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When Uther Pendragon, First of His Name and King of Camelot, announced that he was going to bring Christendom to the Druids of the Forest Sauvage, Merlin laughed. He didn’t mean to laugh. In fact, it was more of a sigh or a hiccup, but the fact of the matter was that Merlin emitted a small noise, causing the prince to turn and glare at him stonily from his throne. Gulping, Merlin took a small step back.
Oblivious, Uther continued to address the packed throne room. Courtiers in their finest gem encrusted doublets and tunics and gowns glittered in the sunlight pouring through the great windows. To the sides of the hall stood the servants waiting on their employers. Though not as ostentatious as the clothes of their masters and mistresses, their red livery was neat and expensive-looking. The fact of all those bodies packed in together caused a certain warmth to rise, turning the stone room humid. Pigeons stalked the rafters, their feathers drifting down to land on the assembly’s collected heads.
“Too long have these men and women of the forest committed their profane magics,” Uther intoned. “Their souls lie in the balance. Should we turn our backs on these poor sufferers, we would be committing a grievous sin.” Uther paused, allowing a meaningful silence to pervade the room. Merlin heard someone burp. Uther continued. “That is why I shall send my son, Arthur Pendragon, to bring these lost sheep back unto the fold. He will give them a choice: to accept upon themselves the gift of Christ, or to perish.”
Merlin didn’t see how this could go wrong.
+++
“Do you really expect to be successful?” Merlin asked the question when he knew Arthur would be least disposed to physically attack him: in the bath. “Oi!” Arthur had splashed him.
“Of course I expect to be successful,” Arthur said imperiously. “I’m the crown prince of Camelot, after all. They’ll have to listen to what I say.”
Or you’ll kill them, thought Merlin. “But the druids are…I mean, I don’t know much about them. But they’re very attached to their faith, aren’t they?”
“God knows why,” said Arthur, trailing his hand through the bathwater. “Their gods are nothing more than wind in the leaves.” He sighed and rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. “Of course, I know there’s sentimental value.”
Merlin almost scoffed. Sentimental value! The druids would never listen to Arthur, especially if he came at it this way, and he was too pigheaded to see that.
“What’s your tactic, then?” said Merlin. He was kneeling on the floor by the bath, running his hands through Arthur’s hair. Normally, he savored this moment of non-aggressive contact. The world would narrow down to the scent of soap, the splash of water, the soft slide of Arthur’s hair against his fingers. Of course Uther had to ruin it with his stupid proclamation.
“Tell me, Merlin, why would I share my tactics with someone of your rank?” Arthur said pleasantly.
Which meant Arthur didn’t have a tactic. If he did, he wouldn’t be so taciturn on the subject.
“How do you always get the bathwater to be the perfect temperature?” Arthur murmured. It was a half-thought, the kind of thing he probably hadn’t meant to say out loud, and Merlin didn’t respond. He doubted Arthur would like the answer.
+++
They left before the sun rose. The air was still cool, and Merlin savored the breeze on his face as they rode their horses out of Camelot. There were seven of them, Arthur and Merlin and five knights of the Round Table. The ride to the druids’ summer camp would take three days, days that Merlin wished could last forever. He dreaded to think of the reaction Arthur would get when he announced that he’d come bearing the saving grace of Christendom. Hopefully the druids would have the sense not to be there when Arthur came calling. With all their magical methods, maybe they knew what was coming their way.
Or this would be a horrible surprise. Either way, Merlin didn’t want to see this happen.
“Why the long face?” said Arthur, pulling back to ride alongside Merlin. “You look as though someone’s insulted your mother.”
Merlin looked down at the ground, which blurred as it passed by. “I was just thinking, sire.”
“Thinking?” said Arthur. “Did you hear that, everyone? Merlin’s been thinking! I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Normally, Merlin would laugh along, but he kept his face still and waited for Arthur to stop joking. “I think you should be careful with the druids.”
Arthur lowered his voice. “Tell me, Merlin, how do you think I should approach this then?”
He was asking genuinely, Merlin could tell. And he had only one chance to get Arthur to listen.
“We should go back to Camelot,” he said. “Immediately. The druids will never listen to you, Arthur. You know they won’t. Do you really want to kill them all?”
Arthur didn’t answer. His face was tense and drawn, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. All sense of laughter was gone. “You’re suggesting treason. Just so you know.”
“You could explain it to your father—”
Arthur laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Tell you what, Merlin. Why don’t you explain it to my father? Since you’re so keen on turning back.” Silence. “That’s what I thought.”
+++
That night, they made camp beneath an overhang. This late, the trees pulsed with shadows. Animals rustled and crackled in the underbrush. The men sat around the fire, hands cupping hot bowls of stew.
