Chapter 11

As had been the case every night for weeks, Arthur again found himself sitting next to a campfire with Leon, staring pensively into the flames.

After a long while, Leon shifted slightly and reluctantly cleared his throat. "Your highness," he began.

"Don't say it, Leon," Arthur growled, cutting him off, knowing what was coming.

"Arthur…" Leon tried again softly, using his 'I care about you as a friend and brother voice,' the one that never failed to get to the prince.

Arthur huffed out a breath and threw the stick he'd been playing with into the flames.

"It's been over two weeks since we left Camelot…" said Leon.

"Which is far too long for my idiot manservant to be responsible for his own survival! Think what could be happening to him!"

"Think what could be happening in Camelot. You are still the Crown Prince, Arthur."

Guilt that Arthur had been trying to keep squashed down burst back out. It did not make him happy that he'd had to sneak off like a coward, leaving behind a kingdom in shambles after the attack.

"Merlin is worthy of your effort and care, but there are others who need your protection as well. Think of Gaius, already in the king's crosshairs. Or what of Morgana? If she were to challenge the king in your absence…"

That would be a disaster, Arthur thought. And sounded exactly like something Morgana would do. She would never accept the banishment of her friend without a fight. Just two months ago she'd earned herself a night in the dungeons for challenging his father over the death of Tom the blacksmith.

Arthur let out a sigh that was actually much closer to a groan and leapt to his feet, striding a few feet away from their fire. With troubled eyes, he gazed out at the empty desolation that surrounded them on all sides.

It had been quite a feat to find enough wood for a fire each night, but Arthur had insisted. They needed the protection, but it was more than that. He held out hope that Merlin would see it, would find them.

But a week of wandering in the awful place had yielded nothing – not a trace of the boy, not even a footprint.

Leon's quiet words were more painful because they were only a reutterance of what Arthur's own head and heart were starting to tell him.

"He's not here, is he?" he finally said quietly, not turning around.

"No. I don't think so. The little man – "

"Grettir," Arthur corrected without thinking. The gatekeeper had called him King, which had both unnerved and honored him. He felt the least he could do was remember the man's name.

"Grettir implied as much at the bridge, sire. That we wouldn't find him here."

Arthur finally turned to face his knight, throwing his hands out in frustration. "Then where is he? Unless my father lied and had him killed!"

"Not that I know of. To my knowledge, there was no execution while you were unconscious," Leon said earnestly.

It helped, but didn't completely erase the worry that had settled deep into Arthur's gut. He wanted to believe that Merlin was alive – needed to believe it – but his eyes had been opened to the fact that his father wasn't completely the man he had always believed in. There were dark and vengeful parts of the king, that Arthur had either overlooked or chosen not to see. He suddenly found it not nearly as hard to imagine that his father could have had Merlin executed in secret.

"Perhaps it is as he said, Arthur. That good magic is stronger than we think."

"He also said it was in the heart of Camelot, which is a load of dung, Leon, so what does that actually mean?"

"I don't know, but sire, Merlin is also stronger than we often think, and for all his oddities, he's a smart lad so…"

Arthur flopped back down beside the fire, snapping a dead weed off to worry between his fingers, his mind racing. "Are you saying he doesn't…want to be found?" he finally ventured.

"I'm saying he's frightened, my lord. Very frightened." Leon sat forward, staring intently at Arthur, his face grave. "You didn't see him after, Arthur. He was terrified. And injured. And he has no way of knowing how you've reacted to learning his secret, that you've accepted him. For all he knows, Uther has changed his mind and sent you to bring him back to face execution."

"So, he's hiding. Laying low to lick his wounds and keep his head squarely on his neck."

Leon nodded sadly. "His loyalty to you is unshaken, my lord. I do believe he will come back, when it's time."

"If he survives," Arthur muttered darkly, crushing the weed to dust in his hand and gazing off at the sky, unable to completely process the mix of emotions that was sweeping through him.

"You saw his magical display – that was no ordinary magic. The boy is much more than we ever suspected. If anyone can survive banishment, it's probably Merlin."

"But I'm not going to find him, am I?" Arthur said, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Leon leaned back, also glancing away.

"No, Arthur, I don't believe so."

Silence descended as Arthur processed Leon's words.

To go back to Camelot without Merlin? To just leave him out there somewhere, on his own? It was unthinkable! And to resume life in Camelot without Merlin by his side, irritating him into being a better prince? He couldn't image it. For him to just go on, without the…the teasing. The mischievous glances and sympathetic looks when council droned on for endless dull hours… The tart comments that stripped away pretense, but also the keen insight he could trust. The one true friendship that had absolutely no underlying motive...

Because somehow, the simple peasant boy from Ealdor had become –

EALDOR!

