Chapter Text
He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He must have, though, because now he’s waking up.
The first thing Arthur notices as he blinks blearily is that it’s dark; too dark to be his room in the castle, even on a moonless night. There is no hearth with a dying fire - no fire at all. Perhaps he’s out on patrol. Except…Arthur doesn’t go on patrols anymore. No, that’s not something one does as king. Something must be very wrong.
When he presses his palm to the ground to sit up, he realizes he’s not outside. The material of the floor is unlike anything he’s felt before. Where he lies isn’t the comfort of his own bed, nor is it the unforgiving terrain of dirt and moss of the forest floor. Rather, it’s smooth, like well-worn stone, but has some give like a well-filled mattress. Arthur frowns and looks around.
The place he’s in is filled with thick fog. The light grey mist is illuminated, and provides the only color in the pitch-dark space. The fog floats lazily around him as he surveys the scene. Arthur tries to get his bearings but finds there’s no telling the size of the room he’s in, if it’s even a room at all. The darkness seems limitless.
He pushes himself up to standing. The fog parts around him and he finds himself looking at his knights on the ground. From this vantage point he can see his most trusted men here with him: Leon, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan. Each is stirring, also waking up.
His eyes narrow, searching through the fog for their missing party member. If Arthur was out with the knights, then Merlin was undoubtedly with them. Yet, he sees no sign of his manservant.
Gwaine is the first up. He jumps up with a burst of energy Arthur is almost jealous of. Where he still feels distant and groggy, Gwaine seems to be his usual self. No doubt his years of waking up hungover is helping him in this situation. The knight flips his hair back. His eyes land on Arthur with a grimace. Then he smirks. “Not the worst place I’ve woken up,” he says, “but usually the company’s a little prettier.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. He begins pacing around the group to continue his search. “Do you remember anything?”
Gwaine’s eyebrows furrow as he thinks. “No,” he says, drawing out the word. He looks down. “We’re all in mail but,” he pats his hips, eyeing the spot where he was laying. “No weapons.” He looks back up at Arthur. “And you’re here. So we were probably doing something important.”
Pursing his lips, Arthur looks to the ground. It’s the same conclusion he came to. In that case, Merlin should definitely be here.
Slowly, Leon stands. He’s holding his head. “We were-,” he pauses, wincing, as if the noise of his own voice is hurting him. “-patrolling a city? South-,” he shakes his head, the memory gone.
“Southwest,” Percival grunts out. Like Leon, he also looks like he’s about one moment from being sick. “I don’t remember why.”
“Would be real nice if a patrol could go right for once,” Gwaine mutters.
Arthur ignores him. “Do any of you remember if Merlin was with us?”
Immediately, the group perks up, pain forgotten. Like Arthur, they case about, searching the area. It’s useless - Arthur has already walked the perimeter with no signs of the manservant.
“He was,” Elyan says. “Definitely.”
“I don’t-,” Percival starts. He’s interrupted by Gwaine’s shout. The noise makes them all flinch.
“Merlin!” Gwaine calls out. He’s circling the group, shouting into the fog. “Merlin!”
Despite himself, Arthur quiets. He listens intently for anything. He hopes Gwaine’s straightforward strategy will work, but he knows it’s unlikely. If the knights are having this much trouble waking up, then Merlin may still be out cold wherever he is.
Gwaine’s voice echoes far into the distance. They hear nothing in return.
Then, between the men the fog swirls and dissipates. As quickly as he can blink, the space is clear. The mist is replaced by a forest clearing. And within it, a young man in an emerald green cloak. His clothes are well-worn and threadbare. Mute, natural colors speak of a life served beyond the castle walls. The triangular marking at the base of his throat points to druid origins. Fantastic. A sorcerer.
The man is staring directly at Arthur and Arthur stares back, raising his chin in defiance. Neither he nor the man flinch when Gwaine charges. The knight sprints at the mage with a surprising amount of pent-up rage. Though probably not that surprising, considering they are still missing Merlin. Gwaine grips the druid by the lapels in a punishing hold.
Or, at least, he tries to.
Instead, Gwaine’s fists pass right through the man, as if he’s an apparition. The man - or the image of him - fades, disperses, then corrects. The vision rights itself back into the same image. Totally ignorant of what has just occurred, the man continues staring at Arthur.
