Chapter Text
Being the only child in a castle had its moments.
Like now, as Arthur tiptoed down the dimly lit corridor, far away from the scrolls he’d been tasked to read by Geoffrey. It was a known fact - Geoffrey was old and stuffy. It was quite odd, mainly because Gaius was older still, but if Arthur played his cards right he’d at least get a sweet or two out of Gaius. Geoffrey never offered sweets. In fact, Arthur was convinced Geoffrey had been placed on this Earth specifically to make his life difficult.
Today, however, Geoffrey had been called away to matters of the court by the King, and Arthur had seen this as a great opportunity to do what he pleased. And as it happened, this involved sneaking down to the catacombs underneath the palace.
The catacombs were a dark and gloomy place, but there were no guards around once you got past the entrance. Far be it for Arthur to criticize his father’s guards - they weren’t the most attentive bunch, and Arthur found it relatively easy to slip past them. Once inside, Arthur would wander around for hours, mapping the tunnels and corridors, learning to navigate them as well as the palace above. One would think that someone would notice that the young Prince, only child and sole heir of the Pendragon line, had gone missing for hours at a time; Arthur realized early on that unless he missed dinner with his Father or his lessons with Geoffrey, no one seemed to notice a thing about his whereabouts. This was just as well - Arthur knew his independence was on a timeclock - next year, he would finally be ten summers old, and he would finally be allowed to begin his training as a knight. As the Prince, he would get to skip being a squire and go straight into combat training.
On one hand, Arthur was excited - he assumed that once he got to start spending time around the knights, particularly the younger ones closer in age to him, he’d finally have some sort of social life. It would be so good to have friendship after all his years being isolated. Right now, the only other person his age he ever got to see was Morgana, which wasn’t really so fun.
She had only arrived at the palace a month ago, and although she was a little less than a year older than him, Morgana seemed to be worlds ahead of him in maturity. She held herself like a Lady, where Arthur struggled to remember to stand up straight. She always knew just what to say to servants and common folk, as Arthur often stuttered, much to his father’s frustration. And she was clearly not afraid of Uther - she often asked him questions that Arthur would never dare ask, like ‘what’s so bad about magic?’ and ‘why are you raising the taxes?’
Upon her arrival, Arthur had hoped she would be friendly, and maybe they could play together - but unfortunately, on top of her courtliness, she so far had rebuked every offer to play. Gaius said that he shouldn’t take it personally, for she was grieving. She had just lost her father, and her mother was long dead. Arthur didn’t really know what it was like to have a dead father, but he did know what it was like to have no mother. And so he stopped asking her.
Though the idea of knight training was exciting, it was also bittersweet. Gone would be the days where he could sneak around without anyone noticing he was gone, and his freedom to be a boy would be effectively stolen. And so, Arthur thought he’d best get the most out of it now.
As he tiptoed down through the cavernous space below the palace, he let his mind wander. His father had forbidden talk of magic in his lessons, outside of the typical warnings of evil and corruption. But Arthur had heard the mutterings of tales of old - where knights saved damsels from towers, and dragons hoarded mountains of gold. Tales where princes and princesses fell madly in love upon first meeting, as though their souls were created by the Gods for one another, a matched pair. Arthur loved the feeling of it, of the promise that there was someone out there destined to love him like he was the sun, and they the moon - though he suspected if the knights ever found out they’d liken him to a girl.
The winding corridors of the catacombs stretched ever downward, and soon Arthur realized that in his daydream, he had accidentally ventured to a place he had never seen before. He halted as he heard a voice.
Arthur…Arthur…
The voice was unfamiliar, and rasping. At first Arthur could not tell where it had originated from.
Arthur…Arthur…
It was as if his feet moved all on their own, and Arthur found himself moving further into the strange corridor, a place he had never been to before, as though he had been there one hundred times. He followed the voice as it echoed in his mind, drawing him nearer and nearer to his destination. Distantly, a small part of Arthur mused that perhaps, he should be afraid. This was clearly magical in nature, and as far as he had been taught, magic was evil. But magic was also the thing in his stories and daydreams, and Arthur found himself trusting it intrinsically. As the voice grew louder, Arthur found himself descending down a narrow flight of steps, before the corridor opened into a great cavern, a room that must have been nearly miles below the citadel. At first, it seemed the room was empty; nothing was visible beyond a large bouldering mound, and large iron chain, almost comical in size. But then, Arthur saw him.
