Merlin. I wish to speak with them. Maybe one of them wants to speak with me. Or perhaps we run into Dragoon again, he seemed eager enough to talk. Although I'm pretty sure he was just trying to confuse me. But-” Arthur held out a finger in warning. “Tell my father it's a hunting trip. He won't react well to me seeking out the druids, is that understood?”
Merlin stared at Arthur like he was trying to read his very soul. Merlin did that sometimes. It were those moments when Arthur felt like they agreed on something so important it would alter time and space. Something so important that it might be life changing or earth shattering. Often, these moments left Arthur breathless and wrong footed. He didn't know why or what it meant, he just knew that these moments were monumental and intense. Strangely enough, it made him feel prepared for what he would need to do.
“Of course, Sire.” Merlin ripped Arthur from his thoughts as he suddenly bowed before he left Arthur's chambers in a hurry.
For someone who hated nothing more than hunting, long trips and sleeping outside, Merlin was pretty quiet.
It had taken a lot of convincing on Arthur's part to get the permission to leave. They were about to have a visitor of some kind and Uther seemed to believe that his son wanted to escape them. Which was only partly true.
Morgana had seemed quite interested in where they were going as well, so Arthur had told her they were going to the Valley of Fallen Kings. The direction was right but it wasn't where they were truly headed. He just didn't want her to be worried, or get the stupid idea to come with him and that had been the first bandit infested place he could think of. That the Valley was bandit infested had the additional bonus that it would allow Arthur to delay a couple of days, should the druids request for them to stay a while. Of course, Arthur made sure not to utter the words 'bandit-infested' in Merlin's earshot. He didn't want to agitate the boy further than he already had.
“Out with it, Merlin, before you choke on it. Are you scared the druids will enchant your ears to be even bigger?”
Merlin grumbled, then retorted dryly. “I'm just wondering how on earth we're supposed to find the druids when they are quite literally hiding.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You don't find the druids, Merlin. The druids find you.”
“Yes, and your pompous head is easy to spot. My question is if they even want to find us, or if the 'finding' isn't done by a few shots to the head.” Merlin's head snapped around, alerted by what was most likely a bunny.
Arthur laughed. Merlin could be quite cynical sometimes. “The druids are peaceful people, Merlin. Stop being a worrywart. They won't hurt you, I'm certain of it.”
“It's not me I'm worried about.” Merlin's voice was so quiet that Arthur almost didn't hear it. And when he did register what Merlin said, he pretended that he hadn't heard it anyway.
All the jokes aside, Merlin wasn't just a comfort in Arthur's life, he was the most trustworthy and most honest soul Arthur had ever met. The fact that Merlin just blurted out stuff like that, meaning them genuinely, made Arthur feel warm inside. Arthur had heard that sentence often, but it was always said out of a sense of duty. Merlin didn't do that. Merlin did a shabby job, and only ever as much as he wanted and he insulted Arthur to his face on a daily basis. He didn't butter Arthur up like the council members did. Yet, Merlin accompanied Arthur to the depth of hell, over and over again. He was terrified and unarmed and untrained, and yet he'd faced unimaginable horrors with Arthur. Arthur regarded Merlin fondly for many reasons. His honesty, his loyalty, his courage- they made even the bad traits look endearing.
Suddenly, Merlin held out a hand. “Wait- I hear something!”
Arthur sighed, ripped out of his gratifying thoughts. “Are you startled by your own shadow again?” He was about to follow up with a 'Did you forget I'm the prince? I say when we stop!' but he didn't get that far.
“Pssht!”
For once, Arthur did as he was told and listened. Merlin was right, there were steps around them, crushing leaves and twigs beneath light boots. Arthur grabbed his sword and got off the horse. Next to him, Merlin did the same, only that instead of a sword, Merlin grabbed the reigns of both their horses to keep them from running off.
Arthur raised his sword. “Show yourself!”
More rustling unnerved the two lonely travelers before suddenly, a hooded figure approached them slowly. He removed the hood as soon as he entered the small ray of sunlight that broke through the treelines. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, but he seemed ramarkably young for the atmosphere he created. “Do not worry, Arthur Pendragon. No harm will come to you.”
Arthur hesitantly grabbed his sword more tightly. “Who are you?”
