Broceliande

A/N: This is my first ever fanfic, so please be gentle. I've only even been reading fanfic for a couple of weeks – I'm very much still learning. Obviously the BBC owns everyone. I've also thieved inspiration from Tennyson and Malory, but they are less likely to be bothered, I imagine.

This takes place about a year post- The Last Dragonlord, so is mildly spoilery for S2. It's a Merlin/Arthur friendship fic, but if you want to look at it slashily, do feel free.

"Did you really think," said Morgana, "that you would get away with it?"

Merlin opened his eyes. His head pounded. His first impression was the cold, damp, mossy stone on which his aching body lay, and the curious thundering of...water? Was that water? Only water could be so loud. He dragged himself to a sitting position and made a quick inventory of the pains. Head. Check. Ribs. Check. Back. Check. He leaned backwards and supported his head against the uneven, sharp wall of rock, it was difficult to keep his head straight on his shoulders without the support. He could taste blood in his mouth.

Morgana stood before him – she had always been beautiful, but in the year since he had seen her, she had become both more beautiful and more awful, staring at him with the unfocused eyes of the deranged. Behind her was a curtain of shimmering, crashing water, and all around the air in the cave throbbed with a strange energy, his skin trembled in contact with the air, and it reminded him of something...He couldn't maintain a train of thought at the moment.

"Get away with what?" He groaned, running his tongue around his mouth to check for teeth. They all seemed present. But before Morgana even answered, his brain caught up with the situation and he remembered, riding home from a wholly unsuccessful hunting trip with an irate Arthur, just in the plains below Camelot, a huge flash of light, his horse rearing, and then coming to on the cold wet stone. A panic suddenly filled him. "Where's Arthur? Where is he? What have you done?"

Morgana rolled her eyes dismissively. "I didn't touch him. It's you who I am interested in at the moment." She was quite mad, Merlin decided. It was as though she were in a fever, her face was bright, she moved with awkward movements and spoke in a voice strangely detached from the familiar Morgana voice. "Hemlock?" she practically spat at him.

Oh. He allowed himself to sink back onto the clammy ground. He had rehearsed many explanations, long and complicated explorations of the thinking, philosophy and logic behind her poisoning, but they couldn't possibly be delivered in this environment, and anyway, he wasn't sure he could be bothered. He was certain Morgana was unreachable anyway. He was very tired. Suddenly he knew why the electric atmosphere was familiar. "Is this the Isle of the Blessed?"
She was now kneeling beside him, her hair brushing his cheek, as she tied a chain around one of his wrists. For the first time, she looked surprised. "You know the Isle of the Blessed?"

"I was there with Nimeuh."

She reached across for his other unresisting hand. "When you murdered her, you mean? Of course. Morgause told me about your talents, Merlin. I wouldn't have believed you capable of some of your actions, but you are not at all the person you pretend to be, are you?"

Merlin had to agree with that assessment.

"This isn't the Isle of the Blessed, but it is a place of the Old Religion like the Isle of the Blessed. Morgause and I are not yet equal to Nimeuh's power. We will replace her eventually, though. We are in the forest of Broceliande." She stood up. "Merlin, you understand we cannot have you against us. Morgause hoped I could persuade you to be with us, but I know...I know that is impossible. That is impossible, isn't it?"

"Definitely." Nothing much at all was clear to him at all just now, but that much was. There was a shard of rock between his shoulder-blades which sent spasms of pain all over his bruised body.

"Your loyalty to a regime foreign to you which persecutes your kind is astonishing. And not in an impressive way. But I recognise your determination. You know we will succeed, Merlin, in killing Uther. I don't want to kill Arthur, but he will stand in our way – you and I both know that – and I can't allow it. We will destroy Camelot as it exists now. Magic will return to the land, the Old Religion will rule and you, Merlin, you who could have been the most powerful warlock in the kingdom, will be trapped here."

"Dead, you mean." Every other time Merlin had faced his, Camelot and Arthur's imminent destruction, he had always possessed options, however extreme. It had never seemed like the end. This did. It was almost a comfort to lie on the wet rock, luxuriating in every sensation as his last.

"I do not mean dead. Morgause has given me a charm from the most ancient times. They used to employ it on exiled sorcerers who had broken the laws of the Old Religion. You will lie here, Merlin, alive but as though dead. You are a traitor to the Old Religion. You could have served it so well, Merlin, you could have saved so many lives and instead you killed and you betrayed and you gave power to the enemy. We find you guilty, and we punish you."

Her eyes flashed the familiar orange, the words filled the air, and Merlin realised with a dreadful weight on him that he had, indeed, thought he would get away with it. Because when hadn't he before?

The moment Sir Leon saw the guard sidling up to him, he knew the shift was going to take a bad turn. He lay down the cards he was playing with Sir Gareth, and said: "yes?" as brusquely as possible, in the hope that the tone of voice would alert the more enterprising part of the guard's brain to problem-solve independently. It didn't. The guard scratched his nose, nervously.

"Excuse me, Sir Leon, there is a...lady here to see Prince Arthur."

That was unexpected. Gareth snorted, inelegantly, and said "Oh re-ally?"

"Guard, it's almost one in the morning," pointed out Leon, as steadily and calmly as possible. "Who is she? Do you know her? Is she a noble? Hasn't she lodgings?"

The guard looked desperate for a moment, and a little disbelieving of his own courage, as he offered: "Sir, she's a Lady of the Lake."

Gareth stopped smiling, and Leon accepted his quiet night shift had vanished. He reached for his sword. "There is a creature of magic at the gates of Camelot asking to see Prince Arthur in the middle of the night?" He clarified, in a low growl.