Arthur's heart sank as the word hit him like a blow.

Ealdor. Hunith.

Because Arthur knew Merlin. He knew that no matter how scared he was or how much he was hurting, he would protect his mother at all costs. Which meant he would never return home, on the chance that the king would chase him there.

So Hunith had no idea what had happened to her son. And no one – save maybe Gaius who had himself been confined to the citadel – would ever think to tell her.

"Okay, Leon," he caved, knowing when it was time to admit defeat. "We'll return to Camelot. But, there's one more place we must stop first."

00000

Merlin was bored.

He was also sad, lonely, exhausted, terrified, still in loads of pain, and mourning his lost sight, freedom and especially the people he loved, but as time passed and his wounds healed as much as they ever would, he couldn't help admitting that he was also becoming mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly bored.

Merlin had never been someone who could just sit around – he needed to be moving, doing, fixing. He loved people and learning, and every discovery from huge ones like unicorns down to the miniscule beauty of a single snowflake had always thrilled him.

Now he was stuck in a cage – blind and immobile – with absolutely nothing to do to take his mind off of how dark it was, how much he hurt, how vulnerable and alone he truly was.

If the terror of the unknown didn't kill him, the boredom would.

Kilgharrah? he thought timidly in his mind.

He'd had an idea in the night. Or day. It wasn't as though he had any real way to measure time anymore.

The great dragon had been chained beneath the castle for twenty years, but he'd still managed to communicate with Merlin. Maybe he could reach him? Have someone to talk to?

Because at the moment, Merlin would welcome any conversation, even one with a wily, manipulative dragon.

Kilgharrah? he tried thinking a little louder. The boy Mordred had been able to speak into his mind, and Kilgharrah did it whenever he wanted, but Merlin had never tried to do it himself. He wasn't sure how it worked.

He waited, but there was nothing.

"Kilgharrah?" he finally ventured, saying the name out loud. "Dragon? Can you hear me?"

No answer.

He slumped back into his nest of pillows.

He didn't know if he just didn't have the skills to do it, or the dragon wasn't listening, but a very large part of him suspected it was neither. He and Kilgharrah were both bound by a magic-forged chain which kept them from escaping, but only Merlin also wore the collar with the runes. Kilgharrah couldn't leave, but he could still do magic. Merlin could do neither.

He played with a tear in the leg of his trousers, worrying it larger, before he forced his hands to stop. These were the only clothes he had – unless he wanted to be naked soon, he needed to squash that habit. Instead, he reached up and grasp Arthur's button that hung from the string around his neck, running his fingers over the tiny dragon.

He needed to get up and visit the privy hole in the other corner, but the process of getting there was so painful and humiliating, not to mention slow and hard, he was trying to put it off.

As a distraction, he went back to naming his guards.

He couldn't quite figure out their rotation schedule – something he suspected might be done on purpose to keep him off kilter – but he was sure now that he had six.

Tim was as awful as ever, probably getting worse. Merlin did everything in his power not to rile the man up, considering he was not only blind and crippled, but stuck on the end of a chain, but he'd still felt the man's meaty fists more than once.

He didn't tell Gaius that. He couldn't bear to hurt the old man more.

Or Dane.

Dane!

The young guard had come to him a few days ago, bearing his meal, and apologized! Had set the food down carefully, told him he was sorry and asked for forgiveness, and there'd been a tart on the tray when Merlin had started to eat!

Merlin smiled. Things were still awkward between them – because Merlin still had magic and was blind now and a prisoner that Dane was paid to guard – and probably would be for a while, but they would get better. The boy knew they would.

Everard was cold and quiet. He brought Merlin his meals and he took the tray away, simply responding with "Be silent, Sorcerer," whenever Merlin tried to talk to him.

But three of the guards were still nameless, faceless voids. One of them hadn't even spoken to him yet – he only knew him as the "one who scuffs his feet."

Merlin had decided to name them. He already had a Guard "D" in Dane and a Guard "E" in Everard, so naturally the other three needed to become Guards A, B, and C.

Tim of course didn't fit, but he also didn't count. Merlin preferred to think of him as little as possible anyway.

Yesterday, he'd decided to name "scuffs his feet" Bert, after a grumpy, old farmer from Ealdor who used to walk with a limp and yell at Merlin if he even got within shouting distance of his prize ram. As if Merlin had had any desire to go anywhere near that ram – it was meaner than…well…Tim!

"Leaves Guards A and C," Merlin whispered.

It was still hard to talk out loud to his empty cell, but he was determined not to spend his days completely in silence.

"Biggest jerk gets named first," he decided, going over the worst names he could think of. "Casper…Claude…Cornelius…"

Cornelius might work. There was a tailor in the lower town named Cornelius who really disliked Merlin, but it wasn't his fault that Arthur always waited until the last minute to tell Merlin he needed something repaired!