The man raised both hands to show he was unarmed. In the process, he revealed the back of his left hand that was covered with the druid triskele. “My name is Iseldir.” He turned his head and nodded. As soon as he did, several people appeared in their line of vision although they never stepped into the light. “I am the leader of the druids of this forest. And you wanted to be found.”
Arthur blinked. For a moment he considered otherwise, but then he put his sword away. “You are right, I did.” Arthur gave Merlin a smilar sign that Iseldir had given his people but Merlin didn't seem to be paying him any attention. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Arthur reached into the saddlebags and pulled out a small bag of coins. Then he returned to Iseldir and held it out to him. “I wish to speak with you about magic.”
Murmurs filled the forest like the rustling of leafs. “Then perhaps-,” Iseldir said, not even reaching for the bag of gold, “-it would be best to leave the open path, lest we be discovered. Follow me.”
“Where are we headed?”
“Our camp, Arthur Pendragon.” Iseldir turned around and walked ahead, not leaving any room for more questions.
Arthur gave Merlin who was still distracted another sign. “Merlin!” Arthur whacked him on the head. “Come on!” Merlin made a comical expression but Arthur cut him off before he could say something. “Hurry up, will you!” Arthur then marched ahead, trusting Merlin to follow. In truth, Arthur felt embarrassed. Iseldir had had no ease controlling a whole mass of druids and here Arthur was, struggling to get his manservant to listen.
Silently, they followed Iseldir down the path and then away from it. Small desire paths littered the forest and broke through the thickest bushes and sometimes even trees. Iseldir avoided these paths without ryme or rhythm. Arthur wondered if it was meant to disorient him or simply everyone who wanted to find their camp. In the end, however, they reached a small mountain. It soon became clear that Iseldir was leading them to an open cave.
A rough whisper reached Arthur's ear and he had to fight the goosebumps as he realised it was just Merlin. “Arthur, I think we're in Cendred's kingdom.”
“Thanks, Merlin, I know that myself.” In fact, they had crossed the border quite a while ago. Arthur was growing increasingly wary of these druids. They could easily sell them to Cendred, or outnumber the two of them. The druids may not have any weapons, but Arthur and Merlin still were only two men and Merlin barely counted as a fighter.
They entered a cave soon after. The cave was well lit and decorated in banners and talisman of some kind. Runes and symbols were engraved in the walls, spelling out stories or enchantments. Arthur didn't know what it was but it made him feel eery.
“Please, sit.” Iseldir suddenly halted at what appeared to be a sitting area. Rocks as tall as Arthur's knees had been rolled into a circle and symbols marked them as well. Arthur doubted that the circle was for making a fire. It wasn't wise to make fires this deep inside a cave. There wasn't enough air to keep it burning and the people inside breathing.
Arthur gave Merlin a sign and this time he actually listened. He handed the horses of to some druid girl and then followed Arthur to sit down beside him.
Iseldir was the only one who followed his own instructions. The other druids dispersed at his glance like a swarm of bees listened to their Queen. “Now, please, ask your question, young Pendragon.”
Arthur blinked. He couldn't be much younger than Iseldir. Shaking himself out of it, Arthur prepared himself to ask the question- And then came up blank. Somehow, he hadn't believed he'd get this far. He'd been sure that somewhere on there way here, they would be attacked. Be it bandits, Cendred's army, or the druids themselves. It had turned out exactly as planned and that irritated Arthur more than it ought to. “It's not really a question.” Arthur began. “I just know that my father has been fighting a war against magic since the day I was born and I never truly questioned why. I know very little and have no way to educate myself. I came here hoping you could enlighten me.”
The druid elder watched Arthur with lidded eyes. “You have come to ask why magic was banned?” It was a question but somehow it didn't sound like one. “I do not believe we druids have the answers you seek, Arthur Pendragon.” It remained unsaid that Arthur should ask Uther if that's what he'd come for.
Arthur cleared his throat. “I'm not asking why my father is fighting magic- I know that. What I don't know is- Anything else.”
Iseldir watched Arthur again for another unnerving moment. “Why don't you enlighten me, Arthur Pendragon. What is it you truly know about magic?”
