A Different Story | Merlin
ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕆𝕟𝕖 | 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘
Summary: While travelling to the city of Balor, past the plains to the south of Camelot, the Knights of The Round Table find themselves in an enchanted forest. Unknowingly following their Warlock right into the thick of it all, there is nothing the Knights can do to escape the woodland. Merlin must find a way to rescue his beloved companions... but at what price?
Author's Note: Hello, everyone!
I had honestly hoped to have this out sooner, but I rewrote this chapter several times over. Initially, it was only meant to be a "one-shot", but it grew too long. This chapter alone is 8 pages on my Google Doc! (whew...)
I believe it will only have 2-3 chapters total, so please bear with me! Constructive criticism and comments are always appreciated! <3
Disclaimer: I had a friend come up with the prompt for this one, which mixes the top two results in my poll (scroll down a little on my page to find it): Merlin is forced to use magic & The Knights See Merlin's Scars.
Ao3 - General Audiences Word Count: 3174 Warnings: None
Merlin felt the air shift and the wind pick up hours before it began to rain. His body, attuned to the earth as it was, ached and trembled from a cold that had yet to settle in. He could smell wet soil many leagues away, where the tiny, cold droplets had only begun falling. The sounds of little feet pattering across soft earth and the songs of a hundred birds washed over him in waves. He could hear his horse’s breath and feel her heartbeat as his own. Out here, in the wild, away from Camelot’s suffocating walls, Emrys was free.
After years in the service of King Arthur, his power had grown, developed beyond his wildest dreams, and become one with the world and people around him. He had slain the High Priestess Nimueh and taken control over the powers of life and death. He had overcome goblins, trolls, and questing beasts alike and grew into his own as a leader of the people. His people. There were the druids, with their subtle hellos and strange visits whenever he was out collecting herbs for Gaius. Then there were the servants of the Great City, with their humility and willingness to work the flesh from their bones for the royals and lords (not that Merlin ever permitted it). When he had been awarded the position of Arthur’s manservant, there had been an old steward to run the affairs within the castle walls. But, as time passed and age overtook him, he laid his teachings unto Merlin. Now elevated to the servant of the King, he had taken the mantle of castle steward. His duties had increased tenfold between running a castle, undertaking more responsibilities as Gaius’ apprentice, and involving himself further in the realm of magic.
But, out here, none of that mattered. His shoulders bore no weight among the Autumn leaves, the kiss of the Northern wind only eased the ever-present ache in his bones, and the sunlight washed across his face like the touch of a lover. Slowly, to not reveal the molten gold irises beneath each lid, he opened his eyes and let go of the spell around him. The far-off world faded and took with it the smells and sounds of the forest. Gone were his far-sight and the pulls of ancient magic.
“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Behind him came the voice of Sir Gwaine. “This isn’t the Ridge of Chemary.”
“We can’t afford to go through the valley below,” Merlin cut into the conversation before his King could. “We’d face more trouble there than on the road.”
“Thank you, Merlin.” Though he feigned annoyance, Arthur’s facial expression spoke only of the pride he felt at the man’s retention of knowledge. After a moment, “We must travel around the valley if we are to reach Balor before day’s end. Alive.”
“What business have we there, my King?” Lancelot’s voice was far away, indicating his position in the line of riders. “You have been quiet about it thus far.”
“Sir Leon,” Arthur called. “You were first to receive, and subsequently conceal, all reports from Balor.”
“Yes, sire,” Leon responded, though there had not been a question to Arthur’s statement.
“Then perhaps you would like to head this briefing.” The King slowed his horse just as the trees began to thicken. “The horses could use a break, and my waterskin is empty.”
“There is a small glenn not far from here. A stream cuts through the trees to the mountains.” Merlin did not slow nor dismount; instead, he led his horse forward as he spoke.
“Not even the best of trackers could tell that from here.” Sir Leon spoke up. “How could you know?”
‘Because I’ve been here nearly a hundred times.’ He wanted to say.
‘Because I come here to mourn my father once yearly and confer with my people at the great stones on the first full moon of each month. I nearly died in the grass here, in the mountains beyond. In Balor. Alone and afraid.’
His heart begged him to speak the truth, but instead he said, “Arthur and I have come this way once before. When we came to find the last Dragonlord. Only, we were further East. I only saw the glenn from the Ridge, but the area is distinct even from such a distance.”
It was true. Though the region was familiar to him, the Warlock had yet to traverse through this side of the forest. It was simple enough to navigate with his magic and memory of how the woodland looked from above. Merlin did not wait for a response. He kicked his horse forward and led her further into the wood. Craigs and sharp stones gave way to lush greenery and dense foliage. As they passed under the shadows cast by the great Oaks, the air pooled and grew dense. Merlin felt unease creep into his stomach. For a moment, it was as though he had ridden through a wall of mist. The air grew colder, and the breeze moulded against him.
Then— just as quickly as it came, it was gone.
‘Magic.’ Supplied his mind.
The Warlock let his sharp eyes wander, taking in every detail of the world around them, and eased his mare into a gentle trot. The knights, and even his King, followed suit without another word. None that passed through the shadows indicated that they’d felt the magic in the air.
After a while and with no stream in sight, Merlin’s senses began to blur. The further on they went, the more each tree began to look alike. The rocks cycled through the same three shapes over and over. He swore they rode past the same patch of daffodils four times. But, when he tried to reach out with his magic, it felt dampened and confined to his skin. His ears seemed suddenly stuffed with cotton. His eyes grew heavy, and the trees began to sway. Slow, uncomfortable grunts rose from various members of the party. Each one sharing grievances different from the rest.