"Sir," and the words rushed out now, "Sir, she says she has information about the whereabouts of Merlin, the Prince's servant. And the Prince did look for him for – well, so long – and she is a Lady of the Lake. I mean, I know all magic is evil, but I thought..."

"There is no 'but' at the end of that sentence, friend," observed Gareth, laconically.

"Gareth –" Leon stepped in almost, involuntarily.

Gareth looked at Leon, Leon looked at Gareth, and Gareth shrugged. "Not my shift, my friend."

"Take her to the dungeons, guard – quietly. She isn't under arrest. For the love of Camelot do not make her angry. I'll meet you there. Make sure she doesn't see anyone."

The first thing Leon noticed about the Lady of the Lake which the guard had failed to mention in his excitement, was that she was armed. She carried a beautiful sword by her side, carelessly, as though she had never held a sword before. He gripped his own a little firmer.

He had never seen an actual Lady of the Lake before. His mother had sworn she had as a young woman seen Ladies of the Lake being greeted in Camelot's great hall – before Uther's time, of course. This Lady was as he had imagined. Although utterly dry, her clothes and hair were as though she had just emerged from the sea, and her voice rose and fell gently, as though with the tide.

"My Lady," he said politely, to play it safe. He was still eyeing the spectacular sword. His mother had never mentioned the Ladies being armed.

The Lady picked up on his nervousness, and leaned the sword against the wall of the cell. "That is not mine, it is Prince Arthur's. Can I see him, please?"

Sir Leon tried to consider a polite answer. "I shouldn't have really let you this far, my Lady. You must know our laws here. But the guard said..."

"I know where Prince Arthur's servant, Merlin, is. I certainly mean Arthur no harm, my only wish is to see Merlin free."
"My Lady, Merlin has been missing for three months. It seems doubtful that wherever he is, he is still alive..." he trailed off. She was becoming angry. Never make a Lady of the Lake angry, his mother had said.

"You show me no trust. You have no idea of the trust I am showing you, and Prince Arthur, by being here! Merlin is alive, and it is not a luxury decision of Prince Arthur's to rescue him. You cannot imagine, Sir Leon, the forces of destruction which are lining up against you. They do not comply with your lawsor play by the rules of your jousting tournaments. This battle is unlike any battle you will have ever faced. If you, or Prince Arthur, imagine you can face them alone, you are deluding yourselves to the ultimate ruin of the kingdom. I do not wish for that destruction, Sir Leon, but I cannot stop it alone, and do not imagine that now I have offered you help I will forgive a refusal."

And so it was Sir Leon went to wake Prince Arthur in the middle of the night with the confused message that there was Lady of the Lake - with his sword - downstairs, claiming to be working on their behalf against forces of evil, and with information to rescue Merlin, but, as he followed a running Arthur down the stairs, Leon added "Sire, I'm really not sure we are talking about the same Merlin."

The Lady was standing exactly where Leon had left her. She handed the sword to Arthur. "This is yours. Take it up. The time to put it down is far off."

"Er – well, thanks." What else could you say, really? "It's certainly very beautiful." It seemed to glow, even in the dank dungeon. "Interesting steel," he commented, vaguely.

"Its name is Excalibur," she added, indifferently.

"Oh. Well, lovely. Thank you. I've...never had a sword with a name before." Arthur was acutely aware of Leon behind him, and that he wasn't striking a confident leadership pose. But how to lead a conversation about named swords?

"No need to thank me, a friend gave it to me for safekeeping for you. It is fired in dragon's breath, the magic is strong. But this scabbard is as valuable to you. While you wear it, you cannot shed blood."

Arthur took the scabbard, completely off the page now. "Does it have a name?"

She returned the stare, unfazed. "No."

Arthur attempted to revive himself. "Sir Leon tells me you know where Merlin is. I have looked everywhere. I thought for certain he was lost."

"Not everywhere. Do you know the forest of Broceliande?"

"Broceliande?" Broceliande? "Isn't that in Brittany? That is well beyond our borders. That is King Hoel's land."

"They say there are fairies there, sire," added Leon, whose mood by now had plummeted so low that he felt there was no embarrassment left enough to touch him. A sense of foreboding had settled across Camelot for years, but none more acutely than at this moment. All his mother's dire warnings about the folly of alienating good magic with bad were returning to him. How, his mother had demanded, can you expect to fight the bad when you have no good to meet it?

Arthur stared at him in disbelief. "Fairies? Leon, please, get a grip." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What the hell is Merlin doing in Broceliande? How do you come by this information?"

The Lady fixed him with an insolently calm gaze. "There is no trap. I have a connection with Merlin."

"You have a connection with my servant?"

"I do. It has taken me some time and effort to find him, but I succeeded eventually. Morgause and Morgana, they imagine they possess a great power, Prince Arthur, but the only thing more dangerous than someone with great power is someone who thinks they do. They don't realise, Prince Arthur, that it is the boy. They underestimate him, his power and his cruelty. It has always been the boy. You must find Merlin and rescue him, and you must face this together."

Arthur had gone deathly pale, and his grip on Excalibur had loosened. "Morgana?"

"Yes. She and Morgause are united together against you. You must know her darkness by now, Sire. How else was she immune from Morgause's enchantment?" The Lady moved for the first time, walking past both Arthur and Leon, both stunned. "You must rescue Merlin, Prince Arthur. He has saved your life many times, he deserves the favour repaid. And if you do, please remind him of Freya."

"Well, of course I'm going to rescue him!" Arthur surfaced from his shock in disgusted outrage, but realised the Lady had left as calmly and unhurriedly as she had arrived. And he was left holding a magic sword and scabbard.

He glanced quickly at Leon's dazed face. A leap of faith, maybe, but a well-judged leap nevertheless, he decided. "Leon," he said. "Have you ever been to Brittany, then?"