Of Time and Treason

Pt One: Day by Day

Disclaimer: I do not own the television show Merlin. Any publicly recognised characters are entirely not of my creation. I do however, own this story, so hands OFF!

Summary: For seven years to two most powerful people in all of Albion were separated. One was thought dead; the other was thought his killer. Neither was the truth.

The seven years between Chapter One and Chapter Two from Of Honour and Magic. If you haven't read it, you need to. I would recommend re-reading t anyway.

Timeline (So you don't get confused)

The Witch's Quickening

The Last Dragonlord

Of Honour and Magic Chapter One

Morgana leaves

Of Time and Treason

The Fires of Idirsholas never happened!

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"Time! on whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die-"

The pain was incredible and immediate as Merlin woke. For a moment he thought he had failed, and he was still standing atop the funeral pyre, with Uther's guards surrounding him, ready to see him burn. Then, the clear picture of trees against a bright blue sky appeared to his eyes, disorientating the boy even more. He lowered his gaze slowly, running it along the length of a tree until it reached the ground. He followed the ground to where it met his body, and almost yelled in shock.

Bright, burning flames blazed around his leg, withering the skin and slowly charring away the flesh. His foot was almost completely removed and the dry grass around it crackled with the still burning inferno.

Instinct over took him, and Merlin raised his head, throwing out an extinguishing spell faster than his mind could process the words. The heat died instantly and the flames shrank to nothing soon after. But the pain remained, even more intense than before.

To Merlin, it felt like every inch of his leg below the knee had been ripped from his body in messy strips. The bare, raw flesh was exposed to the air, and merely its presence in the open atmosphere exacerbated the sheer intensity of the pain. His toes were gone, the flesh burnt away and the bones tinged with the blood and fat that was left. His foot, ankle and calf were all shrunken from the loss of fat and muscle to the fire. It all shone a bright red from the blood in the afternoon sun.

It had been morning when he was in Camelot, Merlin realised. He had either travelled further than he thought or he had been unconscious for longer than it seemed. Whichever was true, he certainly didn't have the energy to move again that day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Merlin knew that he was at risk of exposing his leg to infection, but it would never be useful again. If he were to lose his leg, it did not matter if it were infected or not.

The sight of the remains of his leg was gruesome, yet Merlin could not tear his eyes away. Without noticing, they turned a brilliant gold and small, deep burns healed over slightly. Now the leg was stronger. With another flash of his eyes, the pain was numbed.

Knowing he had done all he could to save it with his magic, Merlin pulled off his shirt and ripped it into several long strips which he gently tied around the wound. Within moments, they were soaked, but not with blood. A light, clear liquid oozed from the burns and into the thin cotton fabric.

Exhausted, Merlin let his eyes flutter shut and welcomed the bliss of sleep.

It took Merlin nearly a week to find someone who could treat his leg. He had no idea what kingdom he was in or how far he was from Camelot or whether there would be guards searching for him. But his leg was at risk of becoming worse, and Merlin knew he had to take a chance.

He stumbled upon the town mostly by luck alone. He had tried to employ some of the tracking skills that Arthur had attempted to teach him, but he mostly felt as if he was walking in an ever shrinking circle. It was fortunate that he heard the sound of the market wafting through the trees.

Several people had screamed as he staggered out of the forest, his clothes savagely burnt, his body gaunt and undernourished. Merlin knew, without a doubt, that he looked like death come to life. It was an apt enough description of how he felt, why should he not imitate that in appearance as well?

Eventually, the crowds brought him to the town healer. In his weakened state, Merlin was unsure about the exact process. His mind seemed to be lagging and, though he knew he should, he was unable to make sense of anything. By the time he finally came back to his senses, he was lying on a hard bed, staring up at a thatched roof.