At first, all Arthur heard was a deep and terrifying fwopping sound, one that reminded him of birds - though no bird had ever reached such a volume in his experience. The next thing he noticed was the pulsing wind that nearly knocked his small frame off his feet - the pulsing was timed to the beat of the wings. And finally, as though descending from the heavens (or ascending from hell) he stood - the dragon.
“It is good to meet you, Arthur Pendragon.”
Arthur stood in wide-eyed shock. Before him stood a dragon, at least 50 times the size of a grown man, and who was clearly living below the castle. And he could speak.
“Do not be afraid, young Pendragon, I do not seek to harm you.”
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
The dragon chuckled. “I go by many names, but perhaps the one most commonly held within the walls of Camelot is The Great Dragon. As for how I came to be here, why, it was the will of Uther Pendragon, who imprisoned me in this place nearly a decade ago.”
“My father imprisoned you down here?” Arthur could not recall such a thing, and surely that would be part of lessons, would it not?
“Yes, though I am certain he has kept it from as many as he can. It would not do well for his cause to advertise that he was incapable of killing the last of my kind.”
“You are the last?” Arthur asked.
“I am. Uther saw to it.”
Arthur did not doubt that, at least. His father was always executing people for even the accusation of possessing magic - and he did not discriminate. Men, women, and children had all faced his wrath and been burned, drowned, or hanged. And Arthur had been made to witness them all, as a reminder of Camelot’s victory or magical treachery. It was horrific. As was the notion of his father killing every last dragon and imprisoning this one.
“I’m sorry.”
The Great Dragon raised an eyebrow, a gesture which reminded Arthur of Gaius, and hummed.
“You do not share your father’s beliefs?”
“I don’t know.” Arthur shrugged. He had only met this creature now, and something in him felt that though he could not trust him so easily yet, he could speak his inner mind without consequence.
The Dragon hummed again.
“You should not be afraid of magic, for magic is inside of you.”
Panic flashed in Arthur's mind. “I’m not a sorcerer!”
“I did not mean that you possess the ability to cast spells, young one. I merely meant that you are a being of destiny.”
“Destiny?”
“A great destiny, indeed. You are Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King. One day, you will be King of Camelot, and all of Albion will unite under your rule. And when you have succeeded, my kin, and others with magic will no longer have to live in fear of the tyrant King.”
Arthur felt a bit uneasy still, but could what the Dragon was saying be true? Could he be such a great King that he would unite all the five kingdoms and bring back magic? “How can you be sure that this King is me?”
“Because, young Pendragon, Emrys is coming.”
“Emrys?”
The Dragon raised his head and peered down at Arthur from a new angle. “Emrys is said to be the most powerful magic user to ever walk the earth. It is his destiny to guide you in your rule, and to make sure you walk the right path to fulfill your own destiny. In many ways, you are two sides of the same coin.”
Arthur contemplated this for a moment. Maybe this Emrys person, who potentially was destined to help him, would be a good friend. Afterall, his own father, who had so few friends of his own, often said that only the most trusted men could advise the King. “This Emrys, you said he is coming. When will he get here?”
The Great Dragon chuckled. “He is on his way, but he will not appear just yet. He too is only just now beginning to grasp who he is, as you are.”
“But how will I know when he gets here, if I don’t know where he is?”
“You will know, young Pendragon. Emrys will make himself known within days of his arrival. You will be drawn to each other by destiny itself. You were both born for it.”
Oh, Arthur liked the sound of that. A person, who Arthur would just be able to see and know ‘yes, that’s him. That’s his other half’ without a doubt? A person born to know him, perhaps even to love him? To Arthur, that sounded like the greatest destiny in the whole world. It was like the fairy tales he had been forbidden from knowing - where the prince and the princess find true love at the end. A pair of soulmates.
He looked up at the Dragon shyly. “Will Emrys be my best friend?”
The Dragon cocked his head to the side in consideration. “That, I believe, is up to you and he, young one. Though I suspect it may be the case.”
Arthur beamed up at the creature. “Then I can’t wait for him to get here! I’ve always wanted a best friend!”
Years from now, Arthur will look back on his first meeting with The Great Dragon with frustration - for it would take over a decade for Emrys to finally arrive, and even a few more years for him to reveal himself to Arthur. But more often than not, he will feel sorrow for the little boy he was, who looked up at one of the most fearsome and wise (albeit annoying) beings in Albion and exclaimed how his greatest wish was simply for someone to like him. He will wish that he could go back in time and hold that little boy’s hand, and tell him - that one day not only would someone love him, he’d be loved by many. He would be loved for himself, and not for his station - and in return, he’d love them back with a ferocity greater than any dragon’s breath.
