A Thunder In Our Hearts, Part 3 - Chapter 1

[nightfox]

Part 3, Chapter 1


Merlin watched as his son played in the bright sunshine of the Queen’s garden. He was just starting to toddle under his own power now and the grass was soft and cushiony under his little bottom every time he took a spill. Cynhafar had grass-stains on his tiny hands and knees but was still gamely determined to try to run after everything that caught his eye. A butterfly here, a dragonfly there, a fern leaf waving in the breeze, all were pursued with single minded attention and a stubbornness that he’d probably got in a double dose considering his parentage.

He was very proud of his son’s apparent tenacity and fearlessness, it reminded him of Arthur. Not that the child appeared anything like Arthur, or Uther for that matter. If anything, to Merlin’s eyes, Cynhafar had the look of his own mother. Everyone else examining the young Pendragon prince and saw nothing but Merlin in him. However, few of them had ever met Hunith and Merlin prayed that none of them ever would, at least not whilst Uther lived.

“He certainly seems a fearless little thing, doesn’t he?” The King’s voice boomed out from behind the Dragonlord and the unmistakable parental pride in his voice only irritated Merlin. He hated sharing his child with Uther, hated these impromptu visits to oversee their son’s progress. Merlin could see that Uther’s pride was nothing but hubris over his own prowess. There was no love for his son, just an overweening conceit for his accomplishment. He didn’t see Cynhafar as a person in his own right, only as a reflection of himself. He was living clay to be moulded in the King’s image and Merlin would be damned to forever wander the cold night beyond the veil before he’d allow that to happen.

Merlin merely nodded coolly to Uther and turned back to his son.

“It’s true, he has yet to learn caution. It will come eventually. Right now he’s too young to understand the dangers of this world. Soon enough though, he’ll learn when it’s time to be bold and when it is time to take care.”

Uther responded with his customary smug little smirk. That particular expression never failed to inspire Merlin with the desire to slap it off his face. Of course, he never did but the sight of it made his palms itch and his magic crackle beneath his skin. If it weren’t for Uther’s ownership of Merlin’s will, the man would have burned to ash a thousand times over.

“Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t take him quite as long as it took you to earn that particular knowledge. Sometimes you still act as if you’ve not yet mastered that lesson completely, my little Dragonlord.”

Hot, hard hands curled around Merlin’s shoulders from behind and he felt Uther nuzzle the side of his neck. His “training” had him tipping his head to the side to allow the man access but his skin still crawled at the King’s touch. There were teeth nipping at his earlobe and the hated voice was breathing in his ear.

“Is he ready yet?”

Those hands were wandering lower, stroking over the soft, thin fabric covering Merlin’s chest. He hated when Uther handled his nipples most of all. They were always so tender after feeding Cynhafar and had it not been for the special padded garments Gwen had cleverly designed for him to wear under his tunics, he’d be leaking milk everywhere as soon as any pressure was applied to his chest. Uther knew all this and delighted in Merlin’s discomfort, as he did in all the other discomforts he forced his Consort to endure.

“No. He is not. Not if you want to guarantee he survives infancy.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you might be stalling, Merlin.” Shoulders tensing, Merlin gritted his teeth over the pronunciation of his name that only Arthur had ever used. It didn’t belong in Uther’s mouth. “You know, if it takes much longer, I may just have to breed you again.” His hands dropped down to rub wide circles over Merlin’s flat belly. “You know…an heir and a spare? At this rate we might as well create a back-up if it’s going to be a few years before Cynhafar can be safely left without your personal protection.”

Merlin shuddered in disgust at the thought. Yes, he loved his son with all his heart but he did not want to carry and raise another son for Uther. If he ever had another child, there was only one man in Albion he wanted as its father and it certainly wasn’t the King.

“That would only prolong the period you’ll have to wait to use me in combat again, my Lord.”

He could tell Uther’s lust was up though; there wouldn’t be any escape from it today. Now it just remained to be seen if he’d receive his King’s “tribute” (as the arrogant bastard loved to call it) on his back or on his belly. He prayed for the latter, he really, really didn’t want another child from this man. If he was particularly persuasive, he might manage to take it on his knees and avoid any chance of conception altogether. It was a repugnant act but one he’d learned to live with over the years. Just one of a long list of repulsive tasks he’d been forced to perform for his master.

“Surely Gaius can look after the boy while we are gone. It would only be a few weeks if you expedite our travel.”

His hands were inside Merlin’s trousers now, his most intimate flesh in Uther’s hands. Merlin struggled to remain still, to react as little as possible to the unwanted intimacy.

“I keep telling you, Gaius knows nothing of protection and combat magic. Only the healing magics are still his to command. He’s tried but he’s too old to learn and his power is too weak to keep Cynhafar’s magic under control. Not only could someone successfully attack or abduct our son, but Cynhafar himself might accidentally burn Camelot to the ground if I’m not around.”

As if to prove Merlin’s point, a butterfly made of fire appeared in the air and started raining sparks down upon the garden as it flittered about under Cynhafar’s glowing gaze. The season had been a dry one so far and small fires began to ignite wherever the sparks landed. Merlin snuffed each with a thought. He did it slowly though, smothering each fire one by one though it was well within his capabilities to have blown them all out at once. He wanted Uther to see the destruction their child could cause if left without his father’s powers to keep him in line.

“Why is it always fire with him?” Uther asked in exasperation.

“Perhaps it’s the dragon blood. My mother said I used to start fires all the time as a child. Fair wore her to a thread trying to put them out and make me stop. Apparently I was a bit more obedient to her will, or perhaps your son is just more stubborn than I was…or more clever. She said I only did it for a few months before I began to listen to the word, ‘no’. Cynhafar will cease making a particular form of fire when I tell him to stop but he always comes up with a new one shortly thereafter.” Merlin would have probably laughed over his son’s cleverness had the King not continued to molest him as they spoke. Uther licked a line up Merlin’s neck and gave him a final squeeze before removing his hands from Merlin’s trousers.

“Go collect our son and let’s retire to my chambers awhile, it’s about naptime for him, isn’t it? I think Cynhafar needs a baby brother.”




The Druid who led the ceremony that would mark him as their ally smiled when Arthur asked for a dragon and requested that it cover his heart.

