Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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She had a name, but it had been over a decade since anyone had used it. The last person to speak it had been her mother, right before she died. There was power in that, and as a result she hadn't used her name since that day.

Shortly thereafter, the only other people in the world who knew her name had died as well. Leaving her and her current traveling companion as the only people in the entire world, the entirety of existence, who knew who she had once been. It stood to reason then, if no one knew her, was she even that person anymore?

It was a question she had considered often in the long years of seemingly endless travel. She would catch herself musing on it as she stared silently into a small roadside fire where they rested for the night. She would think on it as they wandered the lonely roads back and forth across the upper reaches of the Frankish empire and through the lands of the Saxons and even down into Gaul, fleeing the Mage purges of England.

Her traveling companion was also her teacher, a powerful Mage most people called Merlin. Although she very much doubted that was his real name. She had asked him once, when she was still a little girl. He had laughed off her question, but the hard look in his eyes had convinced her to never ask again.

Names had power and it was unlikely such a powerful Mage would allow his to be so freely given. It was the reason Merlin had called her Apprentice since the time he took her under his wing. As though he understood, he never once had he referred to her by her name since the night she lost her mother. Anyone they encountered over the years had referred to her as nothing but Mage, and so she embraced it as her entire identity. Her role as a Mage, and learning the craft from Merlin, consumed her until it became all she was.

Despite their nomadic lifestyle, she and Merlin were as much in hiding as the rest of the Mages. Originally from England, after the battle against Mordred and Vortigern's Mage purges, Merlin had taken to traveling the old Roman roads. Doing right in the world, as he liked to say, but there was little safety to be found even outside of England. Christianity was spreading and with it came a distrust of strangers and hatred of magic.

She followed her Master, learning all she could from him. They helped other Mages when they could be found, but it was quickly becoming painfully obvious there weren't that many left. Or if there were, they had taken to hiding from their own kind in addition to the strangers who threatened them. Not that she blamed them, her own family had been victims of Mordred's reign of terror. No one from her clan had survived the purges that followed.

~<>~

It was a cold spring night and they were sleeping beside another nameless road on their way south to Gaul. It had been hard going. The spring thaw had turned the road to mud and even their horses were struggling. Rumors had reached them of a small group of Mages settled near the city of Lyon. Merlin had been interested to find out if they were also refugees from England.

Merlin woke suddenly in the middle of the night, bolting upright on his bedroll. The old man had prophetic dreams often and after two decades on the road together, the Apprentice knew to allow her Master his space. He would speak of it only if, and when, he was ready. This one was different however. Rather than meditating on it as he usually did, Merlin shot to his feet and immediately began packing in the dim light from the smoldering fire.

"Master?" she asked, pushing herself up onto her elbows to peer across the fire. The night air was chill outside her blankets and she reached for her cloak. Nearby she could hear the quiet movements of their horses.

She raised her eyes to the trees above them. Resting on a large branch was her eagle companion. She had dutifully followed them on their travels the last ten years since The Apprentice found the eagle as a chick abandoned. She hand raised the large raptor and it had followed her ever since. She briefly connected with the bird, using it's eyesight to search for any possible threats nearby that may have cause Merlin's outburst. When she didn't seen any she pulled back from the bird and turned to the old man.

"We must leave," Merlin said urgently.

"Now?" The Apprentice asked.

Merlin blew out a sharp, impatient breath through his nose. As he often did when she wasn't listening particularly well. Recognizing it was best not to push him when his temper was so short, The Apprentice climbed to her feet and started packing her things with no further argument.

Deciding enough silence had passed she spoke up. "Where are we going?" she asked as she tied her bedroll to the back of her horse's saddle.

Merlin climbed aboard his small black mare, picking up the reins. "We must go North," he said.

"North?" she asked in disbelief. They had spent most of her life in the Frankish Empire. Occasionally, they would make small trips into other lands, but the Franks, despite the growing christianity, hadn't turned on the mages yet. "We've been traveling south for weeks to get to Lyon."

"Yes," Merlin agreed. "Lyon will have to wait." He groaned as he pulled his old body up on the small horse. He patted the mare and waited while his Apprentice swung gracefully up on her horse.

Her mount was younger and more spirited, but the Apprentice quieted the animal with a few whispered words. Her power was at its strongest with animals and she held a deep connection to the earth.

"It's time," Merlin told her cryptically.

"Time?" The Apprentice asked as she turned her horse to follow Merlin who led the way back to the road. "Time to go where?" she asked, still miffed she had been awakened in the middle of the night with no explanation just to retrace their steps. It had taken them weeks to get this far south.

Merlin turned back to his Apprentice. The moonlight glistened off his wild white hair and there was a knowing smile twisting his wizened face.

"To Camelot."

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Chapter Text

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It took them two weeks of travel before they could made the crossing to England. She hadn't been back since she was a little girl and it should have felt more significant than it did. Though this was her homeland, she didn't have any special affinity for it. Honestly, she was more Frankish than English at this point. Her thick accent would make anyone in England assume she was from the continent.

For all their travels, Merlin had avoided England. The Apprentice had always been curious about the capitol of Camelot and the busyness of the port city of Londinium. Merlin however, made it clear it was a topic he wouldn't discuss. The Apprentice assumed it was to protect them from the purges the King Vortigern had brought down upon the Mages of England.

It took them weeks before they reached Camelot. The moon was almost full as they approached the ancient city. It sat up on a hill, it's battlements looking more than a little imposing. A wide river snaked around the lower town, providing a natural moat as well as a small port to serve the town within the castle walls. Rising above the walls was a half constructed mage tower. Vortigern had been obsessed with its construction, nearly bankrupting his own country in his quest for power.

While the Apprentice was distracted by the tower, Merlin led them straight down to the docks. Instead of going out on a dock however, he moved to the shore line. His traveling boots sucked into the mud at the edges as he stood, staring down into the bay thoughtfully. He knelt beside the water, reached down, and touched his fingers to the dark water.

The Apprentice shivered as she felt the crushing power of Merlin rise around them. Gooseflesh erupted on her bareskin. She had been with Merlin since she was a little girl, but it was still impressive to see his casual display of power. It always made her feel a little inferior. No matter how hard she tried and how much she studied she would never be as powerful as him.

There was a crushing rumble, like thunder and the water rushed out of the bay like someone had pulled the plug of a basin. All the boats dropped and were left hanging from the docks like abandoned marionettes.

"Where did it all go?" she asked after a moment.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder at her. His eyes alight with power. He arched his brow. They had been together long enough to know it was meant as encouragement to prompt her into considering the answer herself.

The Apprentice blew out a frustrated puff of breath into the chilly night air and pushed her hair back from her face. She tried to think about how she would perform the magic. You couldn't just get rid of it. Magic couldn't ever be created or destroyed, only channeled, summoned, or transformed.

"Water to fire," she said after a few long moments of consideration. Fire magic could be volatile but was the easiest to syphon power into; it was greedy, it consumed.

"Steam?" Merlin asked with a rueful chuckle and a hint of mockery. "Imagine the stink. All those boiled fish? You would smell Camelot for twenty leagues off."

She sighed, feeling he needn't have laughed at her. "The sea then," she finally said. "Keep it simple, water to water. Send it out with the tide."

Merlin tilted his head to her in acknowledgement of the correct answer. She still didn't like it. Water rarely listened, it was too fluid. It served as a reminder that not only was Merlin powerful, he was also a master spell crafter to work with such a fickle element.

"Are you going to tell me why we came all this way for you to empty the bay?" she asked a little sharply. She didn't like the feeling that her Master was mocking her.

Merlin waited until the water settled before he gestured to the deep gut of land left behind where the thriving port of Camelot once stood.

The Mage moved over to the edge, staring down into what had once been the bay. The bottom was all mud and rocks that had fallen from the quarry above. Standing apart from the other rocks, only a little ways from where the shore had once been, was an odd shaped stone. In the light of the moon she caught the glimmer of steel and silver. A shiver went down her back as she felt the first brush of it's magic.

She turned to look at Merlin in shock. "Is that what I think it is?" She demanded more than asked.

Merlin smirked back at her and arched his brows.

"But..." she started to say, her thoughts racing. Her eyes flew to the half completed tower stretching tall above them, and then back to the sword. "With Excalibur we could..." she dragged off again, her mind racing to put together all the pieces on the board. "Who would command it?" She asked sharply, turning to face Merlin full on. She knew the legend of Excalibur as well as anyone, the Lady of the Lake had bound it to the Pendragon bloodline long ago.

Merlin shrugged. "Only Uther's heir can command the magic of the sword. To all others it is nothing more than a pointy bit of steel."

"But the Prince is dead."

Merlin chuckled again in that maddening way of his. "Is he?" He asked playfully, wiping his hands on his cloak to dry them.

"The King, the Queen and the Prince all disappeared the night Camelot burned. If he is not dead, then where?" She demanded.

"Hidden my dear, just like the sword...until the time was right."

"Hidden by who?" She asked.

Merlin shrugged, looking almost gleeful about being clueless for once. "Sometimes fate steps in and lends time a hand," he said cryptically.

"And...the time is...now?" She asked hesitantly, looking around them.

Merlin sighed and a strange, almost sad look crossed his face. "I'm afraid we can't afford to wait for him to be ready any longer."

The Apprentice looked back down at the sword, even from this distance she could feel it's pulse of power. "You knew where it was?" she asked, unable to hide the shock from her normally stoic tone.

Merlin arched an imperious, bushy eyebrow at his student. "Of course I knew where it was. I've always known. You think a little puddle of water would be enough to hide Excalibur from me?" he asked rhetorically.

The Apprentice stared down into the pit of mud. "What now? Are we going down there?" she asked.

Merlin snorted as though it were the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "To what end?" he asked. "Are you going to pull it from stone?" he lifted his hood back up and turned to their horses. "Now, we wait. The time is coming," he said, his voice dropping to a more guttural tone that she recognized as one he used when his gift of foresight was upon him. "He comes soon."

"So the prophecy is true then? Excalibur will free the mages?" The Apprentice asked. Her chin had a defiant set, one that told her master she would not allow him to dodge this question.

Merlin shrugged a shoulder. "As true as any of them," he said and he swung up onto his horse.

She couldn't help feeling like Merlin was being more vague than usual. Not that her Master had ever been one to give straight answers.

Merlin swung his horse back to face her. His eyes serious. "Who's to say that prophecy hasn't already been fulfilled? Uther used Excalibur to slay Mordred. Perhaps that's all the freeing the mages will get from the blade."

"I say," she replied and a cold wind suddenly picked up, tossing her hair and cloak around her.

Merlin cocked his head to the side. His Apprentice hadn't called power, but power had come to her in this time and place. She had always been a talented little thing, she worked hard, but never had she displayed this kind of casual natural ability before.

"Is that so?" He asked, and his tone was more respectful than before. He glanced around at the hills surrounding them. The wheels of fate were turning and power was thrumming through this valley. It had chosen his Apprentice. Interesting. He might have to change a few of his plans.

"This isn't what freedom looks like," she finally settled on saying and then she seemed to deflate and the power charged air dropped and she was just a girl once more.

Merlin made a noise of agreement in his throat and turned away, giving her time to compose herself.

The Apprentice's shoulders sagged and she suddenly felt very tired, although she didn't know why. She chewed on the inside of her lip thoughtfully. All the time they had traveled through the Frankish empire and the land of the Saxons, she had heard rumors that the Born King of England might return. She had always choked it up to the wishful thinking of those oppressed until Vortigern's rule. All that time Merlin had known the truth and not spoken a word of it. He often kept his own council, but for some reason she felt strangely defensive about this, as though she had some kind of ownership over it. It made no sense.

"If the rumors about the Born King being alive are true, will he come?" she asked, climbing onto her own horse. She was finding it difficult to look away from the gleaming blade. It's magic was practically humming in the air around them. She could taste it on the back of her throat. There was something about it and this place that made her not want to leave.

Merlin's gaze caught on the sword. "It will call to him," he assured her.

She tore her gaze from the sword and arched a brow. "But you don't know where he is?" she pressed. There was much Merlin knew, but the old man was less likely to admit to not knowing than he was to tell her about every one of his visions.

Merlin flashed her a cheery smile, shaking off the magic that had been riding him. "We will soon enough," he promised her. "For now, we ride north."

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Months went by. Life with Merlin returned to its usual rhythms. They traveled north of the wall to lend aid to the few that remained of their people among the Picts, far from the reach of Vortigern's men. They stopped in a village and the grandmother of a small boy greeted them. The Apprentice could feel she wasn't a Mage herself, but a low hum of power fluttered around the boy. He was maybe ten or eleven. He wasn't overly powerful, but we'll past the age he should have begun his training.

The old woman explained that the boys parents had been murdered in the Mage purges and she had hidden her grandson. She didn't know anything about magic, but she did know that her grandson needed training to learn to control his budding power.

The Apprentice waited for Merlin to tell the old woman he was sorry he couldn't help her, and provide her with directions to another mage who could take on an Apprentice as he already had one of his own. She had to fight to keep the shock off her face when Merlin said he would take on the young boy as his personal Apprentice.

The old woman burst into tears on the spot. Her relief was palpable. Having an untrained mage was dangerous. He would draw attention to himself or possibly hurt himself or others. It wasn't that the Apprentice didn't want to help the boy, but Mages didn't take on more than one Apprentice at a time. It just wasn't done.

Later that night she and Merlin sat around the fire together in silence. It was Merlin's night to make the evening meal and he stirred the pot, letting the silence hang between them. He could practically feel his Apprentice stewing. She had been more brooding than usual since they met the young boy who needed training.

"You wonder why I agreed to take the boy," Merlin said.

"I would never question you, nor challenge your decision, it's not my place," she said respectfully.

Merlin barked out a laugh. "You question and challenge more than any apprentice I have ever had in a millenium." Merlin chuckled again and shook his head. "Almost as much as he will...You'll deserve each other."

"The new apprentice and I?" she asked with a frown of confusion. After all this time together she was used to cryptic, half conversations with Merlin. With his gift of foresight he often forgot what he had and had not spoken of. She was not patient in her nature, but she had learned to wait for the old man to explain himself.

Merlin snorted as though that were the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "No, Arthur."

"Arthur?" she said the name slowly. Pronouncing it with a t sound instead of the traditional th.

"Ar-th-ur," Merlin corrected. As Mages they both knew the power in names. Her thick Frankish accent made it difficult for her to say his name but she tried a second time.

"Arthur," she said again.

Merlin nodded in approval but she still looked confused. "The Born King," Merlin clarified.

She froze, convinced she heard him wrong. "But-" she started to say.

"You will go. You will be his guide," Merlin said as though that would be the end of it.

She gaped at her master. "Me?" she asked in confusion. "But I'm still an apprentice."

"You can't be an apprentice," Merlin said. He gestured back towards the old woman's hut. "I already have an apprentice."

She stared at Merlin. He was the most powerful mage in existence, but he could be more maddening than any man she had ever met.

"I'm not a Sorceress," she argued.

"Not yet," Merlin agreed. "But once you finish this task you will be."

"And if I fail?" she challenged. "This isn't something we can risk."

Merlin made a noise of disbelief in the back of his throat. "I have never known you to fail at anything you have set your mind to," he said honestly. His compliment made her feel uncomfortable but he ignored that and continued. "It will not matter that you are not a sorceress yet. You will not fail. All our fates depend on it..." he dragged off and his eyes got that far away look.

She was too worked up to notice that he was seeing a vision in his minds eye. "He needs someone else, someone with more experience, someone more powerful. Why won't you be his guide?"

Merlin tipped his head, so his wild grey hair fell out of the way so he could look his Apprentice in the eyes as he spoke. He needed her to trust him in this. He knew what he felt when they were at Camelot and since deciding this path, it was like a lock clicking into place. Fate set on the right path.

"I know what will come to pass, girl. I have seen it," Merlin reminded her. "Perhaps if he was still a boy, raised in court in need of a father figure...but he is fully grown now, a man, and has lived a life where a father figure will not be appreciated. But you...you he will grow to trust. You will guide him."

She continued to stare at the wizened old Mage in disbelief. They both knew what was at stake. If Vortigern's power wasn't checked he would soon surpass even the power of Mordred and then even Merlin wouldn't be able to stop him. They only had this one chance. They couldn't risk being wrong about this, not when she wasn't even a full Sorceress yet.

"But-" she started to argue again.

"This is our only chance girl," he reminded her unnecessarily. "You've been itching for a chance to prove yourself, this is it. I am assigning you your final task as my Apprentice."

She looked away, back into the fire. She had wanted to prove her competency to her master after all this time. To prove to him she had been worthy of his time and investment in her training. And it was an honor to know that Merlin would trust her with something so important, but this all felt too big for her. Merlin was already a legend. She was nobody. But she recognized the gleam of determination in Merlin's eyes. He wouldn't be swayed, and she didn't want to disappoint him.

"How will I find you when it's done?" she asked nervously. There was no telling how long this task could take and the way Merlin moved he could be halfway to the east empire by then. It was a scary prospect, going out in the world alone. Even scarier knowing what was waiting for her.

Merlin smiled knowingly at her. "Not to worry, I'll find you," he promised her.

Merlin tipped his head to the side and his eyes fluttered for a moment, then snapped open. "You'd better get going," he said, without waiting for her to respond. He reached into his bag and pulled out a thin strip of cloth. "I have reached out to Sir Bedivere, he will help you," he told her and he put the cloth in her hand. "Use this to find him."

She looked down at the worn cloth in her hand. "You've been carrying around this strip of cloth from Sir Bedivere all this time?" she asked in disbelief.

Merlin turned to look at her, that strange alien look in his eyes he got sometimes was answer enough. He had foreseen it's need two decades before and kept it with him. The gift of foresight made him often seem more than human. "Trust yourself, trust your instincts. Hurry along girl. Arthur will be waiting for you."

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Chapter Text

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For one who had spent her entire life on the road, she had never traveled alone. It took three days for her to work her way back south. She found it strangely lonely without Merlin. She had been with him for almost twenty years. While he wasn't overly affectionate, he was the closest thing to a family she had since she lost hers.

She also felt strangely vulnerable out here alone, but for her eagle and her horse. She had a number of defensive spells and knew how to take care of herself, but a woman alone attracted attention she didn't want.

She scryed for Sir Bedivere's location on her first night alone while she was still north of the wall. She didn't want to venture south where she was in danger from Vortigern's men until she had a clear plan and destination. She chose a small grove of trees a ways away from the road. She gathered tinder, a few small logs, and sat, closing her eyes as she focused on calling fire to her hand. Fire wasn't one of her elements, but Merlin had always insisted she learn the basics of all elemental magic, regardless of her preference for earth magic. Fire came to her call and she threw the small tongue of flames into the dry tinder.

Once the fire was crackling she tossed her combination of herbs into it and cut off a small square of the cloth that had once belonged to Bedivere. She held the cloth in her upturned hand, closed her eyes and focused; breathing deeply until she was in a deeply meditative state. Then she threw the cloth into the fire. The flames seemed to slow and she snapped her eyes open, staring into the heart of the fire. There, in the fire she saw Sir Bedivere. The old knight was living among a group of resistance fighters and their families, hiding from King Vortigern's men.

The second part of the spell required her to wait until morning for the fire to burn itself out. Once the ashes were cool she reached inside and dumped a handful on top of a map she had spread on a rock. She closed her eyes and whispered a few words. A glow started on the map, the spark flared to life and went out just as quickly. She blew the remaining ashes off the map, revealing a small burn mark, no bigger than the tip of her pinky finger. Bedivere was perhaps a day and a half's journey north of Camelot and two days south of her current location. She rolled up the map, slid it into a pouch on her saddle bag and set off.

~<>~

She arrived unannounced at Bedivere's hideaway two days later. It was a cave system, buried half underground and well hidden in the surrounding landscape. Had she not used to magic to locate it, she would have had a difficult time.

She rode up to the entrance and sat on her horse, waiting. Surely there were guards, they would need to decide how to proceed when faced with a seemingly unarmed woman.

Moments later a group of armed men came out of the bushes, surrounding her. She kept her face perfectly impassive and didn't allow them to see any hint of fear or any other emotions on her face as they pointed bows at her threateningly.

"I am here to see Sir Bedivere," she called to the men.

They frowned at one another at the sound of her accent. One of the men stepped out from the others. He had dark brown hair and shrewd eyes. While the others seemed uncertain, he was confident and steadfast. He lowered his bow. "There's no one here what goes by that name," he said.

She turned her head to him, capturing his gaze with her own. She tilted her head to the side as she had watched Merlin do to unnerve bigoted villagers. The man shifted his weight, but he didn't look away. It made her think better of him.

"I do not play games," she intoned. "He is expecting me."

She swung down, pulling her cloak around her. Up above her, her eagle landed in one of the top branches of a tree and screamed. The men all flinched at the raptor's sudden appearance. The guard dogs started barking and she turned her head and connected with the beasts, quieting them with little more than a passing thought.

"Mage," one of the men spit out the word as though it tasted badly in his mouth. He tightened his grip on his weapon, coiling himself for an attack.

Her eyes snapped severely to the man. He took a step back in when he saw the dark glow of the dog's eyes shining out of her face. She released the dog's mind and her eyes transformed back to her usual dark brown color. The man stumbled away from her in fear.

A young man with shocking blonde hair bowed his head respectfully to her despite how unnerved he was by her casual use of power. "I'll fetch him," he promised. "Please wait here," he said respectfully, bowing his head before hurrying away.

She didn't bother waiting outside with the men who feared her. She swung off her horse and flipped the reins over a nearby branch. Instead, she followed the young resistance fighter deeper into their hideout.

It was an ornate cave system, carved into the side of the hill overlooking the lake. They were well hidden. They would have to be to avoid capture by the Blacklegs for so long. She was surprised by how civilized the cave seemed to be. They had created rooms with doors and hallways out of the natural rock, building both public and private rooms out of wood and stone. The halls were cool and she could feel a breeze blowing through from somewhere deeper inside the cave, it made her cloak swirl around her legs.

She moved silently behind the blonde man. He may not have heard her, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he was uneasy nonetheless. When he glanced over his shoulder his eyes widened at the sight of the mage following him. With her hood up, it hid the softness of her features and added an air of mystery only enhanced by her swirling cloak. For men not accustomed to interacting with mages, she painted the picture exactly how they had all imaged a mage to be.

Despite his unease, the young man knocked on the door respectfully before opening it. "Someone here to see you," he said in a low voice, using his body to hide the person in the room.

She couldn't hear the response from inside the room, she was still too far away, but she didn't slow her progress. The man in the room would see her regardless of what he said. She hadn't come all this way to be turned away at the door. She had been assigned this task, and she wouldn't fail.

"I think you need to see her," the young man said hurriedly, but she didn't bother waiting. She stepped around him into the room as though she owned it.

Bedivere was a fletcher. He was leaning over his table, sanding a new bow he had recently strung. He hesitated as the strange woman moved across the room towards the window.

She glanced out, curious how a cave could have such a large source of natural light. She kept her curiosity well hidden however. Much of what kept her people safe was that people feared what they could do. She didn't like to be feared, but for now it was useful. The rebels would hesitate to hurt her if they feared what she was capable of. 

Merlin had told her stories of Bedivere, of his bravery and his honor. He had been one of Uther's most trusted advisors and had been forced to flee the night Uther was killed along with the other loyalists. Only Bedivere and one other of Uther's knights had managed to escape.

Bedivere sat and just watched the strange woman, waiting. He hadn't had an opportunity to see her face yet, but he had been expecting a visitor.

"Do you know who I am?" She asked after a long moment of silence. Her tone was measured, almost bored. She had a thick accent, but it was difficult to place as though she had traveled a great deal, something continental. Perhaps Frankish. She turned to face Bedivere and he went very still as he recognized her face.

"I know who you are, Mage," Bedivere agreed, although not outright fearful, he was cautious.

The Mage bowed her head in respectful acknowledgement. Outside the dogs were all howling once more. She turned to the door and tipped her head to the side as she focused on reaching for them with her mind again. They all fell silent once more.