Sadness washed through him, thinking of Arthur and chores and when life had been normal.

"Not Cornelius, then," he muttered, fingers once more smoothing over the button as he thought. "Cletus!" he shouted a moment later, then winced as his voice echoed back to him, bouncing off metal and stone walls in the empty cavern.

Newly christened Cletus's hatred of Merlin was as strong as Tim's, but he used words and tricks as his weapons instead of fists. It was because of him that Merlin always checked his meals over with his hands now; he didn't want to bite down on anymore rocks.

"One left for tomorrow," Merlin said quietly, then with a resigned sigh, he tucked the button back under his tunic and swung his legs over the edge of his bunk. He couldn't put off certain needs any longer.

The trip to the privy was slow and uneventful, but on the way back, Merlin caught his hand on something sharp as he was crawling, tearing a ragged gash partway down it. He sucked in a hiss as he crashed to his elbows, and quickly brought the wound to his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood mixed in with the grime.

Clumsily, he finished crawling back to his bed and pulled himself onto it, then sat there squeezing his tunic in his fist to help stop the bleeding.

Gaius wasn't going to be happy with him.

00000

"Are you all right, my lady?"

Morgana started out of her thoughts, turning to see Gwen staring at her in concern, hair brush still in her hands.

"Yes, Gwen, I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile and gesturing for her to continue.

The soothing motion of the brush through her hair began again. "I'm worried about them, too," her maid said very quietly after a while, and Morgana realized the girl's hands were shaking.

"Oh, Gwen." She turned in her chair so she was facing her friend instead of looking at her through the mirror. "Arthur will find Merlin," she said, trying to act like she believed her own words and wasn't still tormented by the twisted images from her dreams where there was Merlin and so much blood... "You know he will."

"I know. It's just…everything is falling apart and I don't even know what to do, or how to think or feel…"

There were tears in Gwen's eyes now, threatening to fall at any moment, so Morgana stood and took the brush from her maid's hands, then led them both over to sit on the edge of her bed where she pulled her into a tight embrace.

They stayed that way for a while, drawing the comfort they'd both apparently needed from each other, before Gwen pulled away, wiping a hand across her face with an embarrassed smile.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I don't know what's come over me these last few days."

"It's perfectly fine. I would – "

"I…I stole Merlin's things back, from the king," Gwen suddenly blurted out, cutting Morgana off as she turned back to look at her, brash fear on her face as if she could no longer hold back her confession. Morgana felt her eyes widen. "Well, not actually from the king, but from the servant who was told to destroy them. I realized what was in the sack and I made up some excuse and just took it!"

"Gwen!" Morgana cried in alarm.

"I know," Gwen wailed, shaking her head. "I've never done anything like that before, but my lady, I just couldn't help it! I was just so sad and…angry. Angry at the king! First my…my father. And now Merlin…" She looked away, her emotions steadying. "I gave it all back to Gaius. He needed it."

Morgana stood, stepping away from the bed and her maid, moving to the window as her thoughts swam. Uther and Tom…

"I could have let him die, Gwen," she admitted suddenly, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "Uther. I could have stood there and let Tauren kill him. I should have. Then he would have paid for what happened to your father, and Merlin would still be here…"

The thoughts plagued her, churning up her already chaotic emotions and secret fears. One part of her cared for Uther deeply – he'd practically raised her and had always treated her like she was his own, but that part was also tainted by a little girl's knowledge that if it wasn't for Uther, her father would still be alive. Now her feelings for the king had been hardened by his unwillingness to see reason and fairness when it came to magic – the blood of innocents like Tom that stained his hands. Banishing Merlin was the last straw.

Gwen was at her side in an instant.

"I'm glad you didn't," she said without any hesitation.

Morgana stared at her. "How can you say that? How can you still want him alive?"

"It's not him I care about – it's you. The choices we make…they determine who we become. I would not wish that choice upon your soul. Neither would Merlin."

Gwen's kind words comforted her, like a balm on a wound she hadn't realized was there. Still…

"I have these dreams, Gwen," she breathed. It seemed they were confessing all tonight. "They are…not natural. I don't know how, or why, or what they are, but I fear them. I fear their cause. And these feelings of rage and… There's a darkness in me, Gwen. It frightens me!" Morgana shivered, from more than just the chill at the window. Gwen's moment of anger was to save precious belongings and return them to an old man. Her moment of anger was to plot murder. What did that really say about her?

Gwen, ever perceptive, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. "There's a darkness in us all, my lady. Light and dark – that's what makes us human. We just have to choose which side we trust more… Now, let's get you to sleep."