“The ritual itself provides the markings, young Pendragon, but if your intent is strong and your heart true, the magic usually answers its call.”

In the midst of shedding his clothing, as per the instructions given him for the ritual, he stopped and looked the man square in the face when he responded, “I believe they are.”

Closing and opening his eyes in a slow, serene blink, the Druid, Allasair continued to smile as he nodded simply and asked if Arthur was ready to begin. His mind full of Merlin, Arthur nodded in return and went to stand in the center of the circle several of the Druids had been creating out in the middle of a rocky clearing in the scant woods. Powders of varying hues marked out patterns on the ground in an intricate design. The colourful shapes seemed to writhe and move away from his gaze when he tried to trace them with his eyes. Small, smoky fires burned at the points of the four major ordinal directions. It took him a few moments to realize that a different scent rose from each fire. Four of the Elders stepped forward and stood between the fires. The eldest stood to the North, the youngest to the South. They started chanting as the entire camp gathered around the circle and the fragrant smoke began to drift inward against the wind, swirling slowly around Arthur.

This was it. This was the ritual which would forever bond him as an ally to his father’s most hated enemies, the Druids. The keepers of the Old Religion had welcomed him cautiously into their midst when he’d come to them with his rather ragged band of knights and magical refugees. After months on the run, traveling mostly at night and hiding from Uther’s men during the day, they’d all appeared more than a bit tattered and worn. Sirs Leon, Kai and Gareth were looking almost as bony as Merlin by the time they’d crossed the border into Cait and he doubted he appeared any better than his men. He knew the rest of his band were badly off as well and this were the first group of Druids they’d come across since arriving in the dubious haven of this barren kingdom.

They weren’t the first people they’d come across but Arthur was determined to find Druids. They were the only people he trusted not to sell him or his men out for the reward money he was sure his father must be offering for their capture. It had taken nearly three weeks to find Allasair and his group but Arthur had considered it a swift and fortuitous meeting all things considered. Even here, the practitioners of the Old Religion were secretive and difficult to find. Luck and-according to Allasair-destiny, had been on their side. Apparently there really were many things written about Arthur and his destiny as the “Once and Future King”. This meeting was no accident; these Druids had been waiting for him.

As Arthur stood naked in the center of a magical circle, surrounded by chanting warlocks and all the curious Druids of the tribe, he found that he wasn’t uncomfortable in the least. Instead, strangely enough, he felt that in some way he’d finally come home to his people, his real people. He would always love all the subjects of the kingdom of his forefathers but at that moment, he felt at one with these men and women in a way he never had with anyone from his native Camelot. Only Merlin had ever made him feel this comfortable in his own skin. Maybe it was true, maybe despite not possessing any magic of his own, in some way, he was magic, just as Merlin had claimed. How else could individuals so steeped in the Old Religion make him feel so renewed? So connected to himself and the world around him?

The chanting changed cadence and Arthur remembered Allasair’s instructions to empty his mind and allow it to be filled by the spirit of the Old Religion. Having been taught meditation as part of his warrior’s training, Arthur took a deep breath and cleared his thoughts. He closed his eyes and the chanting faded from his consciousness. Then the scented smoke filling his nostrils melted away to nothing and suddenly his mind bloomed with sensation. However, instead of some nebulous, nameless spirit, his consciousness was filled with…Merlin. He saw Merlin’s face, inhaled his scent, felt his soft skin beneath his fingertips, tasted the warlock’s sweet spice on his tongue and finally heard that beloved, husky voice fill his mind.

Arthur, finally, you’ve accepted your destiny, our destiny. We are two halves of the same whole and nothing can sunder you from me nor I from you. Know that neither time nor distance can diminish our connection for we were created together though born apart. The whole world has been waiting for our arrival since the Dawn of Time. We have been moving forward toward this time, our time, since the moment we met. The Chief Dragon and the Dragon Lord were always fated to complete and complement each other. You must defeat the Twisted Chief who has usurped your rightful place and almost destroyed the balance of the land, a balance which you must restore. If you do not, then Albion will forever dwell in darkness. Like a disease, that darkness will spread and the stability of the world beyond Albion will eventually shatter and chaos will consume the earth. He has worked tirelessly against your destiny since the moment of your birth. You must free the enslaved half of our soul from the Corrupter not only for our sake but for the sake of the entire world.

A searing pain blazed up both his arms and flashed across the left side of his chest, wrapping around his ribs like the coil and snap of a whip. Shocked by the unexpected sensation, Arthur was about to open his eyes when Merlin’s voice spoke to him once again.

I am your heart and you are my strength. Let your body show this to the world and all will know your heart is true and your conviction enduring. Believe and it will be.

Suddenly Merlin was gone and Arthur was surrounded once again by chanting Druids and fragrant incense. He opened his eyes and staggered slightly as though settling back into his own body. The rhythmic drone of the Druids slowed and came to a graceful end as Arthur stared down at his body. Dark, unfamiliar symbols trailed down both arms and deep blue bands circled his left arm above and below the elbow. A dragon did cover his heart, its tail wrapping around his ribs. As he moved, the scales flashed red to gold and silver to blue. There would be no doubt in the minds of any who saw it that it was the sigil of a powerful magic.

It was done. The success of the ceremony proved these were his people, Merlin’s people, for why else would the avatar of the Old Religion take the form of his beloved if not to bless their destiny? His heart was branded just as surely as his skin was marked. For better or for worse, his destiny was now an undeniable display for all the world to see.



Ever since Cynhafar had been born, Merlin had found that his magic was growing increasingly independent, as the days passed. It wasn’t anything he had conscious control over but it also wasn’t anything he was unhappy about. It had started when he’d blown the tower down in a fit of rage. He hadn’t intended to do any such thing. It was as if his magic, frustrated by years of restrictive control had burst forth in retaliation. Though no one had ever been harmed by any of the magical outbursts, they seemed to alarm the King quite a bit.