Bedivere's eyes widened though otherwise he didn't acknowledge what she had done. "I've seen you in my dreams, you've been sent by Merlin."

Merlin promised her he would reach out to Bedivere through dream walking so the old knight would know to expect her. She could dream walk, but when she did, she could only see what the other person was experiencing. She had never been able to influence the dreamer.

"Then you know why I am here."

"So, you will be his guide," Bedivere said.

There was a question in his gaze. One she had expected. Perhaps everyone would wonder why Merlin himself had not come. She certainly wondered that herself. If they successfully overthrew Vortigern, the legend of the Born King and Excalibur would live on in infamy. She was not nearly as experienced as Merlin, and everyone knew it. Bedivere may actually have met the old Sorcerer during the war against Mordred.

"You will help me," She intoned, her eyes daring him to contradict her.

Bedivere nodded. There was no argument on his face. His eyes looked over her shoulder to where she had silenced the dogs, but he didn't ask about it. Sir Bedivere had known Merlin, had fought beside him and King Uther. He was familiar enough with mages to be wary of The Mage, but not outright afraid. Her people had been in hiding for almost twenty years now. Most she would encounter on this task would not be familiar with Mages, nor the magic they wielded. The majority of the population had been either in support of, or too frightened to contradict, King Vortigern's purges of the Mages.

"Where do we begin?" Bedivere asked. "The sword has revealed itself, but we did not know until Merlin came to my dreams that Uther's son Arthur had survived. How did Merlin know?" He asked.

The Mage arched a brow imperiously. "Merlin knows and sees many things. If Uther's heir were dead Vortigern would have been able to pull the sword from the stone."

Bedivere paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "How do you know the sword is trapped in stone?" He asked.

"I've seen it," she said.

"The sword only recently revealed itself..." Bedivere started than he hesitated and shook his head at his own foolishness. "After a freak incident with the river draining..."

The Mage didn't respond to his prodding, instead she stared into his eyes unblinking until he looked away.  Bedivere turned and let the subject drop. He knew Merlin. While strange, the old man had always been warm and quick to put people at their ease. This Mage was very different.

Bedivere glanced behind her, but she seemed to be their only visitor. "Did you travel here alone?" He asked with a sudden concern. As a young lady, it was appalling for him to think of her out without an escort. She couldn't be much more than mid-twenties.

She felt a spark of temper rise. His tone implied he didn't think she should have been on the roads alone. "I assure you, I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

"Oh I have no doubt," Bedivere quickly agreed. "Otherwise Merlin would not have sent you. What is your name?"

"Mages don't give their names," she explained.

"Yes I know that, but if we are going to work to find Arthur together I need to call you something."

She frowned at his question. She hadn't really considered this to be an issue. "Mage is fine," she said after a moment.

Bedivere nodded and didn't look like he was going to argue. "Had we known about Arthur we would have searched for him...not left him. So how do we find him?"

The Mage turned to face him. "The sword will find him," she assured him. "It calls to him even now in his dreams."

"And in the mean time?" he asked.

"You and your men must be ready. We have much to prepare.

~<>~

It took a week. The Mage was given a place to stay in the caves. And Although the Rebels were cordial it was obvious they did not consider her one of their own. Many were cautious around her or avoided her all together. She didn't do much to dissuade their feelings. If they disliked Mage's she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of trying to change their minds. She had been forced to run from bigots her whole life. She was done running. She wouldn't apologize for who or what she was.

She was out in the forest when she felt it. Bedivere was with her and even though he was not a magic user he also felt it. The magic was like a shockwave after an earthquake. The small pebbles at her feet bounced and the trees shuddered and groaned. The Mage jerked as it hit her and she whirled around. Her eyes searching their surroundings but there was nothing to see. Just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

"Mage?" Bedivere asked uncertainly.

"It's time," she said in a hushed voice.

"You mean-" he started to say.

"Get your men ready. We must go to Camelot. Excalibur has awoken." 

~<>~

Bedivere sent five of his best men with the Mage. Their spies had found that Arthur had indeed pulled the sword from the stone and now both he and the sword were in Vortigern's custody.

The Mage hadn't anticipated this scenario. She had hoped they would find Arthur without his uncle capturing him. It complicated matters. Now, Vortigern had scheduled Arthur's execution and she and the rebels would need to intervene before the executioner's ax swung.

Luckily for them, Vortigern didn't seem to be satisfied with merely killing his nephew. He had decided to make a public display of it. A public display took time. Time the rebels used to plan a rescue.

It was a good plan, but one that hinged entirely on her ability to move from animal to animal.

"They will have dogs and horses," Bedivere assured her. "Have you done something like this before?"

"Yes," she responded, although she didn't tell him that she had never attempted to control so many animals at one time before. "When it's done, I may be weak," she told him. Hating that she had to admit weakness.

"Rubio will get you out," Bedivere said, gesturing to the blonde young man who had first greeted her so respectfully. Of all the men in the group going into Camelot to retrieve Arthur, he was the one who had seemed to be bothered by her status as a Mage the least.

The Mage nodded to Rubio in appreciation. "Make sure you get the sword," she said, turning to the other men.

"And Arthur," Bedivere added wryly, but there was something in his gaze that belied his light tone.

"Did you know him?" the Mage asked after a moment of consideration.

Bedivere and Bill would not be joining them in the rescue attempt. They both claimed to be too easily recognizable by the Blacklegs. The element of surprise and their ability to blend into the crowds was absolutely necessary for their plan to work.

Bedivere nodded. "But he was very young. He will not remember me."

"He will need a reason to trust us," The Mage said thoughtfully as she remembered Merlin's words. The old man had seemed convinced Arthur would trust her, but she had no idea why.

"We're rescuing him," Rubio argued as though it would be enough.

The Mage snorted and shook her head. She was not so naive to think the Born King would trust blindly. "What have your men been able to discover about him?" The Mage asked.

Bedivere looked away in shame. "He grew up on the streets. Raised in a brothel. He has developed quite the business extorting protection money from local merchants. He has several Blacklegs in his pocket...he is well respected and feared..." Bedivere shook his head.

"Interesting..." The Mage commented thoughtfully.

Bedivere's head shot up and indignation flared through his eyes. "My oldest friend's son was left to be raised a thief on the streets and all you can say is interesting?"

The Mage shrugged. "Interesting that he created a kingdom to rule. Ambitious even..."

Bedivere hung his head in shame. "I have failed Uther. What sort of King will his son be now?"

It took The Mage a moment to realize Bedivere was actually expecting her to answer his question. She exhaled. "We are all of us more than the sum of our pasts," The Mage responded, remembering a time when Merlin had soothed the pride of a knight who had failed his Lord. "It was not a failing on your part. You had no way of knowing the boy had survived."

"I should have looked," Bedivere said.

"Had you done so you might have been caught, and would not be here to help guide him now. Fate has a way of making fools of us all," she said, quoting Merlin. She wondered what the old man would think if he heard her now, spouting off his prophetic whimsies when she used to get so upset with him for doing the same to her.

Bedivere nodded, looking slightly mollified by her words. "Safe journey. Bring him back."

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

The Mage crouched on the scaffolding within the construction of Vortigern's mage tower. She didn't like being so close to the tower, even half completed, she could feel the budding power within tingling along her skin and thickening the air. If she had ever had any doubts about Vortigern's ill intentions they would have been laid to rest just by feeling the residual trace amounts of his greedy power. She wanted to get the Born King and Excalibur and get out as quickly as possible.

While it wasn't her first choice of hiding place, the resistance fighters had chosen the spot for a reason. The edge of the cliff at her back dropped straight down one hundred feet and provided an easy escape. She had never been afraid of heights, but it was a long jump down into the river. Far enough they hoped the Blacklegs wouldn't dare follow when they made their escape. Percival and Rubio had assured her, they had tested the jump and the water below was still deep enough even after the water levels dropped.

The men worried what might happen if they failed and had provided her with the easiest escape if they didn't make it. No one said anything outright, in fact the four resistance fighters had all but ignored her on the trip to Camelot, but she gathered Bedivere had warned them to look out for her. No one wanted to risk Merlin's ire, and Bedivere had made sure everyone was well aware she was his protege.

She crouched low, wrapping herself in the thick cloak she had borrowed. A woman dressed in trousers drew attention and she didn't want to draw attention. She could hear the noise from the crowd just out of sight. Thousands had come to attend the Born King's execution and see if the rumors were true. The large Blacklegs presence made for a somber and fearful crowd, but it was not enough to dissuade the people. The crowd would help them. The more chaos she could create, the easier chance they had for a clean escape.

Two of their men were close to keep an eye on her and guard their escape, but far enough away she couldn't discern their movements from the crowds. She needed to be left alone so she could concentrate.

Distantly, she could hear the captain of the guard mocking Arthur before the gathered crowd. She wondered at his stupidity. Based on the rumors about him, a man like Arthur would not forgive such a slight if he survived. The captain must have been very confident in his position of power over the Born King.

It was time.

The Mage closed her eyes and reached for her eagle. The large raptor was always close at hand. She swept in, dropping swiftly towards the raised dais where the Born King was bound to the executioner's block. She flapped the bird's great wings, driving the man in the black hood away from his axe.

An uneasy murmur went up from the crowd. She broke the connection with the eagle and reached for the Blackleg's horses. The horses formed a line between the dais and the crowd. She slid in and out of them, not staying long enough to directly control individuals, but enough to sow discord. The horses reared, swinging around frantically and the crowd began shouting in fear. The horses broke the line that kept the crowd back.

The Mage touched her eagle's mind once more. People were screaming and panicking as the guards fought to rein in the misbehaving horses. As the horses whirled and kicked Rubio and Percival rushed for the platform.

She drew in a shaky breath and released her eagle. Fatigue wore heavily on her. She had already connected faster and to more animals than she ever had in the last. But she needed to do one last thing. As soon as Rubio and Percival were through, she reached for the guard's dogs that surrounded the platform. They weren't like horses, there was no herd instinct she could drive. Instead she had to go through each individual, inhabiting them. Their loyalty was hard to break, but she pressed her will against their's and she managed to turn them on their masters.

"Take the king!" the captain of the guard screamed as the dogs attacked their own troops. There were screams from the women behind them. The rebels charged the stairs. The guards abandoned their post and turned to protect Vortigern.

Releasing the last dog she sagged forward and touched her eagle once more. That connection was normally almost effortless, but she was more drained than she could ever remember. Through the eyes of her eagle she saw their men grab Excalibur and free Arthur. Arthur hesitated for a second, but Rubio grabbed his arm, and dragged him towards their escape route.

She released her eagle as the three of them but the scaffolding. She sagged forward, touching the ground with her fingers to steady her. She felt dirt beneath her and sighed as it grounded her.

Percival grabbed The Mage's arm, breaking her focus and physically turned her towards the cliff as the others approached. She staggered. She had never reached for so many so quickly and it had taken it's toll. Her head was pounding and she felt shaky. She pushed past it and didn't hesitate as she turned and ran for the cliff, jumping off the cliff.

The drop took longer than she could have imagined. It took so long she had a moment to enjoy the freedom of flight in her own body instead of through her eagle. She hit the water and it knocked the air out of her lungs. She felt stunned and a strong hand grabbed her arm and hauled her to the surface.

She came up coughing and sputtering and swam towards the shore. Once he was confident The Mage was fine Percival followed.
Only three of their five made it into the water. They swam for the other side. Percival pulled The Mage from the water and she coughed and gasped. Her whole body felt heavy with the strain of what she had done. She hung her head as she fought to catch her breath, but she refused to show the weakness she felt.

She turned and came face to face with the Born King for the first time. She caught herself, hesitating in surprise. He wasn't at all what she expected. The way Bedivere spoke of him, she had expected him to be more rough looking. Arthur was good looking, with wary blue eyes and blonde hair brushed back from a handsome face. His chiseled jaw was covered in a short beard that somehow seemed to enhance his features instead of conceal them. He had the build of a fighter, his wet shirt clung to his chest showing his broad shoulders and trim waist. His blue eyes were hard and suspicious as he looked over their small group.

"We need to move!" Percival called. He gripped The Mage's arm to steady her, but his eyes locked on the Blacklegs still standing at the top of the cliff, firing arrows towards them even though they were out of range.

"Do I know you?" Arthur asked, looking up at them in confusion. He had perhaps expected to be rescued by his own people.

"You will in a minute," Rubio said and he pulled out a length of rope to bind the Born King's hands.

Arthur's eyes narrowed and darkened dangerously. "Not going to happen," he growled. He didn't care who these fools were, as much as he appreciated the rescue, he wasn't going anywhere with them.

The Mage pulled away from Percival and her head snapped to the side as she watched The Born King. His voice resounded with power and authority that spoke of him being used to people doing as he said. This was a man who could be King.

The Mage turned to him, lifting her chin. "Either the ropes, or we leave you for your new friends," she said, jerking her chin towards the Blacklegs guards working their way down the cliff.

Arthur looked over his shoulder, indecision in his eyes. His gaze landed back on the small woman standing in front of him. She was a tiny little thing, barely coming up to his shoulder. But she stood among the chaos and violence surrounding them like the calm eye in the center of a storm. She met his gaze resolutely, her dark eyes glimmering with challenge.

"We don't have time!" Rubio called urgently as the arrows landed closer. "We have to go."

Her wet hair and clothes clung to her, but instead of looking like a drowned rat she looked fierce and powerful. Her accent was something continental, frankish maybe, but instead of being sexy and smooth like the Frankish girl who had worked in the Poppy. Her tone was stern and brooked no argument, like a disgruntled schoolmarm.

Arthur grinned and took a step towards the small woman. She was right, he didn't really have any other options, but that didn't mean he was going to make it easy on her. The men with her bristled, but didn't step up to do anything about it. He noted that they not only followed her lead, but also left her to take care of herself. So she was the boss. Intriguing.

He held his wrists out to her, a challenging glint in his eyes. "Well, you'd better tie me up fast then."

The Mage's jaw tightened, the Born King was playing a game, one she didn't especially wish to play, but seeing he was not going to be moved on this, she reached for the cord from Rubio. She stepped closer to him, her arm brushing his chest, and tied the cord tightly around his wrists.

~<>~

They had been on the road for barely an hour before Arthur started talking. Once he let the woman tie his wrists together the two men had hoisted him onto a horse and set out at a brisk pace. One of the men had the lead of the horse Arthur sat upon.

The Mage trailed behind the group, keeping her eye on the sky. Periodically connecting with her eagle to make sure they were not being pursued and to watch the aftermath of their escape. She felt no small amount of pleasure at the sight of the Blacklegs guard stomping around the dais shouting at his men.

"Is someone going to tell me where we are going?" Arthur asked impatiently. Surprisingly he didn't seem tense or concerned with being held captive. More annoyed really, like the whole situation was an inconvenience. When the others didn't bother looking at him he glanced over his shoulder at the woman. He lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

It rubbed the Mage the wrong way. His simple expectation that they would all bend to his will ate at her patience. He certainly had the ego to make a king. Whether or not he would be a good King remained to be seen. Although she had a hard time seeing anyone being a worse option than the one currently sitting on the throne.

"No," She said simply.

"No," he repeated. Arthur heaved an annoyed sigh but seemed to decide she was the one in charge. He shifted himself, and swung around so he was sitting backwards on his horse and facing her so they could have a conversation more comfortably.

"So what is it you're looking at then?" He asked, his eyes lifting to the sky.

It bothered her that he noticed so quickly that she was watching the sky for her eagle.

When she leveled her gaze back on him a flirtatious smile lit his face. He voice dropped an octave and it was impossible not to notice. "Have you fallen for me as I've fallen for you?" He teased, flashing her a suggestive look.

The Mage hesitated for a moment in surprise. She had spent her entire life training to be a Mage, she had never once been moved by a man, no matter how pretty his face. And the Born King was pretty, but he knew he was, and was wielding his good looks and charm like a weapon.

"You should be careful-" he continued in that honey smooth voice of his.

His flirting also grated on her nerves and she immediately became frustrated with herself for her moment of distraction. This man grew up in a brothel and was little more than a con man. He knew exactly what he was doing and she wouldn't fall victim to it. He was a means to an end. The quicker they completed this task, the quicker she could return home to what little remained of her people.

Even though she knew it was juvenile, she had the incredible urge to wipe the smug look off his face. She connected briefly with his horse, making it rear. Having turned to face backwards, he couldn't catch himself, no matter how good of a horseman he was. He crashed to the ground at her horse's feet.

"That's a neat trick," he quipped although he didn't look the least bit upset. Instead, he had the gall to grin up at her with an amused smile lighting his face.

Arthur tilted his head as he gauged the woman's reaction. She was a tough one to read, kept things close to the chest. But unless he missed his mark she had perhaps warmed to him for a second. Then her impatience and anger at his flirting got the better of her. So despite the tough shell, she could be shaken up if the need arose. He leaned forward and smiled at her, because that seemed to upset her the most. "You'll have to teach me how to do that."

The Mage glared down her nose at him in annoyance and turned to the others. "Put him back on his horse," she commanded regally, and she kicked her horse into a run, spraying sand in the future king's face.

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

They traveled the rest of the day and finally found a place to make camp. The other two men built a small fire a little ways away from The Mage.

She didn't blame them. Many were uncomfortable being around a Mage. The Born King, however chose to stay near her instead of with them. She wasn't sure if it was him deciding she appeared to be an easier target or if it was genuine curiosity. Nothing about the Born King appeared to be genuine, so she sat stiffly, waiting for him to attempt to overpower her and make his escape.

It confused The Mage when he didn't try to attack her. To the point that as she cooked them food, she purposefully left her dagger in easy reach to test him.

Arthur sat back and watched the woman move around her small fire. He found he rather liked to watch her. Though she was small and feminine looking she moved with a sense of purpose and power. It wasn't the kind of power he had encountered and cultivated on the street nor was it the type that was born in a castle. Her power was something much less civilized and much more at home in the wild. It was striking.

When the Born King didn't attempt to escape, she found she was almost disappointed. While it hinted at a more agreeable nature than he had shown them thus far, it wasn't promising for the depth of fortitude the fight ahead of them would require. She peaked out of the corner of her eye at him, but he was sitting against a rock looking for all intents and purposes as though they were having an afternoon picnic.

Deciding to try a different approach, she lifted her chin to the sky and connected briefly with her eagle, calling her to them. The great bird had a wingspan as wide as Arthur was tall. She fluttered her rich chocolate colored wings as she came in to perch on a rock just over her mistress's shoulder.

"Oh hello," was Arthur's only response as the eagle shook out it's feathers. The large bird kept its yellow eyes locked on the small woman crouched over the fire. "It's quite dangerous being one of your lot isn't it?" he asked, refusing to show how much the large bird unnerved him. He didn't like the look in its eyes. It was even more wild than it's mistress. And he had decided the bird was hers to command. Now that it was up close he recognized it as the creature who had delayed the executioner. It could be no happenstance. No doubt the bird was what she had been watching for while they made their escape. Which could only mean one thing..

The Born King hid behind his constant banter and quips. A full day with him and she was ready to tie his mouth shut. Why Merlin thought she would be a good match to be his guide she would never know. She didn't possess the patience for dealing with this man. Her temper was too short and she was quick to be annoyed with the mindless banter he seemed to feel the need to fill the air with. But she would not fail in her task. She was already so close. She had the King, the sword and the resistance fighters already. Giving them the push they needed shouldn't prove too difficult. Vortigern was a monster who needed to be stopped.

She took a piece of meat off her plate and held it out to the raptor. The great bird took it gratefully and nipped at her fingers, looking for more. She stroked a hand down the bird's neck, soothing her, and the eagle leaned into her touch. They had been together since the eagle was an abandoned hatchling almost a decade before. She had just been coming into her powers at the time and the bird was the first animal she had ever connected with. That and the frequency she used the connection made using her eagle's eyes as her own almost second nature.

"Good with animals aren't you?" Arthur continued as though they had been in the middle of a conversation instead of him mindlessly chattering at her. "They have a word for that, don't they?" Arthur pushed, trying to catch her attention. "Mage," he said it like it was a death sentence. And it was, in many parts of the country.

Arthur watched her curiously. He had never met an actual Mage before. He had heard a lot of rumors though, none of them nice and none of them that prepared him for the lovely young woman sitting in front of him. He didn't like feeling out of step and it made his tone harsher than he intended. "I thought your kind was outlawed, I've never met one of you in the flesh. I thought you'd be taller... and have a beard."

Unable to stand it, she shot to her feet and whirled on him. She had seen what lurked behind his eyes. It was annoying that he worked so hard to hide it behind the guise of the obnoxiously chatty con man. It ate at her temper until her anger snapped in her dark eyes.

When she stood and faced him she could see the gleam of satisfaction in the Born King's eyes. Hating that he had pushed her to a reaction she bent down and lifted a plate of food. She moved towards him and set it in his lap as though that had been her intention all along. She had to bite her lip to keep from letting his see how badly she wanted to dump the meal on his head.

The look in his eyes told her he didn't buy it for a second, but he nodded gratefully for the food all the same.

"Try to get some sleep," she advised him. "We will leave at first light."

"What? We ain't arriving tonight? We're sleeping out here?" Arthur asked, feigning outrage. If he was honest, his curiosity was peaked and there was too much heat for him to show his face in Londinium just yet. Besides, he rather enjoyed the red flush of anger that mottled The Mage's cheeks when he managed to make her lose her temper. Most women used rouge to fake such a glow. But he couldn't stay. The lads and the women from the Poppy would all be in danger by now. He couldn't leave them to suffer because of him.

"Why? Are you scared?" She challenged. She wrapped her cloak around herself, pulling up her hood and laid down near the fire.

"Scared?" He asked pulling back indignantly. "Hardly," his face transformed then into something very serious. "Look, I appreciate the rescue, and the meal, but I got friends, family, a life to get back to. People who depend on me."

She pushed herself up onto her hip and cocked her head to the side. She hadn't excepted the fierce protective look in his eyes as he spoke of those they had left behind. "If you are who they say you are, the only family you have left is Vortigern."

The Born King's eyes blazed with temper for a moment and once again she saw the glimmer of the king beneath the mask. She had to work hard to not pull back from the fierce look he shot her.

"Blood don't make family."

She nodded in agreement, still trying to work out this sudden sincerity in the man who had been so flippant all day.

"Look I went along with your little game here," he said, lifting his tied hands. "You can keep the sword, I don't care about that. But I got people who depend on me to get back to," he said and with a flip of his wrists he was free of the bindings.

She contained her surprise. She was good with knots, but the Born King was clearly a crafty one.

Arthur rose to his feet. The other men jumped up drawing their swords, ready to fight. Arthur settled into a crouch. He had seen the two men fight, and he was fairly certain he could easily overpower them without hurting them too badly. Just a few bumps and bruises as payback for the kidnapping. The Mage however was an unknown entity. It was unnerving that she hadn't moved yet, and it drew his attention even more than the soldiers advancing on him.

The fire blazed higher than his head and he saw The Mage's eyes change. The beautiful dark brown color changed into an eerie light amber. A chorus of wolf howls sounded all around them, but he could see the wolf within her.

"You will not get far," she promised him. Her tone was calm and powerful, her accent thicker than before as she concentrated on her hold of the she-wolf's mind.

Indecision flickered in Arthur's eyes as she drew the pack in closer. Their movements were visible just beyond the line of the firelight, nothing but a flash of movement in the dark. The other men looked even more nervous than Arthur.

When he still looked like he was considering a possible escape she pulled the wolves in closer. The she-wolf snapped just behind his heels. He flinched forward, but instead of looking at the wolf he stared at her as though he knew the difference and could see it, where the others could not.

Arthur held the eerie amber gaze of the mage and settled back down holding his hands up. "All right," he said in surrender.

The tension suddenly dropped. The fire settled and the pack backed away. One of the other men sheathed his sword and went back to tie Arthur back up, but Arthur still watched The Mage. There was something regal about The Mage as she held the mind of a she-wolf. Arthur caught himself watching her. Her movements were controlled, but there was power about her that hadn't been there before.