“Fair enough.” Arthur cleared his throat. “I know that magic is a powerful force that corrupts those who wield it.” This was a fact that Uther had made sure to ingrain into Arthur's mind. “But I also know that the druids are peaceful people who worship magic. And recently, I met an old man who claimed that he was protecting me and my friends. I don't know if that is true, but I was also reminded of how little I know about magic and the old religion. I do not wish to practice it but I need to know the truth.”
For a while, Iseldir still watched Arthur without answering. Then his gaze turned to Merlin for some reason. Arthur feared for the worst, but when he turned to Merlin, he was completely still, his hand in his lap and his attention solely focused on the druid leader. Arthur turned back around, unsure what to make of it. Then, finally, Iseldir answered. “I see.”
“Is that all?” Arthur felt almost mad now. They had come back all this way, and all Iseldir said was 'I see'?!
“You need to be careful with what you know.” Iseldir paused, letting the confusion sink in before he continued. “Once you have decided the things you believe are knowledge, it will be hard for you to question them.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Not all knowledge is truth, prince Arthur,” Iseldir answered conspirationally. “If you truly know that magic is a corrupting force, then I do not have the answers you seek.”
Arthur stared at him wide eyed and confused. “You're telling me my father is wrong?”
Iseldir folded his hands in his lap, then continued to explain. “I'm telling you that the things your father knows about magic are entirely different from what I believe. My believe has been taught from one generation to the next for several centuries. My faith carries the wisdom of hundreds of people who no longer claim to be all-knowing, who dare to question the information that was presented to them, whereas your knowledge is young, untested and resolute, without a slither of doubt or conscience.”
Arthur blinked at him. “Does that mean, you don't know anything about magic? It's only faith?”
“Knowledge is not stronger than faith.” Iseldir said quietly. “In fact, knowledge and faith differ only in your self awareness. And often, both are confused with each other. Some confuse faith with knowledge and some knowledge is treated as no more than make belief. This makes kings fight wars in the name of religion and smart men crumble under their uncertainty.”
Arthur decided then and there that he hated the druids. That didn't make any sense. “Knowledge is fact.”
“So, it is a fact that magic is evil?”
Arthur opened his mouth to answer with 'yes' but there was an underlying question there that made him halt. It was as if Iseldir was asking him: 'If you truly believe this, then why have you come?' That sentence alone made Arthur's mind spiral over stupid semantics.
Arthur looked down, then he took a deep breath and gathered his mind. “I was taught that magic is evil. I am here to question that.” Arthur wondered why Iseldir hadn't just told him he was wrong about magic. That would have made the entire conversation less confusing. But deep down, he began to understand. Iseldir wasn't trying to lecture him. He wanted to know if Arthur was truly ready to hear what Iseldir had to say.
Slowly, Iseldir smiled. “The corrupting force you see in magic, prince Arthur, is no more than greed.”
Arthur looked up, listening intently.
“In the old religion, magic is worshipped as the power of life.” Iseldir reached out his hands over the circle, then clasped them together in silent prayer. He muttered something and it was as if the cave echoed for him. Instead, it were different voices that accompanied his. From underneath his hands, a single flower broke through the hard stone of the cave ground. It grew fast, then blossomed right in front of Arthur's astonished eyes. Iseldir bent down to stroke the petals in a loving gesture. “As such, it runs through every living creature. It even runs through you.” He looked up and pointed at Arthur.
Arthur sat up straighter. “I don't understand. If that were true, then why is magic hunted nearly everywhere in the world?”
“It is not magic that corrupts, Arthur Pendragon, it is people. Magic chooses who can wield it, but sometimes the people who were given this gift use it for the wrong means. Some use it to become rich, some to bring misfortune on people who wronged them. And those are the sorcerers you see. Those are the witches and sorcerers who show you who they are. They do not show you what magic is.”
Arthur blinked. “So- the sorcerer I met-”
Iseldir nodded. “The man you met is no ordinary sorcerer.”
Arthur nodded. “He was powerful” At least, Arthur thought, more powerful than Iseldir. And Iseldir was a druid leader.
“That is not what makes him special.” Iseldir smiled a little brighter. “In the old religion, there are prophecies, made by those of us who were given the gift of foresight. The man you met is not a sorcerer and not a mere warlock. He is the embodiment of magic itself.”
Arthur gaped at him. “The tattery old man?”
Iseldir simply nodded. “In the old religion, he has many names. We call him Emrys and it is no coincidence that you met.”