Arthur couldn’t avoid hunting forever. He did really enjoy the pastime, but not only that - his father would likely become suspicious if Arthur simply never hunted again just to make his manservant happy. And so, Arthur organized a hunt for one bright summer morning, and he, his knights, and Merlin all set out to traverse the woods in search of big game.
The hunting party moved through the trees as quietly as possible, which, unfortunately, was not as quietly as Arthur would’ve liked. Merlin tended to trip over his own feet and drop supplies from time to time, scaring off the animals and frustrating Arthur to no end. He tried to keep a rein on his temper, but ultimately it got the better of him.
“Mer-lin,” He whispered. “Are you trying to alert the whole forest as to our whereabouts?”
“It’s not my fault you lot are moving so slowly,” Merlin retorted. “We could’ve been and gone if you actually loosed an arrow at something, instead of creeping about and staring at deer from afar.”
“That’s how hunting is done, Merlin. If we don’t ‘creep about,’ we’ll scare away the game.”
“I think your prattish appearance is enough to scare away the game.”
The two bickered for a moment, much to the amusement of the knights, as the bushes ahead of them rustled. The party moved forward, creeping about just as Merlin observed; as they came up to the bush, Arthur heard a low growling sound. Glancing over at Merlin, he could see fear and apprehension on his friend’s face. Arthur had to admit, he’d never heard such a noise coming from a deer or a boar, but game is game, and he had yet to catch anything. He tried to reassure Merlin.
“I’m sure it’s more scared of you than you are of it.”
As soon as he spoke, the beast leapt from the bush, starting the whole party. Arthur dropped the spear he was holding and stared for a brief moment - the creature was unlike anything he’d ever seen, and he was certain it wasn’t scared at all.
The creature’s body was spotted, with huge muscular forelegs and hind legs, and a swishing tail. It seemed to be covered in a brown and white fur of some sort, like a large cat-like creature, almost as though it were a leopard. However, Arthur was reasonably certain that a leopard was much different than this animal, for its head became green and scaly. It hissed and its mouth opened to reveal large fang like incisors, and a forked tongue. Without thinking about it, Arthur felt his legs begin to turn and run, stopping only when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin go down.
Merlin! Every internal alarm bell in Arthur’s mind began to clang loudly and obnoxiously as his brain registered his dear friend lying prone in the grass. Without thinking, Arthur reached out and grabbed Merlin’s arm, and pulled him to his feet. It seemed as though he was not the only one who saw Merlin’s peril, as suddenly at Merlin’s other side was Sir Bedivere, helping to drag Merlin back and away from the beast. The three turned tail and ran as fast as they could after the other knights.
The adrenaline pushed them onwards, away from the hissing and growling. Arthur had no awareness of his surroundings - all he felt was the burn in his thighs and stomach, and Merlin’s hand in his grip. Had he been paying more attention to detail, he might’ve noticed that Bedivere was no longer with them. He also might’ve noticed the faint voice whispering into his mind: Arthur…Arthur…
Soon, they caught up to the other knights, who had gone as far as the tree line, and were set waiting with swords drawn.
“Have we lost it?” Merlin asked, regrettably letting go of Arthur’s hand.
There were no more discernible sounds of growling or hissing, and Arthur looked around in the direction they came from, eyes scanning for any sign of disturbance or pursuit. There was nothing. They had lost it. Sighing in relief, Arthur turned back to his knights, reflexively doing a headcount. They were one man short.
“Who’s missing?” The men looked about themselves, hoping to name their missing comrade, when Merlin’s voice cut through the confusion: “Where’s Sir Bedivere?”
Bedivere was nowhere. With a timing that only the universe could pull off, the sounds of a man’s screams filled the woods around them, anchoring them into place.
Sir Bedivere had been killed by the beast.
Arthur gulped. “We will go back to the citadel at once,” he spoke, his princely-voice falling into place to mask the fear and grief that was sure to be present in his timbre had he been any other man.
“But Sire, -” a young knight, Nathaniell, interjected with thinly veiled concern. “What about Bedivere?”
“He gave his life for the citizens of Camelot. He will be remembered with honor, but only if we live to tell his tale. We must get back and report to the King immediately.” The knights knew an order when they heard one, and warily the party began the trek back to the city. With a sense of concern that Arthur chose not to examine too closely, he gripped the arm of Merlin’s jacket to keep him close.