Arthur held himself still as the young fighter tied him up, far too loose to actually restrain him. Once he was secure the Mage blinked, letting go of the wolves. Her shoulder sagged for a moment and she sucked in a breath as though she were winded.

When she looked back up at him The Born King was still watching her, assessing her. His calculating look made her think she had misjudged him. Perhaps as he had misjudged her.

She rose to her feet and went to inspect the knots. She knelt before him, studying his hands closely. These knots would be slipped even easier than the ones she had used previously. She took out a second length of rope and made sure he would not be able to escape a second time. When she looked up she was almost startled to find him so near.

Arthur was still watching her as her nimble fingers worked the knots into something that would take a knife to get him free of. He could feel her heat, and the brush of her cloak as she worked. The other fighters were all but forgotten, he had already catalogued them as insignificant. The Mage turned back to them and jerked her chin dismissively sending them back to their fire. They sheathed their swords and obeyed without a second thought. This too Arthur noticed. He had suspected it, but this proved she was the boss. They were almost as wary of her as he had been of the circling wolves.

Tying off the last knot she looked up at him and spoke in a low tone that the other men wouldn't hear. "If that is what you worry about, your friends escaped," she promised him. "The Blacklegs were too concerned with following us to bother with them."

Arthur frowned at her, his thoughts churning. "That's what you were watching," he finally decided. "With your Eagle."

She nodded once briskly, her mouth mashed up in a harsh line, and stood, moving back to her side of the fire. Before she could step away, Arthur's bound hands came up and touched her forearm, stopping her. She stiffened beneath his hand and he released her immediately, not one to impose himself when she practically flinched under his touch. Arthur made a mental note to never touch her again.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

She dipped her chin uncomfortably. She hadn't expected him to be appreciative. Arthur was shaping up to be more than she expected. She moved to her pack and pulled out a blanket from her bedroll. Knowing she had just trussed him up so he wouldn't be able to move all night, she laid the blanket across his broad shoulders so he wouldn't be cold when her small fire burned low.

Arthur nodded a thank you as he accepted the peace offering.

~<>~

They set off before dawn the next day. Percival insisted on covering the Born King's head with a sack the next day when they drew close to their hideout. She wasn't sure why they bothered if he was to be their ally. Besides, he was from the city, and it was clear by his behavior he wasn't comfortable navigating in the wilderness. After what Vortigern had done to his friends and his home, not to mention trying to murder him, it was unlikely the Born King would betray the rebels location to the Blacklegs. But she supposed he hadn't necessarily proven himself to being a willing ally by trying to escape the night before. Keeping him from being able to escape before reaching Bedivere would probably help. If he didn't know where he was, he was significantly less likely to set off into the wilderness alone should he get free.

"You do know I can see through this right?" Arthur called through the light linen bag. He tilted his head from side to side, peering through the thin woven fibers. "Trees everywhere."

Much to her relief, after the men had put the sack on his head, he seemed to take it upon himself to try to get a rise out of Percival and Rubio. He turned his significant energy into them and ran his mouth all day. Impressively, he had managed to get Rubio to almost hit him within the first hour. Percival still hadn't broken.

She hung back as usual, taking the time to observe their interactions. She needed to know them better if she was going to help them defeat Vortigern. Both Rubio and Percival were good men, loyal to Bedivere to the marrow of their bones. They had also conducted themselves as respectfully as possible towards the Born King considering they had kidnapped him. They truly believed in putting him on the throne. And while they would do what was necessary to get him to Bedivere, they had done nothing that he couldn't forgive. It would be an easy line to cross, but they navigated it flawlessly. Bedivere had chosen his men for this mission wisely.

She felt badly about the men who didn't make it. Normally, it was just her and Merlin taking risks, and she had always been the Junior of the two of them. If anyone was going to get into trouble it was going to be her. There was a lot more responsibility bringing people less experienced than herself into a task such as this. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. She had always been rather solitary. Both out of necessity and because after the loss of her family she didn't feel any inclination to expose herself to the potential for that kind of loss again. Merlin had always seemed safe, he was as close to being immortal as a being on this earth could be.

"Would you just shut-" Rubio finally snapped.

"Rubio!" Percival corrected severely.

Behind them Arthur started cackling. He glanced over his shoulder to look at her, proving he could easily see through the linen bag, and laughed again. At least one of them was having a good time.

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

When they arrived back at the resistance's camp The Mage swung off her horse. Without looking back at the others she marched straight up to Bedivere where he and Bill were waiting at the mouth of the cave.

She followed their gaze, back to where Rubio and Percival were helping the Born King down. Despite still being bound, he stood calmly in the face of so many strangers, his shrewd blue eyes taking in every detail. She turned back and looked up into the old knight's face. "It will not come easily," she warned him. "He has control of his temper, and is...difficult."

"I think we can manage," Goosefat Bill promised her with a sly smile. "You could say it's my specialty, pissing people off."

"See that you do," she pushed. "We need him to use the sword and connect with the magic." She shrugged the strap of the scabbard over her head and held Excalibur out to them. "I doubt he will do it because you ask nicely. He is not what you think he is," she advised them grimly.

"I think he's Uther's son," Bill said flippantly, flashing a confident smile.

Bedivere took Excalibur from her with a certain amount of reverence and though The Mage knew Goosefat Bill liked to pretend otherwise, she watched pain flicker in his eyes at the sight of the sword. Both of them had served in Uther's court and had been his trusted friends and advisors. They had protected his family, likely even Arthur as a boy. If it would pain them to manipulate him now, despite their history, they didn't show it.

"You rest," Bedivere suggested. 'We'll handle this."

The Mage shook her head, "I want to see it, I need to see it," she told them and she moved into the open communal space outside the room where they would bring Arthur to wait.

~<>~

There were no raised voices. Although that didn't surprise her. In all their time on the road the only raised voice had been Rubio. Everything the Born King did had been controlled and measured. After spending two days with him, she was not convinced it would be as easy to push him into doing what they wanted as Bill seemed to think.

Bedivere walked out of the room, looking exhausted by Arthur less than five minutes after going in. It made the Mage feel better about her own patience to know that the accerbic Born King had already shaken the normally unwavering knight.  Bedivere walked out into the main area, leaving the door open behind him. He glanced up towards Percival and nodded once. Percival's hand dropped to his belt and the Mage quickly recognized Excalibur on his hip. Percival shifted, turning his sword hip towards the center of the room.

There was a crack of flesh on flesh, and the Mage jerked towards the noise in surprise.

"Now that would have hurt a lot more if I had left the ring on!" Goosefat Bill called back over his shoulder as he sauntered into the main area, taking up position opposite Percival.

The Mage tipped her head in wonder at the man who decided to slap the Born King. Looking through the door, she could see his profile in shadow. The Born King held himself perfectly still for a moment, as though he were composing himself. She felt a small smirk tug at her lips. She hid the expression deeper within her hood. Perhaps the old friends had managed to shake Arthur up after all. She tried not to show how pleased that made her.

Arthur prowled out of the room. "I see what you're doing," he said, his voice deceptively light despite the danger in his posture.

Maybe she wouldn't have known Goosefat had succeeded if she hadn't seen the look in his eyes on the riverbank. He had shown his true self there for a moment, and now she could see some of it in the way he held his shoulders. She remembered how fast he had been when he escaped her ropes the night before and briefly wondered if Goosefat was prepared for what he had brought down on himself.

"You want me to do something razzle dazzle with that sword. I'm going to tell you right now. I'm not getting drawn into this mess. There's an army of you, there's only one of me. I haven't had a fight for years. You wanna talk?" he asked, feigning a light, hopeful tone, his ice blue eyes wide and guileless. "I'm happy to talk."

The Mage bit my lip as she watched him adjust his stance. He looked over the group of men surrounding him. The only sword within arms reach was Excalibur. She watched his eyes lock onto it for the briefest of moments.

"But there is no way that I am fighting-" and he struck. He punched Goosefat in the throat, whipped around and kicked Bedivere between the legs, and headbutted Percival. Percival recoiled back and Arthur grabbed the sword at his hip, kicking the other man back to clear some space around himself. He was used to brawling on the streets, used to making the fight as fast and devastating as possible. The Mage understood and respected the tactic. Even being a mage she was small, and needed to take her enemies down before they ever saw it coming.

The Born King drew Excalibur from its sheath at Percival's hip, settling back into a confident crouch, holding the sword in one hand. The Mage wasn't sure if he knew it was Excalibur or not. It would be better for them if he didn't. He side stepped expertly, that dark look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine that she didn't quite understand.

Bedivere was still hunched over, breathing through the pain. He gestured to Goosefat to engage. Goosefat grabbed for the sword on Rubio's hip and whipped back around to face off with Arthur. There was power in Arthur's movements but also absolute control. He had been taught well. Goosefat took some experimental swings before engaging him in earnest. Goosefat was used to being one of the most experienced fighters in the group, and Arthur was still just playing with him. He kicked him aside, sending Goosefat sprawling into a pile of grain sacks like a boy just learning to fight.

"Is that it?" Arthur challenged, swinging around the room. He was surrounded by twenty men, but not a single one of them made a move towards the Born King. Bedivere gestured to the men on the right side of the room. Percival drew another sword and five others moved toward him.

A small, confident smile twisted Arthur's lips pleased at the prospect of a challenge. The Mage felt her stomach dip at the sight of it. Here he was. The man who would be king. He raised the sword and she moved to get a better line of sight. He turned to face Pervical and lifted his other hand and closed it around the hilt.

The Mage felt the magic rise around him. As intoxicating as it was wild and uncontrolled. Arthur jerked like he had been struck and grunted. He was fighting it. His eyes glossed over and reflected the light like a cat's but frosty blue, like the magic surging within Excalibur itself. His whole body jerked again and his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped over unconscious.

Everyone in the room froze in shock, but The Mage was already moving to him. She reached down and laid a gentle hand on his chest as it rose and fell. He was breathing steadily as though he were asleep.

She lifted her gaze and met Bedivere's. "He's fine," she told him at the look of concern in the old knight's eyes. "He's just unconscious."

"Well that would be inconvenient," Goosefat snapped impertinently. "Hard to use a magic sword to defeat our enemies if it makes him sleep. Anyone else seeing a problem with this?"

The Mage frowned down at the sword. For all his insolence, Goosefat wasn't wrong. The blade lay innocuously, inches from the Born King's fingers. The magic should have come alive at the touch of Uther's heir. Instead, it had fought him. Something wasn't right about the magic.

She turned to Bedivere. "Bring him," she said and she stepped unceremoniously over the Born Kings body. She stooped and picked up the sword leading the way deeper into the caves.

Rubio and Percival hefted his body between them and deposited him on the cot in the room they had set aside for him. They seemed hesitant to leave him in her care, or perhaps they were just unnerved by her lighting a fire in the brazier in the center of the room with nothing but her magic. Bedivere waved them off when they would have lingered, leaving him standing awkwardly in the doorway as The Mage knelt beside Arthur.

She had already forgotten the others, turning her focus to the Born King. Asleep, all of that charismatic personality was still and quiet. She wouldn't say he looked exactly innocent. He was too restless for that. Every muscle seemed to be drawn and tight even when he was unconscious. His eyelids flickered and she realized he was dreaming.

Curious, she reached for him and pulled a few hairs from his head and moved to the braizure.  In his sleep he was vulnerable. Dreamwalking had always been one of the powers she excelled at, although she didn't use it often. There was rarely a point to it and she wasn't a voyeur who enjoyed entering other's dreams just for the sake of it. Once she learned to control it enough so it didn't happen by accident, she ceased to use the power. Now she thought she might understand why Merlin had been so adamant she mastered the ability.

She slammed Excalibur into the center of the flames. She needed to know what was wrong with the magical connection and she just might be able to reach him through his dreams. There should be no reason for him to not be able to access the sword's magic. There was also no reason for him to be as resistant to his destiny as he had been. She quickly mixed together a group of herbs with his hair and threw it into the flames. They turned blue as the magic flared. She knelt before the sword and clasped it with both her hands. 

She connected to him faster than she ever had anyone in her life. The power of Excalibur provided a shining connection of power bound directly to him the led her straight in. She felt him moving through his dreams. She closed her eyes and saw Arthur as a small boy. Saw him witness the death of his mother as a spear pierced her abdomen and she fell into the river. The Mage turned as he did and she gasped as she saw the specter that had wielded the spear, wreathed in flames as it stalked menacingly towards Uther. The specter raised the ax in it's hand as it closed in on Uther.

"Run son!" Uther shouted and young Arthur looked away in terror.

Arthur jerked, fighting to pull himself from the horror of the dream before it was finished. The Mage huffed impatiently as he woke, expelling her from the dream realm before she learned what had truly happened that night.

Back in her body she heard Arthur gasp awake. He jerked up on the small cot. When he spotted her, he relaxed and leaned forward, scrubbing at his eyes.

"You are resisting the sword. The sword is not resisting you," she told him, her hand still wrapped around the hilt of Excalibur. She could feel the tendrils of power dissipating like a morning fog, rejected by their master.

Arthur made a sound of disbelief in the back of his throat. "It should be clear to you by now that whatever it is you and your friends want from me, I am not it."

The Mage turned to look over her shoulder at him. Her hair swept around her. "Not yet," she said cryptically. 

"Not ever," he growled, his eyes lighting with determination as he held her gaze.

The Mage narrowed her eyes on the Born King. "What do you see when you hold the sword?" she asked. In his dreams Uther told his young son to run, and he had. He had turned away and fled. Arthur was still running. He needed to stop running and accept his destiny. "It is something you have seen before isn't it? Long before you ever touched the sword..."

The pain that clouded Arthur's eyes was answer enough for The Mage. Unfortunately, it also pulled at her in a way it shouldn't. For that brief second the pain he felt called to her and she wanted to help him. She had a task to complete and she couldn't do so until he accepted his destiny and claimed the throne. She was not here to be his friend, she was here to guide him on his quest...and yet...it wasn't in her to ignore another's pain. She pressed her lips together and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "You don't sleep well, do you?" she asked, her voice a hint softer than it had been before.

"Do you always speak in riddles?" he challenged.

She had pushed him too far, unnerved him with her insights and her powers. She looked away, it was always the same. Foolish of her to think it might be any different here. She would only ever be a Mage to these people. She looked down at her hands. "What if I could make the dreams go away?" she asked.

The Mage saw a flicker of hope in his eyes and she thought, just maybe he would consider listening to her for even a moment. There would be no forcing or manipulating Arthur into doing anything. She could see that now. He would have to decide on his own that much was clear to her. Having his cooperation to discover the block in the magic would be much easier than having him continue to fight her. Merlin told her Arthur would trust her, she would need to give him a reason to do so.

Arthur stared at The Mage. He could see now she was older than he had first thought, maybe only a few years younger than himself. Her small size made it easy to underestimate her and the power she commanded. He wondered how many fools had made that mistake. With her power upon her it was like there was a light shining out of her eyes. He didn't like her cryptic questions, hinting at things only he knew in the darkest places of his heart, but she just might be able to help him.

"Why are you here?" He asked after a pause. His eyes flickered around the room.  He hadn't missed how the resistance fighters all cut the Mage a wide berth. "You aren't one of them." He said confidently. Arthur was good at reading people and while they respected her, they didn't consider her one of their own. They watched her out of the corners of their eyes, as though they were wary of her and her powers.

The Mage turned and met his gaze unwavering. "I'm here for you," she said and then she turned back to the brazier and jerked Excalibur out of the flames. "And because of this," she said honestly. She slipped it back in its sheath and leaned it against the bed beside him.

Arthur sat back on the cot. He hadn't thought much else could surprise him today. But the little Mage had managed. He didn't much like the idea of the resistance fighters thinking they could manipulate him into helping their cause. But by her own admission and their behavior, she wasn't one of them. She was here for him. The dreams had plagued him his entire life. Every time he closed his eyes it was the same, his mother's death, a ghostly specter. He wanted to be free of it all.

"All right Mage," he conceded after a few long moments of silence. "If you can make the dreams go away, I'll play your little game."

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

Later that evening the Mage was working over a small pile of herbs when Bedivere approached her. The old knight had waited until the others retired for the night before going to speak with The Mage. There was something about her that unsettled the others. Perhaps it was because they had never spent much time around mages before. Either way, Bedivere felt badly his men seemed to avoid the young woman. She was more intense than Merlin had ever been certainly, but she had come to help them.

"How did you get him to agree?" He asked after a moment. The Mage had displayed nothing to make him think she could be especially persuasive. In fact, in the weeks she had been in the caves she hadn't spoken much at all. And now, somehow, over the course of just a short conversation she had convinced the acerbic future king to not only stay, perhaps not go along with, but at least not actively oppose their plans.

The Mage glanced up from her work to meet Bendivere's gaze. "He is fighting the magic of the sword. It's why he passed out when he connected to it. I dream walked to find out why."

"You dream walked when he was unconscious?" Bedivere asked in shock. "Isn't that incredibly dangerous?" It was phrased like a question but there was accusation in his eyes.

"Are you a mage?" She challenged, not liking him questioning her. She liked even less that he was right. It was outrageously dangerous to dream walk with someone who is unconscious, only when the dreamer woke could they be freed from the connection. With The Born King unconscious the two of them could have become trapped in the dream world and gone mad long before Arthur woke.

When Bedivere didn't respond she continued. "He has nightmares. Had his whole life. It is of his father's death, the moment when he inherited the sword as a boy but did not claim it. The sword calls to him...he fights it."

Bedivere frowned. He blamed himself for not being there for the boy. He felt he had somehow failed his old friend. Uther would have trusted him and Bill to look out for his son and make sure he was well cared for. They had done neither of those things and now the son of their closest friend considered him a foe.

"So how-" Bedivere started to ask.

"I told him I could take away the dreams," she said, wondering if he knew enough about magic to understand the significance of what she was saying.

"But if the dreams are tied into the magic of the sword and him denying it, in order to make them go away won't he have to accept the magic and bring the sword-" he started to say and stopped as though he didn't believe it could be the solution.

"He will have to bring the sword back to the place of its forging," The Mage finished for him impatiently.

"But that's-" Bedivere's face was a mask of shock.

The Mage huffed agitatedly. "In order for him to control Excalibur he needs to go to the Darklands," she stated firmly.

Bedivere shook his head, absolute in his refusal to risk Arthur any more than they had already done so. "That's not happening," Bedivere argued, crossing his arms over his chest. There would be a fight in the future no doubt, Vortigern wouldn't give up his control of the throne easily, but there was no reason to tempt fate and risk Arthur now.

"He needs to take the sword to the tower," the mage said, going back to work on the herbs in front of her. Effectively ending the conversation.

Bedivere didn't take the dismissal. Instead, he stepped forward and crouched down close to the Mage. "Give me another way," he demanded. He couldn't send Arthur to that godforsaken place that all but guaranteed his death.

The Mage looked down into the fire. They would need to forge the king out fire like the finely crafted blade he would one day wield. He had already been hammered into shape, but he had no purpose. He needed to be finished. "We don't have time. He is not receptive to the magic, the sword, his heritage or you."

Bedivere flinched but she ignored it and pushed on relentlessly. "There is no other way, and he has to go alone."

"He can't survive the darklands alone!" Bedivere said, raising his voice. He couldn't believe the Mage would suggest sending him to such a dangerous place alone.

"We don't want all of him to survive, that's the point. You have to break his old self completely, wear him down. You want him to want the crown. To desire to control the magic, but you haven't given him a reason. You want him to think big?" She challenged. "Give him something big to think about."

"You are mad," Bedivere said. "Merlin would never do this," he hissed in disgust.

The Mage pushed down the self doubt that curled in her stomach as Bedivere spoke the words she had always feared. Instead of allowing him to see how much they effected her she lifted her chin and met his gaze. "Merlin is not here, he sent me. He trusts my decisions. You should too."

"You are playing with fire mage, and I'm not killing the king before he even becomes one."

"You care for him. It is clouding your ability to see. He will never be a king if he doesn't accept who he is. He cannot embrace his birthright if he is busy fighting us. The Darklands will give him something to fight, a reason to use the sword. Then he will see."

~<>~

Arthur, Bedivere and the Mage set off the next morning. The entrance to the DarkLands was a days boat ride up the coast. Arthur was surprisingly agreeable when Bedivere told him they would be leaving. The Mage was almost surprised he hadn't tried to escape in the middle of the night. Of course Bedivere had sentries everywhere. Now that the rebels had found him, Bedivere wasn't likely to let Uther's son out of his sight, King or not.

Bedivere was adept at sailing and took charge of the small vessel they would use to navigate the small islands that flanked the eastern coast. 

"Will Saxons be a problem?" She asked shielding her eyes from the sun.

"Let's hope not," Bedivere said grimly.

The Saxon's had been a problem since the Romans left almost a hundred years previously. They had respected Uther and his father before him however, after Uther's death they had taken control of the seas surrounding the island. Vortigern had made deals and signed treaties with them, but they didn't seem to fear or respect him.

"We will stay close to land," he said. "It will take longer to go around all the other islands and avoid the rocks, but it will be safer."

Arthur frowned as he stood along the rail, looking out at the open water. "How do you spot the rocks?" He asked. He didn't like not knowing.

"There are charts, but also the way the water moves. Have you ever sailed before?" Bedivere asked him. It felt foolish for him to want to get to know the boy who was now a man and would soon be king. But he felt almost desperate to learn something about him, to be involved in his life as he felt he always should have been.

Arthur turned back to him. "Never left Londinium," he said. "Far as I can remember," he added ruefully. "You probably know more about my life before that than I do."

Bedivere nodded. "I am happy to answer any questions you have about it," he said gently, fighting to keep his enthusiasm in check. "Or about your father or your mother..."

"Best to let the past lie," Arthur said and he turned and moved to the other side of the boat. "Got other things to focus on now."

The Mage watched as Bedivere seemed to deflate. She felt badly for both men. Arthur for being blindsided with a birthright he could never have imagined. Being told his whole life was a lie. And Bedivere, who was honor bound to defend Camelot and restore it to its former glory, but also wanting to do what was right for his best friend's son. Had things been different, Bedivere would likely have raised Arthur in Uther's absence.

The three of them ate a small meal of dried meat and cheese on the deck as the sun set. The Mage hadn't spent much time on the water herself. Only the crossings she and Merlin had done from England and back. All Mages had a connection to the elements but usually one had an affinity for one over another. She had never been particularly drawn to water or fire as Merlin had been. Instead, she had found her strength in the earth and on the wind. Out here, she could feel the wind in a way she hadn't experienced before. It made her fingers tingle with the desire to reach for it. She balled up her fist in an effort to resist its call. When she looked up, Arthur was watching her intently. She dropped her eyes self consciously to her meal once more, wondering if he knew somehow.

"Well, we should get some sleep. It looks like the wind will hold. We should be there in the morning," Bedivere said oblivious. "There are bedrolls below deck," he added and he turned to head below.

The Mage tried to sleep, but after several hours of tossing and turning she couldn't sleep trapped in the belly of the boat surrounded by water. She climbed to her feet and climbed the ladder. On deck the cool wind blew her hair around her and filled her lungs. It reminded her of when she connected with her eagle. She had never felt so free in her own body before.

She wasn't alone long. A few moments later there was a whisper of movement behind her and Arthur stepped up beside her at the rail. He leaned his forearms against it and looked out over the dark water.

"It's a little unnerving being out here like this," he said after a minute. "Can't see land anywhere. Can't see anything really," he said casting a glance up at the moon, which was their only source of light.

The Mage glanced over her shoulder at him. Part of her begrudged him for interrupting her peace, but she was also a little curious about what would have the Future King up in the middle of the night.

"Can't sleep?" she asked him, her exhaustion making her accent thicker.

Arthur made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

"Did the dreams come back?" she asked.

"You know," Arthur said after a moment. "It's a little unnerving this whole you knowing everything about me and me knowing nothing about you. It just occurred to me I don't even know your name."

The Mage glanced at him out of the corner of her eye but still didn't comment.

"Do you have a name? Or shall I make one up for you?" he teased.