Merlin tended to think of it as his magic acting of its own accord rather than his own subconscious directing the power but however one looked at it, his magic had started to become a bit unpredictable when his emotions ran high. He’d told Uther it was partly his own fault since he’d long since directed Merlin to protect himself (and by extension their child) from harm by whatever means necessary. Sometimes his magic perceived an attack when his rational mind did not. Uther had reasserted that he was the only one to be exempted from such retaliatory strikes and Merlin had reminded him with a sunny smile and a slightly malicious sparkle in his eye that none of the…incidents, had had any harmful effects upon the King personally. Conceding the point, Uther had still looked spooked. After that conversation, he backed off a bit. He put less pressure on Merlin to act as a weapon and he kept his interference in their son’s upbringing to a minimum.

For now, he was allowing Merlin to dictate the environment in which Cynhafar spent his days. Merlin had no doubt that as their son grew, Uther would insist on becoming more involved, would issue more edicts and try to wrest control away from his consort. However, while Cynhafar was still too small to put to martial training, he was safe from Uther’s influence.

Even as their son grew, it would be far more important for him to learn to control his powers and only Merlin could teach him that. He didn’t want Cynhafar to suffer the way he had as a child, keeping everything secret, hidden, alternately praised and shamed for his gifts. There had been no one to help him learn to harness his powers and keep them from harming others. He’d been lucky enough to grow up in a tiny village where there were fewer opportunities for causing the kind of mayhem his developing powers might have caused had he lived in such a large, crowded city as Camelot. As it was, he winced every time he thought of the way he’d almost crushed old Master Simmons while downing a tree with his magic. Luckily he’d been able to shift the tree in time and the crusty old goat had been too focused on the tree falling straight at him to notice the gold flashing in Merlin’s eyes as he’d nudged the tree just a bit to the right.

It wasn’t just the potential to inadvertently harm those around him that made life difficult for him as a child; it was the sense of isolation. It’s a rare child indeed who wants to stand out from the crowd and even those children who crave attention want to be noted as something special, something admirable. No child is comfortable in their own skin when that very skin makes them a freak. All his life he’d been made to hide what he was and no amount of reassurance from his mother had comforted him. She told him he was special but at the same time he had to hide what he was because others would hate him for it. Being “special” scared other people so much that he could even be killed just for being what he was.

Uther was hypocritical enough to keep a magical consort and child while killing off anyone else who possessed such gifts. Cynhafar would no doubt be confused by what made him different from all the others who died by his own father’s hand whilst he was allowed to live. He would be given lessons and libraries full of books, taught to use his gifts for King and country while any other child would be drowned or beheaded for even daring to own one such book or use the most innocuous of spells. Merlin saw so many obstacles ahead it made his head spin.

As they so often did, his thoughts turned to Arthur. Would Arthur come back for him? Could he? He’d promised to find a way to free Merlin and he believed with all his heart that Arthur would find the means or die trying. But…how long would it be before he managed the feat? He knew that he and Arthur were destined to be together. That Arthur would one day rule a just land blanketed in peace and thriving with abundance but he didn’t know when their destiny would be fulfilled. Would Cynhafar already be a man by then?

He didn’t lose hope, he never would, but time was something he had no faith in. Kilgharrah had waited for more than twenty years to be freed. Would it take that long for Merlin to be rid of his shackles as well?

Practically speaking, he doubted it. Uther was itching to bring the last free kingdom in Albion under his banner. He’d wait no more than a few years before he hauled Merlin north and forced him to subdue the people of Cait, even if it meant destroying every man, woman, and child who dared to defy him. He’d lay waste to the place before he’d allow it to remain free. Merlin had seen him do it before or rather Merlin had been forced by Uther to do it before.

The people Merlin had been forced to decimate were of the Dál Riata, who inhabited a small island, and refused to yield to Uther's demands. A proud people, they had refused to bow before him and had adamantly refused to give up their wise-men and women (as the magically gifted folk of that place were called). Even after Merlin had begun reducing the island to cinders, they had fled but refused to take the knee before Uther’s tyranny. By the time Merlin had been permitted to cease the destruction, there was nothing left of the island but a smoking field of ash. The fires had burned with such heat they scorched even the earth itself down to the bedrock. It would likely be centuries before that place could again sustain any form of life; in reality, it might never recover.

Merlin suspected that Cait would not go down quite as easily as those Dál Riata had but in the end he’d be forced to destroy them as well, unless Arthur found a way to stop it from happening. He prayed to any gods that might be listening that Arthur had found what he needed in the north and was coming for Merlin. He prayed Arthur would come for him before he was forced to go after Arthur. Uther was cruel enough to do it, to force Merlin to hunt down and destroy the man he loved which would destroy Merlin in the process. His body would likely survive but he’d be nothing more than a living ghost without the other half of his soul. Arthur was what made him whole. He’d not comprehended what Kilgharrah had meant all those years ago when he’d told Merlin that he was the half that made Arthur whole. He understood all too well now.

His faith in Arthur was all that kept him going. In the darkest of his days following Uther’s vicious attack and his subsequent enslavement, it was only learning that he and Arthur loved each other with the same intensity which kept his mind together. Arthur had vowed to free him. Arthur had never failed in a promise before and Merlin knew he’d die before he’d allow himself to fail to fulfill that one. However, if Arthur died, Merlin would lose his reason for living. Much as he loved his son, without Arthur, there would be no Merlin. Should Uther force him to kill Arthur, Cynhafar would lose his maternal father for Merlin knew there would be nothing left of him.



Arthur stood for a moment, attempting to find his bearings after the intensity of the experience he had just undergone. There was no doubt the ceremony was over though the fires continued to burn, their sweet smoke still scenting the air. The Druid elders breached the circle and approached him, all of them managing to smile while still looking solemn. It was a serene, regal expression and one a corner of his mind took note of for future reference. Some part of his mind, still somehow capable of mischief, recognized that such a look, directed at Merlin in just the right circumstances would drive his other half right up the nearest wall.

Incapable of copying their solemnity, Arthur grinned in open delight at the three men and one woman before him. The lady’s eyes sparkled back at him though her facial expression remained unchanged.

“It was Merlin! He came to me and assured me that our destiny remains unchanged.” The smile faded from his face as he remembered the rest of the message. “Though he told me that it’s not just the fate of Albion that depends on my stopping Uther, he said it will effect the entire world if he isn’t destroyed.”