Uther Pendragon was clearly insane. Arthur watched on as his father practically growled at Gaius, as Gaius tried to warn the king of impending danger.
“I have conquered the Old Religion. It's warnings mean nothing to me now. Arthur will destroy the beast and we will no longer suffer at its hand.”
By the gods - his father might’ve single-handedly led the largest slaughtering of magic users in known history, and he may have outlawed and purged magic from Camelot, but the world was much bigger than that - at least four more Kingdoms worth. And to claim to have conquered a religion? If the prophecy of the Once and Future King was to be believed - and Arthur, all of the druids, and a large dragon all did believe it - then magic or gods or Emrys himself was obviously a more formidable foe than the likes of Uther Pendragon, mere mortal. Not to mention, he barely had faith in Arthur at the best of times - where was this sudden confidence in his ability to face and successfully vanquish this magical beast coming from? Did he truly believe Arthur to be capable, or was this simply a form of posturing over the likes of magic and sorcery?
For his part, Arthur didn’t know if he was capable of killing the Questing Beast - at least not on his own. It would be awfully convenient if Emrys would reveal himself right about now and offer his assistance; Arthur was going to need all the help he could get.
He made a hasty retreat to his chambers, as his father seethed about Gaius even speaking to the very notion that an ancient prophetic beast may or may not be more powerful than one Pendragon prince, and is somewhat disappointed to see Merlin is absent. But it was no matter - there probably wasn’t a whole lot Merlin could do to cheer Arthur up at this point.
Tomorrow, he and his knights were riding out to certain death, if Gaius was to be believed, and if he failed he had a feeling his father might just disown him for good - well, if he lived that was. Not for the first time, Arthur questioned how this could be his life. Of all the people who could be prince, of all the princes who could have prophecies written about them, of all the people with prophecies who could have Uther Pendragon as a father - it didn’t seem fair.
As Arthur turned in for the night, thoughts and doubts swirling in his mind, he heard a voice calling from deep within his soul.
Arthur…Arthur…
Arthur shot straight up in bed. Had he heard what he thought he’d heard?
Arthur…Arthur…
“Okay, okay,” Arthur whispered to himself as he pulled himself back out of bed and into his boots. He tried to keep his breathing even as he snuck out of his chambers and into the corridor. He followed the voice down into the belly of the palace, past a dozen guards, down below the dungeons, into a huge cavern. As he stood on the ledge, Arthur felt every muscle in his body tense - he had been summoned here.
A great breeze pushed his hair back suddenly, and descending from high in the cavern, the beast batted his wings down to a perch just across the chasm, leaning down to get a good look at Arthur as the Prince looked up at him in what he hoped was well-masked fear.
“Hello again, young Pendragon.” The Great Dragon spoke. His voice was ancient and all-encompassing, as it reverberated across stone walls and threatened to knock Arthur right off his feet. “It has been sometime since we last spoke.”
“You told me not to return.” Arthur argued, an attempt to seem bold and unafraid. “So I did not.”
“Then, it was too dangerous. Now, it is necessary. You must not attempt to kill the Questing Beast.”
“Why not? It cannot be allowed to continue killing indiscriminately.”
“The beast is always a harbinger of misfortune. Once the danger has passed, it will retreat to where it has been.”
“But in the meantime, it will continue to kill innocent citizens!”
“If you face the beast,” the Dragon warned, “there is every possibility that you may die. That cannot come to pass.”
“If what you told me all those years ago is true, then it won’t. Emrys will protect me.”
The Dragon’s face shifted, and Arthur was reminded of the Gaius’ signature raised eyebrow.
“You have faith in Emrys, young Pendragon. Has he yet revealed himself to you?”
“Not yet, but surely he will be watching over me as you said. If I die, he’s out of a job and a destiny.”
The Dragon seemed to mull this over. “Face the Questing Beast if you must. But be warned: its presence is a warning of danger that has already dawned, and the time of prophecy is moving fast upon us. You will do well to remember that.”
“I will, I promise.”
“Very well. Farewell, young Pendragon.” The Great Dragon flapped his wings and soared into the darkness of the space above the cavern, the giant chain imprisoning him there clinking behind him.
As Arthur made his way back up to his rooms, he tried to rationalize all the Dragon had told him. What was this imposing danger that he had spoken about, and if the Questing Beast was only the warning, what on Earth could the actual danger entail?