The Mage turned to face him, tipping her head to the side as she tried to decide how to respond to his flirty tone. She was here to be taken seriously, she would not have Arthur treat her like a silly girl. "Names have power. That is why Mages do not give them lightly," she explained stoically, deciding that ignoring his teasing was the best course of action.

"So why did we know Merlin and Mordred then?" he challenged, his lips twisting as he crossed his arms over his chest. He had seen the twinkle of aggravation in her eye and like a hound on a scent wasn't about to back down.

"Those are not their true names, they are names they took to make it so no one could curse or bind them on their names alone. They were powers in their own right they would never had risked someone having such power over them."

Arthur frowned as he considered her words, all thoughts of flirting forgotten under the weight of this new knowledge. "Are you a power in your own right, like them?" he asked.

She didn't get the impression he was challenging her, although it felt that way. Instead it felt as though he were genuinely curious.

"Like Mordred or Merlin?" She asked incredulously. It seemed she had done a better job than she anticipated of appearing powerful and mysterious. "Not even close."

"So why did they send you then?" he asked, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

The Mage turned to face Arthur, leaning a hip on the railing of the boat and crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't like that he didn't take her seriously, all the others seemed to. "Do you think me incapable because I'm a woman?" she challenged.

The teasing light lit his eyes once more and she realized she had risen to his bait. She tightened her jaw and looked away in frustration. Never in all her life had she wanted to shove a man over board so badly.

Arthur chuckled. "I was raised by women in a brothel, I know better than to doubt a woman's strength or her mind," he mollified. "So why did they send you?" he pushed. Now he was genuinely curious.

She nodded vaguely. She had heard of his past. He had been raised in a brothel, and then spent every day protecting the women who lived there from the time he was strong enough. The Future King liked to paint himself the rogue, but he protected as much as he hustled. He liked to hide himself behind quips and fast talking and flirting, but it was clear there was much more to him than that.

"Ask me again sometime," She told him.

He nodded knowing when it was time to push and when it was time to back off. He had already pushed her out of her comfort zone once, he didn't need to do it again. He looked out over the dark water. "So why couldn't you sleep?" He asked.

She swallowed and gazed into the water's depths. "The closer we get to the island..." she began. "I feel it's pull. I don't want to be vulnerable to it's Magic's."

Arthur frowned as he turned to look down at her. "Is there something I can do?" He asked. "I know what it's like to not be able to sleep," he added a little wryly as though it cover up his sweet offer.

The Mage swallowed. There were things, wards that could be done, but they all involved a magical link and the use of her true name. "The magic of Excalibur is unbound, it draws all other wild magic to it. I will stay awake to keep wards up so we don't draw anything to us."

"So you're out here in the middle of the night to protect me."

"Why else do you think I am here?" She challenged him.

A smirk twisted his lips and he leaned against the railing, facing her. "My staunch protector," he teased gently.

She made an impatient noise in the back of her throat, but didn't correct him this time. He seemed to take that as encouragement and slid a little closer to her.

"So do I get to know where we are going?" He asked.

The Mage glanced at him. There really wasn't any point in keeping it from him. Unless he was going to swim back to the mainland there wasn't much he could do to avoid her plan.

"You are going to the Dark Lands," she said.

Arthur frowned. "What are the dark lands?"

"They are a magical realm. Once it was called Avalon, but Mordred poisoned the land there to gain power and turned it's wild magic dark."

"Have you ever been there?" Arthur asked curiously.

The Mage dipped her chin. "It has been years. But I went there for my first trial."

"First trial?"

She turned to him, ready to berate him for being nosey. But when she turned to face him it surprised her to see that he was in fact just interested. His arctic blue eyes were filled with curiosity.

"All young Mages endure the passing into that world as one of their steps to become a sorcerer."

"And you endured it?" He asked

She nodded.

"What was it like?" He asked.

"It is very wild. Once it was beautiful in its wildness, but when Mordred combined the magics into one, that beautiful wilderness lost control and grew into something more. Something dark."

"Beautiful wildness," Arthur repeated thoughtfully and his eyes traveled to The Mage. Yes, that would be an apt description of the fierce little mage. She had a beautiful wildness about her.

"What it grew into was a dark and terrible thing. There are creatures there, touched by this magic."

"So it's dangerous?" Arthur asked.

"Very," the mage responded.

"And you didn't think it would be better to send me with a weapon that won't knock me unconscious any time I try to use it?" He challenged wryly.

"You will learn to wield the sword, as your father did."

Arthur stiffened at the mention of his father. She remembered Merlin's words that after all he had been through Arthur would be resistant to a father figure. She assumed it was part of the reason he had been so antagonistic to Bedivere.

"I doubt my father got knocked on his ass by that," his tone had turned brittle.

The Mage turned her head and met his gaze. "He did," she told him.

Arthur snorted. "And how would you know?" He challenged.

The Mage blinked at him and it reminded him of an owl. Her large dark eyes regarded him with the same beautiful wildness that reminded him of a bird regarding prey. It was something dark and a little dangerous. He liked it.

"Merlin told me," she said simply.

"You know Merlin?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"He raised me."

Arthur just blinked at her in disbelief.

"You have heard of Merlin, yes?" She prompted.

Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat. "Everyone's heard of Merlin," he said. "He's a legend."

"He sent me," The Mage said a little stiffly. She was braced against his reaction.

Arthur glanced at The Mage out of the corner of his eye. He could see how uncomfortable his words made her. He wondered what would happen if he pushed just a little more. "This being so important and all, I'm surprised he didn't come himself..." He dragged off glancing once more at her.

The Mage's eyes flashed with temper a second before she managed to school her expression. Arthur grinned at her.

Deciding to not completely annoy her just for the fun of it he continued. "You must be quite the power yourself Merlin sending you here and all..."

The Mage sniffed. She felt like she and Arthur had been connecting. If she could get him to confide in her and trust her it would make this whole process that much easier. She chewed on her lip. She was a private person by nature and due to the constant traveling she hadn't really learned how to relate to others very well. But she did know shared experiences often brought people together.

"I'm not," she finally settled on telling him. She hated that it sounded like weakness coming out of her mouth. "I don't know why."

Instead of seeming horrified the Future King nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I expect you'll figure it out soon enough," he said and he turned to leave the mage in peace. "Good night Mage," he called over his shoulder before disappearing below decks and leaving the Mage alone.

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

The next morning Arthur came up to the deck shortly after daybreak. He was still exhausted from staying up so late. His eyes traveled over to where The Mage stood at the bow of the boat. Her braid was coiled over her shoulder, and loose tendrils of her hair blew wildly around her face. The hood of her cloak was thrown back, and her cloak snapped in the sea breeze. He wondered if she had slept at all.

"Welcome to the darklands," Bedivere called as the island came into view.

Arthur turned away from The Mage and climbed up to where Bedivere stood. The higher vantage point gave a clear view of land ahead of them. "That's the Darklands?" he asked with a frown. It didn't look any different from the hundreds of other small islands they had passed. A bit rockier perhaps, but nothing to warrant an ominous name like The Darklands.

"That's the entrance," Bedivere told him.

Arthur squinted into the light and lifted his hand to block the sun. "So that's what all the fuss is about..." Arthur mutter dismissively.

Bedivere flashed a smile. "Don't worry, you will soon understand what all the fuss is about," he assured him. His cavalier tone belying the concern he had for Arthur's coming challenge. He still wasn't convinced this was the right course of action, but he trusted in Merlin, and Merlin trusted this Mage, so he would trust her.

Bedivere expertly navigated the shallow waters, avoiding the sharp rocks, that could have proven deadly to their small boat. As they entered the shallows he tossed an anchor overboard. Bedivere jumped down first, turning towards the trees a grim expression on his face. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, he was wary, but he didn't pull it.

Arthur followed, landing in the shallow water that reached his knees, soaking into his boots. He hesitated and glanced up at The Mage as she climbed over the railing, adjusting her skirts as she prepared to jump over the side of the boat. His gaze captured her's and she hesitated. He reached up, offering her help down.

She hesitated in surprise. She hadn't expected this, not really. She was no lady by the standards of his people's imagination, and she was certainly capable of jumping off a boat, but the look in the Born King's eyes as he held her gaze was like nothing she had ever encountered before. It made her stomach twist and her breath catch in her lungs. He was waiting for her, she realized, waiting for permission to touch her.

She nodded once, a curt jerk of her chin so he wouldn't suspect the effect he had on her; with his ego, he would be impossible if he knew. Once permission was given he stepped closer and closed his large hands around her slim waist. His fingers nearly touched as he lifted her down into the water like she weighed nothing.

Arthur could have kicked himself for giving himself permission to touch her. There was something about her that drew him in and it rode him hard enough to convince him to leave it alone. She was special in a way he barely understood. He lifted her, turning to set her in the shallower waters closer to shore, but he locked his eyes on the forest before releasing her. He didn't like the thick ominous feel of the forest and liked even less that she appeared to be unarmed. Bedivere stood between her and any potential danger, but he was taking no chances.

The Mage fought to save face and not let the Born King's actions distract her from why they were there. She took a centering breath and strode out of the water with her head held high. Bedivere gestured towards the forest and she nodded stepping into the lead. Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat but followed, stepping quickly so he was just off her shoulder.

She led the way through the forest. The standing stones called to her, guiding her. She stretched her senses out to them and the magical pull was as clear to her as any map. She led the way into a clearing deep within the forest. The magic pulsing beneath her feet was distracting. It burned along her skin like an itch and she had to lock down her emotions and her senses and force herself to think only of the task at hand.

"Stand in the middle," She instructed the Born King, gesturing towards the large stones. He stepped between the stones, looking at them curiously. There were similar stones of power throughout England. She wondered if he had seen any before. His expression was accepting and he looked a little tired. She frowned, this was not the bold, egotistical man they needed to fight for his crown.

"Are you scared?" she pushed him. She wanted to see that challenging glint in his eyes. She needed to in order to reassure herself he was strong enough to do this. As badly as she wanted to finish this and achieve her status as a full Sorceress, she wouldn't send him to his death.

A smirk pulled at his handsome face and he lifted his chin defiantly, that gleam once again returning to his eyes. "I think I can manage," he told her boldly.

She nodded and, hesitating only for a moment, she stepped up to him. She reached for his wrist and tied a leather cord around it with quick, sure fingers. Her fingers brushed against the warm inside of his wrist and it felt like there was lightning between them. When the cord was secured she closed her hand around his wrist and squeezed it once, almost too quickly for him to be sure, before stepping back.

"You should be scared," She warned him seriously.

He lifted his wrist and looked at the leather cord she had secured to him. It held a small coin with a hole through it flat against the skin of his wrist. "What's this then?" he asked.

"It's so I can find you," she told him cryptically.

He nodded and seemed to accept her response. For some reason she had expected him to argue with her about using magic on him. Instead, he seemed to take it in stride and shook his sleeve down to cover it. She could feel the pulse of magic between them now. It made her feel a little better about sending him into the Darklands without a guide. She chewed on her lip, wondering if she should go with him.

The glint of power shone in Arthur's eyes as he slung Excalibur over his shoulder. He may not have accepted it yet, but it was there for him to claim. She exhaled, knowing she was making the right decision. The look in his eye reminded her of the King he would one day be. Looking at him, she was surprised to find she believed in him. He was strong enough to survive this.

The Mage pulled out her sachet bag and drew her dagger, slicing a hole in the bag. The mixture spilled out onto the ground at her feet. The ground heaved and split beneath the weight of her magic. She chanted softly as she circled him. Magic crackled all around her, the hair on her arms stood up and with a push of magic she opened the veil between the worlds.

"You travel through the lands to the tower and there you must touch the sword to the altar stone," she told him. As she neared the beginning of the circle of power rain began to fall within the circle. The veil was lifting, opening. Wouldn't be long now.

Arthur flinched as the cold rain soaked him. He reached up, pulling his hood low over his head. "You're gonna miss me," he called to hide his nerves and he flashed her an impish grin.

The Mage wondered if his sense of humor would survive what she was about to do to him. She almost wished there was another way. This was unfair and cruel, but necessary. In a rare moment of honesty she met his blue eyes and dipped her chin. "Perhaps My King," She agreed. Surprise flashed in his eyes and she closed the circle, sealing him in the Darklands.

~<>~

Bedivere paced the small clearing, his agitation rising with each passing minute. It felt like time was dragging by as they waited for Arthur to return. He still wasn't convinced this had been a good idea. If they killed Arthur the sword's ownership would pass directly to Vortigern and then where would they be? He glanced at The Mage, but she didn't seem at all concerned. She sat casually with her eyes closed, her face peaceful as though she were napping.

The Mage sat at the edge of the circle as close to the veil as she dared. She pressed her hand against the stone, closed her eyes, and pushed against the veil. She drew her magic around her like a cloak and reached for the feeling of tying the bracelet around his wrist. She felt the cool metal pressed against his warm skin and it felt like she was there, standing beside him on the mountain top inside the Darklands. She remembered the heat of his hands as he helped her from the boat and she could feel his weariness and his pain. He had already faced many of the creatures the Darkland was home to, and he had not emerged unscathed. He had injuries that were slowing him down, his knee sent steady, sharp pain up into his hip with every stride, and when he turned the pain in his ribs were like a flame.

Behind her closed lids she caught glimpses of what he was going through but they were flashes, almost too fast to track. Time passed differently in the Darklands and she wasn't able to witness it in real time. She felt flickers of his pain but also his determination to fight and succeed, to master this challenge and emerge victorious.

She gasped as she saw the dire wolves closing in on him. He was so close to the tower. Another flash and he was up the steps, their howls echoing around him. She didn't pull away. She wouldn't dishonor him that way. She felt when he connected to the Altar and knew he would survive. She was almost lightheaded with relief.

"He did it," she said, jerking her hand off the stone as though it burned her. She jumped to her feet in anticipation of his return.

Bedivere's eyes snapped to her in open relief. In the next second The Born King collapsed at their feet in a swirl of magic. Bedivere flinched in surprise, but The Mage was already moving towards him. He groaned in pain as smoke rose off his body. Excalibur clattered across the stone beside him, but The Mage ignored the sword and moved towards the him. She crouched beside him. He was cut up and covered in bruises. His eyes were closed and he laid too still. With trembling hands she reached for his neck to check his pulse. She was almost light headed with relief when she felt the erratic beat beneath her fingers.

She turned to Bedivere. "We have to get him to the boat," she said.

"You nearly killed him," Bedivere said in slow horror as he stared down at Arthur with The Mage crouched at his side.

"He has survived," she said resolutely with a confidence she did not feel. She didn't know what she had expected, but it hadn't been this. If he had accepted the Sword, this never would have happened, but Arthur had fought the magic as he fought everything and everyone in his life. He had refused to give in to it and it nearly cost him his life.

The Mage slid Excalibur into it's sheath and put the strap across her body. She could feel it's magic pulsing against her back as she approached the Born King. It spiked as she reached down and touched him. Bedivere and The Mage heaved Arthur up between them. She was so much shorter than either man she didn't feel as though she helped much.

They managed to half carry, half drag him to the boat. Getting him on board was more complicated, but they made do. Bedivere climbed the side of the boat, leaving Arthur half collapsed against the Mage's small body.

He was heavy, but she locked down her muscles and refused to let him go. If she dropped him in the shallow water he could drown. For all his strength and destiny and bold personality he was entirely vulnerable now. He had trusted her and though the plan worked, she felt guilty for the pain he had endured. The weight of responsibility hung heavy on her mind. This wasn't just about the task anymore. This was about the Born King himself. This was about Arthur.

She hadn't allowed herself to think of him as anything but The Born King before now, a means to her end, but he was so much more than that. She believed in what he was capable of. None but the prophetic King could have survived what he endured in the Darklands. This was the man who could save the mages from Vortigern.

Arthur

Bedivere tossed a rope overboard and with trembling hands she tied it around Arthur's torso. He groaned as Bedivere began to lift him. She steadied his body so it wouldn't swing against the side of the boat. Once Arthur was safely over the side she grabbed the end of the rope and let Bedivere help her up.

Bedivere left her with Arthur to begin sailing them away from the cursed island. The further away they moved the weather lifted and the sun came out, warming them on deck. As they distanced themselves from the island she was able to shake free from the magic and felt like she could draw a deep breath. The magic of Excalibur was contained.

The Mage shifted Arthur so he would be more comfortable when he woke. She was holding his hand, moving his arm when he jerked awake. His breath caught in his throat in panic and he tried to wrench himself away from her.

She tightened her hand against his arm. "You are safe," She promised him, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

His eyes locked on her face, and held her gaze for a long moment. He nodded slowly as he realized he was no longer there. He could feel the heaving of the boat and somewhere behind The Mage he could hear Bedivere. "Yeah," he gasped out the word and grimaced in pain.

He watched the Mage with a seriousness in his gaze that had not been there before. He had seen the truth and knew what he had to do. He was done running. He relaxed in her grip, trusting her, and she let him go. He groaned as he leaned back against the mast of the ship. She turned and lifted a small satchel of healing supplies she had packed.

Her throat felt dry and she licked her lips. "Did you see all you needed to see?" she asked as casually as she could manage. She knew he had seen the truth and not looked away, otherwise the Darklands would never have released him, but that wasn't the same as accepting it. She only hoped the dreams would stop after he had placed his trust in her.

"I saw enough," he said and his voice was low and raspy.

The Mage handed him a water skin to drink from as she began cleaning the cuts on his face. He was so close, she could feel the soft puff of his breath against her skin, but she forced herself to focus on tending his injuries. This close she could see every detail on his handsome face, every line and scar.

Arthur sat still beneath The Mage's gentle hands. There was something different about her now, something softer, though he wasn't sure what it was exactly. Her expression was just as shuddered as always but he got the distinct impression she maybe wasn't as guarded with him as she had been before. He watched her with calm eyes. His whole body ached but he was somehow more settled than he ever remembered. All those half remembered dreams and now he knew where he came from, who he was. He looked down at the scars that sliced through his palms and closed his hands into fists.

Arthur hated being hurt, and normally didn't like being around other people when he was. For some reason he didn't feel that way around The Mage. For some reason he didn't feel the need to hide behind his usual bravado with her. He trusted her to see him like this. Her hands were featherlight as they skimmed across his skin.

"The mage tower," he began after a few moments. "It's the same as the one in Camelot."

The Mage nodded, latching onto the subject to distract herself. "The higher Vortigern builds it, the more powerful he becomes..." she said and she dipped the rag in cool water and went back to dabbing at the cuts on his forehead.

Arthur watched her face as she worked. He liked the way her brow furrowed as she concentrated. She chewed on her plump lower lip and her dark eyes focused totally on him.

"When it is finished he will have the same power as Mordred," she said after a moment. "It is why the sword has revealed itself now, where there is poison, there is a remedy."

Arthur nodded as he processed all she was saying. She leaned closer to wrap a bandage around his head, holding the compress against the worst of his injuries. Her body pressed against his so she could reach around him. He tried not to notice how soft she felt against him. When she sat back there was a soft look in his eyes.

His hand came up, moving slowly, not out of pain, but to make sure The Mage saw it coming and didn't flinch back from him. He was always careful to not invade a woman's space without express permission, but he was careful to not touch her bare skin. His fingers were gentle as they touched the bronze bracelet on her wrist. He recognized it as the same design as the ones he saw on the skeleton remains in the Darklands.

"What happened to your people?" he asked gently. He moved his thumb over the pounded copper circlet The Mage had worn since she was accepted as Merlin's apprentice as a child.

She pressed her lips together and looked away as she fought to contain any of the emotions she might feel over his innocent question. "They were murdered by your uncle. Let me see your ribs," she commanded with a little more force than necessary.

Arthur could take a hint and didn't push her any harder about her people's history. He reached down and lifted the side of his shirt and The Mage sucked in a breath. His whole side was an ugly shade of purple. They had nearly lost him in there. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a poultice. She felt guilty for the use of the rope to get him on the ship. She was just thankful he had still been mostly unconscious. It would have been agony with the state of his ribs.

She hesitated just before she would have touched him. "This will hurt," she warned him, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before she nervously looked away.

"Being dropped into the cave by a giant bat hurt. I believe I can manage," he quipped and The Mage felt something loosen in her chest. It was the first he had sounded like himself since coming back.

She scooped a generous amount of poultice into her hand and moved it across his bruised skin. He flinched, but forced himself to hold still as she gently rubbed it into his skin. Despite the ugly bruising she could feel the warm ridges of muscle beneath her hands. Arthur went still beneath her hands. He watched her as she worked. A small frown of concentration formed between her eyes as she moved her hands over his skin.

As she worked, Bedivere stepped up behind her. She appeared totally engrossed in what she was doing so Bedivere finished the story. "It was Vortigern who started the wars. He was jealous of your father's throne. So he made a deal with Mordred. That they would share power once he defeated your father. Mordred murdered the mage King..." Bedivere dragged off, his eyes flickering to The Mage.

Arthur followed his look with a confused frown.

When Bedivere didn't elaborate The Mage looked up from his ribs and met his gaze from inches away. "My father," she said, a sad, faraway look in her eyes.

Bedivere nodded and rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "He took the mage king's staff to their sacred tower. Where he unlocked the dark forces of the Darklands and enslaved them to his will...But what they didn't account for was the sword. Merlin stole his staff, he then forged a great sword Excalibur from it. He destroyed the ancient tower. The sword was then passed to the lady of the Lake who bound it to the Pendragon bloodline. Now, the sword is yours."

Arthur looked down and away, but instead of arguing with them, he just nodded slowly. Whatever he had witnessed in the Darklands had made him at least stop resisting them.

When she was done The Mage reached up and lowered the edge of his shirt. "Try to get some rest," she told him. His hand found hers and closed around it gently in thanks before he released her.

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

The journey back to the caves was tough. Arthur was in worse shape than any of them wanted to admit. It took a long time just to get him up on a horse. It was a slow trip. Any quick movement of his horse sent a wave of agony through him.

After his first few quiet hisses of pain, had he be capable of turning around, he would have seen The Mage's eyes the liquid chocolate color of his horse's for much of the journey as she took control of the beast. Horses could be unpredictable at the best of times, and though it was taxing for her to hold the connection for so long, it ensured Arthur suffered as little as possible as they crossed the rocky terrain.

It was late when they returned. They rode their mounts straight into the main room of the cave system. Arthur sat still for a few moments, drawing in a few deep breaths to brace and prepare himself. When he opened his eyes, Bedivere was standing beside his horse, reaching for him.

Arthur accepted the help, but barely managed to bite back the grimace as his ribs sent another wave of agony through him. The pain stole his breath and he braced a hand against the horse's side. The creature held unnaturally still as it seemed to wait for him, and he slowly lifted his head with a frown directed at the animal. Horses just didn't behave that way. He stared hard into its eyes that watched him with an intelligence no horse should possess. His frown deepened as he slowly turned towards The Mage and he opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted.

"Al'right there, mate?"

Arthur's head snapped around in disbelief to see Back Lack and Wet Stick striding towards them. Arthur limped forward a step in shock. He turned back to Bedivere. "How-?" he started and stopped, shaking his head in disbelief. He had been so sure his friends and family were lost to him.

"The girls are here too," Wet Stick said. "But they're sleeping. This lot expected you back ages age," he said, gesturing to a few of the rebels who milled around and those who had come out to welcome them.

"You look like death mate," Back Lack said, taking a step closer to Arthur. He frowned at his friend in concern.

"How are you here?" Arthur asked again in disbelief.

Behind them, Rubio cleared his throat politely before stepping forward to answer the Born King's question. "The Mage asked us to look out for your people and bring them here," Rubio said, coming up behind Arthur's friends. "Gave us quite the tongue lashing for not doing it in the first place actually. You have our apology," Rubio said holding out his hand.

Arthur was stunned, The Mage had done this. He shook the young man's hand automatically, but his thoughts were racing. He had only mentioned his family to her once in passing and it had been the first night they met. He hadn't imagined she would have remembered, much less demanded the rebels actually do something about it.