The Druids appeared unsurprised, their facial expressions remaining unchanged.

“Emrys was correct. You cannot destroy all the magically gifted creatures in an entire portion of the earth and expect the rest of the world to remain untainted. The earth itself has need of the practitioners of magic both great and small.“

Shaking his head, brow furrowed and mouth pinched, Arthur was confused.

“I don’t understand. Why would nature be affected by a loss of those who sap its energy?”

Allasair leaned forward, for once his face had lost its usual serene appearance. Whatever information he was about to impart was important; very important judging by the intent look upon his face.

“Once again, young Pendragon, it is about balance. I’ve told you that magic is present in everything around you. What you must understand is that everything that lives also produces magic. Like clouds and rain. Water warms to mist and rises to the sky where it cools and gathers into clouds. Then, in turn, the clouds release the water and return it to the earth.

Magic works much the same way. The magic produced all around us collects and builds and needs to be released. The creatures of magic and the people who have the gift to use and direct magical energy act like those clouds. They gather up the excess magic and release it in the form of spells and enchantments. Did you never wonder why there were still Druids who stayed in Camelot even though Uther hunted us like animals?”

Arthur nodded slowly.

“Yes, I always did wonder why you stayed. I just assumed you were attached to the land in some sentimental or religious fashion, that you felt some sort of bond that was strong enough to overcome your fear of my father’s persecution.”

“You have good instincts, young Pendragon for you were very close to the truth. We stayed because we did feel a bond to the land but it wasn’t sentiment or religion, it was responsibility. You see, someone must siphon off the magic that is constantly being produced by nature or it will build to the point where it becomes confined and begins to pressurize. With no escape, it will seep back into the earth and begin to poison it. We stayed to protect the land from an oversaturation of magic. We were mostly successful in this venture because we avoided your father’s notice at all costs. Dwelling in the wild places and rarely venturing into the areas settled by Camelot’s subjects kept us from his sight.

Then your father captured Emrys and began to use him against us. We know of Emrys, a few of us have even met him, spoken with him once or twice. We’ve had enough contact to know that your Merlin is our Emrys. We have seen that his heart is pure and we know that he is forced by his enslavement to wield his magic against us. Each time he was made to do so, it sickened him but he could not disobey. And though we knew where his heart lay, we could not stand against him. Emrys is far too powerful and Uther is utterly ruthless in his use of that power. So, the King finally managed to drive us from the land. We would have been slaughtered had we stayed and dead men are of no use to anyone. “

He paused for several moments to allow Arthur to absorb and contemplate his words, then he continued with his lesson. Because, even though it was couched in the comfortable terms of conversation, Arthur was in no doubt that he was being schooled.

“Your father has destroyed all the beings of a magical nature that he could find, making no distinction between benevolent and malevolent magical beings. Now, by using Emrys to do it, he’s finally managed to purge the land of all the people capable of directing and using all the magic that the natural world is constantly generating. Worse than that, since acquiring Emrys, he has expanded the scope of his influence to encompass all of Albion save this tiny stretch of sand and rock at the top of the world.

With no one left to siphon off the energy constantly being produced by the land, it has begun to build to toxic levels. Albion is literally being poisoned by magic. And it is no longer simply Albion. The blight is beginning to spread to the closest lands across the sea. Soon it will spread from there and encompass the entire world. However, you can put a stop to the damage and Emrys can repair it. He will have help in doing so but even if he did not, he has enough power of his own that he could accomplish the task unaided were he not shackled so tightly by Uther.”

Arthur slumped a bit. Merlin would have help. Did that mean that hewould not? He was the one who had to “put a stop to it” but how was he to accomplish the seemingly impossible task? Was he expected to end Uther’s tyranny all on his own? The concept was more than just a bit daunting. The entire reason he had come to Cait was the hope of mustering allies for the fight against his father. Had he simply aimed to save his own life he’d have boarded a ship and crossed the sea to the lands of the Dál Riata and hidden there until his father died. Shaking his head he straightened his shoulders. Even if he had to do this alone, he would. Even if the fate of the world didn’t depend on it, he would not abandon Merlin. He had already suffered unspeakably at Uther’s hand and Arthur vowed that he would free his Dragonlord or die in the attempt.

As if reading his thoughts (and for all he knew, they were) the solemn smiles on the faces of the Druids watching him gentled into something more genuine. It was the woman, she who’d stood at the Southern point of the circle, who reassured him.

“You will have assistance as well, young Pendragon. Your father has been busy making many enemies while you have been busy making friends. Your efforts to save those persecuted by Uther’s madness have not gone unnoticed nor will they be forgotten. You will find the allies you seek among both his enemies and your friends.”

Allasair spoke then.

“You’ve taken the first steps tonight, my friend, for you may now count the Druids among your friends. We shall aid you in your campaign against the darkness that threatens us all.”

There had been a general shout of agreement from everyone around them and it seemed to be the signal to begin celebrating. Arthur was pleasantly surprised to find that the formerly solemn and serious Druid-folk were truly capable of letting their hair down, so-to-speak, and a raucous revelry lasted long into the night. Arthur woke the following morning with a hangover, a new resolve and the support of a new fellowship. He had both accepted and been accepted as kin by these people and for the moment, it seemed he’d made a new place for himself in the world.



“You really think this is going to help, Gaius?”

Merlin looked dubious as he stared at the small cone-shaped wax plug in his hand. He was seriously doubtful but at this point he was willing to do just about anything to avoid conceiving another of Uther’s children.

“He didn’t forbid you to try to prevent a conception did he?”

Merlin’s skeptical expression turned sly.

“He forbade me to use my magic to prevent a pregnancy. He never said a thing about using mundane methods.”

“Well you just be sure you get that plug in high enough that he doesn’t discover it or it will mean my head.”

“My fingers are longer than his cock is. He’ll never notice a thing.”

Gaius nearly choked at such a blunt statement. He clearly tried not to laugh but it seemed the expression Merlin put on for his benefit proved too much and the elderly man guffawed quite loudly. Merlin grinned in response. His grin disappeared when Gaius produced a slim, smooth rod with a gently rounded end.

“Just in case you’re overestimating your abilities, use this to be sure it’s in as deep as you can push it.”