"Eh see your 'wake." A strange, coarse voice said, and Merlin turned to face the speaker. He was a shortish man, going slightly bald on the top of his flat head. A scraggly beard covered his chin, and he wore a thin shirt stretched over a protruding stomach, with heavy trousers. " 'm surprised yeh even made it 'ere."

"Where…" Merlin coughed heavily, his throat dry with dehydration. "Where am I?"

"Yer in Greenw'd." The strange man said, handing over a small goblet filled with water. " 'm Stam, the 'ealer. Nasty leg yeh got there, by the way. How'd it 'appen?"

"Burnt it." Merlin said. "Was meant to burn at the stake."

"What'd you do to deserve that?" Stam asked, not unkindly. He had now moved to stand over Merlin's leg and was gently removing the bandages.

"Treason." The warlock said. "Used magic."

Stam paused, a bandage held in one hand as he frowned down at Merlin. "W't ever would that be treason for? Only place it's considered treason for usin' magic 's'in Camelot…"

The healer trailed off. He stared at Merlin unblinkingly, a disbelieving expression stretched across his worn face.

"No!" He whispered. "Yeh were in Camelot? 'at's many weeks of 'ard ridin' away, in some of th' 'arshest terrain in this country! By all the Gods, 'ow did you manage to make it 'ere?"

"Spell." Merlin stated. "Didn't know if it'd work. Used fire instead of wind."

"Well 'at's incredible! Thar's is a reason the spell was meant to be used with air. Th' other elements are far ta unpredictable for ev'n th' most powerful sorcerer to control!" Stam exclaimed. "Thar's a chance with water, but fire? Eh doubt an'one short ov' a Dragonlord could command enough control of fire to use 't'in transport!"

"Got it in one." Merlin muttered. "Besides, it wasn't like I had much of a choice! There wasn't any water anywhere near, and I figure hey, there's a whole bunch of fire here. It wasn't exactly my plan, but I panicked. I didn't want to die, I couldn't!"

"Eh thought the Dragonlords were dead?" Stam said.

"I did as well. I never knew my father, until the day he died. I was more than a little shocked to find that I was suddenly the son of a Dragonlord. It wasn't as if I didn't have enough of a problem what with having to hide my magic from all of Camelot, especially Prince Arthur, to whom I was a manservant."

"Hoo are yeh?" The baffled healer asked. "Hoo has s'much power, yet works for th' Crown Prince o' Camelot?"

"Me? I am…." Merlin began. He frowned. He needed a new identity. "I am… I am Emrys."

Arthur awoke to the sound of the doors of his chamber closing quietly behind the servant who had brought up his breakfast. The heavy curtains that covered the windows of his bedchamber remained closed, but several fresh candles burnt in their places around the room.

With a heavy sigh, the prince dragged himself out of his bed and over to the table. He grabbed a soft, lightly buttered roll from one of the plates laid out and took a large bite out of it as he continued on to the window. He pulled back the curtain slightly and then let it fall back into place with a mental huff.

He had not seen Camelot in such a dreary state for many years. The sky was grey with water-filled clouds which occasionally saw fit to drizzle their contents upon the roofs and streets of the city. The heavily worn dirt paths that crisscrossed back and forth amongst the houses had long turned to mud, mud which had then coated everything that touched it. Carts filled with waterlogged straw sat idly, their wheels entrenched so deeply that even the strongest of the knights would have trouble releasing it. It painted a depressing picture for the eye to behold.

Even the residents of Camelot seemed to be missing their usual brightness and spark. Where only a few days before Arthur had seen dresses the colours of a field of wildflowers, now there was only greys and blacks, the occasional brown thrown in. The women did not gather in the streets to gossip, the men did not laugh as they made their way home from the tavern. Children remained indoors, out of the frigid air that swept bitterly through deserted streets.

It was a clear as day to Arthur. Camelot was in mourning.

If he turned his head at just the right angle, he could see from his chambers where many of the villagers gathered. It seemed to be the only speck of colour in the monotonous blur of blacks and whites. There, hundreds of flowers sat around a small stone, the only remaining mark of a boy who had defied everyone's expectations and had suffered for it.