“Say,” said Gwaine when the conversation dwindled. “Have any of you actually met a druid before?”
“I have.” Elyan spoke first. “On my travels. Haven’t you?”
“I’d say it’s lucky he hasn’t,” said Percy, elbowing Gwaine. “Anyone with magic met this one, they’re like to turn him into a rabbit the second they’re displeased.”
“Do all the druids have magic?” said Leon. “I’ve often wondered about that.” He poked the fire with a stick, sending up a shower of sparks. “The druids did save my life once…” he added.
Gwaine whooped. “Now there’s a story,” he said. “Tell us that one.”
Leon sighed and shifted back and forth, getting more comfortable in his spot. “A patrol I was on accidentally crossed into Cendred’s lands. I was the only man who made it back, thanks to the druids. They gave me water from a special cup.”
“The druids never saved my life,” said Elyan, “but they’re good folk. They have their own ways, though. Worship their own gods. The Disir. The Cailleach. Emrys.”
“Emrys!” said Leon, sitting straighter. “One of them said something about Emrys, after I drank from the cup. I don’t remember what.”
“Probably a prayer,” said Elyan.
Merlin shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t hold by the druid’s opinion that he was something of a god, but he couldn’t help the rumors that got around. And now it appeared the rumors were getting back to Arthur.
“Emrys,” said Lancelot. It was the first time he’d spoken since they’d made camp. He’d been lost in his thoughts all day, an expression of concentration on his face. “I’ve heard of that god, too. I can’t think of where.” His eyes connected with Merlin’s from across the fire. He knew Merlin had magic, but was he suspicious of more? “They won’t come to Christianity easily, Arthur.”
“I know.” It was the first concession Arthur had made to the idea that converting the druids wouldn’t be as easy as all that. Merlin wished that such a small thing wasn’t a victory. “But I’m sure with a little guidance they’ll see the error of their ways.” Ah.
It wasn’t like Arthur to be this pigheaded, but Merlin did appreciate that he was under certain stresses from his father. Still, it was clear that Arthur had no idea how exactly he would bring the druids of the Forest Sauvage to realize the glory of Christ.
“I don’t know, sire.” Lancelot’s voice was measured. “Their traditions are thousands of years old. They might not—”
“They will.” Arthur rose. “It’s time to retire.”
+++
Either the druids had no idea that Arthur was coming, or they didn’t care to leave. It didn’t matter now. The druid camp was right where it was supposed to be.
The leader, an old woman with eerily perfect posture, met them at the outskirts of the camp. She was wearing a thick brown robe with the hood down. Her hands were folded atop a knobby-headed staff. Her hair was in two braids, one lying on either shoulder. They were long enough that the ends just brushed her waist.
“Arthur Pendragon,” she said, bowing her head. Then, to the knights’ astonishment, she named them each in order. At last, she came to Merlin. Aloud, she said nothing, but in his head he heard her voice as clear as a bell: Hello, Emrys.
Hello, he thought back. I have to warn you. This isn’t any meeting. Arthur’s been charged with converting your camp or putting you all to death.
Her face betrayed no sign of the words she’d just heard. “Come break your bread with us,” she said, “and we shall talk.”
+++
The tent was small, but there was room for the woman, Aida, and two attendants as well as Arthur and Merlin. Merlin suspected he wasn’t supposed to be in here, but he’d followed Arthur all the same. The five of them ate off plain wooden bowls, and for a little while the only noise was the sound of chewing. Then the food was cleared, and the talks began.
Arthur explained things straightforwardly. “We are here to extend an olive branch, as it were.” To everyone but Merlin, he showed no sign of nerves. Merlin, however, could sense the undercurrent of anxiety crackling beneath his skin. “For over twenty years Camelot has been a Christian country. My father has sent to join your yoke with ours. It is time for the druids to accept Christ.”
Aida’s gaze was calm and cool. “We decline,” she said. There was something hard to the set of her face. Merlin could sense magic snapping in the air. He sent out a pulse of warmth in Aida’s direction, but she ignored it.
“You decline,” Arthur repeated. “I’m sorry, I must not have made myself clear. It is time for the druids to be done with their old ways.”
“As I said,” said Aida. “We decline.” At Arthur’s look, she added, “Would you tell the sun to stop rising, or command the waves be still? It is much the same with this. Magic is a natural force, and it has been our way since we began. We are not interested in replacing our customs.”
Arthur took a moment before answering. Merlin could see him carefully weighing each word, deciding with what intent he would speak them. At last he said, “Your customs are dangerous. Magic is a corrupting force. No one can wield it and remain pure.”
The attending druids flanking Aida both flashed brief expressions of outrage. Aida remained more calm.