He took the rod from Gaius even more gingerly than he had taken the wax plug. Raising an eyebrow at his mentor he drawled, “You cannot be serious, Gaius. You want me to shove this up there as well?”

”Of course I’m serious, Merlin.” Gaius raised an eyebrow in return. “You don’t leave the rod in there, you idiot. It’s an applicator not a sex toy!”

Cheeks flushed, Merlin pursed his lips in annoyance before answering.

“Yes Gaius, I am aware of that. What I’d like to know is, once I use the applicator, how am I supposed to get this thing back out of me?”

“You don’t. Your body’s natural humours will cause the plug to shrink over time and it will slip out on its own and you’ll need to replace it with a new one. I’d say that will probably be every five or six weeks.”

“I see, and what if it decides to ‘slip out’ while Uther is up close and personal?”

“Then I’d say you’ll be in for a world of trouble my boy. Only you can decide if it’s worth the risk. I can’t think of anything else to keep you from conceiving whilst he’s so determined to get you with child again. With women there are cycles that dictate the relative level of fertility at a given time and the associated risks with engaging in sexual activities during those various periods of time. However, from what I can determine about you, my boy, it seems you are fertile all the time. There are no cycles and safe times. If the King manages to hit the proper target, you’re likely to be pregnant immediately. Normally, a Dragonlord could control his fertility with his innate abilities but since you don’t have control over any of your abilities, you’ve no such recourse.”

They both looked down at the contrivance Gaius had managed to devise on short notice and Merlin had to concede that the risk of being caught was outweighed by the benefit of not having to bear another child for the sick bastard who owned his life. If Gaius was willing to gamble this dangerously for his sake then Merlin was prepared to risk it as well. The odds of Uther actually being inside Merlin when the plug loosened and slid out were slim but real. It wasn’t as if Merlin wasn’t used to playing dangerous games with the risk of deadly consequences, he’d been doing it since the moment of his arrival in Camelot. Gaius had been playing alongside each and every step of the way. This latest subterfuge wasn’t so very different from the days before his supernatural biology and sorcerous powers had been discovered.

“Alright. How do I make sure I’ve got it in the right tract?”

Gaius grimaced slightly.

“I gather that you haven’t gone….exploring? I mean, you haven’t examined yourself much since discovering your dual internal anatomy?”

Merlin shook his head most emphatically. Grimacing with his lips pinched in disgust he replied,

“No. Uther is the one who does all the exploring. Do you think I could stand to touch myself like that after everything he does?”

Gaius winced but visibly softened.

“Then I’m afraid that’s going to be yet another uncomfortable lesson I need to teach you. Trousers off and lay back on the table. I’m going to have to guide your fingers. We’ll make this as quick as possible, my boy, I don’t like it any more than you do.”

When Gaius had demonstrated what Merlin needed to do, guiding his hands to learn the correct angles to work at and his body to posture in the right position, he had Merlin insert the first plug himself and then examined him to be sure he’d done everything correctly. As predicted, it was an uncomfortable lesson for both of them.

“Alright, my boy, you’ve got it. You must ensure you do it the exact same way each time. Is that clear?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, feeling like he was fifteen again and being cautioned to not get caught using magic.

“Yes Gaius, I am quite well aware of what will happen if I do not. I’m not a child anymore, I understand what’s at stake here.”

Mouth pinching to once side, Gaius’s retort was clipped and snide but his eyes were sad.

“I’ll make up a supply of these for you. I’d advise you to keep them well hidden. Make certain they are someplace Uther won’t even think to look. Perhaps you should conceal them among Cynhafar’s changing cloths? You know you can trust Gwen to keep what she knows behind her teeth. You’ve gotten much better at evasions my boy but you are still unable to lie outright to the King.”

Merlin snorted. Oh yes, he’d become quite adept at evasion and even outright deception over the years, he’d had no choice. Then again, he supposed, strictly speaking, there had been a choice. He could have just crumbled, allowed himself to fall away and become the mindless tool Uther would probably have liked him to become. However, for all that he’d once been naïve and foolish, he’d never been spineless. He had a destiny to fulfill and no matter how bleak things looked, he’d never give up hoping it could still come to pass. He kept his faith in the promises Kilgharrah had made him, that he’d made to Arthur and most especially to the ones made to him by Arthur.

He had little recourse when given a direct order by the King but over the years, he’d become a master at ferreting out the loopholes Uther left in the commands he gave. Merlin was careful in how he exploited those loopholes because while Uther wasn’t the greatest mind of his generation, he certainly wasn’t a stupid man by any means. He might be blinkered, hateful, power-hungry and megalomaniacal, but he was not stupid. Merlin simply exploited the blind spots created by the man’s character flaws to thwart Uther whenever an opportunity to do so presented itself. They were tiny victories in the grand scheme of things but they helped Merlin keep his despair at bay. Each small win helped him hold his sense of self together and reinforced his faith that one day, Uther could be defeated and all of Albion freed from his cruelty.

Thanking Gaius,.Merlin returned to the nursery used only when he had to be away from his child. There, one of the only two people Merlin trusted enough (and who were brave enough) was looking after Cynhafar. Gwen smiled in relief when he entered and Merlin could smell the tang of oily smoke in the air. He glanced around looking for new scorch marks in the sparsely furnished stone chamber and noticed that a newly replaced table was nothing more than a pile of ash with several pieces of broken crockery scattered among the ruins.

“I’m just glad he doesn’t have your ability to set stone aflame, Merlin!” She sounded cheerful but he could see the slight pinch between her brows and the tired slump to her shoulders as she sat near the small cot his son only used when Merlin was otherwise occupied. Usually Cynhafar slept with Merlin or in a sumptuous little cot set up in the King’s chambers. Merlin rarely let the boy out of his sight and then only with either Gwen or Gaius to look after him.

“Oh, that will probably come to him in time.” His remark was casual and matter of fact and for a moment Gwen looked seriously alarmed but then she must have detected the mischievous sparkle in Merlin’s eyes and she stood up and tried to lightly smack him on the shoulder. Naturally, her hand was stopped several inches from his person but she got her message across.