Arthur liked to pretend that it didn't exist.

Merlin had been dead for almost a month, and yet it seemed the town was no nearer to forgetting the boy than they had been that fateful day. They refused to acknowledge the prince out of anything more than duty, and he was beginning to find it hard to cope with all the hostility directed towards him. In his mind, they should have been hostile to Merlin – or at least the memory of Merlin – for lying to them, and committing treason against the crown. Instead, the traitorous sorcerer was fondly remembered as a hero, who died to protect the king. Or rather, died because he protected the king.

Arthur was no fool. He knew what the villagers said about him. "If he can turn against his own servant - no, his own friend - who are we to the boy?" The men pondered in their drunken wisdom. "I'll tell you - nothing! He thinks nothing of us .He would not protect us, would not act in our best interests. Forget the Prince - he is nothing but a title. I pity Camelot when Uther dies!"

Uther himself was also enraged with Arthur. He would not accept the fact that a sorcerer had lived under the castle roof and was seemingly convinced that Arthur had to have known about it. He berated his son daily about not dismissing the servant for 'suspicious behaviour'. He conveniently forgot that he had been the one who first employed Merlin as Arthur's manservant. He was so consumed by his anger and humiliation that he had become blind to everything.

The first few weeks after the execution had been filled with the panic of the villagers as Uther relentlessly ordered searches for more sorcerers in Camelot. Guards swept the town hourly, ransacking rooms that had been searched time after time for even the smallest sign of witchcraft. Uther had even checked half the rooms in the castle on his own. Hundreds were arrested, dozens executed, with little proof.

It sickened Arthur to the core. He had tried to protest, once he had snapped out of his confusion surrounding the revelations of his manservant, but in his blind rage, Uther had promptly thrown him in the dungeons. And Arthur was not the only one close to Uther whom the king hurt in his endless quest against magic.

Gaius had been submitted to questioning dozens of times over the month, and had ended up spending a week in a cell in appalling conditions for the crime of harbouring a sorcerer. Were it anyone else, it would have been a sure way to end up on the executioners block, but Uther was loath to alienate Gaius further, given past events and the usefulness the man had as the Court Physician.

Arthur had wanted to help the old man, but Gaius had not been overly friendly towards the prince since the execution of Merlin. The old man had loved the warlock like a son, and it hurt him to have lost the boy. He wandered around, looking forlorn, and it seemed as if he lived only for his responsibility as Court Physician.

Merlin waved to Stam as he hobbled away from the healer's house, one hand firmly clutching a walking staff. It was as long as Merlin was tall and made from an old, twisted branch of an oak tree. It was knotted, bent in several places and the top was a mess of woven twigs, but, during the last week in Stam's house, Merlin had placed several strong enchantments on the staff. These enchantments ranged from powerful defensive shield magic to simple spells to return the staff to Merlin's hand if he ever lost it. From what he could tell, any more magic placed upon it would cause the staff to break.

The original wood for the staff had been a gift from Stam a month into Merlin's stay. The two had bonded, and the healer thought that something to focus on would help Merlin ignore the constant pains in his leg. Every day, Merlin had worked on the staff, shaping, polishing and strengthening it with his magic. Now his leg was finally healed enough to carry some of his weight, and Merlin was heading out towards a nearby city, hoping to find maps of the kingdom.

He'd heard rumours from members of the town about a magical forest on the other side of the kingdom where no one ever travelled. In Stam's opinion, it was a horrid place, where no sane person would ever go. To Merlin, it was the perfect place to practice his magic without disturbance. He needed to work on his instinctual magic more – he had become complacent, and was using verbal spells for things he could easily have done without.

Merlin was also hoping he would be able to call Kilgharrah. He knew little about his destiny, very little about his magic and even less about his powers and responsibilities as the last Dragonlord.