Arthur blinked again. “It isn't?”
“Your birth too, was predicted in these prophecies. We believe that you, Arthur Pendragon, are the Once and Future King. You will lead Albion into a new age. One of prosperity and magic. The golden age. Magic itself has taken form in a human being solely to protect you from harm so that that time may come. Until then, he hides in the shadows to watch over you.”
Arthur took a deep breath. Then, as soon as he had managed to digest those words, he felt resignation wash over him. “I see. So that's why he did that.”
From the side, Merlin gave him a funny look. “Arthur?”
Arthur shook his head and got up. “Thank you, Iseldir. For your help.”
Iseldir bowed. “It is an honour.”
Arthur hesitated for only a moment, then he gestured Merlin to get the horses. They were given to them without protest. Then, Arthur coaxed Merlin out of the cave and back in the direction of home.
For several minutes, perhaps an hour even, neither of them said a word as they stalked through the thick bushed back to the main road. As soon as they reached the path, Merlin cleared his throat and spoke up. “You're mad.” It wasn't a question.
Arthur sighed. “There was a second when I thought he might have saved Gwen because he cared. But you heard Iseldir. It was just to convince me that magic is good, so that I will repeal the ban on it.”
“That's not true!”
“Merlin!” Arthur turned to him and grabbed the reign to his horse. “Don't be so naïve. Sorcerers always have an ulterior motive. Now I know what his was. Let's go back home.”
After all that, Dragoon's comments no longer mattered to Arthur. It had been stupid to listen to him, to allow doubt into his own mind. At least, that's what he believed. He believed it for several weeks. For so many weeks that he nearly forgot that it had ever been an issue.
And then, Arthur was violently reminded of Dragoon's words and his world came crashing down.
The enchantress that Dragoon had spoken of, accused of wanting Gwen dead, the one he couldn't name lest he were to be executed, that had been Morgana Pendragon. She was the woman who revealed herself a traitor the the crown, who wanted the throne for herself and since when had Morgana ever craved that kind of power? With Morgause and an army of immortal soldiers at her side, she was suddenly his enemy. Arthur's heart broke along with his resolve.
He didn't know how he later ended up there, in yet another cave where he and the few people who made it out alive got stranded. When he was finally alone with Merlin, he dared to ask him the questions that he failed to ask anyone else. Questions that he barely dared to ask himself. “Where do you think Dragoon is now?”
Merlin, who was about to make rat stew, turned to him in shock. “Dragoon?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, Merlin, Dragoon. Or Emrys, or whatever his name is. Wasn't he supposed to protect me from the 'shadows'?”
Merlin seemed to consider for a moment before he turned his back to Arthur. “Who knows? Maybe he got caught with everyone else.”
“That's ridiculous, you know he wasn't! He's an old man with a bears long enough to get him trapped in a door! People would have recognised him.” Arthur started to gnaw on his nails.
Merlin, however, somehow seemed to be able to look right through him. “You think he can defeat Morgana.”
Arthur closed his eyes. He wished he didn't have to think about her. He looked away, not answering Merlin's question.
“Arthur-,” Merlin began. “Morgana's betrayal is not your fault.”
“She's my sister, Merlin.”
Merlin paused. “I know you're upset. About Morgana, about your father lying to you, but there is no time to dwell on that. We have to get him out and take Camelot back.”
“How?” Arthur asked, conflicted and mad with grief. “She has an immortal army! We can't defeat them with any of our weapons!”
“You don't know, until we try!” Merlin said suddenly, making Arthur look up and finding the man's eyes trained on him with more determination than ever before. How come that Merlin would always portray the most loyalty, sincerity and wisdom in moments that were this dire? When everyone else broke, Arthur could be certain that Merlin would still be there, helping him back up. Suddenly, Arthur found himself clinging to a faith he didn't know he'd possessed. If anything else failed, Arthur still believed in Merlin.
Merlin walked away then, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts. It occurred to him then, however, that Merlin had never answered his question if Dragoon would be able to defeat Morgana.
Their numbers were growing. One day, Guinevere and Leon arrived as if sent by some goddess who seemed to believe that Arthur could use something else to hold on to. Then Lancelot arrived with Percival in tow, somehow saving their lives after their small encampment had already been discovered.