Arthur turned around, looking for her. Once they had come back into the large group of rebels The Mage had stepped back, giving everyone room. She was trying to make her way out of the large group that seemed to make her so uncomfortable.

Arthur took a fast, painful step after her and reached out, touching her wrist gently but not restraining. She turned and he dropped his hand immediately. When she met his gaze she froze, her hazel eyes inscrutable.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

The Mage found herself nodding, although her breath had caught in her throat unexpectedly at his closeness. The sincerity in his eyes was so intense she found herself trapped like a bird held in the gaze of a viper.

"Thank you for making sure my family is safe," he said the words again so she would believe him.

She swallowed hard and nodded again. "Make sure you get some sleep. You need to heal. You're no good to us dead," she snapped, pleased her voice had sounded so level.

He flashed her a smile that actually reached his eyes as though her snarled words amused him instead of offended him. It rocked her back a little and her frown deepened. He just smirked at her in response. It was difficult to miss how handsome he was even with his injuries. Desperate to save face, The Mage slipped away down the hall towards her rooms, leaving him some time alone with his friends.

~<>~

Arthur limped out into the main hall an hour later. He leaned more heavily than he would have like on the cane one of the rebels had found him. The rebels had their healer take a look at him, but the old man hadn't done anything The Mage hadn't already done.

In fact, Arthur was fairly certain he was in better hands with The Mage than with their ancient, cave dwelling healer. Once he was sent on his way, he convinced Rubio to tell him where The Mage was staying. He wanted a moment alone with her to thank her again for asking the rebels to bring his family here. He was positive the rebels would have left them to fend for themselves against the Blacklegs.

When he went to her room however it was empty. The narrow pallet was still tidy and there was no fire in the small hearth. The room was as cold and sterile as the one they had shown him to despite the fact that he knew she had been her for weeks before his arrival. The Mage hadn't slept much while they were traveling and he knew she had to be exhausted. He went back out into the main hall. The lights were low, only a single candle flickered at one of the tables. Goosefat sat alone in the flickering light, drinking.

"Seen The Mage?" Arthur called to the old knight.

Goosefat turned to him. "And why are you looking for our lovely little Mage?" he asked with a salacious grin.

Arthur shot him a withering look, but was aware the amount of bruising and swelling on his face made him look significantly less intimidating than he wanted. He still found the abrasive man obnoxious and given their history he was sure the feeling of dislike was mutual.

Seeing Arthur wasn't in the mood to joke and unable to resist Goosefat took another sip of his drink before pushing just a little bit harder. "Not looking up for much fun tonight your majesty," he observed, motioning with the rim of his glass.

Arthur sighed and turned to go. If he stayed in the same room with Goosefat he was going to hit him with the his new cane.

"Wait, wait, wait," Goosefat called after him, pouting a little that he hadn't managed to get a rise out of the Born King. "She went out the back," he said, gesturing over his shoulder.

"And you just let her?" Arthur asked a little sharper than he should have.

Goosefat arched his eyebrows. Though he held his body casually, there was temper in his eyes. "Far be it for me to stop a Mage when she's on a mission."

Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat and moved away towards the back of the cave to find The Mage.

"You look like him you know," Goosefat called after him, his words slurring slightly.

Arthur hesitated, turning back to face the old knight. His skull prickled as he turned back around. It was obvious Goosefat was drunk and he didn't want to have this conversation. Not now, not ever. He had agreed to help them take out Vortigern, but he hadn't signed on for a painful trip down memory lane.

"Your father," Goosefat clarified as though Arthur were too dumb to figure it out. He frowned and stared into Arthur's angry face, oblivious to the rage brewing in those blue eyes. "You have your mom's eyes though."

Arthur grunted, knowing if he said anything else it wouldn't be pleasant, and turned and headed outside. It took him a few minutes before he found her in the dark. By the time he did, his anger at Goosefat was forgotten.

The Mage was sitting on the edge of the cliff over the lake, staring out into the night. She had her cloak wrapped tightly around herself against the chill in the air. It made her look smaller and more delicate than he knew her to be. She was tough, the little Mage.

He thought he had moved fairly quietly, but she somehow still knew he was there. He blamed it on the cane and the limp.

"You should be resting," she said sharply. "Go back inside."

Arthur was unapologetic as he grunted and lowered himself to the ground beside her. He kept his badly injured leg stretched out in front of him and breathed through the pain until it settled. She wasn't wrong. He should be inside resting, but he couldn't leave it alone.

"You shouldn't be outside in this cold when you should be healing," she said again when he didn't respond to her first order.

Arthur chuckled at her snarled words even though it hurt. "I could say the same to you," he countered.

"I didn't almost die today," she snapped impatiently. He was being deliberately difficult.

Arthur tried not to be too pleased that he continued to get a rise out of the normally stoic Mage. He should feel bad for teasing her, but seeing the flash of emotion in her dark eyes was worth it.

"I was looking for you. Why are you out here anyway?" he asked, looking around. In the dark there wasn't much to see.

"I don't sleep well understone," she said. It surprised her a little, the need to explain the truth of the matter to him. It came so easily it startled her and she bit her lip to keep her silence.

"You ain't slept in days," he said turning to look at her. He kept his fist gripped tightly on the cane to keep himself from reaching up and touching the dark bruises under her eyes.

"I'll rest out here," she said, then she hesitated and looked back at him. "I would prefer the other's didn't know."

"Why can't you sleep in the caves. We're as safe there as anywhere."

"I don't like the dark," she said. "My room has no windows."

Arthur looked around at the night surrounding them in confusion.

She made a noise in the back of her throat. "I grew up on the road. The night is filled with stars, and sleeping beneath the moon is preferred by most Mages," she said.

"Are there many more of you?" Arthur asked gently.

"A few, north of the wall," she allowed, looking down at her hands. "Not many escaped the purges of your uncle."

Arthur clenched his free hand into a fist at the thought of all the destruction his uncle's greed had wrought. "You saved my family," he said after a moment's pause.

"They did not ask for this," she said simply. His gratitude made her uncomfortable. As he had pointed out, they were the ones who left his people behind when they rescued him. It wasn't fair and she had wanted to make it right. She was glad she had not been too late.

"Neither did you and neither did I," he pointed out.

She turned back to look at him with an imperceptible expression.

"Well, maybe you did," he allowed. He pressed his lips together. "But I sure didn't," he said and he climbed wearily to his feet. He hesitated, looking up at the stars and let out a sighed. "I'm sorry about your father," he said.

"It was a long time ago," she said with a small shrug. She had worked her way through the pain of her parent's deaths. "I was almost too young to remember."

Arthur looked down at her and even through his injuries she could see his determination and his resolve. This was the Born King. Even without Excalibur there was power to him. A small shiver ran up her spine and she wrapped her arms around her legs disguising her reaction with the cold.

"I'm going to kill him," he promised her.

She believed him.

Arthur hesitated as he turned to return to the caves. "I won't be able to convince you to come to bed?"

The Mage's eyes flared in surprise and Arthur's own eyes widened. "I didn't  mean-" he started and stopped. Shaking his head, he blew out a sigh. He was normally much more in control of his mouth than this. There was something about The Mage that made him feel like he was off kilter. "I hope you sleep well," he said, gesturing vaguely to the forest around them.

"Goodnight My King," she called after him.

Arthur hesitated at her words, but for once, didn't argue. 

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

The next morning Arthur called everyone together. He made sure The Mage knew she was invited. She had hesitated at the invitation, claiming she made everyone nervous, but Arthur had silenced her argument. This was his war council and he needed her at his back. Determination and something else had flared in her dark eyes and now she was leaning against the wall behind Arthur, staying as far away from the others as possible, but still there because he had asked her.

Arthur took a moment to look over the group. Groups would be more appropriate. His family from the Poppy sat on one side of the room while the rebels sat on the other with him and The Mage in between. He glanced over his shoulder at her but her face was a calm mask as she waited. He nodded to her and she nodded back, she was with him.

"Wet Stick, meet Percival," the men nodded to one another. "Rubio, meet Back Lack," Arthur shifted and grimaced as his broken ribs sent a shot of pain through his whole body. It wasn't in him to show weakness, but it was impossible to hide it completely. "Sir Bedivere, who runs this aristocratic family of cave dwellers, meet Blue. Son of Back Lack." Arthur gestured at Goosefat carelessly. "The infamous Goosefat Bill needs no introduction. Most of you have already met our dear Mage sent to us by the illustrious Merlin himself."

The two groups looked at one another appraisingly as though they were trying to get the measure of one another. That wouldn't do. If they were going to do this, they needed to be united by more than just their loyalty to him, they needed to realize they all wanted the same thing, regardless of motivation.

"So," Arthur began. "You think you can take down Vortigern?" he asked looking to the rebel's side of the room.

Goosefat leaned forward in his seat. "There are twelve barons, these represent the twelve oldest families of England. Between them they can rustle up twelve thousand warriors. In order to stand a chance we are going to need at least some of their support," Goosefat explained.

Rubio spoke up. "We can arrange a meeting with six of those families."

"Let me stop you there," Arthur interrupted shaking his head. This wasn't the right way to go about this. This wouldn't work. He breathed out sigh and pain flared once more.

The Mage could almost see the wheels turning in Arthur's head. The cunning. She bit back a smile. The rebels weren't going to know what hit them.

"If I may," he said politely. "Allow me to run you through those proceedings as I see them unfold," he said with an imitation of a genteel smile. "They will start by telling us that if we wish to galvanize the people of this country against the current king there has to be a realistic strategy. Strategy requires leadership. Then they'll bang on for a while about how clever and educated they are-" Arthur sat back and grimaced again.

The Mage wanted to help him, but couldn't do so in a room full of people. She could take the pain from him temporarily if she could touch him, but she hadn't figured out how to do that unobtrusively.

"How educated they are in the art of war, diplomacy, chivalry - and how underqualified I am. Pointing out that I was raised in a brothel and have no formal education of any kind. Then they'll start taking a piss and I'm gonna have to pull them on it. Congratulating them on their sense of humor. I'm going to be forced to tell them there's not a bollack between them at which point Bedivere you're gonna get very angry and tell me off. And say something along the lines of, 'what were you gonna do if they wanted to fight' and I'm gonna say 'I was never never gonna fight' and you're gonna say 'well what was gonna happen', and I'm gonna say 'that's what you're here Bedivere you big, silly, posh bastard'."

The room was perfectly silent, all held in the sway of Arthur's words. He drew their attention just as easily as The Mage would have done so with a spell but it had been on the strength of his personality alone. Now that he had command of the room he leaned forward, ignoring the pain in his ribs. "If you want Vortigern to stick his neck out in Londinium. You need to tease it out. You don't need twelve thousand fighting men for that. What you need is this little rabble," he said gesturing around the room.

Bedivere frowned, but conceded. "Okay, so how is that going to work?"

"If I'm moving too fast for you Bedivere you can let yourself out the side door," Arthur teased the large man.

"You seem to have found your way rather quickly," Bedivere said, cutting his eyes over to The Mage standing over Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur noticed and, not wanting The Mage to be made uncomfortable, kept talking and pulled Bedivere's focus back to him. He didn't want anyone deciding the Mage was the reason for his change of tune. Prejudice was dangerous and prejudice against magic had been around a long time. "Now come on kid, you're cooking us all dinner, right?"

Bedivere snorted and shook his head. He hated to admit it, but The Mage had been right. Arthur needed something to fight for, a reason to pick up the sword, and now that he had it, he embraced leadership as though it were second nature. He was the type of men other men wanted to follow and believe in. Like Uther.

Despite his words, several of the men helped pass around the food while they talked together. Arthur waited, letting the camaraderie grow before he drew the attention back to himself. He wanted them to brainstorm together, to talk and plan, even if it wasn't the plan he would execute. He needed to think like they were one fighting force instead of two.

The Mage was sitting off by herself away from the group. She pushed the food around her bowl as she listened quietly. Not liking that, Arthur took his bowl in one hand and limped across the room to sit beside her, making it clear to everyone watching that they were a team. The Mage was important.

When he dropped into the seat beside her she shot him an annoyed frown that made him smile brightly at her.

"This is seat taken?" He asked.

"If I said yes?" She asked in her thick accent.

Arthur snorted and sat down anyway with a pained sound. His face pinched up for a second before he could smooth it out. "Too bad," he said. "I'm here now and it's not likely I'll be ready to move for a while."

The Mage made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. She held out her hand expectantly. When he just stared at her she rolled her eyes at his idiocy. "Give me your hand," she ordered.

Arthur lifted a brow and set his hand in hers. Her hand was so small it barely wrapped around his. She closed her eyes and spoke a few words. Then her body jerked like she had been struck and instantly all of the pain in Arthur's body dimmed. He scowled, rotating his shoulders. He didn't exactly feel like himself, but he felt like he had been healing for a month instead of a day.

Arthur quickly looked up into her face and scowled as he saw how drawn and tight her face was.

"What did you do?" He asked accusingly.

The Mage's breath was short as she fought to contain her reaction. Just half and she could barely stay focused. She couldn't believe the amount of pain Arthur could endure.

"I am your Mage, I shared your burden," she spoke the words slowly, as though it took longer for her to remember them and her accent was thicker than Arthur had ever heard it.

Arthur reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. She sucked in a sharp breath and he knew where that shoulder injury had gone. He could shake her for her stupidity. "Undo it," he ordered, feeling almost frantic as he saw her face pale.

The Mages lips were thin and pale and she smiled weakly at him. "Not strong enough," she told him. "It will fade, it will only serve until
the sunrise," she told him. "I bound it to the night. You will have time to speak to your men and make a trap. They must believe in your strength."

Arthur glanced over at the long table where the men were laughing and talking together. None of them had noticed what happened. They had all gotten very good at ignoring his mage. His Mage. That was what she had called herself when her thoughts were too muddled to do anything but speak the truth as she knew it. He closed his hand into a fist and turned back to her.

"This was stupid," he snarled.

"Do not waste the gift," The Mage said gesturing towards the others.

Arthur grunted and climbed to his feet. He still leaned on the cane, but it wasn't strictly speaking necessary.

"What is it that Vortigern cares about more than anything else in the world?" Arthur challenged the group.

"Killing you," they all responded at the same time and then they laughed.

Arthur scoffed impatiently. He had perhaps let them drink longer than he should have. "Apart from that?" Arthur pressed.

"Getting the sword," they all said.

Arthur shook his head impatiently. "Come on, could someone help me out here please?"

The Mage cleared her throat and the room went silent at the small sound. Her face was still pale, but she pushed her voice to be heard across the room. "Finishing his tower," she said, her accent thick.

Arthur turned to face her, flashing her a grim smile in agreement but his eyes were still clouded with worry. He turned back to the others. "So what do we do about that?"

Rubio held his finger up. "Sink his barges, carrying his supplies."

Arthur snapped his fingers at Rubio in approval. "See, Wet Stick, Back Lack that's what an education gets you," he said proudly. "What else?"

"Interrupt his supply of slaves." Rubio suggested.

Arthur arched a brow. "How are we going to do that?"

"We know his transportation routes," Goosefat said with a pleased grin.

"Now we're warming up!" Arthur said with a grin. "Come on guys, other ideas?" he asked, and some of the girls behind them began talking quietly together.

Polly from the Poppy shrugged a shoulder. "Burn his favorite palace down," she suggested.

"How you gonna do that then?" Back Lack asked with a scowl.

Polly snorted. "I know the man who supplies brandy to the palace. Shipment first of the month."

"Now we got plans," Arthur said and when he caught Bedivere's eye the old knight lifted his goblet in silent salute.

The men stayed up late, drinking and chatting about the upcoming missions. But Arthur had kept his eyes on The Mage. When she finished her meal and moved to stand he excused himself. He stood with his back to the room, blocking their view of her. She grimaced as she climbed to her feet and nearly swayed and fell. His free hand caught her elbow to steady her. He followed her out of the room.

"I don't need your help," The Mage snarled at him. "The spell was to help you."

"Fat lot of good that did, now we're both hurt," he said sounding equally annoyed. He steered her towards her rooms.

"I don't want-" she was breathing hard now and it was difficult for her to catch her breath. "To sleep under stone," she told him. "I can't."

Arthur paused, ready to argue with the defiant little thing about climbing cliffs while she was injured, but there was something in the depths of her eyes. Something that made him pause. Fear.

Arthur finally sighed in resignation and helped her limp outside. "What the pair we make," he said with a laugh once they were finally out under the stars.

The Mage took a deep breath and let the night sky sooth her. Arthur helped her to a sheltered place not far from the cave mouth and they sat together, both breathing hard.

"I underestimated you," The Mage said, breathing hard. "For that I apologize," she said formally.

Arthur snorted. "I learned to take a beating before I was old enough to remember. Pain and I are old friends."

The Mage snorted and it hurt. She shook her head as she let her head fall back against the cool rock. She closed her eyes as the cool soothed her aches. "I meant your kindness," she told him.

Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat. "Don't go telling anyone," he warned.

The Mage chuckled and then winced but she didn't open her eyes. She was too tired.

~<>~

The slaves it turned out were the children that Vortigern had taken from their families. When The Mage learned about the conditions the children were being held in she understood Arthur's anger over it. They worked to come up with a plan for them to interrupt the slaves transportation route on the way to the tower construction site. The children were always brought in through town at night, no doubt to keep the good citizens from finding out what their King was up to. They would box them in at one of the narrowest junctures through town and release the children. 

Arthur was in his room, shrugging on his jacket with only moderate difficulty. He had pulled off the last of the bandages so he wouldn't stand out as a target. The only thing left were the bandages still wrapped around his ribs. The door of his room pushed open behind him without a knock. There were only so many people here bold enough for that.

He glanced over his shoulder and was unsurprised to see The Mage standing in the doorway watching him with shrewd eyes and a scowl. In the week it had taken them to plan the attack and wait for Arthur to heal The Mage had kept her distance from the rebels. She spend most of her time gathering herbs or sitting outside near the lake. Arthur didn't like that the others were uncomfortable around her and liked even less that she was clearly aware of it. 

Things between them had been, perhaps not friendly, because The Mage was never friendly, but easier since she had taken his burden from him that night. He had woken the next morning to the staggering pain as promised, but that one night of sleep had been a gift and he wouldn't forget it.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" The Mage asked him as blunt as ever. "You've only been without the cane for a few days."

"I've got it covered," he assured her. "You worry too much," he told her and he flashed her a teasing smile.

The Mage arched a brow unwilling to let him think his flirty smile worked on her. "I would hate to have put in all this work to have you die now." 

A wry grin twisted Arthur's lips. "Was that a joke?" He asked incredulously. "Did you just tell a joke?"

The Mage's lips twisted, but no other expression shone on her face. A pleased smile crossed Arthur's face as he realized it had been a joke. She was comfortable enough to tease him, even if it was as wry and stoic as ever. Progress.

"Are you taking the sword?" The Mage asked as Arthur took a step towards the door.

Arthur looked back over his shoulder where the sword was leaning against the wall near his bed. "Not this time," he told her.

She looked disappointed and Arthur felt it in his chest. The truth was, he still couldn't wield his father's sword. He at least wasn't passing out anymore, but the power was stubbornly refusing to yield to his will.

The Mage followed him out of the caves. They both swung up on their horses. She would follow them to town, but intended to stay just outside of the gates and use the eagle to watch over them. Arthur stayed close as they traveled to Camelot. It took most of the day and the sun had already set by the time they reached the city gates.

She nodded to Arthur as they went their separate ways.

"Be safe," he called after her. 

The Mage hesitated but nodded her head imperiously. "And you My King," she spoke the words that always made him squirm before turning away, satisfied.

~<>~

The plan went off without a hitch. Arthur and the others hid in a side alley and they swooped down on the guards as they passed with the prisoners. They moved in on the guards, killing them before they were able to put up much of a fight. The kids however didn't run when they were told. Instead they all stood, huddled together in the middle of the road, frozen in terror,. Arthur frowned and looked to Bedivere who just shrugged, not understanding either. He made a face like Arthur should scare them into running.

Arthur turned back to the kids. "Run!" he shouted, waving his hands in the air like a monster. When the kids all squealed and ran for freedom he grinned, the smile lighting his eyes. There was only a small part of him that was pleased by how it would inconvenient his Uncle. He hoped the kids found their ways back home.

Arthur lifted his gaze and spotted The Mage's eagle sitting on a post a few feet from him. He looked into the raptor's eyes and met her gaze through the bird. "Told you it would go off without a hitch," he said with a cheeky grin. There wasn't anything distinct to notify him it was her looking out at him and not just the bird, but he could feel it in his bones. He would recognize her shrewd glare regardless of the eyes she looked out of and if the eagle could roll its eyes he was sure she would be doing just that.

~<>~

Burning a palace down took more planning than freeing the slaves. The delivery date was set for the first of every month and it was several weeks before they were able to act on it.

The Mage decided to join them on this adventure as well. She didn't like the idea of staying behind while the others risked their lives for the cause. The Rebels all still seemed wary of her, but when she offered her services Arthur had immediately taken her up on it. It was a good opportunity to have a lookout that wouldn't arise suspicion.

They rode together back into Londinium. While the others avoided her, Arthur seemed to go out of his way to be near The Mage. She didn't know if he was doing it on purpose because the others avoided her or if it was because he was trying to annoy her to amuse himself on the journey. She certainly wouldn't put either past him now that they had gotten to know one another better.

Arthur and the crew from the Poppy were on point for this one. They knew Londinium better than any of the rebels. Arthur chose a rooftop not far from the palace where The Mage could have a clear view of their routes. While the others were preparing the wagon he turned back to her.

"Will this do?" He asked, even though what he really wanted to ask was if she would be all right. He was pretty sure she would turn him into a frog if he questioned her abilities, especially in front of the others.

The Mage looked around before she nodded imperceptibly. She turned and lifted her gaze to the sky. She connected with her eagle and brought it down so it perched near her on the ledge of the roof, then she let it's mind free.

"Right," Arthur said, fascinated how quickly her changed from her to her eagles and back again. "We'll be off then. If all goes well we'll be back in less than an hour," he said pulling a worn hood up to hide his face.

"And if it doesn't go well?" The Mage asked.

"Then we'll meet in the old bathhouse like we planned," Arthur said. "You worry about getting yourself there. We'll make our way on the streets."

The Mage nodded. "Aren't you concerned you will be recognized?" she asked.

Arthur flashed her a cheeky grin. "Who me?" he asked impishly. "I'm nobody," he told her and he turned to climb down the ladder to where the Brandy wagon was waiting.

The Mage connected with the eagle and used it to track their progress through the city. She did lazy circles high above the rooftops in the clouds where it wouldn't arouse suspicion. She was able to watch as they were waved through the gate and sent around to the servants entrance. Arthur was right, the guards didn't look at their group twice.

They were fast unloading the barrels. They were back out of the gate, with gold in their pockets before the first whisps of smoke began to rise above the roofline. She swung the eagle out in an even larger circle to keep the bird free from the smoke. By the time the Brandy wagon rolled past the building she was crouched upon and the men hopped out, the fire was clearly visible. It took hold and, try as they might, the guards weren't able to keep it from spreading to the entire wing of the palace.

Arthur swung up the ladder with a cheeky grin and stepped up beside her. "See," he said, clearly pleased with himself. "Not a problem."

The Mage grunted, but didn't bother with a response. Instead, she continued to stay connected with the eagle to monitor if any guards were being sent out after the Brandy wagon. The distributor was already long gone, having taken a generous sum from Bedivere to relocate himself and his family.

Arthur watched the Mage. It was one of the first times he had been this close to her when she stayed connected with an animal. Usually, if he approached her she would drop the connection, looking self conscious. This time, she ignored him and continued to search. It was odd to see the eagles eyes shining out of her face. Eerie looking, but it was like he could almost feel the power radiating off of her. He liked it, unbidden he took half a step towards her before he could stop himself.

The Mage blinked and her shoulders sagged as she came back to herself. The power that had been in the air dropped and Arthur reached down and caught her elbow in his hand briefly to steady her. Once he was sure she had her feet he released her and stepped back.