Wondering exactly when her maidservant had become so wise, Morgana allowed herself to be led away from the window and over to her bed.

00000

Just as he'd expected, Gaius was fussing over his hand.

"It's not deep, but it's already infected, and Merlin do I need to remind you what a risk even the smallest infection can be to you down here?"

Merlin bit his tongue, knowing that the physician's chastisement was more because he was worried and he cared than because he was actually upset with him.

"You cannot keep doing this, my boy. You cannot – "

"Gaius," Merlin finally interrupted softly with a sigh. "What other choice do I have?"

The old man fell silent, and Merlin didn't need eyes to know the look of sorrow that was creasing his face. "I've washed and bandaged it," his surrogate father finally said, patting the back of his hand. "Do try to keep it clean."

"I promise."

"Now, speaking of clean, up you get."

"Wha – " Merlin sputtered, startled when a surprisingly strong Gaius threw back the blanket that was covering his lap and hauled him upright, chains clanking. He wobbled precariously on one leg – his injured foot held slightly off the ground – but the physician's caring hands supported him.

"You are going to have a bath, and a shave for that peach-fuzz, and then a haircut. And there will be no arguing, young man, because I did not haul this water all the way down here to put up with any of your sass."

Merlin broke into a grin. That was the closest Gaius had sounded to normal in weeks and it was exactly what he needed.

"Yes sir," he said quickly and Gaius chuckled.

Half an hour later he was exhausted, but feeling better. It hadn't been a true bath – his chains prevented him from actually removing any of his current clothing to put on fresh, but Gaius had helped him shift things around enough to clean off a good portion of the grime on his body. The following shave and hair cut had almost made up for the fact he was still dressed in the filthy rags.

"On my next visit, I'll bring a needle and thread and we'll see if we can't patch some of those holes together before you actually become indecent," Gaius said from the other side of Merlin's cell, accompanied by small scuffing noises and Merlin laughed.

"There," his guardian said a moment later, sounding a little breathless. "The floor is as clear of debris as I can make it without a broom. I shall throw the bathwater on it as I leave to give it a wash, but you must promise to give it at least an hour to dry before you move around. I will not have you slipping!"

"I promise, Gaius," Merlin said, leaning back into his pillows, marveling at the feel of clean skin and a hairless face and Gaius's fussing. Moments later, the man sat next to him.

"How long has it been. Since it happened?" Merlin asked, the question one that had been plaguing him.

"Three weeks and four days."

"I lose track of the days," he admitted quietly. "Seems like an eternity…"

A hand patted him gently on the knee and Merlin forced down the feelings of hopelessness that constantly threatened to swallow him whole. This had been a good visit, despite Gaius's scolding. He didn't want to spoil it with despair; he knew he'd need to cling to its memory to get through until the next one.

"So, tell me all the gossip, everything you can squeeze in before you have to leave," he said brightly, bending his uninjured leg and trying to get comfortable.

"Well, Sir Pellinore had a toothache, but he refused to come to me for treatment until it was so bad he fainted on the training field, like a maiden."

Merlin laughed heartily, imagining the whole scene.

"The kitchen cat had her kittens. Five. All black and white except one that's gray. And Gwen stops by at least once a day. She misses you."

Merlin missed her, too, so much. Besides Arthur, she was his dearest friend.

Speaking of prattish princes…

"Has Arthur returned?"

"No," Gaius said, and Merlin could just picture his eyebrow raising in disapproval. "And Uther grows more angry and impatient each day. I fear Arthur will be in for an unpleasant welcome."

"He won't hurt him will he?" Merlin asked quickly, sitting up and grabbing for Gaius's wrist. Uther Pendragon was the new monster of his nightmares and he no longer believed Arthur safe from his wrath.

"No, I don't think so. You wouldn't still be alive if Uther didn't care for his son."

Merlin relaxed marginally. "So, is what you told the king true, then? Did I connect us that day, with my magic?"

"No, Merlin."

Merlin grinned again. "So you lied. To the king."

"Yes, Merlin. I lied. To the king. But I do believe you and Arthur are connected, by destiny and prophecy – friendship. One should never underestimate the bonds magic forges."

"Two sides of the same coin," Merlin muttered, remembering what both the dragon and his mother had once told him.

Approaching footsteps suddenly echoed through the cavern and Gaius rose with a stifled groan.

"Stay strong, my boy," he whispered, ruffling Merlin's clean hair.

The warlock reached up and caught his hand, squeezing it tightly before letting go. With resignation, he listened as water splashed across the cold stone of his cage, then the door opened and locked shut. He turned away then, shifting until he was lying down and his blanket was pulled up to his ears, allowing the clank of his chains to drown out the sound of two sets of footsteps receding and leaving him all alone once more.