Eventually, they found a new place to hide. In an ruin that belonged to the Kings of old. It was in that place that Arthur knighted the commoners who were following him to reconquer Camelot. They made plans, they ate and they drank together and prepared for the battle ahead.
And that's, when finally, Arthur allowed himself to be true to his feelings for Guinevere. Just seeing her gave him a strength he hadn't known he'd needed. Arthur still couldn't believe that she'd made it here, from the taken citadel when she should have been captured by Morgana. Despite everything she'd been through, Guinevere had faith in him, and that made Arthur believe in himself. He kissed her then and there, in the ruins of old, sealing their lips together like a promise guided by his ancestors. He kissed her in front of his knights, Gaius and even Merlin. For the rest of that day, he wanted to focus on her, because tomorrow they would battle and he may never see her again.
Arthur even allowed himself to sleep next to her that night. Just to be near her had to be enough.
In the middle of the night, something stirred him, however. There was a noise outside that no one else seemed to notice. Wary, Arthur jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword before he tailed the something or someone outside. As soon as he recognised a figure, he stepped fully outside the ruins and pointed his sword at the man. Then, Arthur faltered. “Dragoon?”
It was the really him. There was no doubt about it. Once again, his appearance was ragged and sad, with a wisdom and weight to his shoulders that seemed unreasonable for a man of his standing. Without knowing why, Arthur lowered his sword. “What the hell are you-” He paused and raised his sword again. “Did Morgana send you?”
The man still looked sad and it was now that Arthur saw the strange bundle in the man's arm. “Put that sword down, you fool.” Dragoon snapped and all illusion of him being a wise or kind evaporated into the starry night.
Arthur wasn't a believer, but right now he wanted to pray to the gods to get rid of this pest. He put his sword down regardless. “How would you know? You couldn't be more obvious with your-” Arthur stumbled over his own words. “White hair.”
Dragoon grimaced. “You always were ungrateful. Here!” He held out the strange bundle of whatever and expected Arthur to take it.
“What the hell is that?” It could be cursed, or – whatever magic would do to objects, so Arthur hesitated to reach out.
“A weapon.”
“What kind of weapon?”
“Questions, questions, so many questions, just take the bloody sword!” Dragoon now pressed the bundle in Arthur's arms and it became very clear, very early on, that Dragoon was right. It was a sword.
Arthur unwrapped it carefully and paused in marvel at the intricate designs. “I already have a sword. But thank you. We need all the weapons we can get.”
“NO!” Dragoon snapped, eyes narrowed. “You take it. Trust me.”
Arthur was so done with this man. “And why should I? You come here and give me a mysterious, possibly enchanted sword and think I'll just say 'thanks'?”
Something in Dragoon seemed to switch at that reaction, as if he felt the need to remind Arthur of the terrible days to come. The wind stilled around him. “The sword in your hands was forged in a dragon's breath,” Dragoon said quietly, clearly hiding a part of the story he didn't want to reveal. “It holds the power to defeat the living dead.”
Arthur twitched as if burned by the blade. “Wait-” He paused, staring up at Dragoon. “You want to tell me- This sword can defeat those soldiers?!”
Dragoon nodded. “But you must promise me, that only you wield it.”
Arthur frowned. “Why?”
“Can't you imagine what Morgana would do with such a weapon?” He made a pause, perhaps to make Arthur feel embarrassed. “I trust you, Arthur Pendragon. You are the only person who deserves this power. Use it wisely and do not tell anyone about what it can do.”
Arthur blinked rapidly. “But- This is just one sword! How do we defeat the entire army with just one sword? And while hiding it? You're asking the impossible!”
“You have to empty the cup of life. Every soldier under Morgana's hand has filled the cup with their blood, that is why they are immortal. Empty the cup, and her army will fall. Use the sword to get where she keeps it.”
Arthur's heart filled with hope and his hand finally grabbed the handle tight. He wanted to ask more, but he got the feeling that Dragoon didn't have any more answers. “Thank you.” He said, because he didn't know what else to say. “Will you stay and fight with us?”
Somehow, Dragoon looked surprised. “I am a sorcerer.”
“I know.” Arthur waited a second in which Dragoon seemed more than confused. “If you help us, I can protect you. You would be greatly rewarded!”
Dragoon watched him, the sadness in his eyes growing. “I don't want to be protected and I don't need your reward.”