Now Arthur looks closer. Only then does he see that the sorcerer seems strange: impermanent. As if looking through a window made hazy by frost, the mage’s form is fuzzy. The druid isn’t there with them, then. Despite the fuzziness of the apparition, Arthur can see the man is very young; probably years younger than Arthur himself.
“What have you done to them?”
With a jolt, Arthur spins around towards the sound of Merlin’s voice. He finds his manservant kneeling behind him. Just like the druid, Merlin seems to be standing in another world beyond where they currently find themselves. He’s disturbed by the look in Merlin’s eyes: they are hard as metal. His voice is more serious than Arthur’s ever heard it. It’s disturbing to witness.
Yet, Arthur is quickly distracted by Merlin's position. He has placed himself protectively between the druid and a prone body. Arthur’s body.
The scene expands to reveal all of the knight’s bodies lying on a grassy plane. Each of the men are clearly unconscious - all except for Merlin. The other knights wander closer, forming a circle around the vision.
“Well. This is…strange,” Gwaine mutters.
“At least we’ve confirmed Merlin is alright,” Elyan says. “Or - I think he is?”
“He is for now,” Leon says, voice quiet.
The words are ominous, but are exactly Arthur’s own thoughts. At the moment, Merlin appears to be unharmed. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s facing off against a sorcerer on his own. Normally druids are a peaceful people, but clearly this one has stepped out of line.
The man steps forward and Arthur tenses. Automatically, he reaches for his side, finding the belt empty. He has no weapons. Neither does Merlin.
Yet, Merlin raises his hand. He holds it up in warning and says, voice hard, “Stay back.”
Shockingly, the man actually stops. As if Merlin poses a real threat.
“I’m doing this for you, Emrys,” the man says.
Merlin raises his brows, skeptical. “For me? You think this," he waves his hand, indicating the unconscious knights, "is something I want? I’m not interested in harming the king. Surprised you missed that fact.”
The druid shakes his head. “You misunderstand. They are not in danger.”
Merlin scoffs and stands rapidly. “They’re not waking up. Try again.”
Now the man looks nervous. He dips his head deferentially. “You have given much of your life to these people. I understand your concern. But you have been trapped for too long. I am giving you a chance to escape; I am here to set you free.”
Merlin narrows his eyes. Around the scene, the knights meet each others’ eyes, confused. Beside him, Percival mutters, “set him free?”
“If you know nothing else about me, know this: I am no prisoner of Camelot,” Merlin says. The anger in his voice makes it steely and the sound of it sends a shiver down Arthur’s spine. He’s never seen Merlin like this, even against their most dangerous enemies.
“Perhaps. But you’re a prisoner of destiny.” The man takes another step, his arms stretched wide and imploring. Merlin doesn’t flinch, but the rest of the knights tense. Merlin should leave. He should run and get help. The longer he sits there and listens to this mage, the more likely it is that he won’t escape.
“But no more,” the man continues. He gestures to the knights on the ground. “These people take and take. You may think them your friends, but they know nothing of the sacrifices you’ve made for them. And once they learn they will simply cast you aside.” He curls his hands into fists. “They don’t deserve you. And you don’t deserve to be tied down by so-called destiny.”
The words sound preposterous, but Arthur feels something. A stirring in his gut that speaks of trouble. It’s not unlike the feeling he gets just before dodging an unexpected enemy swing. Worse still: Merlin doesn’t look confused or shocked by the words. Instead, he looks…exasperated.
Merlin sighs. He looks upwards, towards the sky. “I was sent to Camelot by my mother,” he says, slowly, as if he’s concerned the mage won’t follow if he speaks at his normal pace. It’s catty and more than anything: dangerous. Now is not the time, Merlin. Gods.
“There was no divine power that pushed me towards the kingdom,” Merlin continues. “And nothing forcing me to remain there. Everything I do, I do for Arthur. He is my king and my friend. Destiny has nothing to do with it.”
“Destiny has everything to do with it!” The man shouts. He jumps forward, ending up only a few scant feet from Merlin now. Gwaine shouts and meets the mage, trying to use his body to block him from reaching Merlin. But again, any touch passes through the man’s body. “You ended up in the home of our persecutors because of destiny! Serving them for years and years because of destiny. Been forced to suffer and nearly die, to betray your own for people who would kill you in a heartbeat for destiny . My people, my family, all believe that destiny was worth dying for. You shouldn’t - you can’t - follow their path.”