As Arthur put himself back to bed, he couldn’t quiet the questions that swirled in his mind. Where was Emrys, and when would Arthur finally meet him? Would he be able to face the Questing Beast and win? Would the upcoming danger that the dragon warned about come to pass, and how bad would it be for Arthur and Camelot? He could not stop dwelling in his thoughts.
It was a long and sleepless night.
The morning came too quickly. As Arthur made his way through the palace to meet with his knights, he pondered what he was going to say. He knew he had to say something - what kind of leader would he be if he didn’t acknowledge and encourage the bravery of his men to follow their Prince into a battle that would surely mean casualty? Yet, Arthur found himself grasping at straws. The only reason he hadn’t fought his father and had argued with the dragon was that allowing the Questing Beast to continue to terrorize the people as it was now would be a disaster. So many lives would be lost.
Arthur reached the front of the palace, where the knights were waiting, a somber blanket of muteness having fallen over them in anticipation of the worst. Merlin joined Arthur at his side, anxiety radiating off of his manservant. He took a deep breath, and spoke: “You've seen the foe we face. It's a creature of nightmare, but you are the best knights in the realm. We can, and we will, kill it before it harms another citizen of our kingdom.”
Arthur drew his sword and gestured it to the skies. “For the love of Camelot!”
The knights responded in kind, mimicking the gesture. “For the love of Camelot!”
“ARTHUR!” A woman’s piercing cry startled Arthur out of his determination and poise, and the group was collectively shocked to see Morgana rushing down the palace steps in nothing but her nightgown, in near hysterics.
“Morgana! What’s wrong?” Morgana’s state was almost more startling than the idea facing the Questing Beast. Arthur had never seen her in such a state in the entire time he had known her. Even when she was fired up and shouting at his father, Morgana always looked the part of a put-together Lady of the court. It was not in her nature to go about in her nightgown screaming and causing a scene.
“You cannot face this!” Morgana cried out, eyes watering. By now, she had reached Arthur and was clasping his arms, as though her sheer physical strength would prevent him from leaving.
Arthur sighed. “Morgana, I must go. All will be well, I promise.”
“I have seen such terrible things. I will not let you go!” Ah, Arthur understood now.
In the past weeks, Morgana’s dreams had become more and more frequent, and Gaius’s sleeping draughts less and less effective. Arthur dare not speak on the subject, for the fear of accidentally getting Morgana killed: he believed these dreams to be prophetic in nature. Before, it was simply a passing theory, but now, he believed with his whole soul that somehow Morgana had the ability to see the future. It was surely magic. It only fuelled his desire to achieve his destiny more: with his newfound brotherly relationship with Morgana, he would not see her harmed by anyone, especially his own father. He hoped she had not yet caught on to the fact that she had magic; for when she did it would only be a matter of time before her stubborn will made her try to learn more of it, which would put her in even more danger.
From this display, it was clear that she had fully caught on to the uniqueness of her dreams, and was worried that she’d predicted Arthur’s untimely demise. But Arthur knew better: he had a destiny to achieve, so he would not die today, no matter what happened. Magic and Emrys would surely protect him.
Rather than saying all of that aloud in front of his father’s knights - because that would be the end of both of their lives - Arthur chose a more diplomatic approach.
“Morgana,” He began. “You have my word that no matter what happens, today will not be my last. But the Questing Beast must be stopped. It cannot be allowed to terrorize the people any longer. They have done nothing to deserve it.” Arthur tried to emphasize his duty to the people of Camelot, appealing to that part of Morgana who was always standing up for what was good and right, in spite of whatever trouble it would cause her. It seemed to work, because she did not scream or cry; instead, she looked him in the eye for a moment, before allowing Merlin to usher her away to and to a guard, with orders to take her to see Gaius.
As she pulled away, she paused for one more moment with a schooled expression on her face, and whispered quietly so only Arthur and Merlin could hear: “If you die, I will find a way to raise you from the dead and kill you again myself.”
Now there was the Morgana Arthur knew and loved. He smiled at his surrogate sister, and mounted his horse. For better or for worse, it was time they were off.
It is a strange sensation, to know that you are dying.
In many ways it is only like sleeping, like you’ve been traveling for a long while and now you suddenly have a moment to rest. Except that moment never ends, and you never get going on your journey again. But it’s not as distressing as it may seem - on the contrary - it’s quite the relief to know that there is no pressure or obligation to ever rise again, to face the world, to tend to the various responsibilities of life.