So, Merlin stepped out onto the dusty road that lead from Stam's village towards the city, a small smile on his face, a ragged hood pulled over his head, his new staff clutched in one hand and a new identity.

Arthur hadn't been allowed to attend Merlin's funeral. His father had not wanted him to be seen grieving for a traitor. However, even if his father had allowed him to go, he knew he would not have been welcome.

So he crept out of Camelot in the middle of the night, and made his way to the small marker left for Merlin. It had been erected at Morgana's request, a week before the king's ward left Camelot to join Morgause in the battle against Uther. Arthur knew that she still had contact with people inside the city, but she refused, as did many, to talk to him at all.

Beautiful flowers surrounded Merlin's stone. Arthur recognised lavenders, like those that Gwen had once displayed in Morgana's chambers, among the most common of the flowers. It hurt Arthur to think of the pain that Merlin's death had caused the handmaiden, but he could do little to fix it now.

It had been nearly three months since Merlin had been killed, and in that time Arthur had come to see reason. He saw clearly just what his father had done in his anger, and Arthur himself realised how foolish he had once been.

He was standing here, at Merlin's memorial, because he missed his friend. He knew, without a doubt, that Merlin had always been loyal, and kind, and good. It was Arthur that had committed a betrayal, who had been wrong, all along.

"I wish you were here, Merlin," He whispered to the small stone. "I know little of magic, so I don't know if somehow you are able to hear me, but I hope that you can. I'm not very good with all this… emotional stuff, but I'll try. It's important to me that you know.

"I hope you know how much I miss you, how much I regret the way I acted. I sent you away, I sent you to your death, when all along you had been a loyal friend. I was stupid, an idiot, and all the things I called you, but you never were.

"I was so angry, Merlin! I thought you didn't trust me. I thought you must have been planning something, because the Merlin I knew would never have kept that from me. Suddenly, in the space of a few minutes, everything I knew about you was turned upside down. The person I would call my dearest friend was a stranger to me.

"You should have fought, you should have escaped! You could have, in an instant. You would have disappeared, had to leave everything behind, but you would have lived. Why didn't you? Why didn't you knock me unconscious the moment I stepped into your cell on that last day? Because you are too loyal for your own good, and you never would have hurt me.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I am so sorry. I don't deserve your forgiveness, from where ever you are now, and I have nothing to forgive you for. But now that I see clearly how stupid I to act on my feelings of betrayal, I promise you, that you are still loved here. Everyone in Camelot misses you.

"So if there's a chance, some magical spell or something which you can use to come back, I swear to you that you'd be welcomed back with open arms! Please, Merlin. Please."

Arthur dropped his head into his hands and heaved himself to his feet. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, brushing away the unshed tears. He had said all there was to say, and he only wished his manservant was there to offer some witty comment in return.

Merlin cursed as he ran blindly through the forest, to desperate to escape to look behind him and see how far behind him his pursuer was. His leg ached under the pressure, and he was channelling a portion of his magic into it, to fortify it and reduce the pain. He couldn't risk it giving out on him, not when he was fleeing for his life.

Unfortunately for Merlin, his escape from Camelot had done nothing to improve his coordination, and he found himself lying face down on the leaf-litter that covered the ground of the forest. He desperately rolled onto his back and scramble backwards as fast as he could. He felt himself being pressed up against a hard tree, and he grabbed onto the bark and pulled himself to his feet, using his staff as extra support.

But he was too late.

The griffon looked down at him, its small, birdlike eyes following along the line of its beak to Merlin's face. The bird-beast titled its massive head to one side, curiously eyeing the petrified human in front of him.

With a shrill cry, the massive beast lifted itself up on its hind legs, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut in terror. He wished he had something around him that he could use as a weapon in his defence, but there was nothing.

When he found himself still in one piece a few minutes later, he opened his eyes slowly, and took in the sight of the griffon.