The explosive words force the breath from Arthur’s lungs. Suffer? Death? Merlin?
His manservant has traveled with them into dangerous situations - that much cannot be denied. Yet, Arthur and the knights have done all they can to protect him and ensure his safe return from even the most chaotic of battles. Arthur can think of only two times Merlin nearly died for Camelot: when he was poisoned nearly a decade earlier during Bayard’s visit to the citadel, and those long, terrifying days Merlin was missing after taking the hit from that bandit.
Who is this mage to suggest Merlin is facing such hardship? Where in the world is he getting his information? Besides, why is he so focused on Merlin to begin with? What would be so special about a manservant that a druid would go to all this trouble to seek him out?
Quickly glancing at the knights, Arthur confirms they are just as confused as him. None of them seem to recognize this man, nor the words he’s saying. It sounds preposterous. Despite that, Merlin’s anger fades. His intense stare and locked jar is replaced with a look of understanding.
“I’m sorry about your family,” he says, voice soft. The shift in tone is jarring. “Were they killed by Camelot?”
Arthur cringes but the man crosses his arms and looks away. “No,” he snaps. “The witch.”
Morgana? It’s not like her to go after her own kind for no reason. Luckily, the man elaborates.
“She wanted information,” he spits. His eyes find Merlin’s. “On you.”
Merlin’s lips press into a thin line.
“They refused to give it. It was their destiny, they said, to protect you with their lives.” He shakes his head. “Which is why you need to escape now while you have the chance. The witch is getting closer to you and you are stifled within the castle walls. Leave Camelot, find someplace safe. Train or retire, I care not. Just get away before she finds you. Or before your king kills you.”
Arthur locks his jaw. He’s had just about enough of the insinuations that Arthur or anyone within Camelot’s walls would hurt Merlin for no reason. Arthur and the knights will protect Merlin from anything, Morgana included.
“I won’t be leaving,” Merlin replies, voice apologetic.
The mage is agitated. “Why? What could this king possibly offer to you which is worth your life?”
Merlin rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing on offer. Besides, it’s not about any reward. Arthur is good for the people of Camelot and beyond. He’s a good man, period. Destiny or no, the world needs him.”
Arthur has to look down so the others don’t see the expression on his face. The words are kind and passionate. He’s seen Merlin’s devotion before, but to hear it here - when Merlin thinks no one is watching except the enemy - makes Arthur’s chest tight with emotion.
The mage is waving his hands, palm out. “Which is why I’ve used this spell. He won’t die! You can leave, conscience clear. He will still be king, and you will get your life back. No questions asked.”
“What spell?”
Now, the mage looks away, abashed. He mumbles something unintelligible.
Merlin steps forward. “What. Spell?”
Quickly, the mage responds, “The trial of the Arcane Dominion.”
The expression on his face makes it clear Merlin doesn’t recognize it. Neither does Arthur. Judging by the reluctance of the man to share the information, though, he guesses it’s not as benign as the mage initially tried to make it out to be.
“The trial takes life force as collateral. If you, as the designated champion, fail, then the king and his knights will wake up. Their life force will be used to feed the Dominion, but they will not die! They will simply be disoriented and weak; but alive.”
Merlin’s eyebrows are raised nearly to his hairline. He looks skeptical. “Right. Disorientation and weakness that lingers for…?”
“For, um, for forever,” the man says. “But-,”
“But nothing!” Merlin cuts him off, stepping into the man’s space. “Disorientation results in confusion, memory loss. Weakness means they cannot fight. Camelot would be left without its best strategists and its most powerful warriors during a time when Morgana - as already stated by you - is on the warpath. Worse still, Arthur would no longer be fit to be king. His life would be forever changed. It’s unacceptable.”
“No. They won't even know the difference. They will be content in their lives, and you in yours!”
“I will never be content while they are unhappy and vulnerable. You’re naive if you think things will continue on as they have been with your actions.”
“Why should we care if things continue on the way they have been? The way of things is wrong! Especially for us!”
Merlin turns, stepping away. He waves his hand in a clear dismissal. “I don’t have time for this.” He cuffs the same hand through his hair, looking back at the man. “How do I complete the trial?”
The mage’s eyes widen in fear at the question. Rapidly, he shakes his head. “You can’t.”
“Obviously I can or it wouldn’t be called a trial,” Merlin replies testily. “Now tell me what I need to do.”