The Mage was panting lightly as she turned to the group. "No one is in pursuit," she told them. She couldn't quite look the Future King in the face, not without blushing. Which was foolish.

"Nothing to do but sit back and watch the show," Arthur said with a pleased grin. If he noticed how uncomfortable the Mage was, he didn't do her the disservice of drawing attention to it.

The others got comfortable and they watched as the BlackLegs tried and failed to contain the fire.

"What a waste of brandy," Back Lack lamented after a few moments.

"But doesn't it make Vortigern's favorite palace burn well?" Arthur asked with a cocky grin.

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

The Mage was out gathering herbs in the small canyon that ran behind the caves. As much as she appreciated the rebels willingness to send someone out and fetch the herbs for her, she wasn't as willing to trust that they necessarily got the right ones. She and Merlin had foraged for their herbs on the sides of roads her entire life. While there may have been some small holes in her education as she aged, herbology was not among them.

She had a handful yarrow when a scuff of movement echoed through the rocks. Holding the herbs in one hand, she picked up the edge of her dress in the other and crept down the narrow canyon so she could see who had come behind her. She stilled when she saw Arthur standing no more the fifty feet away. He was turned however so he wouldn't catch her out of the corner of his eye unless she drew attention to herself.

He was holding Excalibur in his hand. It was the first time she had ever seen him choose to take up the sword of his own volition. He twirled it through the air expertly, swinging his wrist as though he were getting a feel for the weight of it. He stopped and looked down at the blade in his hand and then raised it up. The afternoon light glinted off of the steel, throwing rainbows across the rock.

Even from this distance she could feel the pulse of the magic. Even dormant the sword was truly a power in itself. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like holding it when it was active.

Taking several deep, centering breaths Arthur lifted his other hand to the hilt. She tensed, waiting to see what would happen. Before the Dark Lands, he had passed out every time he took the blade in two hands. Sometime on his journey something had changed. She wondered if the necessity of facing the dark creatures there had brought about the change in him.

Arthur closed his second hand around the hilt. His eyes flashed a frosty blue and his body shuddered as the power hit him. His muscles clenched as though he were bracing against the magic and he ripped his second hand off the hilt as though it burned him.

The Mage looked away, She wasn't sure how to help him. In the Dark Lands he would have seen what bound the power, and understood that it was his to claim. It would have forced him to face it, or he never would have returned. But here, still he fought the magic, as though it were the enemy and not a partner or a tool.

She wondered if he would allow her to explain. She felt self conscious as she considered explaining her relationship with magic. It was something incredibly personal. Thus the reason a close relationship between Master and Apprentice was so important. There had to be absolute trust in order to make oneself vulnerable enough to learn.

Her and Arthur...their relationship wasn't like that. It was something else, something she couldn't quite define. The trust between them hung like the delicate strands of spider silk. She was hesitant to test it.

Arthur slammed the blade into the ground and scrubbed his hands over his face. Sweat was dripping down his brow and made his linen shirt cling to his chest. Whatever he was fighting inside, his body thought it was very real. She wondered if it hurt to fight magic that had been forged specifically for him.

Mages didn't often struggle with accepting their magic. They were born and raised knowing they could manipulate and command it. Arthur had been raised thinking he was nothing more than the bastard son of a prostitute on the streets. He had recently had a lot thrust upon him in a short amount of time.

Since his return from the Darklands Arthur had embraced his birth right, if not the magic that accompanied it. He was a natural leader, but that would not be enough to fight the combined power of Vortigern and all of his men. They needed Excalibur, and Arthur was the only one who could wield it.

Arthur snatched the sword up in one hand and stalked out of the canyon. The Mage tucked her gathered herbs into the pouch at her waist and climbed down the rocks to follow him. She moved slowly down the path, giving him time to compose himself. Emotions were private things, and Arthur hadn't chosen to expose his to her. She wouldn't betray what little trust existed between them.

When she caught up to him he was standing knee deep in the water of the nearby stream. His shirt was resting in the sun on the bank, drying, she presumed. He bent down and splashed water up on his face. The water soaked his hair and ran down his bare chest. She swallowed and looked down at her feet with more concentration the navigating the gentle slope of the bank required. She sat down on the grass beside his shirt and drew her knees to her chest.

Despite his current misgivings about the sword, Arthur kept Excalibur close. He had slammed it down into the creek bed beside him. It's hilt rose out of the water that rushed around it. The Mage locked her eyes on the way the water and the afternoon light glinted off the blade and made a point of not watching Arthur as he washed away the sweat from his upper body.

"Pick it up," she called to him.

Arthur froze, although she doubted he had failed to notice her approach. Very little escaped the Future King's notice. He glanced over his shoulder to where she sat.

"You pick it up," Arthur shot back. He was surprised it took the mage so long to follow him. He hadn't realized she had been in the canyon at first, but when he had put both hands on the hilt of the damn sword he had felt her presence. The sword gave him an awareness different from his other senses and let him feel her in a way he couldn't quite explain. She wasn't the first he had felt through the sword, but her presence was so different than anyone else. She felt like a blazing hearth fire at his back.

She had given him space, which he appreciated. She always seemed to know when to push him and when to wait. There was never an awkwardness to the silence between them, he found sitting with her quietly strangely comfortable. He liked that about her. In the time they had spent together he found there were a lot of things he liked about her.

She sat on the bank of the stream, her knees drawn to her chest. The sunlight shone in her dark hair, showing strands of red and gold in the dark depths he had never noticed before. When her eyes met his, a blush colored her cheeks and she looked away quickly. He couldn't help a self satisfied smirk. It wasn't often he was able to push the little mage into being out of sorts. In fact it had practically become a hobby of his. She was shrewd and tough to rattle. Turns out all he needed to do was take his shirt off.

There had always been a wildness about her that peaked his interest, a wildness to which he now added an element of innocence. It surprised him a little. She was always so in control and seemed older than she looked. He wouldn't have guessed she might still be innocent in that way.

He splashed water on himself once more and her eyes flickered over his chest as the water dripped down the defined muscles. He had never been particularly vain. He grew up where beauty was only worth as much coin as could be paid for it. He had certainly been propositioned enough times that he knew he could have been a wealthy man, but he had never had any interest in selling himself in that way. All he had ever had control over was his body and himself. Instead he had worked his body and learned to fight. Turning himself into a weapon instead of a thing of beauty. By the time he was eighteen he had too many scars to be propositioned any more. It made him more pleased than it should that he had the mage staring. He had to work to keep the smirk off his face.

She seemed to notice in that moment and cleared her throat, composing herself quickly. "Pick it up with both hands," she ordered him, unwilling to let him see her embarrassment. She hadn't pushed him like this in all their time since they had returned from the Darklands. She had stayed back, giving him space to find his own way. But he was struggling, and she wouldn't stand by silently any longer.

Arthur shot her an incredulous look and shook his head. Water droplets flew and he ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"Did you see all that you needed to see?" she asked him after a few beats of silence hung between them. He had never really answered her question. He had evaded it and given her the brush off. At the time she had felt guilty over sending him into the Darklands, but they didn't have time for him to be evasive any more. The time was coming for him to confront his uncle and he would need to power of Excalibur to retake the throne. 

"Where?" he asked.

"In the Darklands," she clarified.

Arthur suppressed the shudder just thinking about that place. She hadn't been wrong. He no longer had nightmares about his parents. Now he had nightmares about that place. He pulled the sword out of the stream and moved through the water towards her.

"Have the dreams stopped, or did you look away?" She asked.

Arthur shook his head and turned away from her, something that might have been shame flickered in his eyes.

The Mage leaned forward. It was so rare for him to show any kind of weakness, any kind of true emotion. She might be able to use it to reach him. "You want to know why you still can't use it."

"Why don't you tell me," he snapped impatiently.

The Mage shifted her weight back at the flare of temper in his eyes. She wasn't afraid of Arthur, but there was power there and she would be foolish not to respect it. "I think you already know the answer. You faced it, but you have not accepted it. You will accept it when it's worth it to you."

His back stiffened and he half turned his head. "All you do is speak in riddles," he said exhaustedly.

The Mage nodded in agreement. It was a habit she had learned from Merlin. It was all part of the mask. It protected her, made her seem powerful. "Don't get me wrong," she told him. "I look away, we all look away, but that is the difference between a man and a king."

He exhaled and nodded to himself. She didn't push him anymore. She left it at that. He was stubborn and if she pushed too hard, she sensed she could push him too far and he would go back to resisting them. At least now he was willing to work with them.

Arthur scoffed and dropped down onto the soft grass beside her. The sun was warm and it wouldn't take long for the water to dry from his skin. He leaned back on his elbows and looked up at the sky.

"Is that what you think I am?" he asked after a few long minutes of silence. "You see a King when you look at me?"

The Mage turned to look at him. Sitting beside her in the sun, with his hair wet and mussed he looked too young and carefree to be a king. But there was an underlying power to Arthur. There was something about him that made everyone turn and look when he entered a room. It made people stop and listen when he spoke. She didn't know if it was something that he had been born with or if it was tied into his connection to Excalibur.

"Yes," she said after a moment. "When I look at you, I see a King," she told him honestly. "Otherwise I would not be here."

"I thought you were here to finish some grand quest and get your approval to be a sorceress," he pushed.

She made a noise in the back of her throat. "I suppose that is how it started, but I would not leave you now. Not until we stop Vortigern."

"Save all the Mages then," Arthur said a little wryly.

She shrugged her shoulders elegantly.

"Are you so sure I will make things any better for them?" Arthur asked.

The Mage turned and rested her head on her folded arms. She let herself stare into Arthur's blue eyes. "You are a good man," she finally settled on saying. "You have allowed me to stay at your side. You don't seem to mind Mages. You protect your people regardless of who they are."

Arthur snorted. "My father couldn't protect his people," he said looking down at his hands.

The Mage went very still. She had never heard Arthur speak of his father before. She had heard stories of Uther Pendragon from Merlin and Bedivere and Bill, but they were all colored with what amounted to hero worship. She had never heard a single one of them speak of the King's failings. She had never had the gift of foresight in the manner that Merlin did, where she could see events as they were unfolding, but she knew when to trust her instincts and she kept quiet, waiting for Arthur to continue.

There had always been an interesting juxtaposition in the Future King. For a man who often talked at length without taking a single break, he rarely said anything about himself. He would talk and get others to talk, but he rarely allowed people to see what he was truly thinking or feeling. He didn't trust many, Arthur. It would serve him well if they managed to win him the crown, but it would be a lonely road. The thought made her heart hurt.

"The dreams...the visions," he shook his head as he struggled with what to call them exactly. "My nightmares," he settled on and he lifted his gaze to meet her's. "I did see it when I was in the Dark Lands. I put that cursed blade onto the alter like you said and it showed me the whole thing. It forced me to relive it. I couldn't look away."

The Mage felt badly about forcing him to face what had troubled him his entire life. But they didn't have time to work through things the slow way.

"I was boy, couldn't have been much older than six," he said. "My father was holding me, we were trying to escape. Camelot was burning. There was fighting all around us. I remember seeing the spear. It went straight through my mother. Her eyes, they were so blue," he said shaking his head.

Arthur had gotten his eyes from his mother.

"She stared into my eyes as she fell. My father turned to check on her, but he couldn't protect her. Even with that damn sword. When my father turned to look at my mother I saw it for the first time. I thought it was a demon. A monster riding a black horse. My father turned back and put me down. He drew the sword and fought the monster. He lost the sword, it tumbled across the ground towards me. I picked it up by the blade and held it out to my father." Arthur opened his hands and looked down at his palms.

The Mage leaned towards him to see what he was looking at. She frowned and reached for his hands. The tips of her fingers ghosted over the scared lines on his palms. Arthur suppressed a shiver as her warm fingers barely ghosted over his skin.

"It is no wonder the sword calls to you. It bisected your life lines when you were just a boy," she said in wonder as she skimmed her fingers over the lines. "You fed the magic your blood."

Arthur closed his fists. He held her fingers briefly in his own before he released her.

She froze as Arthur's fingers closed over hers. She could feel the strength of his hands, but the look in his eyes reminded her more of the boy he had been when he had faced the monster.

"My father fought the monster, but he couldn't beat him. The monster stabbed him through the chest and the last thing my father did was yell at me to run. So I did..." Arthur let out a shuddering breath. "Before the Darklands that is the last I would ever remember. It's when I would always wake from my nightmares."

"And now?" She asked gently.

"Now..." he shook his head and looked away. "It was my uncle. He used magic somehow to give him power. He killed my father to try and take this blasted sword. When he was dying my father threw the blade into the air and it pierced his back, turning him to stone," Arthur scoffed. "I didn't even know it, but he is that stone I pulled the damn thing out of."

The Mage could hear the pain in Arthur's voice and she reached out and closed her hand over his forearm. His skin felt cool although the water had dried. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. There was nothing she could say, nothing to make any of it better. She didn't blame him for looking away. Such a traumatic event at such a young age was horrific to think about. He had watched both his parents die. She wished she could make it better for him, but all she could offer was her support and a reminder that he wasn't alone now. He closed his other hand over the top of hers. He squeezed it and nodded to her. They sat together in companionable silence until the sun started to sink low on the horizon.

"We better get back," Arthur said moving to stand. He climbed to his feet and shrugged on his shirt. He picked up the sword and rested it over one shoulder and offered the mage his other hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. He rather liked holding her hand, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate it and he released her as soon as she began to pull away. She hadn't denied him the help however. It was progress.

The Mage followed Arthur and the two of them walked back towards the caves together. Arthur wasn't sure if he would ever be able to face his past in a way that would be helpful to their cause. But he did feel better having talked about it with someone. Other than the mage, he wasn't sure who else he could confide in. None of the others would understand the significance of the magic his uncle had managed, and he knew it would hurt Bedivere and Bill to know how their friend had died.

Perhaps he should have felt guilty for burdening her with the story, but she was strong his mage. She hadn't looked at him with pity, instead she had simply sat beside him until he was ready. He had the impression she would have sat with him all night if he had wished. He wouldn't forget it. She had proved herself countless times to be incredibly loyal and worthy of the trust he had placed in her.

When all of this was over he was going to go about seeing if he could make his little mage blush some more as she had earlier when she saw him without his shirt. He rather liked the way her skin had glowed pink. It made her look even more beautiful than usual. She would probably knock him over the head if she knew he was thinking that way.

"Arthur, Mage," Bedivere hurried down the path towards them. "There is someone here you need to meet," he said, gesturing towards the caves.

Arthur and the Mage exchanged a look of confusion but followed the old knight up the hill into the caves.

"Who is she then?" Arthur asked as they approached the main room. The woman was dressed like a wealthy member of court. She was beautiful, if a little older, with soft golden hair, carefully styled.

"She was the handmaiden of your mother, a good friend of hers...she has remained behind in the castle, feeding us information from within and helping us when she can," Bedivere's admiration was clear in his voice.

"She is very brave," The Mage observed. Although she didn't doubt that it was much easier for a woman to act as a spy than a man. It was unlikely Vortigern had even noticed her presence.

"Maggie," Bedivere greeted with a nod. "I thought we agreed you would never come here."

"This is important," she told him seriously. "Or I never would have risked the journey."

"Maggie this is-" Bedivere began the introductions but warmth flooded Maggie's eyes as she turned to Arthur.

"Arthur," she said with a smile. "You have your mother's eyes," she said.

Arthur nodded stiffly, the comments about his family, as always making him uncomfortable. "I've heard that."

"I suppose you have," Maggie said with a nod towards Bedivere and Bill. "Her hair color too, but you look like your dad," tears swam in her eyes as she remembered her friends.

"Right..." Arthur drew off.

"I was there when you were born," Maggie told him. "I was your mother's best friend."

Arthur glanced at The Mage for help. He wasn't sure what to say in response to that information. 

Maggie immediately realized she had made him uncomfortable and sniffed delicately before she turned her focus to business. It hurt that her best friends son had no interest in hearing about his mother, but perhaps they could talk once all of this was over. They had a Kingdom to win.

"Vortigern is planning to meet with the Barons in Londinium," she told them

"When?" Bedivere demanded.

"Three days."

Bedivere shrugged and turned back to Arthur. "Looks like your plan worked."

"You need to be careful," Maggie warned them. "His power is growing."

"Do you mean political..." Bill dragged off.

Maggie shook her head and for the first time real fear shone in her eyes. "It was small things at first. He could light a candle. But now..."

The Mage frowned and took a step forward. "I need you to tell me, with as many details as possible all you have seen him do with magic."

Maggie nodded. She immediately went into detail about the four times she had seen him conjure fire, ending with the last time when she had witnessed him calling a fireball to his palm with nothing but the power of his mind.

The Mage sat back, chewing on her lip.

"What's that then?" Arthur asked her.

"He is no mage," she told him. "He is drawing his power from the tower, but it is happening faster than anticipated. He shouldn't have this kind of control until the tower is done, unless he has used magic before and has another source."

"Is there anything he could have taken from the mage wars?" Arthur asked.

She shook her head. "There are many things that would allow one such as him to use magic. Excalibur is a good example of just one, but it would take years of dedication and study to perfect it."

"Vortigern studied with the mages long ago. He was a student of Mordred, Merlin and your father," Bedivere told her.

The Mage stiffened. "He was taught magic by mages?" she asked in disbelief. It seemed Merlin had left out a very important detail about their enemy.

"Yes, does that change things?" Bedivere asked carefully.

"Yes, he already has an understanding of the craft. It will make him a formidable opponent."

"Well have to act quickly then," Bill suggested. "And not miss."

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

The plan had been a good one. The plan had been a good one that is, until they realized it was a trap.

Arthur was the first to begin to suspect something was wrong. It felt too easy, things were going too smoothly. It had taken them the full three days to plan this and now things were falling into place exactly as they should. That just didn't happen. Things always went wrong.

Arthur, Goosefat Bill, and Bedivere were in the abandoned house that had been chosen. Goosefat stood by the window and had the perfect line of sight for taking his long distance shot on the king. He had an arrow knocked and they were just waiting for Vortigern to step into place.  Trumpets sounded to announce the arrival of the king. Like he was being delivered to them in a silver platter.

"This is too easy," Arthur muttered as the subjects all fell on their knees and the King stepped off his barge, giving them a perfectly clear line of sight. The subjects knelt, but the captain of the guard stood tall and proud awaiting his king.

Goosefat drew the bow, resting his cheek and looking straight down the arrow. He started to count his breaths.

"Wait, wait don't fire," Arthur called, his voice barely above a whisper.

Goosefat flicked his eyes in Arthur's direction but he didn't relax his position. He was set up for the shot and he wouldn't throw away this one chance just because the boy-king was getting cold feet.

"Why not?" Bedivere demanded impatiently, although he too seemed unlikely to listen.

Arthur shook his head, unable to fully articulate what it was that bothered him. Something about the way the captain stood, the way he watched the man who was supposed to be the king. He wasn't respectful enough. When they had him captive every single person who addressed Vortigern did so with absolute reverence. This didn't feel like that.

"Something doesn't smell right," he finally settled on saying, knowing it wouldn't be enough to convince the other men. Bedivere might want to believe in him as King, but neither man was ready for him to actually take that first step and have to follow his orders.

Bedivere's jaw tightened in frustration. "It smells as right as it is ever going to smell," he said, the stress making his accent thicker than usual. "Bill," he implored turning to Goosefat. "Get on with it."

"It's a trap!" Arthur hissed.

"How would he know?" Bedivere demanded. They were running out of time. Vortigern would only stop for a moment before being ushered inside to face the barons.

"Don't know, Maggie, maybe," Arthur implored but he could see he was losing whatever ground he had gained with Bedivere. The old knight cared too much for Maggie, he would never even consider the fact that she had betrayed them. Even if she was the only person who could have.

Bedivere shook his head and turned to look back out the window. His eyes were locked on the king. He had waited too long to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Vortigern had spilled too much blood to be allowed to live.

"Maybe he knows she's working for us!" Arthur said suddenly, whisper yelling to be heard. "I am telling you, that is not the King."

Bedivere pulled back as though he had been struck. It had never occurred to him that Maggie could be in danger. She had been a spy in the palace since the beginning and never once been compromised. Worry creased his face as he considered the risk she had taken coming to the caves. He would never forgive himself if she had been hurt.

"You're right," Goosefat agreed, calm as could be. "It's not the king, he said with a shrug. "Oh well, at least Mercia is here," he said with a wicked gleam of determination in his eye.

"Goosefat-" Bedivere started to call his name, but he wasn't quick enough.

Goosefat let the arrow fly.

"What have you done?!" Bedivere asked in outrage. "You can't shoot if it's a trap."

"They'll never know where that arrow came from," Goosefat promised off hand, but he was already reaching for another arrow.

"We have men on the ground," Arthur snarled in warning. Men who would be on the front lines when the Black Legs sprung their trap. His patience with Goosefat's recklessness was reaching its end.

"You missed him anyway," Bedivere said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Goosefat's grin was cocky. "I didn't miss anyone," he said and he drew the bow a second time.

Arthur swung back to the window, his eyes scanning the crowd. The Earl of Mercia staggered and one of his men turned in the general direction it had come from. "Arrow!" he screamed and the first warning arrow was shot into the sky, unleashing a cloud of black dust to summon the rest of the guard.

Arthur swore. Even knowing it hadn't been the King, the trap was executed perfectly. Goosefat had stepped right into it and now they would be lucky to get out of the city alive.

The crowd exploded into movement. The Black Legs drew their weapons while the people who had gathered to see the king panicked and fled. The people pushed and shoved one another to get away from the Black Legs.

Goosefat let loose another arrow.

"What are you doing!" Bedivere exclaimed. "They're not targets at a fair!"

"That was Clarendon, he earned that," Goosefat snarled, the anger and pain in Goosefat's eyes made Arthur bite back what he was about to say. Goosefat and Bedivere had been fighting this war a lot longer than he had been and the look on Goosefat's face made Arthur think it was likely very personal.

Goosefat shot again at another noble who had betrayed them. After four shots there was no doubt their location would be discovered.

"We need to go now," Arthur said, grabbing Goosefat by the shoulders and bodily dragging him away from the window. Without a constant volley of arrows coming from the window their location would be harder for the guards to track, but they still had men on the street, some of whom had warrants on them by the Black Legs. The Mage was also out there, sequestered away safely on a rooftop yes, but Arthur didn't trust she would keep herself there if there was trouble. The need to get to her, to make sure she was safe was a pounding pressure in the back of his head. He never should have dragged her into this.

Arthur led the way down the stairs and opened the door at street level. The crowds were still panicky, fleeing every direction with no clear idea of how to get themselves out of trouble. Groups of people were screaming somewhere behind them.

Across the street, Percival, Rubio, Wetstick and Back Lack were all leaning casually against a building. Arthur nodded once to them, signaling they needed to move. Then he pulled up his hood and stepped calmly out the door and disappeared into the mob.

~<>~

The Mage realized before the others that it was a trap. She had been flying in lazy circles overhead when she saw the man who was supposedly the King step off the barge. There was something wrong in the way he carried himself however and when he stood before his royal guard he fidgeted nervously. He was a decoy and Arthur was about to step into a trap.

In the very next moment she realized she had no way of signaling to the others what she knew.  If she returned to her body she was too far from any of them to warn them. What good was she as a look out when she couldn't pass on a message.

She could bring her eagle to the house where she knew Arthur, Bedivere and Bill were preparing for Bill to take the shot, but that would risk giving away their position. It was already suspicious enough having an eagle in town. Let alone having it behave so unnaturally.

She watched helpless to do anything as Goosefat took the shot. She almost pulled up in shock when she saw he had not hit the imposter, but rather the captain of the guard. It didn't seem likely that Goosefat could have missed. She had watched him practice. He had not missed a single bullseye. Which meant he had chosen to take the shot on the captain of guard instead of the fake king. One of the other guards sounded the alarm
and black dust exploded in the air above the square.

She risked diving lower once just in time to see Arthur and the other men disappear into the panicked crowd. She pulled back to her body, releasing her eagle with a single push for it to fly far from the city. She swore aloud in French as she stood on shaky feet. It was time to move. They had agreed if anything went wrong they would meet in the old Roman bathhouse Arthur had shown her. It had been converted into a training ground of sorts, Arthur had explained, but it was safe.