Arthur had not expected such an answer. But he understood very well where Dragoon was coming from. “I don't want your protection either. I don't want to need it. But apparently I do. Apparently you have to keep me alive, otherwise your golden age won't come to pass.”
Dragoon shook his head, as if he regretted ever approaching Arthur. “That's not why I do it.”
Arthur raised a brow. “No?” Arthur laughed. “So you don't protect me because you believe in a prophecy?”
“I believe in the prophecy because I know you.” Dragoon didn't look up at him, his eyes remained trained on the sword.
Arthur stood there thunderstruck. He opened his mouth again, then closed it once more. He looked down at the sword, then back up. That was hard to argue against. “Well- Will you stay? Will you fight with us?”
Dragoon stepped backwards. “I will be there, in your shadow.”
Before Arthur could stop him, the man turned around and left. Rooted to the spot, Arthur simply watched him leave. In some very strange way, he felt safer than before.
Arthur decided it was wisest not to tell the others. They were about to conquer Camelot, he couldn't allow himself to spread doubts among them. It was safest that way.
“No, I understand. I wouldn't tell them either,” Merlin said after Arthur had woken him to explain the whole situation to him. Turned out that Merlin had been pacing the cave for several hours by that point. So much for 'not worrying'.
What? Arthur had decided not to tell the others. Clearly, Merlin was an exception to the rule.
“I just don't know how to explain to them why we need to get to the cup! And why I suddenly have a sword that can kill the undead.” Arthur gnawed on his lip. “I have to change the plan. The others will go and free my father and the other knights. You and I go after the cup.”
Merlin nodded seriously, completely supportive of that idea.
They were sitting in a little secluded area of the cave to not be overheard. There was a table between them so that Arthur could show Merlin the magical sword in its full glory. Merlin traced the design with his fingers almost in prayer.
“But don't you think that once we're noticed, Morgana will send everyone after you? Even with the sword, we can't fight everyone on our own.”
Arthur grimaced. “You're right. I can't just run through the castle like I own it.”
“Which you kind of do.”
“Not the point, Merlin.” Arthur sighed. “And I can't disguise myself. Morgana will isn't that easily fooled and once she knows what I'm after, she'll strengthen her forces.” He tapped the table between them hard. “We need to distract her somehow.” Arthur stared at the sword, then at Merlin, then an idea came to him. “And besides, I just knighted them.” Arthur pointed at the sleeping knights in the room. “I can't NOT lead them in battle. No. I have to go with them and get my father out of the cells.”
Merlin's eyes widened in adorable worry. “But that will be useless if you can't get to the cup! Besides, what will your father say if you suddenly use a magical sword to free him?”
Arthur grimaced. He was far too aware of the consequences of such an action. Arthur was bordering treason at this very second, but it was his only chance to win his father's kingdom back. “Don't worry about my father. You're right. I can't get to the cup. But you can.” Arthur didn't know why he suddenly thought that. But Merlin was just a servant. Even among enemy lines, he was often overlooked. And, if Arthur was being honest, Merlin had shown some progression with the sword.
Merlin huffed a laugh. “And how am I supposed to get there? I can't just- How do I defeat the soldiers?”
Arthur actually had an answer to that. “Merlin, I can't lead the knights with a magic sword in my hand. It would be too obvious and I can't afford it to be seen. Dragoon made me promise to keep it hidden. You take the sword.” In fact, Arthur couldn't actually remember promising anything, so he guessed it wasn't all that important anyway.
Merlin stared at him, eyes wide and brows raised. “No!”
“Merlin-”
“You just told me that Dragoon made you promise it would be wielded by you! It's not my sword! I shouldn't-”
Arthur could tell that this seemed incredibly important to Merlin. “He said I was the only person worthy of the sword. And okay, you're horrible with a sword, but that makes you unsuspicious, not undeserving. I believe you can do it. If this whole thing is about who who is trustworthy and in no danger to be corrupted, you are as worthy as I.” Perhaps more, but Arthur decided not to say that.
There was a wild look that grew in Merlin's eyes like a steady tree. Vines grew from whatever feeling Merlin was suppressing and wrapped itself around Arthur's mind. Something connected between them, the way it always did when Merlin stared down Arthur's soul. He was breathing hard, but his gaze trailed off sooner than expected, trained to the sword instead of Arthur. “I can't do this alone.”