“Don’t do that to me!” She exclaimed, “He’s getting harder and harder to deal with as he sleeps less and runs around more. The last thing I need to worry about is him literally burning the castle to the ground. I’d quit, I swear to you Merlin, I will quit as his nursemaid if he ever sets fire to a single rock!”

Merlin grinned at her and for a moment he felt lighter as he teased his friend. The woman had become the sister he’d never had.

“Quit the cushiest job in the palace? I mean really Gwen, it’s not like you don’t get paid extra for the hazards inherent in the job and how often do you actually have to look after him? A few hours here and there? One tiny little flaming rock and you’d give all this up?”

He gestured around the barren room as if it were the most sumptuously appointed chamber in the palace instead of a half-empty safety zone designed to contain the frequent fires the infant Prince was constantly setting.

“In an instant, my Lord,” she drawled without missing a beat. The title was used mockingly and Merlin was proud that at least he’d managed to wear away the deference she’d first tried on him after Uther had made him his consort. When he’d officially named her as the Prince’s nursemaid, she’d once again tried to treat him like a noble (she argued that he was now her employer ) and he’d resolutely refused to accept it from her. Uther had insisted that a prince had to have a nursemaid as a matter of form. He was allowing Merlin to raise their son personally (and really, once Cynhafar had started showing signs of being powerfully magical, he saw the sense in Merlin’s insistence) but he was determined that all the formalities would still be observed.

As far as Merlin was concerned, Gwen was the only person for the job. Since Morgana had disappeared, she’d more or less been doing odd jobs around the castle, filling in as a laundress, kitchen scullion, and chambermaid. She also ran errands for Gaius and occasionally acted as a maidservant for the visiting nobility that arrived in Camelot without their own servants. She never complained but he knew she missed both Morgana and the stability of a regular position. He couldn’t do anything about the former but when Uther had demanded he find a nursery maid for the Prince, he knew he could finally remedy the latter problem.

As Gaius’s sometime-assistant, she had been granted permission to lay hands on Merlin if he required medical treatment but other than that, she too was banned from touching Uther’s consort. The man’s memory was long and he hadn’t forgotten that at one time, everyone in the palace had thought Merlin desperately in love with Gwen. In this rare moment of relaxation, Merlin reflected how nice it would have been if he could have received a hug or even a comforting hand to the shoulder from his oldest friend in Camelot. But no, Uther was so insanely possessive that no one was permitted to touch his prize, his most valuable commodity. Merlin was under no illusions that Uther saw him in any other terms. He was a thing, a piece of property, a weapon against Uther’s enemies, an invincible bodyguard for both he and his offspring, a broodmare for the Pendragon dynasty and his own personal sex toy. A sex-toy that he was convinced was universally coveted by all who looked on it. This delusional paranoia was both a source of deep amusement for Merlin and the cause of his crushing sense of isolation. He was touch starved and he knew it. The only hands to hold and caress him made his skin crawl. Until Cynhafar was born, he’d been completely denied the warmth of any welcome tactile comfort.

He tried not to smother his son but he couldn’t help but want the boy with him all the time. He let Uther think the need to have Cynhafar with him was born purely of protective instincts but it was as much for his own comfort as it was for his son’s safety. Thankfully, his baby was still young enough not to mind Merlin’s clinginess and his uncontrolled magical abilities were enough to justify his constant hovering. Gwen seemed to understand and though her eyes often looked worried when he cuddled and snuggled his baby, the worry was always softened with obvious affection for both father and son.
Cynhafar certainly didn’t seem to mind. He reached for Merlin as often as Merlin reached for him. He reached for Gwen and Gaius as well but never for Uther. However, the King didn’t seem to find anything amiss in the situation and Merlin found it both amusing and reassuring that his son seemed to instinctively discern who genuinely cared for him and who did not.

He’d only been about three months old when Arthur had fled Camelot but he’d shown a decided preference for his big brother. The affection was mutual. Arthur had been so good with Cynhafar that it made Merlin ache. It should have been him. Arthur should have been his baby’s father, not his brother. It was clear to Merlin that Arthur would be an excellent father, proving yet again just how different he was from his own father.

As they often did, his eyes subconsciously sought out the window as he thought of Arthur. Gwen was used to the way he’d fall into these pensive moods and sat quietly beside him, seemingly content to just be there for Merlin and his son. As it was positioned adjacent to the King’s chambers, the view from the nursery showed him nothing but the courtyard but he wasn’t really seeing the landscape in front of him. Instead his mind’s eye conjured images of Arthur, far away and safely hidden from his father’s henchmen. Visions of Arthur gathering an army of allies, of him making plans, of him finding a way to free Albion from the terror and tyranny of his father’s rule dominated his musings. And always, always there was a prayer to whatever gods might care to keep Arthur safe and to someday bring him back to Merlin.



As he tied back the heavy canvas flap that acted as a door to his quarters, Arthur contemplated the early morning view before him. Life in a Druid encampment wasn’t an entirely alien experience. It shared many aspects in common with life on campaign. He had a folding cot in a simple tent, a small portable lamp perched on a collapsible table next to the cot, and a coal brazier to keep the northern chill at bay. True, the blankets on the cot were worn and rough but they were still a warm and heavy comfort. And if the rug that covered much of the floor was of braided rags rather than finely woven silk and wool, well, it was actually softer under his feet than the richer alternative. His own trunk of carved golden-oak sat in the corner holding most of his belongings, the bulging leather saddle bags beside it held the rest.

No, his living quarters weren’t wholly unfamiliar, nor was the food on offer. Standard camp fare, porridge and salt pork for breakfast, dried meat and flatbreads for midday and usually some kind of pottage or stew for supper, it was perfectly adequate nourishment, if a bit tasteless and boring. The only variation came when Arthur or another of the willing hunters with the group managed to bring down some of the game that was so scarce in this part of the world. Fish were also welcome additions and Arthur finally mastered the technique for spearing the swift moving creatures that Merlin had attempted to teach him so many years ago.

Shirtless, he lightly stroked the faintly raised edges of the Druidic symbols that now marked his left arm and as ever, thought of Merlin.