The city was erupting into chaos. More puffs of black powder were exploding, showing a clear path of progression across the city. The Mage slipped unnoticed between the alleyways and roof tops. When she had to move out onto a road she blended easily into the crowd and no one looked her way. She could hear screaming behind her, but she had to trust that Arthur and the others were fine.

From what she could tell she had managed to arrive at the bathhouse just ahead of them. There was shouting and yelling just a couple of streets over. So much for hoping they had managed to sneak away unnoticed. It sounded like they were headed for the bathhouse and they were bringing the whole Black Legs guard with them.

She pounded on the door and it swung open to show a young man in rough spun training clothes. She shoved her way past him, marching through the narrow hall into the open courtyard that had once been the baths. The men all froze in shock at the sight of a woman in their midst, but The Mage didn't hesitate.

She looked over the group and easily picked out the man in charge.  He was only a few inches taller than her and Chinese. "Arthur needs your help," she called to him.

The man frowned in confusion for only a second before he turned back to his men and snapped off orders to them. The men in the training yard all raced back out the front door ready to help Arthur however they could.

~<>~

Things had gone from bad to worse. Arthur had hoped they could lose the Black Legs by winding through the city, but all they had done was draw more attention to themselves. He didn't know where Back Lack was or why he had not left with the group. They had also lost Rubio. Even injured he had bravely charged the Black Legs to give them a chance to escape.

Arthur and his men dropped over the wall into the alley with the Black Legs right on their heels. George's men were waiting with bows and arrows to provide cover as he and the others raced into the training yard.

Arthur pulled up, gasping for breath. Standing together at the center of the courtyard were George and The Mage.

"Lock the door George," Arthur called fighting to keep his tone even. George obeyed immediately. Both turning the lock and having two men lift the heavy beam into the brackets to barricade the door. It would hold for now, but the Black Legs would find a way through.

He had brought trouble to George's door, but this was the safest place he knew. He didn't know if he was relieved to see The Mage had made it to the bathhouse in time to send the men out to help, or irate that she too had somehow ended up trapped with the rest of them.

"Still got the back door George?" Arthur asked, once George had returned to his side, looking at him like everyone else was, as though Arthur somehow had all the answers. He didn't. That was the problem. All these men looking to him to lead them and Arthur didn't know how to save them.

George nodded once. There was a loud thud and his eyes flashed to the door. The Black Legs had brought a battering ram.

"We need to get the lads out. And fast," Arthur said.

George was already shaking his head. "Not going to happen boss. They hate the Blacklegs and love a fight. They live for this," he said gesturing at the men around them who were already preparing for the inevitable conflict. Some had bows while others were twirling swords, warming up their muscles for when the door gave way.

Arthur stared at his old master in disbelief. "They're gonna die," he said bluntly. Not caring who heard. No one else seemed to be taking this situation seriously enough. The Black Legs were coming and they were going to kill everyone, whether they had taken part in the attack or not.

"They have trained their whole life for this," George said firmly.

Black legs appeared over the edge of the rooftop and one of the trainees fired several arrows in rapid succession, driving them back.

"Archers!" someone yelled and arrows descended upon them, killing a handful of the trainees.

Arthur's eyes were frantic as he turned to The Mage. She had already pulled back, finding cover behind a nearby pillar. Arthur breathed a sigh relief.

But The Mage didn't see it. She had already reached for her magic. She needed to buy them time and cover while Arthur came up with a plan. The only animals near by was a flock of crows. She connected with them and drew them towards the open roof lines overlooking the training yard. They swarmed, descending on the Blacklegs stationed there and swirled in intricate patterns, making it impossible to pick out a target below. She drew several away from the flock and attacked the soldiers faces. The Black Legs panicked, abandoning their bows as they swung their arms wildly to keep the animals at bay.

She could hear yelling behind her, arguing. Arthur was trying to organize an escape. He was desperate to not have more men die for him. She wanted to turn, to argue with him, to make him understand these men would never leave him, but keeping the crows was taking all of her focus.

Another loud thud echoed through the courtyard. Arthur turned away from George in frustration and marched over to the old entrance to the tunnels. He grunted as he fought to lift the old stone out of place. He flung it to the side and looked up.

"Right, you two first," he said gesturing to Goosefat and Percival who were standing close to him. "It's a straight run to the river."

"Right," Goosefat agreed, firing an arrow towards one of the Black Legs that was distracted by the crowd. The man shrieked as the arrow found its mark and he fell off the roof from sight. Goosefat turned back to Arthur looking smug. "You first."

Another thud sounded. "We don't have time to argue Bill," Arthur ground out.

"Some of us will make it out in time, some of us won't," Bill said matter a factly. As though it didn't matter to him if he did or not.

A thud came and it was followed by a groaning from the door hinges. "Well better some than none!" Arthur sputtered urgently.

"Right," Goosefat agreed. "You. First."

Thud.

Arthur ground his teeth at the stubborn man. He turned to the trainees. "Mike, get down the hole," he called. Certain Mike would listen.

The large man shook his head. "Don't like rats boss."

Thud.

Arthur's scowl deepened and he turned to another. "Dell."

Thud.

"Scared of the dark," Dell replied as he swung his sword experimentally.

"Really?" Arthur demanded in disbelief. He could hear the troops amassing outside the door, there was no way the other men couldn't hear it as well. Once that door gave way every Black Legs in the city would be coming through it.

Thud.

"George, will you tell them!" Arthur shouted. The pounding of the battering ram felt like a second heartbeat echoing in his ears..

"Sorry boss," George said, shaking his head.

"Stupid batards, determined to die," Arthur growled and he pulled off his jacket, tossing it aside. He drew Excalibur, tossing the sheath away from him. Chances were good he wasn't ever going to need it again. 

The next thud was followed by a splintering of wood. One more, maybe two, and they would be inside.

When door burst open and the soldiers came in like a wave. The trainees threw themselves at the soldiers. Most were better trained, but they didn't have the armor to protect them and they were dying. Many took out several Black Legs soldiers before they were taken down themselves.

Arthur swung Excalibur one handed, swiping a Black Legs between the slats in his armor. He fell to the ground screaming. When he fell, Arthur lifted his gaze to find his next opponent.

His eyes however landed on The Mage. A Black Legs grabbed her and pulled a knife to her throat. The soldier laughed and jerked her small frame around so he was facing Arthur, as though he would use her as a shield.

The Mage lifted her gaze and met Arthur's across the courtyard. She saw something change in his eyes. She had told him he would use the power when it was worth it to him. She saw the moment that realization hit him.

Arthur swung around and grabbed the hilt of Excalibur with both hands. His eyes flashed a frosty blue and The Mage felt the power rise all around them as he embraced it fully for the very first time. She sucked in a breath as it hit her. It tingled along her skin and made the air feel thick, like a thunderstorm was coming.

It was too fast for the others to see, but The Mage used her magic and pushed against the veil so she could watch him. He took her breath away. He killed them all, smashing their blades to bits and ripping through them like the street fighter he was. He was absolutely relentless as he flung himself from man to man killing every single Black Legs who had come for them. He fought like Excalibur was at last his, he moved the like sword was part of him. The swords frosty magic shone out his eyes and made the blade glow brightly even through the veil.

When it was done Arthur stood alone in the center of the courtyard, Excalibur hanging from one hand, its tip in the dirt. He was gasping for breath and sweat made his shirt cling to his chest.

All of their people were staring at him in shock. They looked from the fallen bodies back to him in disbelief. Arthur stooped down and scooped up his sheath off the ground, and slid Excalibur inside. He slung the blade over his shoulder and looked back at the men watching him.

"We're going down the hole now," Arthur said. And this time, they listened.

The Mage watched the men moving around Arthur with something like reverence. Amidst the awe she recognized the slightly uneasy looks they cast Arthur's way as they stepped past him. It was the look of people who had witnessed power.

And Arthur was real power.

She was surprised to find she was a little sad. She mourned for Arthur. His men had seen him as The Born King now and there was no going back. From here on out he would no longer be Art and these men would no longer be his friends. They would be his subjects and he would be King Arthur.

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

Arthur stood over the escape hole and waited as the men filed past him, dropping into the black abyss below. Not a single one of them made eye contact with him, but they also didn't argue. He would take it as a victory, but he could feel their fear. His livelihood and the safety of those he was responsible for had required him to be feared, but he didn't like seeing it on the faces of his friends and allies. He had known accepting the sword and its magic would change his life, he just hadn't expected it to happen quite so fast. 

The Mage was the last to approach. She handed him the sheath to the sword. She was the only one out of the whole group who looked him square in the face after what happened. 

Her eyes were as unreadable as ever, their color striking against her pale skin as she watched him. He wanted to ask what she thought now that he had done it, but she was moving gingerly as though she were trying to hide some injury from him. His jaw tightened. It was his fault, she never should have been there. 

He slid the sword back into its sheath and swung it over his shoulder so it rested between his shoulder blades. Even sheathed, he could feel the magic, like it had a heartbeat of its own, resting against his back. He glanced around at the carnage at his feet. People had died for him here, people who shouldn't have. If he had accepted the magic sooner, they maybe wouldn't have died. 

"We are going down as well?" The Mage asked, her accent thicker than usual. She cleared her throat and rubbed her hands down the side of her dress as she stared into the black hole at their feet. 

"I'm not too keen on round two," he responded, forcing his voice to sound as casual as possible. The truth was, the power had been more than he expected. He could still feel the phantom tingles of it running through his limbs. 

The Mage made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat that he took for agreement, and looked down at the open hole at her feet. The only sign of her discomfort was the subtle shifting of her weight. She was always so still. Arthur doubted anyone but him would have noticed.

"It's a big drop," he warned her. "It would be better if you let me help you," he said, holding his hand out to her. 

The Mage's eyes flashed with temper and her jaw set, and he knew she was going to argue. They didn't have time to argue. She was such a stubborn little thing. 

But then she surprised him. She took a deep breath and gently rested her hand in his. Arthur closed his hand around her wrist and reached for her other one. Carefully, he lowered her down as far as he could, supporting her weight as he lowered himself into a crouch. She didn't weigh much, but it was still difficult.

"I'm going to let go now," he told her. "It's still a few feet to the bottom." 

She nodded but didn't say anything. 

He hated the feeling of letting her go, but he could hear movement behind him in the alley. He hadn't been lying. He didn't fancy a round two with the sword. He was already feeling hollow and achy as though he hadn't eaten in days. He hadn't passed out from the magic this time, but it had taken a toll. 

Below, he heard The Mage splash in the shallow water and she sucked in a surprised breath. 

"Okay?" Arthur called down to her. 

"I am," she responded curtly after a moment, but her voice sounded strange. 

"I'm coming down," he told her and he lowered himself into the black hole, landing in an easy crouch. He blinked a few times and after a few seconds he was able to make out the shape of the Mage standing near the wall of the tunnel, waiting for him. The other men had already set off down the tunnel, but he could hear their movements echoing off the damp surfaces as they moved away. 

He glanced towards her and was surprised when she didn't move to follow. Arthur took a step towards her and in the dim light could just make out the shape of her. Her hand was resting against the damp rock wall and she seemed to be frozen. 

The Mage couldn't draw in a deep breath. The rock walls were too close. She could hear the clanking of weapons around her and the damp smell of earth filled her nostrils. The soldiers were coming. 

"Mage." 

Somewhere off she could hear a soldier calling for the Mages. They had already killed so many of their village. Her friends and family were all lying dead, their blood feeding the earth. 

"Mage," the voice rumbled again, closer now and she flinched back in blind terror. They had fled to the caves, but even the darkness couldn't hide them. The soldiers were going to find her.

Hands grabbed her and she tried to wrench herself away. A whimper built in her throat and the hands closed over her shoulders. They had found her. 

"Mage!" the voice was more firm. She was too far gone to recognize the hands were not trapping her, but holding her gently. "Please."

It was the please and the gentleness that broke through the trap of her memories when nothing else could. She double blinked in confusion to see not Blackleg soldiers, but Arthur standing before her. 

"Arthur," she said his name to him for maybe the first time and when she did something shifted in him. Names had power, she had told him that and she felt it between them. The significance of it. 

He breathed out a sigh of relief when her eyes cleared and his large, warm hands came up to gently cradle her cheeks. "You're safe," he promised, repeating the words she had spoken to him when he escaped the terror of the Darklands. 

It wasn't until that moment that she realized she was shaking. Her body remembered the terror that came out of the darkness and she couldn't stop it. The harder she tried to force herself the tighter her chest became.

"I-" she tried to form the words but they wouldn't come. Fear still closed her throat and muddled her thoughts. She didn't know how to explain to him what had happened. Shame burned through her.

Arthur stared down at her with such intensity and understanding it made tears spring into her eyes. "M-" he started to say and stopped with a low growl of frustration in the back of his throat. She was more than just a mage to him. "Tell me your name," it was a rough command this time and not a question. 

The last time he had asked, and she had denied him. Explaining the significance of a mage sharing their name. A mage could be bound by the power of their name, and to share it would be the ultimate sign of trust. She had denied him that trust last time, but now she looked up into his shadowed face where concern was etched in every line. She wondered if Merlin had seen this moment when he sent her. She found it didn't matter, not really. She drew in a breath and trusted, not Merlin, but Arthur. 

"Nimue," she whispered the name into the darkness. 

She had not named herself to another since she was a child. With the death of her mother, only Merlin had known her true name. Now, the name filled the air around them and something shifted, like a great lock clicking into place. Her hands came up to grip his wrists and she could feel the tingle of magic from the bracelet she had given him. It filled her chest and she felt like she couldn't catch her breath. It was like every cell of her body was in tune with his. 

"Nimue," he said the name tenderly, as though he understood the significance. "We have to go now. It's going to be very dark," he warned her. "It will take maybe ten minutes to reach the other side of the city...understone" he purposefully used the word she had used to describe her problem with the caves.

The Mage's breathing kicked up, but she nodded in understanding. She could do this. She clenched her hands into fists as she fought to take control of her rebelling body. 

He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. "I am going to get you out of this," he promised. "You're safe with me," his voice was a rasp in the dark but she believed him. She nodded against his skin and he pulled back letting go of her for just a moment, but it left her feeling cut adrift. He reached down and tangled his fingers with hers. "Do you trust me?"

She remembered the look on Arthur's face when he saw the soldier put a blade to her neck. She wasn't sure she would ever forget it. She remembered how only then had he wrapped both hands around the hilt of Excalibur and embraced his power and the destiny that came with it. It had been for her. Maybe not completely, maybe it had been all of his friends in danger that had driven him to finally act, but his anger on her behalf and his drive to protect had taken her breath away. 

Nimue laced her fingers with his. "I do." 

He closed his strong fingers around hers and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Come on then, love," he said and he led the way through the darkness. 

~<>~

After, Nimue wouldn't remember much about the journey through the underground tunnels. For her, it all blended together in a series of flashes of fear and memory that only the warm strength of Arthur's hand firmly clasping hers seemed to chase away. 

Arthur, however, would never forget it. It would haunt his nightmares for years to come. Time seemed to drag on and in the darkness, he could feel only the cold clamminess of Nimue's small, shaking hand. He could hear her ragged breaths behind him as she fought against the panic. There was nothing he could do but keep moving and get her out of this as quickly as possible.

It was all his fault. He never should have taken her down here. There were other ways across the city if it weren't for the black legs searching for him. None of them knew her, she could have slipped away through the city alone and unnoticed, but she was here for him. He tightened his hand one more notch around hers. She felt so much smaller than him, the bones in her hand felt almost delicate.

The tunnels weren't complete darkness, there were other access points that he and his friends had discovered and explored over the years, but most people didn't pay attention to what was right under their feet, ignoring the old Roman infrastructure. The old grates and access points allowed just enough light for him to navigate all the way across to the other side of the city.

He talked the whole way, thinking back he wasn't sure he could have repeated anything that he had said. But it felt important to fill the silence with something. He whispered stories and observations just loud enough for her to hear him. He could feel her panic like a bow stretched tight, and the weight of the trust that she placed in him rested heavy on his shoulders. She didn't trust easy, his mage, and he would do everything he could to live up to that trust.

As they neared the end of the tunnel, he could start to hear the sounds of low voices and movement again. He felt her flinch, her fear palpable, and it made him more angry than he could ever remember. Arthur had never struggled with his temper. In fact, he had always found temper to be an easily exploitable weakness in others. But he found Nimue's fear to be equal parts infuriating and devastating. He never wanted her to be that scared again, and he vowed to himself he would do everything in his power to ensure it.

~<>~

They turned a corner and Nimue squinted against the sudden light at the end of the tunnel. It was as bright as staring into the sun after so much time in the black. Arthur stepped to the edge first and leaned out, craning his neck to see the others already on top of the bridge.

"Art man, thought we lost you," Wet Stick said in relief.

"Not likely," Arthur responded with an easy grin. 

Arthur pulled her up beside him. There was still a slight tremble to her, but it was fading. She was strong his mage. He caught her eye and nodded to her. She nodded back, drawing in a steadying breath. She craned her neck and could see where Wet Stick was crouched at the edge of the pier, reaching down to help her up. She stretched up but wasn't quite tall enough. Arthur's hands closed around her waist and lifted her easily.  

It was not the most graceful, but she managed to scramble up on the pier, cursing her skirt that got in the way more than anything. Most of the others from the bathhouse had already fled, leaving just their small group once again. Bedivere steadied her with a hand on the shoulder as Wet Stick turned back to help Arthur. 

Arthur jumped, caught the edge and pulled himself up in a pull up.

"Show off" Wet Stick laughed, but there was concern in his eyes as he looked over the two of them. "Al'right?" he asked. 

The others looked at him expectantly, but he didn't bother with an explanation. He wasn't going to betray Nimue's weakness in front of the others. Her legend kept her safer than even her power did and he wasn't about to risk that, even with his most trusted friends. 

Arthur nodded once sharply, putting an end of the discussion. "We'll head to the riverhouse, wait until dark before we leave." No one argued with him. 

Arthur led them the rest of the way to a safehouse. It was a ramshackle old house, with an assortment of mismatched furniture and a stuffiness that told Nimue it was not used often. The men all seemed relieved to hear they had time to rest, and found space on the main floor. They would wait until nightfall before they moved again. 

Nimue slipped away to the back room to be by herself. The sun was setting when Arthur appeared in the doorway to check on her. He stood in the shadows watching her as she used a white linen rag to dab at the remnants of blood on her neck.

"It seems as though you found a way to use the sword," she said. She didn't look at him. She couldn't. Not after what happened in the tunnels. She had been vulnerable and had to depend entirely on him. He already had so many people depending on him, she didn't want to be just one more on a long list. It was important to her that he didn't view her as liability. 

He strode into the room almost silently. "I wasn't controlling it," he said and he shook his head. "Here," he said, stepping up next to her. 

His warm fingers covered hers as he took the rag from her hand. He used his free hand to brush her hair back over her opposite shoulder. The silky strands slid across his skin as he looked down at her. His fingers moved the edge of her dress aside, exposing more of her back to the air and she shivered.

Arthur stilled as Nimue shivered under his hands. He hadn't noticed the cold in the safehouse, but she was only wearing her thin dress. It would be cold out on the river tonight. 

He rested his free hand on her shoulder, and was as gentle as possible as he cleaned the cut on her neck. He leaned down to get a better look at it in the flickering candle light. 

"It was controlling me," he said, his voice more raw than he intended. "I saw you and..." he stopped and shook his head. "I don't even remember what happened."

Nimue closed her hand around his wrist and he went still beneath her firm grip. She lifted her chin so she was looking straight up at him. "I can," she promised him, her dark eyes blazing up at him. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

Arthur held her gaze, unable to fathom what she could possibly be thanking him for. It was his fault she had ended up in that situation in the first place. His fault she was injured by the Blacklegs, his fault she had faced the tunnels. It had been a stupid plan, and even more stupid of him to let her come along. He heaved out a sigh. They weren't out of the woods yet, and there were over a dozen people in the next room for him to protect. He lowered the rag and Nimue released his wrist. He lowered himself to sit beside her, resting his thigh against hers. It was dangerous to indulge himself in the need for contact, but he didn't think she would pull away from him. 

"About what happened in the-" he began and he stopped, his hands on his thighs clenched into fists as he fought to sort out the words. He was normally so good with words. 

"I'm sor-" Nimue started to apologize as shame burned through her, but he beat her to it.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You were panicking and I didn't know what to do. I never should have pushed when you didn't offer and-" he said looking down at his hands.

Nimue frowned in confusion. "Are you apologizing for asking my name?" she asked, cocking her head to the side so she could try and catch his eye.

Arthur was never unsure, never hesitated, but he did now. For her. He was trying to repair something he thought was broken between them.

Nimue slid her hand over his clenched fist and he watched her through wary eyes. She swallowed. This was new territory for her and she hated the feeling of uncertainty. It would be so much easier to run and hide from this. To look away. But she didn't have it in her, not after all they had been through.

"You guided me through one of my worst nightmares," she confessed to him. She swallowed and drew in a deep breath, lifting her chin as though steeling herself against the words she was about to share. "When Vortigern's men came we fled to the nearby sacred caves, convinced we would be safe...we weren't," she said, her voice hoarse. "The soldiers came in the darkness and murdered everyone. I only survived by hiding under a small outcropping. I was too scared to move. I lay in the dark, surrounded by their dead bodies convinced the soldiers would come back for me. I don't know how long I was there before Merlin found me, days most likely." 

"Jesus," Arthur said half under his breath as he realized the true horror of her past and what she had been facing in the tunnels. 

"My family, my village, my entire people...all but a handful of us are gone now. They were taken in the dark."

Arthur shook his head. "I never should have taken you down there. I didn't understand. I didn't know. I never should-" he dragged off but she interrupted him.

"You saved our lives," she said resolutely, and she closed her hand over the top of his, stilling him with nothing but a gentle touch. 

He held her gaze letting her see the truth in his next words. "I'll die before I tell anyone your true name," he vowed.

The Mage closed her hand tighter around his. "I trust you." She whispered into the dark.

There was a commotion outside and she felt his muscles coil in anticipation of the flight to come. She rose to peer out the slats of the boarded up window. It was too dark to see much beyond the movement of torches. "Something is happening, you know."

"Certainly sounds like it," he agreed.

"People saw what you can do in that courtyard. You wield the power as Uther once did. You are no longer a myth. You are starting to mean something."

He shook his head. "That wasn't the intention."

She turned back to him and pinned him down with an unblinking stare. "They are fighting in your name."

"I don't want to hear that," he confessed, meeting her gaze solemnly.

She fought to contain her disappointment. He still wasn't ready to see himself as a King. She didn't know what it would take and she didn't know how to help him.

"Why did Merlin send you?" he asked, changing the subject. 

She snorted and shook her head. If only she knew. "Ask me again sometime," she told him, but at this point it was habit. After what happened in the tunnels it was clear there was a reason. Whether because of her feelings or as a way to test her. The latter seemed more likely, more like the mysterious old Mage who had taught her all she knew.

A door opened and Arthur turned towards the door. "Is that you Blue?" he called.

"Yeah Boss," Blue responded.

Nimue stepped back into the shadows of the room, putting some space between them as Arthur turned his attention to the boy.

"Have you found your father?" Arthur asked, he was doing a good job of concealing his concern for the boy and his long time friend. The city was imploding around them and the thought of them both out on the streets made Arthur feel helpless.

"He's found him," Back Lack called.

Arthur exhaled in relief and Nimue saw his body sag. He hung his head for a moment before composing himself. He rose to his feet and strode into the room looking every bit the composed leader. Only Nimue had seen the moment of vulnerability. She recognized he had laid himself bare before her in that moment just as surely as she had done in the tunnels beneath the city.

Back Lack was badly hurt. Arthur could see it even before he stepped into the room. He narrowed his eyes and turned to look over his shoulder. Nimue was still watching him from the shadows. He met her gaze and she seemed to be able to read his mind. She stepped silently into the room behind him. He knelt beside Back Lack and she slid up beside him. She lifted Back Lack's jacket to get a better look at the wound.