Arthur nodded. He didn't like the idea of letting Merlin go alone on such an important mission anyway. “Take one of the knights. One you believe is a little more lenient with magic and will let you keep the sword.”
“So, not Gwaine,” Merlin joked.
“Right, too protective of you. Take Lancelot. I believe he can keep a secret.”
Merlin looked up again and Arthur felt his lungs constrict. For a flicker of a moment he thought that Merlin was going to kiss him. Swallowing hard, Arthur averted his gaze. He knew, logically, that Merlin would never go that far. But for a moment it had seemed inevitable.
Since the moment Arthur had met Merlin, there had been something strange about him. It wasn't just the random disappearances, his wit and insolence that didn't seem to fit the loyal and devoted man Arthur had gotten to know. It had been in the looks, the stolen dresses, Merlin's complete oblivious towards women who had crushes on him and his tendency to befriend people whom Arthur wanted nothing more than to knight. Arthur had long suspected that Merlin's reasons for staying so resolutely by his side was the result of a crush that was slowly growing into something much deeper than that.
It made Arthur regret some of the more serious moments between them. It made it harder to convey his trust to him or show him how much he cared because Arthur didn't want to lead him on. It made moments like this, when Arthur trusted Merlin with the fate of Camelot, much much harder. But no less significant and despite it all, Merlin deserved the faith Arthur held for him.
Arthur valued their friendship. He didn't want to ruin it and he didn't want to hurt Merlin. So, Arthur pretended that he didn't notice Merlin's longing glances, his racing heart or stuttering breaths. He called Merlin clumsy, instead of calling him out for blushing. He teased him and joked with him and kept the mood light when he could. But there would always be moments when Arthur could see Merlin struggling. Merlin struggled with Arthur's feelings for Gwen, with their difference in status and sometimes with everything else as well. Yet, Merlin was the first to support Gwen and him, the first to speak out when Arthur was dooming his own happiness and the last to stand by Arthur's side when life came crashing down.
Arthur couldn't lose him. Now less than ever. So he averted his eyes and didn't mention it. He let Merlin calm down instead, gave him a moment to regain his thoughts, then he returned to the topic at hand.
“Don't die.” Arthur said quietly.
“Don't die?” Merlin laughed, sounding a little out of breath. “Can't last a day without a servant, can you?”
Arthur laughed with him, finding it harder than usual to keep his cool. “Good friends are hard to come by.” It was, perhaps, the first time Arthur admitted to this. That they were friends anyway.
Merlin softened. “Good friends have a tendency to stick around until you're sick of them.”
Arthur watched him then, still a little conflicted, but otherwise more than relieved to have Merlin by his side. “I mean it, Merlin. Make sure you come back. Don't risk anything if you can help it.”
“You too. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”
Arthur laughed. “I'm not going to fight without my sword, MERlin,” he joked and reached out his hand. The joke fell flat, of course, considering that Arthur just trusted Merlin with a magical sword. Merlin needed a moment, but soon enough they were clasping arms like Arthur would usually only do with a knight. This form of greeting was often the sign for an alliance, a deep bond, a sign that they were siding with each other on the same side of a war. With Merlin, Arthur had made this gesture more often than he'd ever thought he would. And more often than he would prefer.
Their eyes held contact for a moment longer than necessary, then Arthur let go and stood up. “Don't stay up too long, will you? Get some sleep.”
“Yeah. I will.” Merlin said quietly as he watched Arthur retreat to his sleeping cot beside Guinevere.
They had won.
Somehow, despite all the odds, an immortal army and the fact that Arthur had given MERLIN the sword, they had made it. None of the knights had died, Morgana was gone and Morgause mortally wounded, the immortal army destroyed and Camelot back in the hands of a Pendragon who wasn't out to kill civilians to force control.
Arthur felt the weight of Morgana's survival on his back of course. The betrayal of her and the lies of his father still cut deep and since Uther no longer seemed capable of leading the throne, his loss and trauma too great to keep him sane, Arthur knew he had to assume regency soon. But for now, for those first few moments, he let himself enjoy the victory. He did that by ordering Merlin around and wrapping Guinevere in a hug and kissing her like he wanted to imprint himself on her face. Or her on his, he was still divided on that decision.