“You’ll die.”
Arthur sucks in a breath, shocked at the surety of the words. Merlin, on the other hand, softens. He says, “I’ve nearly died more times than I can count. That threat is meaningless.”
Beside him, Gwaine’s eyes sharpen and bore into Arthur. “What is he talking about?”
Arthur feels as if he’s in a dream. He must be dreaming, right? How would any of this make sense otherwise? In response, Arthur shakes his head, at a loss.
“Perhaps he speaks of the many times he’s ridden with us into battle?” Percival suggests. Though the tone of his voice is incredulous.
Similarly, the words do nothing to soften the look on Gwaine’s face, or to loosen the ball of anxiety in Arthur’s chest. There is no doubt that Merlin has always been overly-eager to stay by Arthur’s side no matter the danger. Merlin’s bravery has always been astounding, but it has been bolstered by the fact that he was among friends when facing peril. They always rode together, fought together. At no point would he go so far as to say that Merlin has faced death "countless times".
And yet…
Merlin’s expression is serious, his posture sturdy and unwavering. He is not lying. Even more shocking: he’s ready to undertake this quest, whatever it is. Despite being alone, he’s not backing down. Could it be that Merlin has always had the heart of Arthur’s toughest warriors?
The man looks taken aback. He clearly did not expect Merlin to make this choice. A foolish expectation, truly.
“Emrys…” he whispers, at a loss for words.
“Enough with that name,” Merlin says, exasperated. “Just tell me what I need to do.”
“You don’t understand - no one has ever completed it.”
Merlin steps forward and puts a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “Then I shall be the first.” He tilts his head, trying to catch the mage’s eye. “Don’t underestimate me.”
The way he says it, with such confidence, it’s clear he’s not joking. There’s no hint of self-deprecation or banter. Immediately Arthur is concerned. Either Merlin is foolishly overconfident, or he's used to this kind of thing. Both options make Arthur queasy.
The words have their desired effect on the young mage. Invigorated, he nods his head rapidly. “Right. Right!” His eyes search Merlin, apparently finding what he needed to explain. “The spell is initiated with a selected champion and potential sacrifices as collateral. You are the champion. You must enter the Arcane Dominion and gather the eggs of the odocos gaesum dubi. You must collect one per person afflicted and apply it within four days.”
Merlin hums, considering. “I’m not familiar with the Arcane Dominion.”
The man nods sadly. “The texts of its existence have been all but destroyed. I’m not surprised you don’t recognize it. It is a place for magical beings only - a refuge. There is only one known entrance about half-a-day’s ride from here: the cave of the three sisters.”
Arthur’s brow knits together in confusion. For magical beings only. How is Merlin expected to traverse such a realm?
Merlin frowns, looking around. “Our horses have scattered. It may take too long to collect them. The timeline will be tight on foot.” He looks back to the mage with a small smirk. “But not impossible. Doesn’t sound like a death sentence yet.”
Merlin’s tone is joking, but it doesn’t land. The mage looks pale. “The first test begins at the cave of the three sisters. To enter the dominion, they require a sacrifice. Even if you get through, you will need to enter the home of the odocos gaesum dubi. It is…” he pauses, shivering, “a monster.” As he speaks, the mage seems to lose his resolve again. “It is impervious to any attacks, magic or physical.” His eyes find Merlin’s, wide. “Please reconsider-,”
Merlin only shrugs in response and it makes Arthur’s breath quick with worry to see the nonchalance. Merlin should at least pause to think about the danger. He should be concerned; hell - Arthur is concerned.
Clearly he’s not the only one as Gwaine breathes out, “Merl…”
“There’s no other way to end the trial?” Merlin asks.
The mage shakes his head, looking defeated.
“Then I have to do it. No use worrying.”
The mage’s total lack of preparation is starting to make Arthur angry. If the man didn’t want Merlin to put himself in danger, then he shouldn’t have picked this trial. It’s been clear to Arthur from nearly the first day of their acquaintance that Merlin’s loyalty is seemingly boundless. How could this mage miscalculate so severely?
Whatever this creature is, it’s monstrous to this young mage. Yet, for Arthur’s sake, Merlin is moving forward. Arthur has never suspected Merlin of being anything other than authentic with him, but to see the devotion even without an audience is awe-inspiring. He’s annoyed at Merlin for brushing off the warnings without so much as a second glance, but incredibly touched that Merlin is so ready and willing to fight for his friends.