Arthur knew it was bad, but he hadn't realized how bad until Nimue went very still beside him. She pressed her lips together and looked closer at the wound. "We will need to stitch it," she said after a moment. She turned and met Arthur's eyes. "There's nothing I can do for it here," she told him.

Arthur read between the lines. He understood she was telling him there was nothing she could do to save his friend. Back Lack was deathly pale and it was obvious he had been losing blood for several hours. Arthur wanted to curse his stubborn friend. Had he stayed with them they might have been able to help him right away.

"All right mate," Arthur said running a hand through his hair. "We need to get you out of here."

Wet Stick came from the stairwell. He pulled up as he saw Arthur and the Mage crouched over their friend. He knew it had to be bad for the Mage to stay so close. "Let's get your ass on that boat Lack," Wet Stick said with forced enthusiasm. "There's a good fog to cover our tracks," he reported to Arthur.

Arthur pushed himself to his feet. "Come on then," he said.

"I need...a little breather," Back Lack said, gasping. "Load everyone else up and come back for me."

Blue refused to move, his jaw set defiantly. "I'll stay with you."

"No you won't. Give 'em a hand," Back Lack ordered. 

Blue looked like he wanted to argue. Even though he was a boy, he knew something was wrong and he didn't want to leave his dad's side. 

"I'll be all right mate," Back Lack promised him. "You help Art get the lady down to the boat. It's important to keep a lady like her safe. I just need a minute," he told his son.

Blue looked like he wanted to argue. But Arthur stepped up, resting a hand on Blue's shoulder. "Come on Blue," Arthur said, guiding Blue towards the back stairs. "I'm trusting you to get her down there and look out for her while I bring your father. Here, you carry this in case you need it," Arthur said, holding out the sword to the kid.

Back Lack held Arthur's gaze as he spoke to the boy. Arthur knew his friend was dying. They both did, but Arthur had to get Blue out of here. Arthur rested his hand on Blue's shoulder and nodded to Back Lack who nodded back. Without ever having to say a word Arthur had promised to take care of his friend's son. 

Blue looked up at The Mage, unshed tears shining in his eyes, but he didn't cry. He lifted his chin and gripped Excalibur. "This way my lady," he said, gesturing for her to go ahead of him, part courtly gentleman and part backalley bodyguard. 

Nimue glanced at Arthur. He straightened and nodded to her. She followed behind Blue, who opened a hidden door at the back of the stairwell and guided her out to the boat. Arthur followed behind them, holding the door open to make sure everyone else made it to the boat in one piece.

The river was quiet and dead calm with a thick fog. It was an eerie juxtaposition to the city erupting behind them. The people were ready to fight for Arthur, they had had enough of Vortigern's oppression. They just needed a reason. The Mage could feel it like a storm rising. She felt badly about Arthur's friend. Back Lack had seemed like a loyal friend and had fought for the rebels. He didn't deserve to meet his end like this. She could see the pain in Arthur's eyes even if he didn't say it. 

Arthur held out a hand and helped her step down into the boat.

She settled on the far side and turned as Arthur moved to help Blue climb in. 

Blue hesitated, pressing his lips together determinedly. "I can't," he said after a moment.

Arthur put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Get in the boat Blue, I'll get your dad."

Blue shook his head and tears sprung in his eyes. He turned and tossed the sword into the boat where it landed with a clatter. "I can't leave him!" he shouted and turned and ran back for the safe house.

Arthur swore and took off after him. "Be ready," he called back over his shoulder. There was nothing Nimue could do to help. She picked up Excalibur and hung it across her body where it would be safe. There were long, agonizing minutes of silence before the screaming started. 

~<>~

Arthur ran up the stairs after Blue but slowed as he heard voices inside the room. They were low and too soft for him to make out exactly what was said. Mischief John was the closest to him, but he had his back to the stairs. 

"You bastard!" Blue screamed so loudly it made Arthur flinch. He surged forward just in time to hear his uncle speak. 

"I'll ask again, where is your friend?" His uncle was holding something bloody in one hand and a dagger in the other. 

Arthur crept closer to Mischief John and pulled his own dagger from his waist. He covered the last few feet and laid it against the soldier's throat. But Mischief John didn't release Blue even as Arthur bent him over almost backwards. 

As soon as he appeared Vortigern switched the blade to Back Lack's throat. 

"Let him go," Arthur snarled dangerously as he pressed the dagger closer to John's throat. With Mercia dead Mischief John was the Kings most loyal General. 

Vortigern tilted his head as he watched Arthur an almost bemused expression on his face. And why not. He was surrounded by six guards. Arthur was alone. He pressed the blade tighter against Back Lack's neck and Lack flinched, his face white with pain as he clutched a hand to the side of his head. His fingers were covered in blood. 

They were at a stand off and there was no way for Arthur to win. Back Lack met Arthur's gaze and Arthur knew what he was about to do. He frowed, fighting back emotions as he looked over the room. There was no way out of this. No way to save the three of them and kill his uncle. All he could do was get Blue. 

Back Lack nodded to his old friend once, trusting him to take care of his son. "Take the boy and g-" and Vortigern slit Lack's throat. 

"NO!" Blue screamed. Arthur shoved Mischief John into the other guards before they could attack. He grabbed Blue under his arm and ran. 

Arthur burst out of the door, sealing it behind him, and carrying a screaming Blue in his arms. He ran for the boat and jumped in, his landing rocking it dangerously. 

"Go!" he shouted as the boy's screams turned to sobs. 

They shoved off and Nimue leaned forward, taking the young boy from Arthur. Blue's skinny arms wrapped around her neck and sobbed into her dress. She rocked him, trying to soothe him even though she knew it was useless. There was no fixing this. 

Arthur turned back and the safehouse erupted into flames. Nimue held Blue to her chest and looked up at Arthur. She could see the shine of emotion in his eyes in the light of the fire reflecting on the water. She reached out and closed her hand over his forearm. He turned back and met her eyes. He he pulled his arm free and tangled his fingers with hers with one hand and laid the other against Blue's back.

They floated silently away from the screams and the burning city and disappeared into the fog. 

~<>~

Chapter Text

~<>~

Their flight from the city was oppressive in its silence. Blue’s sobs had quieted until only the shaking of his shoulders revealed his grief as his silent tears soaked Nimue’s dress. When they left the small boat behind and switched to horses Arthur lifted the boy into the saddle in front of her. She wrapped her arms around him as Arthur spoke with the other men. Only a small group of them would be continuing to the caves, the others would return to the city to gather what information they could. 

As they waited, Blue’s head dipped back and rested against her shoulder as he fell asleep. She reached into the mind of her horse to keep it still. Sleep was the best thing for him at this point. Arthur swung up onto his horse and nodded to her that he was ready. He took in her eyes and the unnatural stillness of the horse, but didn’t say anything. He knew she was expending energy to keep the trip smooth for Blue and he stayed close in case they needed anything, never moving more than a few horse lengths away. His shoulders were tense with the desire for action and his eyes sharp as he took in every noise and movement in the trees around them. 

Nimue halted the horse outside the caves. One of the women from The Poppy came out carrying a torch. Her welcoming smile faded quickly when she saw Arthur’s face. Wet Stick stepped towards her to explain in hushed tones. Arthur turned away, not wanting to see the horror of his failure on his friend’s faces. He climbed down from his horse, handing it off before approaching her’s. He reached up and took the sleeping boy into his arms, taking a deliberate step back. 

“You can let it go,” he said in a low, gruff voice.

Nimue blinked, one long slow blink and the horse shifted uneasily beneath her as it came back to itself. She swung down out of the saddle and followed Arthur as he carried the boy into the caves.  

Arthur brought Blue to his room. He didn’t know what else to do with him. He laid the boy carefully onto his sleeping pallet and was unsurprised when he turned to find the Mage standing behind him. He was practically shaking with the effort to contain his emotions. He didn’t want her to know. She had been resolutely loyal through all of this and he didn’t want her to see. He kept his eyes down, glued on the pallet where Blue slept. Tears still stained the boy’s dirty cheeks. Guilt tore its way through Arthur’s chest. It was his fault Blue was an orphan. His fault he would never see Back Lack again. 

Nimue knelt beside the pallet and pulled up Arthur’s blanket, tucking it around the sleeping boy. She rested her palm against his hair, wishing there was something more she could do to comfort him.  

“Stay with him,” Arthur said, his voice hoarse. 

She turned to look up at him from her knees. “I will,” she said.

“He shouldn’t wake up alone,” he continued. 

“I know,” she told him, and Arthur remembered she would know, more than perhaps any of them. 

Nimue had never seen such anguish in Arthur’s eyes. He had faced every step of this without ever showing a moment’s weakness. But she could see his pain in his eyes and it made something tighten in her chest. She would do anything in her power to keep that look from his eyes. He gazed down at Blue and his jaw tightened. Whatever he was thinking he wasn’t there with her, not really. He was lost somewhere in his mind as his guilt consumed him. 

She reached up and her fingers lightly touched the back of his hand. Arthur jerked in surprise and looked down at her. “I promise,” she told him, holding his gaze. 

Arthur tore his eyes away as though he couldn’t hold her gaze any longer. Which wasn’t like him. Arthur had never looked away from her, never been the first to turn, but tonight he spun on his heel and practically ran from the room. Nimue turned back to the boy and made sure the blankets were tucked tightly around him before she settled in near the brazier in the middle of the room. She tossed a few more small logs on it so Blue wouldn’t wake cold. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and stared into the depths of the fire. 

It was uncomfortable for her to admit how unsettling it was for her to see Arthur like this. Since returning from the darklands he had seemed so strong, steady and dependable. She had learned to lean into that and trust him. She was the first to admit she didn’t trust easily, but she had trusted him; his strength, his loyalty, and his morality. His friend’s death had shaken him to his core and she didn’t know if he would be able to come back from this.

~<>~ 

Arthur ran. All around him the storm raged. Lightning flashed and he could feel the thunder beneath his feet. Still he ran. There had been so much loss and death but this one he had felt. He and Back Lack had been together since they were orphan boys, and now, because of Arthur, Back Lack’s son would grow up an orphan. It wasn’t just Lack’s death, people were dying for this…for him. 

In his name. 

That guard had nearly slit Nimue’s throat. Because of him. Just like Lucy. The cut had been deeper than either of them wanted to admit. He had nearly lost her today. He couldn’t lose her. She had come here for him. If not for him she would be safe with her people. If not for him they would all be safe. 

Arthur skidded to a stop as he reached the edge of the overlook, the dark expanse of the lake spread out below him. The rain pounded his face and soaked his hair and clothes, but he barely noticed. It was his fault. All of the death and pain. It had all come because of him. Because he had pulled the damned sword from the stone. 

He drew Excalibur and lightning split the sky as the enchantments lit up, the power rising to his call. The sword wasn’t a gift. It was a curse. If his uncle knew what it would bring the bastard wouldn’t want it either. His father had taken up the sword to protect his kingdom from the mages and he had lost it, his wife and ultimately his life. It didn’t matter what magic resided in the steel, it had failed to be enough for Uther to protect Arthur’s mother, and Arthur himself. Arthur stared down at the runes etched in the blade that had made him an orphan. His life had gone to shit since he pulled the sword. His home was burned, his friends were dead and he hadn’t been able to protect a single one of them. All because of the cursed sword. 

He looked out over the lake, wondering if the stories were true about The Lady who cursed his family with the sword. In the stories, the sword had come from the lake. He drew back his arm and threw the sword with all his might. She could have the damned thing back. It spun through the air and dropped to pierce the water tip first, disappearing into the black depths. 

Arthur threw back his head and screamed out his rage. He would not bow to fate. He would not let anyone else die for him. He turned and ran. He pushed his body as hard and fast as it could go. He was gasping, his heart thundering in his ears when he fell. He dropped down into the mud, barely catching himself from face planting as his hands buried themselves in a puddle of cold water. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t hear anything beyond the thundering of his heart in his ears. 

It was all his fault. 

He froze as he felt a hand close around his in the cool mud. He tried to jerk back but the hand closed around his like a vice. And pulled. 

~<>~

The Mage jerked, breaking free from her meditation as too much power surged through her. She hadn’t felt this since her first attempt at channeling as a child when she had reached for power far beyond her ability to control. It felt like she was on fire, burning from the inside out. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Magic rose all around her searing her as it came, and gooseflesh broke out on her arms. She forced herself to her feet, stumbling as though she were drunk, and threw open the door. 

The men snapped their heads to face her. “What’s wrong?” Bedivere asked sharply. He had never seen The Mage so pale, she looked as though she were going to be sick. 

“You must find Arthur,” she said in a shaky voice. She wrapped an arm around herself as though she could hold herself together in the face of so much magic. 

Bedivere shoved himself to his feet and moved to grab his sword. Bill wasn’t as willing to take her at her word. “What’s happening?” he demanded. 

“Magic,” she said through gritted teeth. “Magic the likes of which I have not felt since I was a child,” she said. 

Bedivere’s eyes widened as he immediately understood. “Do you know who?” he asked. 

“Only Merlin or The Lady could draw such magic from the earth that I would feel it,” she said and she frowned as she felt another push. Sweat broke out on her brow and her hands began to shake. 

“What’s happening?” Percival asked impatiently. “What does this have to do with Arthur?” 

Bedivere turned to the other man. “The Lady of the Lake is the one who bound Excalibur to the Pendragon bloodline,” he filled-in. 

“So…” Bill dragged off. 

“For her to draw such power…” Nimue dragged off. 

“Where?” Bedivere demanded. 

Nimue lifted her eyes to meet his. “The Lake,” she said as though the answer were obvious. 

“The Lake is this lake?” Bill asked in disbelief. 

“It doesn’t matter which lake,” The Mage said scathingly. “She is the Lady of them all. Find him, quickly.”

The men turned and hurried out the door, trusting her. Bedivere hesitated beside her. “Will you be okay?” he asked with concern. He had never seen The Mage like this. She swayed on her feet but nodded. 

“Get to him,” she ordered fiercely. “Something is changing.”

~<>~

The hand pulled him down, and down into the deepest, darkest water Arthur had ever seen. He fought the pull, trying to turn and get back to the surface. He could see light behind him, he tried to turn towards it, but the hand on his wrist was unnaturally strong. He turned towards it and came face to face with one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She was somehow young and old. She was dressed as a queen, with a crown on her brow and her gown swirled around her in the water. Arthur’s lungs were burning, he fought to keep his mouth shut but when he couldn’t take it any more he screamed as he fought for the surface. It didn’t do any good. 

Her eyes were filled with power as she captured his gaze. “Let me show you,” her voice echoed in his head. He went still as her eyes ensnared him and he felt the press of her in his mind. Water filled his lungs and he didn’t fight as his eyes became heavy. It would be so easy to let her take him. She pulled him down, down, down into the dark depths.

Let me show you what your uncle will do

He was standing in the middle of Londinium. It was on fire and in ruins all around him. 

If you do not accept this sword

He could see women, huddling in fear from massive animals that stomped through the city. Crushing and killing as they went. Overhead thunder rumbled but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the wails of pain and misery around him. 

Only you can prevent this

Arthur blinked and when he opened his eyes he was still underwater. The Lady of the Lake’s hand was still gripped around his wrist like Iron. Beneath them flames flared in the water and it was only then that Arthur realized she had Excalibur gripped in her hand, its blade was wreathed in flames that could not be burning if he was truly underwater. 

He must be met where Sword meets Tower

Arthur felt his eyes growing heavy as he began to slip away. 

Trust the Mage. Nimue is your future

Arthur’s eyes snapped open at the use of his mage’s name, a name he had sworn to protect. He was still kneeling in the mud. The rain streamed down over his body as thunder rumbled, shaking the ground. 

Take it

The Lady’s voice continued to echo through his mind. He pinched his eyes shut as he realized, instead of having the hand clasping his, his hand was wrapped around something. He drew his arm out of the puddle and pulled Excalibur. The blade was perfectly clean as though there was no mud despite it coating his body. The sword had never felt so heavy before and he hung his head in defeat. There was no escaping this. He couldn’t run anymore.The cursed sword gleamed and it’s enchantments activated as though it knew he had said yes. He pinched his eyes closed as he rested the tip into the dirt beside him. There was no one else. Only him. He couldn’t let the vision The Lady of the Lake had come to pass. Not if he could stop it. 

~<>~

The Magic scared Nimue more than she was willing to admit. The first surge of power had passed and now what was left was a deep pulsing through the earth beneath her feet that left her feeling empty and exhausted as she fought its influence. Gooseflesh covered her skin as she shivered from the drying sweat on her body. She slowly made her way back into Arthur’s room. She left the door open a crack so she could hear when the knights returned. She was worried about Arthur, but there was nothing else she could do for him. They would face the consequences of this night together. 

She shivered again, but the only blankets in the room were wrapped around Blue. She sat as close to the brazier as she dared, staring into it’s depths as she warmed herself from the flame. She could barely keep her eyes open, they became unfocused and with her self control fading and the wild magic surging through the earth beneath her, she slid into the scrying trance easier than she ever had before. 

In her mind’s eye she could see Camelot, fires burning against the backdrop of a dark sky. 

She blinked and the scene changed. She saw the massive Basilisk snake she had faced in the darklands as a child in her first trial. But instead of being terrifying it leveled it’s gaze on her and seemed to be waiting for her. 

She blinked and she saw Blue, standing on a hillside, a flag clutched in his arms and tears streaming down his cheeks. A funeral. 

She blinked and she saw the men seated at a round table with Excalibur resting on its smooth wooden surface. 

She blinked and she saw herself standing on a stone balcony overlooking Camelot with the stars overhead. “Can’t sleep?” she heard Arthur’s low voice rumble behind her. She turned to look over her shoulder and felt his warm chest press against the bare skin of her back as he wrapped his arms around her. “Come back to bed,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp as he traced the line of her ear with his nose.  

Nimue jerked free of the trace. Her heart thundering in her ears. She had never been very good at scrying. She had never had the patience for it, but with the wild magics pulsing all around her, the visions had come to her unbidden. Like Merlin’s. What she had seen, it couldn’t be true. And yet, they couldn’t be interpreted as anything but what she had seen, what she felt. 

She exhaled a shaky breath and turned away from the flames. Her hands were shaking. She shoved herself to her feet and poured herself a cup of water. Scrying wasn’t an exact science, it never had been. Things were constantly shifting and changing, but she couldn’t imagine a world where the last scene she had witnessed came true. A world where she and Arthur…

She drank from the water glass and set it down. She froze as she heard movement out in the caves. The men shouldn’t have been back so fast. She moved towards the door and pushed it open. Everything was silent. She stepped out of the room and pain exploded across the back of her skull. She fell forward and reached out to try and catch herself, but her vision was already going dark. She tried to reach out, down the line of magic, but there was nothing to grasp, no one on the other end. She was unconscious when she hit the ground.

~<>~

Arthur came back to himself, surprised to find the sky was already beginning to lighten. Whatever had happened, caused him to lose more time than he realized. He was shaking, covered in mud, and soaked from the rain. He heard the pounding of hooves and he opened his gritty eyes to see his men galloping up the path towards him. He pushed himself wearily to his feet, dragging the sword behind him as though it weighed more than it should. He could feel its weight in his bones. 

They built a fire to help him get warm and Percival brought him water to clean the mud from his skin. He scrubbed at his face and hair before he turned to them. They were all watching him with careful eyes, waiting for an explanation.. 

“I suppose you want to know what happened to me,” Arthur said, splashing water to clear the mud from his skin. 

Bedivere was pacing at the edge of camp. “I don’t want to push you, but…George,” he said, jerking his chin towards the other man. 

“The riots are spreading,” George told Arthur. “Not just in Londinium. The whole country. People are fighting for you.”

Arthur frowned as he rubbed the mud from his arms. He hated the idea of more people dying for him. He had already lost too many people. It was time for him to take matters into his own hands.

“If there was ever a chance, it is now,” Bedivere said. 

“It’s not going to last,” Bill said sharply. “But like he said, we’re not going to push you,” he mocked, his agitation clear. Bill had lost all his patience for Arthur’s reluctance. They couldn’t let this chance pass them by. If they did there was no telling how powerful Vortigern would become. 

“I’m ready,” Arthur told him and he tossed the towel at Percival. “We’re going to take the castle,” he said. 

Bedivere froze as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“And we’re going in the front door,” Arthur said firmly. He was done letting others die for him. He was going to march in the front door and confront his Uncle, man to man as the Lady of the Lake said. 

Arthur looked over the men and frowned as he realized all of them had been out looking for him in the storm. Even the ones who had returned to the city were here. 

“How did you find me?” he asked. 

“The Mage,” Bedivere said. 

Arthur nodded but wasn’t surprised. Of course she had found him. 

“She felt...magic,” he clarified. “She told us to come find you.”

The corner of Arthur’s lips quirked as he thought of his little Mage commanding the group of fighting men. 

“Where is the Mage?” he asked. 

“She stayed back with the boy at the cave,” Bedivere said. 

Arthur nodded. Just as she had promised him. Even through the haze of his rage and guilt he remembered her promising him so sincerely that she would stay with Blue. She had never given him any reason to believe she wouldn’t keep her word.  

“Now, when you say we’re going to take the castle…” Percival began as Arthur walked towards his horse. 

Arthur paused. “I thought you said you weren’t going to push me,” he mocked. “Come on lads, chop chop,” and he swung up on his horse and led the way back towards the cave. He had an idea, but he needed to talk to the Mage. He was sure she would have something to say about his plan. No doubt she would tell him how wrong he was and all the ways she would do things differently. There must be something wrong with him that he was looking forward to it.

Arthur froze as they came close to the caves. The forest was eerily silent. Through the trees he was the first to see the body. He kicked his horse into a gallop. There were five dead resistance fighters hanging upside down from trees just outside of the cave. He jumped off before the horse had even stopped moving, drawing Excalibur as he moved. 

“Blue!” he shouted running into the main living area. He froze as he took in the damage surrounding him. Broken furniture and discarded stores were strewn all over the room. It looked like a war had broken out. Standing in the middle of all the chaos was Mischief John, the captain of the Blacklegs. He turned to face them, a pleased smile lighting his face. 

Arthur felt cold rage hit him and it was like he couldn’t draw a full breath. He felt a tingling in his fingers that told him the power in the blade had activated. 

“Hello,” Mischief John greeted. “You took your time getting here,” he said. He was seated around The Mage’s fire, sipping from a cup. He set the cup aside and climbed to his feet with a groan. “I’m not going to hear the end of this from my wife,” he announced to the room casually, as though he wasn’t aware of the danger standing in front of him. “It was my turn to cook tonight.” 

He stepped around the fire and approached the group of men, but his eyes never touched on Arthur, as though by not acknowledging him he were proving Arthur was no threat. “I’ve been sent by his Majesty the King to deliver a message.” He reached up and touched his temple as though he were struggling to remember the King’s words. “Ah, let’s see here...be at the castle before dark if you wanna see the girl and the boy...alive.” He said and he flashed them a pleased smile. Confident in his position of power. 

Mischief John flashed them a friendly smile. “Now, I would love to stay and chat, but you do understand the situation between me and my wife.” As he moved towards the door Bedivere stepped into his way. 

Arthur could hardly breathe past the urge to kill this man with his bare hands. The power rose to answer the singing of rage in his blood and flooded his whole body. He had never felt such power with only one hand wrapped around the hilt. 

Mischief John looked up into Bedivere’s face. “Anything you do to me, will be repaid ten times in kind.” He reached up and laid a hand on Bedivere’s arm. “Now, you’re a big man, so let’s see you move.” 

Bedivere begrudgingly stepped aside, leaving Mischief John to face Arthur. Mischief John’s cocky grin melted away as he met Arthur’s gaze. Whatever he saw in Arthur’s eyes made him swallow and look away. 

“Evening,” he said, bowing his head respectfully as he squeezed past Arthur and fled the caves. 

~<>~