“You speak with authority of what you do not know, Arthur Pendragon. It is not a charming trait.” She chided him as though she were his mother, and Merlin could tell that Arthur felt patronized by the way he stiffened.
“Come,” she said. “We have something to show you.”
+++
The shrine was in the hollow of an old oak tree. The effigy of Emrys, wooden and painted colorfully, stood with hands outstretched, its face smooth and featureless. Luckily. Merlin didn’t like to think how Arthur would react to finding a life-size statue of his manservant in a Druid camp. It probably wouldn’t bode well for the ride back to Camelot.
“This is your god?” said Arthur. Merlin wished he could shoot Arthur a warning glance. It wouldn’t do any good for Arthur to be snide. But Aida smiled.
“Not our god,” she said. “Simply a representation.” She knelt on the ground and touched her forehead to the forest floor. Merlin shifted. He didn’t like being worshiped. It felt as uncomfortable as an unwanted sneeze. Aida was murmuring under her breath, but the words sounded clearly in Merlin’s mind.
O, Emrys, God of magic, hear my prayer. Tell the prince the truth. Turn him from the path of darkness and onto the path of light.
I’m trying, Merlin thought back. You must believe that I’m trying.
When Aida rose, she moved with the smoothness of a much younger woman.
“What do you want me to get from this?” said Arthur. “I’ve yet to see a display of this Emrys’s power.”
Aida gazed coolly at Arthur. “Emrys does not perform on command. Why don’t you show us a display of your god’s power?”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to gaze coolly back. “Jesu does not perform on command, either.”
“Well, then,” said Aida. “It appears we are at an impasse.”
“Not so,” said Arthur. “I have come here with a mission, and I will complete it.” He spoke with the confidence only a member of the royal family could have.
Aida spread out her hands before her. “Complete it, then.”
A line appeared between Arthur’s brows. “You mean for me to kill you.”
Tilting her head, Aida said, “If you must.”
And now Merlin knew her game. She was hoping to spur “Emrys” into action. This was to be her display of strength. That, or she and the other Druids would be forced to defend the camp with magic. But, as Aida must know, he didn’t like the idea of letting them defend themselves alone. It seemed cowardly to him. It was cowardly.
Merlin laid his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. For a moment, Arthur looked furious. Then he followed Merlin a few steps away.
“We should leave this place,” Merlin said quietly. “You know it’s true, Arthur.”
“No,” Arthur said coldly. “I don’t.” He looked at Merlin with muted fire in his eyes. “You’re my man, Merlin. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I don’t follow you thoughtlessly,” said Merlin, and now he was angry, too. “That’s not the type of man I am, and you wouldn’t like me if I were.”
Arthur didn’t respond; clearly, he knew this was true. The two of them looked at each other. Then Arthur turned back to the Druids.
“We will give you the night to decide,” he said. “We will come back in the morning.”
+++
Lancelot poked at the fire with a stick. Arthur and Merlin were still in the Druid’s camp, having left the knights behind as a show of good faith. Now, Lance listened to Elyan talk about the Druids he’d met before.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he was saying. “Their magic…I don’t have the words for it.”
“Magic is wrong,” said Leon. He paused. “That said, I don’t have the words for what I’ve experienced, either. What I felt when I drank from that cup…” He trailed off.
Lance wondered how Merlin was faring. He had his suspicions about Merlin. Namely, that the man worshiped Emrys. How could a sorcerer so powerful not worship the god of magic? Lance didn’t like to think how Arthur would respond were he to find out either of Merlin’s secrets.
Gwaine, who’d been keeping lookout, appeared between two trees flanked by Arthur and Merlin. Both of them looked grim.
“How went it?” said Percy, using his teeth to tear rabbit meat off the bone.
“We’re giving them until the morn to decide,” said Arthur. He took up his sword, which he’d left behind, and laid it over his knees to sharpen it. Merlin stood behind him, gazing into the flames. His expression was superficially calm, but Lancelot could tell there was quite a lot behind it.
“The Druids,” Arthur said after a while, “truly believe in this Emrys.”
Merlin laughed disbelievingly. “Of course they do, Arthur. Did you think it was a joke?”
“I’ll thank you not to speak to your prince in such a manner,” said Arthur, his words coated in ice. Merlin flopped down beside him.
“They’re not going to convert. You must see that by now.”
Arthur didn’t look up from the flames. “I see nothing.”
“Well,” said Merlin, “that’s true.” The look Arthur gave him would have quelled a lesser man, but Merlin continued. “Go back to Camelot. Tell Uther—”
“What?” snarled Arthur. “That I couldn’t do it? That I had to crawl back with my tail between my legs?” The two men glared at each other. The air between them thrummed with tension. Lancelot didn’t look away. After a moment, he realized that he was holding his breath and released it with a woosh.