Merlin steps back, stretching. He looks back to the knights. “Don’t worry - I’ll be back soon,” he whispers. He looks back to the mage, resolved. “Take me to the cave. Er-, um, what’s your name?”
“Ector,” the mage says, voice shaking. “And I can’t. I am to stay and preside over the trial. You are the lone champion. I’ll be watching your journey but I cannot intervene.”
“Hm,” Leon hums. “Perhaps that is why we are watching this - as members of the trial?”
Elyan blows air from his nostrils, annoyed. “Totally unable to do anything when our own lives hang in the balance?” He takes a step back, pacing around the group with his jaw locked. “And leaving Merlin to fend for himself against an unknown monster. Despicable.”
“Merlin’s stronger than he looks,” Gwaine says. “He’ll complete the trial, and I’ll buy him a pint as soon as I’m done with Ector.”
Arthur nods, not taking his eyes from the image of the two men in front of him. He is half-listening to his men’s posturing, and half-listening to Ector describe the route for Merlin.
Once done with the explanation, Ector says, “Try to avoid the odocos gaesum dubi. I have heard it takes regular treks outside of its cave. If you can get in without the monster noticing you, you will have the best luck.”
Then, Ector reaches into his cloak, pulling out a piece of tattered fabric. It’s a long strip, yellowed with age. He passes it to Merlin with a level of reverence normally reserved for the most expensive of treasures. “If you must fight, you will not win unless you have this. Even then, your chances are slim.”
Merlin studies the parchment, reading the inscription. Arthur looks over his shoulder to see words of the old religion - totally incomprehensible.
“The creature has four eyes on the top of its head. You must completely cover them with this talisman. Once the spell has activated, the creature will be rendered immobile.”
Merlin glances up sharply. “Not dead?”
“It cannot be killed.”
Merlin scoffs. “Right. Great.” He picks up his bag from the ground, tucking the parchment carefully into one of the inner pockets. “Anything else?”
“The three sisters,” Ector says. “The price they usually require is steep.”
Merlin hums, distracted as he organizes the items in his bag. “For entrance to a magical paradise I’m not surprised.”
“You don’t understand,” Ector says, his hand landing on top of Merlin’s to catch his full attention. “You cannot tell them your identity. If you do, they may take more than you can afford to lose.”
“They choose the price?”
Ector nods rapidly. “You know what they will take if they know who you are.”
Merlin shakes his head solemnly, but Arthur can’t figure it out. Obviously the sisters would not ask for one’s life - that would defeat the purpose. If not a life, then what? What is so distinct about Merlin specifically that Ector and Merlin would both be so concerned?
“I’ll keep them safe, Emrys,” Ector says. “I promise.”
Merlin raises his eyebrows. “Forgive me, but I make it a point not to trust mages I’ve only just met who introduce themselves by poisoning my friends.”
Gwaine snorts and Leon looks down with a small smile on his face.
Merlin kneels down beside Arthur, placing his hands flat to the ground beside his prone body. In front of his hands, a shimmering blue dome shoots up, encasing the knights under its semi-opaque hemisphere.
Magic.
Everything slows - Arthur’s breathing, the glide of the magic as it ascends from the ground upwards, the noise of the knights’ surprised shouts - everything.
A tunnel forms in Arthur’s vision, focused and intent. He can’t look away, so is forced to watch as Merlin’s eyes flash a bright, brilliant, terrible, awful gold.
Magic.
Arthur’s ears are ringing. He can’t hear anything except his own rapid heartbeat. Suddenly it all falls into place: the strange name, Ector seeking Merlin out, their shared concern about Merlin's sacrifice. Merlin is-,
He registers that more words pass between Merlin and Ector. He can sense the knights launching into a fervor around him. He can see Merlin move away. Merlin leaves the knights and Ector and the magical dome behind, and the scene moves to follow. Arthur registers this. He knows time hasn’t stopped, that things are still happening. But.
But…
Merlin’s eyes are fading from gold back to the friendly blue Arthur recognizes.
Gods.
Merlin is walking away, as if it’s nothing.
Fuck.
His manservant. His best friend. His confidant.
Arthur presses his palm against his forehead, then uses the hand to scrub at his eyes. He has to look away.
Merlin has magic.
Merlin has betrayed them.
Merlin is…his enemy.