Yet, at the same time, it is a devastating blow. In your subconscious mind, you know that if you don’t get up now, you will never see the sunshine again; never hear the birds chirping again; never feel the wind on your face. You’ll never again hear your sister’s laugh, or see his smile. And possibly worst of all, you’ll never know who you would've been, what you would’ve done, what lives you would’ve touched. Suspended in an underwhelming, tranquil landscape of rest and relief, you feel the nagging itch to reevaluate, to fight back, to open your eyes. Get up, you’re not done yet.
Arthur doesn’t regret jumping in front of Merlin.
Like Morgana, he saw the future play out in just the split seconds before the Questing Beast lunged. He witnessed its horrid fangs sinking down into his manservants flesh, the boy’s pained cry, Arthur desperately swinging his sword. He saw himself slaying the beast, and never having the chance to feel the usual swell of pride and relief, knowing he saved his people, when he instead was busy mourning the one who mattered most. In his vision, he held Merlin as he faded away, his lithe, underfed and overworked body struggling to fight the poison and hang on to life, and Arthur’s pleas for his friend to stay with him, stay here, fell on deaf ears. He would carry Merlin’s body home, where Gaius would weep and send word to Hunith (his poor mother), and his father would clap him on the back in congratulations, undisturbed at the cost that was paid. He would go on with his life, lonely as he was just a little more than a year ago, before he met Merlin. He would fulfill his destiny, with only Morgana as a witness to his triumph, feeling still as hollow as ever.
This could never be allowed to come to pass.
In the moments before his death, Arthur Pendragon threw destiny out of his mind, and acted with the true nature of his soul - he could never watch Merlin die. He pushed the boy out of the way, and in an instant, the future he witnessed was erased, and a new one was born. He felt himself slipping away this time, and he felt the odd sensations of calm despair, as he distantly heard Merlin frantically calling his name, calling for help, calling for something to save them. A small pang of regret shot through him for a second: he had doomed Merlin to the fate that Arthur had been too cowardly to face. But Merlin was young, and had the privilege of living his life how he wanted to - he was not trapped by the Crown or Magic. Eventually, he would be alright.
For what felt like only moments, Arthur’s life boiled down to a series of sensations, snippets of sound, and flashes of understanding.
He felt the galloping of a horse; hands on his arms, his back, his legs, his face (fluttering, concerned hands on his face); he felt a wetness on his shoulder, and then on his chest (was someone weeping? Merlin? Father?); he felt himself suspended in air; he felt the soft sheets, and a soft voice soothing his pain; and then he felt no more.
Arthur Pendragon was dead.
Arthur Pendragon was dead, and then, he wasn’t.
If dying was a strange sensation, suddenly coming back to life was even stranger. Arthur opened his eyes, and stared up into the eyes of his father.
One might think that the first thought a Prince would have upon realizing he was not, in fact, dead, would be relief. Perhaps even a sense of gratitude, colored by confusion. Instead, the first thought Arthur had was: ouch.
There was no inch of Arthur’s body that was not sore.
“Father?”
“Arthur. I thought we’d lost you.”
“Don't worry, Father, I'm not going to die. I think there's someone watching over me, keeping me from harm.”
“Maybe you're right. On your long journey to become King, you will need a guardian angel. I shall inform the court that their Prince lives.”
Uther swept out of the room, crossing paths with Guinevere as she entered the chamber. He paid her no mind; Arthur, who was more familiar with his sister’s friend and maid, recognized the distress in her features.
“Guinevere, what’s wrong?”
Gwen looked up from the floor, where her guarded expression had been pointed, in surprise. “Your Majesty! You’re awake!”
“Arthur, Gwen, please.” Gwen smiled at him sweetly, and not for the first time Arthur realized he could see why Morgana was so convinced the two of them would make a good couple. Gwen was a sweet, loyal woman - one who stood her ground just as solidly as Morgana, but in a more subtle way so as to not draw unwanted attention to herself. She clearly cared about all people, for she often was seen aiding Morgana in her humanitarian efforts, and in her spare time seemed to be Gaius’ second assistant, especially when he or Merlin were indisposed. She would make a great Queen - but alas, she was not Arthur’s heart. Arthur’s heart belonged to his destiny - to Emrys.
“I am pleased to see you are better, Arthur. We have all been worried for you. Gaius was convinced there was very little chance you’d survive.”
“Is that what is troubling you?”
Something akin to a lance of pain graces Gwen’s delicate features, before settling on a more sympathetic expression. “It is part of it. I am afraid that Merlin’s mother has taken ill as well.”