Its head was bowed, and it was looking remarkably like a chastised child, forlorn and apologetic. Cautiously, Merlin lifted his hand, and lowered it to the downy feathers spread across the back of the griffon's head. It let out a sound that reminded Merlin of the cat that Camelot's cook owned when you scratched it behind the neck.

Merlin stayed in that position for a long time, with his hand gently stroking the bird-beasts head. It seemed content to stay like that, and not eat him, so he kept it up.

As the sun set, however, the griffon pulled away, and charged back off through the forest. Merlin watched it go, before a stray beam of sunlight reflected off something at his feet. He bent, and picked up the object. It was a beautiful, golden feather, the same shape and size as those from the griffon. Confused, Merlin admired the beauty of the feather, and felt his magic react to the magic stored inside it.

Without conscious thought, Merlin lifted the feather to the top of his staff, just below the twiggy tangle at the top. He wrapped it around the wood, and ran a hand over it. Beneath his hand, it glowed, and melded into the wood. Merlin could feel the feathers magic merging with that already in the staff, and he let more trickle into it.

It was like making a copy of the magic – not matter how much he poured into it, there never seemed to be any missing from his body. Merlin's mind raced with the possibilities. If he were ever to be missing his magic, the supply in the staff would be enough to cast a spell in a life threatening situation. Knowing what he did about his Destiny, he was glad for the chance to protect a small amount of magic for later.

Arthur looked up the sky, watching the stars sparkle and shine. They seem in such a contrast with the city below. Where the stars shone with glory and peace, Camelot was like a pit of despair and sadness.

One star caught Arthur's eye. It shone brighter than the others, a bright golden colour, and it glowed steadily. While he looked upon it, Arthur felt a wave of happiness, pride, comfort and laughter wash over him. A tear sprung to his eye, despite the positivity of the emotions sinking through him. They were all what he felt with Merlin around, and without the boy it seemed strange to be feeling them.

But, on top of that, a feeling of hope bled into his heart, and it remained when Arthur turned away. He felt, for the first time since he realised what he had done, that things could still be alright.

Merlin smiled slightly as he splashed a hand through the water in the stream below him. He had spent his night looking over Camelot, observing all the changes, and noting any threats that were likely to damage Arthur or the city. Because, although he was considered a traitor to the city and although Arthur apparently hated him, he was still destined to build a better Kingdom.

It was all he could do to protect the city from afar. He had cast a spell more complex than anything he had ever attempted before, after weeks of research into the matter, around the city. It was a shielding spell, which would prevent any creatures born of magic from entering the city. It would also stop any magic users meaning harm to the city or its people from drawing near enough to do damage, as well as any powerful enough to fool the shield into believing that their intentions were pure.

It meant that he could never return to Camelot, and while the thought hurt him, he was wise enough to know that he wasn't welcome there anyway.

'At least now I am free to use my magic the way it was always intended.' He thought. 'At least now, I can put it to good use.'

But before he could do anything, Merlin knew there was a lot left for him to learn. So, he raised his head to the sky, tipped back his head and felt the old language bubble up in his throat, and he left it out in an echoing yell, calling his dragon to him.

The burden of his destiny was a heavy weight on his shoulders.

"Hail thou! who on my birth bestowed
Those boons to all that know thee known;
Yet better I sustain thy load,
For now I bear the weight alone."

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A/N: Well, I hope that was worth the ridiculous wait. My time was taken up with NaNoWriMo and exams in November (I failed NaNo spectacularly, btw), then my whole family ordered new computers, and I was waiting to get mine before I finished this (cause I wanted this to be the first fic written on it – oh well). They were meant to be here by Christmas at the latest, and now it's New Years and still no computer!

Anyway, I can promise that the next chapter shouldn't take as long, because I have a lot more of that planned out already. I'm sorry if this chapter is absolute garbage, I spent two days writing virtually nonstop on the last half.

Review?