So many things Merlin had tried to teach him, so many truths he’d tried to tell him and so many times Arthur had laughed in his face or dismissed him with a haughty sniff. The fishing lessons had outwardly amused him but inwardly amazed him. Merlin was so clumsy with a sword, it had come as a shock to see how gracefully he handled the long, sharpened stake as he straddled a fast flowing stream. Each foot balanced precariously on a slick river rock as the water rushed between his legs, his arm held sure and steady. His aim was true more often than not; when the time came, its movement was swift as a striking snake. He had wondered how Merlin could perform such an athletic feat so well when he could barely keep his feet beneath him and his arm moving when given a proper weapon.

He ached and it had nothing to do with the chill that stiffened his exposed flesh. His small tent was missing something vital. There was no bedroll on the floor beside his cot. No clumsy, loyal Merlin sleeping on the ground beside his own raised bed. From the time he’d become Arthur’s servant, Merlin had accompanied him on every campaign, every patrol and every single one of even the simplest overnight trips. It didn’t matter if he left to hunt, to fish or to simply escape the pressures of the coronet that clamped round his head like a vise, Merlin was always there. For more than two years, Merlin had stuck close to Arthur’s side whenever he was away from Camelot’s sheltering walls. It made no difference that for the better part of twenty years, Arthur hadn’t ever shared a tent with anyone else. Once Merlin had made that place for himself, it was as if he’d always occupied it. It didn’t matter that Merlin had been gone from his side longer than he’d actually been there. The empty space still pained him like an amputated limb, the severed nerves forever raw, forever reaching out for what had been sundered from them.

Cynhafar would be talking and walking by now. It hurt to have missed those milestones. He knew that the child was technically his brother but from the moment he held him, Merlin’s baby had felt like his own. He wanted to be that boy’s father so badly it was a physical pain in his heart. He worried for the child almost as much as he worried for Merlin. Before he’d been forced to leave, he’d seen the golden glimmers beginning to show in the depths of the cornflower-blue of the boy’s eyes. He supposed it was inevitable that any child of so powerful a warlock as Merlin would have some magic. He just feared what his father would do when it became impossible for Merlin to conceal it from him.

Then again, considering the hypocritical delight he took in Merlin’s magic, perhaps he would welcome a son with magic of his own. After all, Cynhafar was a Pendragon and as such, he’d be Uther’s to manipulate and control. Arthur shook his head in negation. He’d not allow Cynhafar to be brainwashed as he was. He’d not allow Merlin’s child to grow up so desperate for his father’s approval that he would turn his back on every decent moral impulse he’d inherit from his maternal parent. He’d not allow Uther to do to his brother what he’d done to Arthur. Nor would he allow Merlin to sit by helplessly and suffer that to happen to his son. It was past time to rescue his family from the warped creature that held them captive.

Arthur crossed his arms over his belly, mindful of the tender skin across his chest and ribs. The dragon that now coiled around the flesh there had its claws raised though Arthur wasn’t sure if they were meant to strike or to defend. Perhaps they were meant to do both as it was now up to him to do the same. He glanced down at the dragon and found comfort in the dual nature of the symbol. He was a Pendragon, a Chief Dragon. Merlin, the other half of his soul, was a Dragonlord. He remembered how the vision-Merlin had called his father the “Twisted Chief” and he contemplated the appropriateness of the sobriquet.

Uther was twisted, in both mind and spirit and most importantly, in purpose. If the Pendragon was supposed to be the Chief Dragon then it followed that he should be led by the Dragonlord, not the other way around. According to the Druids, this was how his family had come to be so named. Just a few generations ago, the House of Pendragon was the sworn ally and staunchest supporter of the Dragonlords. They had been raised from obscurity by their devotion and loyal service to the men who shared blood-kinship to the majestic, magical creatures.

Despite all their power, very few Dragonlords had ever sought to rule over anyone. For untold generations, farther back than even the Druids had recorded, they had sought harmony with nature and balance with the Old Religion. Some lived as the Druids did, adopting a semi-nomadic lifestyle at one with the earth and its magic. Others lived as simple men of simple means and still others lived as respected nobles, revered for their powers and their ancient lineage. However, over the course of countless millennia, none but a handful had ever sought to become Kings or rulers of men. Leaders? Yes. Rulers? Rarely. Then among those few who sought to use their given powers for their own gain were usually reined in by their kin. Only those who gained their thrones through peaceful or righteous means were left alone by their brethren to rule in peace. It was actually far more common for a Dragonlord to serve a King than to become one in his own right.

This was how it had been for thousands of years. The Dragonlords existed in harmony with the dragons and were well respected for their power and the just way they wielded it. Arthur’s ancestors had sworn loyalty and service to these noble men and had upheld those vows through generation after generation. They weren’t the only people to so serve but they had managed to distinguish themselves with particularly outstanding loyalty and staunch devotion. Thus, they had earned their place as “Chief Dragons”. They were the human counterparts to the magical creatures who also served their benevolent lords.

He spent most of his time with Allasair and Sulwen, the sorceress who’d participated in the ritual that had made Arthur one of them. As far as the Druids were concerned, Arthur was kin. From his new brothers and sisters, Arthur learned the true history of his own family and once again felt proud to bear the name he did and know that the blood that coursed through his veins was untainted. His father may have betrayed their lineage; however, Uther was but a single aberration. One that Arthur would gladly put an end to, redirecting the Pendragons from that errant course and restoring them to their proper place in world’s order. Albion might one day call him King but he knew in his heart that, as a dragon, he would serve his Dragonlord. Albion might serve him but he would always serve Merlin.

Arthur was fascinated by the tales told to him nightly by his new fellowship. The only Dragonlords he’d ever known were Merlin and his father, Balinor. Merlin’s father had lived his life as a hermit, hiding from the world in a cave concealed within a forest that had scarcely felt the touch of man. He’d knowingly healed the son of the man who’d destroyed his life and had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to return to the place that was the source of his misery to aid a city full of people who would have been happy to see the last of the fabled Dragonlords dead only days before. Yes, the man was angry and bitter but he’d certainly had more than enough reason to be and yet, he’d answered their desperate plea anyway. Merlin had told him that Balinor hadn’t yet known that Merlin was his son when he’d caught up with them in order to journey back to Camelot. He hadn’t agreed to save Uther’s city from the depredations of an angry dragon because his only child had asked it of him. Merlin had confessed that he’d only informed Balinor that he was his son after his father had already agreed to help. That Balinor had died to protect the son he’d only just learned existed said as much as anything else did about the intrinsic nobility of the man.