“Hunith?” Arthur sat up in alarm. “She is in Camelot?”
“She journeyed here to see Gaius, and arrived only last night. But Gaius believes she will not make it to tomorrow. There seems to be very little he can do. Merlin is with her now.”
Gods, Merlin. Arthur knew how much his mother meant to his manservant, and the pain and worry he must have been going through. Arthur pushed himself out of bed. “Arthur,” Gwen exclaimed. “Should you be out of bed? You’ve only just recovered from an incurable illness! If Gaius were here he’d tell you to rest.”
“I have no time to rest, Guinevere. Hunith was quite kind to us when we went to stay there those months ago, and she is important to Merlin. I must go and see if there is any way I can help her at once.”
Gwen looked at him with a calculated glance, and then moved swiftly to his bedside. “Well, if you’re going to be stubborn, the least I can do is help you.” She helped him with his boots, and then the two of them made their way, arm in arm to the physician's chambers.
From Gwen’s explanation, Arthur expected Merlin to be stuck to his mother’s bedside, watching over her in mourning when he arrived. Instead, he almost collided head first with the man as he opened the door. “Arthur!”
“Merlin! Where are you running off to?”
“Uh…It's great to see you up and about, sire. I’m glad for your miraculous recovery.”
Arthur glanced in incredulity at Gwen, who was also looking a bit confused. “Merlin,” she began. “Is it your mother?”
Before he had a chance to answer, Arthur jumped in. “Merlin, if there is anything that I can do to help you or Hunith, you need only ask. I am so sorry that this is happening.”
For a moment, Merlin looked at a loss, like for some reason, he was not expecting any sort of kindness from Arthur. The thought broke Arthur’s heart just a bit - he’d been trying to prove to Merlin that they were friends, and clearly, he’d failed horrendously.
Merlin’s eyes turned glassy as he explained in a small voice. “Thank you, Arthur. But I was just on my way to…help Gaius. He stepped out for supplies and he needs my help.”
Gwen, it seemed, was a woman of action today. “I shall stay with your mother while you go help him.” She shot Arthur a look that would have rivaled Morgana’s best glares. Arthur cleared his throat. “And I will help you look for him.”
“Arthur. It’s really not -”
“I insist.”
“...alright then. Thank you, sire.”
Arthur nodded at Gwen as he and Merlin left the physician’s chambers. “Where has Gaius gone?”
Merlin seemed hesitant. “He went to collect supplies to help my mother recover from her illness. He, uh, left a note asking me to join him. I didn’t see it until just now.”
“Where are the supplies?”
“The woods.”
“Does Gaius often go out into the woods looking for supplies? He’s not as young as he used to be, I would have thought he’d send you.”
“He’s…I…” Merlin struggled to answer what Arthur would have deemed was a simple question. Clearly, the boy was hiding something, and whatever it was, it was causing him distress. Arthur felt sympathy for Merlin - he was already dealing with his mother’s illness, now it seemed there was something else worrying him related to Gaius’ whereabouts.
“Merlin, you can trust me. I promise no harm will come to you, Gaius, or your mother. What is really going on?”
Merlin looked at Arthur with wide eyes. For a moment, he just stared at Arthur, as if weighing his options in his head, as though he was unsure of his next move. And then, finally, he spoke.
“I came back to the physician's chambers and found this note that Gaius had left.” Merlin cut off there, but Arthur could tell there was more to the story.
“Yes? What did the note say?”
Merlin gulped. “You have to understand, Arthur. I did what I had to do. To save you, I mean. I had no idea it would make my mother ill or that Gaius would try to sacrifice himself for her.”
“What are you on about Merlin? What did you do?”
“I went to the Isle of the Blessed, and I spoke to the High Priestess, Nimueh. I asked her to save you. The bite of the Questing Beast has no cure, and only magic would be able to stop it.”
“Nimueh? Isn’t she the one who poisoned Bayard’s chalice?”
“Yes.”
“And you trusted her?”
“I had no choice, Arthur. You were dying. I never expected my mother to be the one to -”
Merling cut off again, clearly teetering on a vital piece of information.
“The one to what, Merlin?” Arthur asked, not unkindly.
“The one to die. Arthur, not even magic can create life or stop certain death. It’s not how it works. There must always be a price for the life of another. I asked Nimueh to take mine, so that you would live. But she didn’t, and she’s tried to take the life of the person most dear to me. And now Gaius has gone to try and give his life up instead, all so I don’t lose her.”