Arthur had finally knighted people whom he thought worthy of knighthood and no longer needed to hide his feelings for Guinevere. It was great. It was wonderful. For the moment, he allowed himself to feel the relief and gratitude he felt for his people.
And then, Dragoon appeared in his bedroom that night, after the feast, completely unprompted and unpredicted. “So, you didn't heed my warning and gave your sword to a servant.”
Arthur frowned. He hadn't expected Dragoon to come around again so soon. How had he even heard about Merlin? Arthur hadn't told anyone... Yet. “We won, everything went fine! Why are you complaining?” He turned his back on the old man, not feeling the need to truly defend himself. When he'd said that Merlin was as deserving as him, he'd meant it and he had no reason to regret that decision.
Dragoon stepped forward and Arthur paused before he turned back around. He could get used to Dragoon appearing anywhere out of nowhere, but he was still a little irritated with his presence. “What do you want now? The danger is gone.”
Dragoon looked up, hands folding behind his back as he spoke. “I'm here to return the sword.”
Arthur stared at him. Dragoon stared back. Arthur opened his mouth than closed it, then managed to find a few words to throw back at him. “Why?”
“Excalibur isn't just a sword, young Pendragon. I told you that it's dangerous to leave it with anyone else and you still gave it to a servant. I cannot trust that it won't fall into the wrong hands. As you said, the danger is gone. Give me back the sword. I will return it to you should the need arise.”
Arthur felt conflicted and clicked his tongue. “So, instead of keeping it here, safe, with me, you want me to give it to a sorcerer?”
The sorcerer in question glared. “And who gave the sword to you, you insolent prick?! Now give it back!” The sorcerer had the gall to make grabby hands at him.
Arthur sighed. He supposed Dragoon had a point. Then again - “How do I know that your hands aren't the wrong ones?” Dragoon seemed awfully greedy just now and Arthur still saw no real reason to fully trust him. Yes, he'd helped- to a degree. But who knows where that sword had really been from. Or if this even was the outcome Dragoon had originally wanted. Arthur found it was a lot to ask that he trusted a magical sword not to curse him and he'd done just that mere hours ago. Dragoon couldn't seriously be asking for more than that!
Dragoon's hands stopped wiggling and he tilted his head. “I am old, prince Arthur. When you're my age you will understand. My body aches all over. I am in no condition to fight, let alone with a sword.”
Arthur stemmed his hands into his side. “Why do you want it back so bad? I can take care of it!”
“No, you can't.” This time, Dragoon's voice sounded urgent. But he relented. “Fine.” Dragoon crossed the room to where he apparently knew the sword was. “If you don't want to give it to me, I'll simply take it.”
“Oh no, you won't!” Arthur said, grabbing the old man by the shoulder. Before he knew it, he was thrown across the room and landed softly on his bed. Shocked, both by the audacity, but also the soft landing, Arthur jumped back to his feet. “You can't take it! I'll call the guards!”
Dragoon stood before him now, his arms clutching around the sword. Then, Dragoon seemed to consider something before finally telling Arthur the truth. “I told you that this sword was forged in a dragon's breath, did I not?”
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it. “You did.”
“Well, that dragon is a right bastard and I made a promise to him. The sword was meant for you and you alone. But because you didn't keep your promise, I now have to seal it somewhere were NONE can wield it! If you're so careless with this sword, then there will come a day when someone uses it against you! And then there will be no magic or medicine on this realm that can keep you alive or bring you back!”
Arthur relaxed, reluctantly and in utter disbelief. Especially at the part with the dragon?! “So, you're worried about my safety.” He highly doubted that and it must have been audible because Dragoon stared at him aghast.
“YES!” Dragoon bellowed, turning on his heels, already ready to leave.
Arthur was shocked by the volume alone, not to mention the lack of hesitance with which he said it. “And when have I ever needed magic to stay alive?”
Dragoon stopped abruptly in his tracks. He didn't turn back around. Instead, the room around him seemed to feel colder and Arthur realised that he'd just touched on something far deeper than he'd intended. Dragoon didn't answer immediately, but when he did, his voice broke. “I wish I could say never.”
He left then, without Arthur following after him, or sending guards his way. Arthur let himself fall back on his bed, wondering what the hell Dragoon had meant by that.