Then there was Merlin. A Dragonlord and the most powerful warlock the world had ever known, who’d come to Camelot in rags and served an arse of a Prince with sunny cheer and such a lack of guile that he’d appeared nothing more than a simple-minded fool to most people. Of course, he was no such thing; he’d just been young, sweet, humble and unspoiled. He’d been happy to unknowingly follow in his ancestor’s footprints by serving royalty when he could so easily have wiped them all from the face of the earth and claimed their worldly power for himself. Informed of a destiny where he would always play a supporting role, he’d never once craved the power and glory for himself. The only ambition he’d held was for Arthur to someday see him for what he truly was and acknowledge, if only in private, that Merlin had risked his life and sacrificed his dignity time after time to keep Arthur safe and happy. In return he’d lived in the shadows, repeatedly slighted and often reviled, mocked and humiliated in countless ways by a man who couldn’t admit to his true feelings until it was far, far too late.

Even then, Merlin hadn’t blamed him for anything. Instead he’d kept his faith in Arthur and withstood all the tortures of the damned with a spirit bent but not broken. He no longer suffered with a smile but he endured the unendurable with hope and an unwavering belief in Arthur. He still looked forward to a life where he would always play only a side role. He still longed only to help Arthur achieve glory and sought for himself only a quiet place at his King’s side, at Arthur’s side. Heart clenching, Arthur knew he wasn’t worthy of that level of trust and faith. He’d stood by and done nothing to alleviate Merlin’s suffering at Uther’s hand. However, he was going to. He would not fail Merlin again while there was breath in his body.

Allasair had smiled when Arthur had spoken of Merlin, or Emrys as they all called him. The Druid told him how fortunate they considered him to be, to have known the last two Dragonlords in existence. They were unsurprised by the gentle, humble nature of both men, said that they were typical of their race, typical of those who lived in harmony with the Old Religion. Emrys in particular, didn’t just harmonize with the Old Religion, he was a living embodiment of it.

His coming had been foretold for as long as the Druids had existed. In this blighted land, Emrys contained all that had been taken from it before his birth. No matter what man did, the Old Religion enforced a balance to be maintained in the world. Uther had sought to destroy magic but the task was impossible. The Old Religion wasn’t a set of rituals or the simple blessings and curses of a pantheon of deities. It was everything. It was the life energy that ran through the earth, through everything that grew in its soil or walked upon its surface. It was the air they breathed and the wind that shifted that air. It was the water that formed the clouds that rained life itself down to replenish the earth and nourish its inhabitants. It was the bedrock below and the firmament that arched above.

No man had the power to banish the world itself. Only a madman would think that he could control it and only a fool would claim that he had conquered it. What Uther had done was eliminate so many people who had possessed the ability to direct the magic present all around them that all that talent lost to the world had been returned to it in a different form. It had all returned, packed tightly into a single vessel, Emrys.

The fact that Merlin was a humble and compassionate man was no accident. He, more than any other warlock who had ever lived, must remain incorruptible because he possessed more than enough power to either rebuild the earth or to destroy it utterly. The fact that his power was now under the control of Uther Pendragon was a more desperate situation than any save the Druids and the Great Dragon could truly know. For they held the prophecies; they had the knowledge that what was happening right now was not supposed to be. It had all gone wrong when Uther had taken Emrys away from Arthur, the Once and Future King.

Arthur looked closely at the dark green symbols running down his right arm. They’d been utterly unfamiliar to him when they’d appeared on his skin during the ritual. Allasair had traced each one and explained that they spelled out his family name in the ancient tongue of the Druids, “Chief-Dragon”. His father had always postured and asserted that their name meant “above the dragon” and had claimed that his successful campaign to rid the world of the dragons and the Dragonlords proved their family’s power and destiny. He wondered when his father had first deluded himself into such a belief. Sighing, he realized it didn’t really matter. Arthur knew the truth and that was what was truly important.

He transferred his gaze to his banded left arm. There were fewer symbols etched into the skin there but they were Arthur’s alone, for the concise assemblage of angled and intersecting lines represented his name in the Druid language. A parting gift from his dying mother, she had given him a name of power and strength, introspection and knowledge, dreamtime and transformation. She had called him Bear and Allasair had assured him that by naming him so, she had departed this world having bestowed these gifts upon him. They were his to command. The mother he’d ached for all his life had given him all the attributes he needed to succeed in fulfilling his destiny. Arthur had wondered aloud why the bands embraced only his left arm and not his right and the warlock had explained that it meant that while he was destined to join the dragon, he drew his strength from the bear. The bands marked his personal wellspring, the dominant traits that were his to draw upon in times of need, the traits that made him Arthur.

The chill of the morning air began to bite hard and it reminded Arthur that he had a very important day ahead of him. Merlin was depending on him and the meeting that had been arranged for him today could very well be the key to freeing his beloved. For as much as Arthur cared about the welfare of all his people, the imperative that drove him to rise each morning and strive to find a way to topple the twisted King from his throne came directly from the burning need he had to get Merlin back, to free him from his bondage and to restore the destiny that had been stolen from them by the wrong Pendragon.





Chapter 2

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[eiralys76.livejournal.com]

“You will have assistance as well, young Pendragon. Your father has been busy making many enemies while you have been busy making friends. Your efforts to save those persecuted by Uther’s madness have not gone unnoticed nor will they be forgotten. You will find the allies you seek among both his enemies and your friends.”

I think that is the quote which I really love in this chapter, that Arthur out of necessity is seeking allies amongst the Druids and other users of magic. Uther has the ultimate weapon, and he chooses cruelty and annihalation, rather than using Merlin's powers to protect. You were right about dictators, they may start out with intentions to create a greater good, but their methods treat people as expendable, which Uther is doing repeatedly. In so doing, he is creating hatred from those he rules over. I hope Arthur can find a way to rescue Merlin, Cynhafar, his kingdom, and the people left in it.