Arthur didn’t speak for what must have been a moment, but felt like an eternity. Merlin had tried to trade his life for Arthur’s? Arthur had been going out of his way to make Merlin feel more secure, more welcome to call the prince a friend, but he had no idea how well his plan must have worked. For Merlin to offer up himself in lieu of losing Arthur…well, it was the most flattering, and alarming thing Arthur had ever heard. And it simply must never happen again.
“Merlin, thank you so much for trying to save my life. But, please, please, never do something so foolish as to try and give up your own life for mine. I may be the Crown Prince, but you still matter. You have people who love you here, and who would be devastated with you gone. Promise me, you will never try to die for me again.”
Merlin’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I don’t know if I can promise that.”
“Merlin,” Arthur said more forcefully. “If you ever die for me, I will use magic to bring you back to life just so I can put you in the stocks for all eternity. Understand?”
Merlin cracked a small smile - a victory Arthur felt pleased about - and nodded. “I cannot promise that in the heat of the moment I won’t try to protect you, but I promise I will not actively try to die again.”
Arthur supposed this would be the best he’d be able to get out of his young friend, and reached out and pat Merlin on the shoulder.
“Good. Now, let’s go get our wayward physician back.”
If you had asked Arthur what a place named “The Isle of the Blessed” would look like, he would have expected exactly what he saw as he and Merlin approached the land from the small dingy they sat upon. It was remarkably magic-looking, from the creepily looming stone castle, to the thick fog that existed only around one specific piece of land. Yes, Arthur mused, this place was as stereotypically magic looking as any other location, and he wondered how his father had not yet burned the whole thing to the ground. As the two boys approached the island, they heard the voices of Gaius and Nimueh, but not quite what they were saying. Merlin seemed more and more nervous as they approached, which made sense - how often did the boy actually head into battle with the intention of fighting? Sure, Merlin was brave, but he was no knight - and his two parental figures’ lives were at stake.
“Merlin, here is the plan. You go in and distract her - she’s seen you before, she’ll be expecting you. I’ll go around the back and then attack her from behind.”
As the boat bumped into the rocks, Arthur stepped out onto land and unsheathed his sword. Merlin nodded in assent, and the boys split up.
Arthur crept along the stone hall, keeping an eye out for any sorcerers who may be lurking and waiting to pounce. Fortunately, it seemed that there were no lurkers, and Nimueh was alone on her creepy island.
As Arthur made his way around to where Nimueh stood, he was struck with the scene that was unfolding in front of him. Nimueh stood with her back to him, wearing what might’ve been a beautiful red gown once, but the skirt had since ripped and fallen to rags, showing the skin of pale legs. Arthur recognized it as the dress he’d seen her wear in the forest those many months ago, when she had tried to prevent him from getting the Mortaeus Flower - a thought that made a sharp pain of nausea pierce his stomach. Why had this High Priestess cared if Merlin, a servant, died? Perhaps she had really been out to get Arthur, as he was alone in the woods with no knights.
Just beyond her Merlin stood frantically checking an unconscious Gaius, who was slumped against an altar, for signs of life.
One of his arms is outstretched, and as Arthur looks on in horror, Nimueh extends her own arm out, throwing a ball of fire at Merlin's chest.
The next few moments are a bit of a blur to Arthur. One second, Merlin was being hit with what the prince assumed was a deadly fire ball. The next, he was charging out towards Nimueh with his sword raised. He only got so far before the sorceress spun around, no indication of surprise at his arrival on her face, and raised her arm once more; in a flash, Arthur was sure he was to be incinerated.
At least, if not for the incredibly-timed bolt of lightning wiping Nimueh from existence at that precise moment.
Arthur stood there dumbfounded for a moment. Either they had just gotten really lucky, or magic had just been involved in the High Priestess' death. The world slowly came back into focus as Arthur searched the shadows of the castle for anything or anyone that could explain what had just happened. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was looking for anyone in particular, but his heart whispered: Emrys.
“What did you do?”
Arthur whipped around at the sound of Gaius’ voice, the old man apparently having come to now that Nimueh had died in his stead.
Merlin needn’t answer, because in that moment, everything clicked into place, and Arthur knew. He looked down at his friend as he cradled Gaius’ weak body in his lap, his own tunic smoking from the fire ball he’d been hit with. Piercing blue eyes that had widened to almost a comical size stared back at him.
“Arthur…I…” Merlin stuttered.
“You killed Nimueh.” Arthur said, feeling breathless.
“You have magic.”