Once, Gwaine had asked Lance if he thought Arthur and Merlin were bedding each other. Lance had said no, but he hadn’t entirely been sure. He still wasn’t. There was something between the two of them, a furious love that, Lance thought, would make a dangerous hate if Arthur found out the truth.
But that wouldn’t happen.
Hopefully.
“Emrys isn’t real,” said Arthur, and he wasn’t looking at Merlin anymore. “He is a false god, complete with a false idol.”
“Magic must come from somewhere,” said Merlin. “Why not gods?”
Only Merlin would still be fighting with Arthur at this point. The knights were silent, none of them eager to get involved.
“Because there is one true god,” said Arthur, “and he has made Camelot great.”
“I’m not saying your god isn’t real,” said Merlin, and he was going to say more, but Arthur interrupted him.
“Your god? Tell me, Merlin, is he not your god, too?”
There was a long, horrible silence. Arthur had stood up and now looked at Merlin head-on. The tension was even worse than before. One of Arthur’s hands clutched at the hilt of his sword.
Merlin’s expression could not be fathomed. He suddenly looked much older than his years. “If he is my god,” he said quietly, “it is through force, not through love.”
Arthur hissed through his teeth. “Go to the Druid camp, then, if you wish to align yourself with them.”
“Arthur, I don’t!” said Merlin, and now his voice cracked. “Obviously I don’t. You’re my prince. One day you’ll be my king. I believe in you more than any god.”
“And the blasphemy continues,” said Arthur. He sheathed his sword and shoved Merlin up against a tree, his forearm flat against Merlin’s chest.
“Arthur,” said Lancelot, but the prince ignored him.
“I thought you were a Christian, Merlin. Tell me, do you believe in this Emrys?”
Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t. At least not the way the Druids believe in him.”
“Then how do you believe in him?” said Arthur.
Swallowing hard, Merlin said, “I don’t. I don’t believe in him.” He reached out a hand and laid his palm flat against Arthur’s cheek. “I don’t believe in him,” he repeated.
Looking suddenly exhausted, Arthur dropped his arm and stepped back. “All right, Merlin. All right.”
+++
That night, Merlin woke in the middle of Arthur’s watch. He came behind the prince and sat next to him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, so as not to wake the men. “I don’t like fighting with you.”
“Nor I you,” said Arthur. He was looking into the woods, his expression grim. “What do you think will happen tomorrow?”
“The Druids will say no,” said Merlin. “And you won’t kill them.”
Arthur laughed hollowly. “You sound so sure.”
“I am sure,” Merlin said, his voice fierce. “You could never kill them. I know this about you.” When Arthur didn’t respond, he leaned forward and added, “It’s not who you are.”
“I’m not a killer?” Arthur said, sounding amused. “This won’t be my first Druid camp, Merlin. I’ve done it before.”
“Not this time,” said Merlin. “Not this time.”
+++
And Arthur didn’t. When Aida refused on behalf of the Druids, Arthur simply bowed his head. “Go from this place,” he told Aida, “and never return. I can’t guarantee what will happen to you if you do.”
+++
Uther, of course, was furious. “You are my son!” he roared. “You will do as I say!”
“And yet,” said Arthur, “I haven’t. Father.” He did not bow his head.
The courtiers moved nervously, waiting for Uther to send them from the room. But he didn’t. He continued to yell.
“The Druids disrespect Christ with every step they take,” he thundered. “They blaspheme with their very breath. And you let them live?”
“I did,” said Arthur.
“And so they continue to disrespect our Lord by continuing to a god who doesn’t exist!” said Uther.
And, though he didn’t know he was going to say it until he did, Merlin said, “I exist.”
Slowly, Uther turned. “Arthur,” he said through gritted teeth. “Control your imbecil of a manservant.”
Merlin laughed, then, and as he laughed he seemed to grow in stature. His eyes glowed an eerie gold. Somewhere deep within himself, he could feel something that might have been panic, but he kept it at arm’s reach.
“I have watched you trample over the gods of this land, Uther Pendragon,” he said. “And I will stand for it no longer.” Calmly, he reached out his hands and took the crown from Uther’s head. Guards rushed him, but he held them in place with a look. The entire throne room was silent.
Merlin turned to Arthur. The prince was pale beneath his summer tan. They were surrounded by people, but it was just the two of them. Carefully, so carefully, Merlin placed the crown on Arthur’s head.
Later, Camelot would speak of the day a god grew tired of hiding; the day the king was crowned. There would be songs written about it, and epic poems. Both of them, man and god, would become legend.
But right now, it was just Arthur and Merlin.
“Emrys,” said Arthur, the word both a question and an answer.