“Is it hot to anyone else?” Sir Gwaine spoke up. “I feel as though I’m sweating pigs.”
“Hot? It’s freezing.” Elyan exclaimed, shocked at his friend’s question.
“What? Speak up,” Leon turned in his saddle to glance at those behind him. “My ears have gone rather fuzzy.”
“Merlin,” Arthur grabbed his manservant’s arm. He slowed his Llamrei to a stop and forced his companion’s steed, Ceffyl, to do as well. “Are you sure you know where you’re going? I feel as though we’re going in circles!”
Merlin’s ears began to ring with a horrible tone that made his head ache. His eyes grew unfocused, and the lines of trees blurred into lumps of colour.
“Merlin!” Arthur shook him.
He couldn’t focus.
“Merlin?” Was that Lancelot? He didn’t remember the knight riding up to them.
“I don’t feel–” His body hit the earth, and the sky came into view. The impact brought no pain, only the unpleasant taste of dirt. He tried to spit it from his mouth, but his tongue grew heavy.
“Don’t feel...” The world turned black.
/////////
For a moment, Merlin felt weightless. His body was floating in a sea of stars. He could see thousands of great fireballs spinning endlessly in the black, all accompanied by tiny dark dots. To his left, the blackness deepened; to his right, the sun burned brightly. Strangely, it did not hurt his eyes.
He stared, timelessly, into the brightness until his vision was overcome by it. The yellow and orange hues flared into unfeeling white. He had to close his eyes for they began to burn. And, when he opened them, he saw a familiar sky framed by familiar trees. The forest beneath the Ridge of Chemary and the Mountains of Isgaard.
His friends lay beside him, each in slumber, plagued by their own dreams. While he had been privileged to behold the universe, they had succumbed to nightmares. Still weightless, he gently touched their temples and attempted to ease their minds. However, his magic had no power and would not come at his call.
It frightened him. Merlin tried to call out but no sound escaped him. He tried to run, to find a path through the wood, or perhaps reach someone that could help. But, each time he moved outside the circle of knights, he was pulled back by force.
Emrys. There came a voice that called to him in his mind’s eye and echoed in his head.
Emrys… It grew louder. He spun in circles, trying to locate its origin.
Emrys! It screamed, and the world seemed to darken in front of him. The forest was reduced to the size of a needle’s eye, pulling further away from him. In its image, a temple formed. It was dark and broken. A ruin. He couldn’t make out a single detail save for the dread in his chest. The world started to shift and change, the temple zoomed toward him and he jumped back in surprise. He tripped on his own two feet, falling backwards into a black abyss. The voice in his head grew louder and the world turned to darkness.
Save them! Save—
Somewhere in the glenn, with a gasp, Arthur Pendragon shot up from the depths of sleep. He sat up and took several deep breaths. He swallowed as big a lungful as he could, feeling as though he had been deprived of air for hours. It took him several long moments to orient himself and longer yet to get a bearing on the world around him. He was still wearing his armour and traditional Camelot cape of red. His sword lay in his lap, perfectly untouched and within the confines of its scabbard.
After a moment, he tried to stand up, and it quickly became apparent that he couldn’t move. Looking down, the King found that vines had sprouted from the forest floor and wrapped themselves around his boots. They had crawled up his legs in sleep, but he could not recall when he’d fallen into slumber.
“-Erlin?” His voice failed him at first, but soon he regained his speech. “Merlin? Where are you? Leon? Gwaine?”
Glancing around, he searched for his servant and the other members of his party. They were nowhere in sight. Arthur was utterly, truly alone. Arthur worked his way into standing by shaking off as many vines as possible and cutting off the rest. He dusted off as much earth from his mail and trousers as he could before readjusting his sword at his waist. Without his company and no idea where he was (in a forest, that much was clear), the King’s usual plans fled his mind. Instead, he resolved to pick a direction and call out for the other knights.
Not far from where Camelot’s ruler had awoken, another man wearing the Kingdom’s colours rose. In the same fashion, Sir Leon was thrown violently from nightmare-plagued sleep. He too coughed violently and gulped down air as though deprived of it. His sword lay in his right hand, unsheathed and dripping with a strange, bubbling sap. Vines bound his legs and left arm. The first Knight of Camelot struggled to free himself with one hand, calling out for his companions. But no one heard him, and he heard no other.
In much the same way, all the other Knights of Camelot woke. One after the other, they found themselves sleeping on the forest floor, deprived of air. Gwaine woke with one ungloved hand in a stagnant stream, his sword floating just out of reach, with his neck and arms bound by tree roots. He was able to break the thinnest roots around his arms and grab at his sword to free the rest of his body. Lancelot awoke trapped by his cloak, with vines hugging it against his torso. His sword lay at his bare feet, with no boots in sight. Beneath the mess of red cape and wild vine, he held a dagger to his chest with which he used to cut himself free.
Elyan woke up surrounded by wildflowers, some growing in the gaps of his armour which made moving difficult. His sword remained strapped to his waist, but his Camelot cape was nowhere to be found. Perceval was the last knight to break from slumber and the only one to be stripped of his armour. In only a tunic and trousers, he had no sword and no dagger with which to arm himself. Vines ensnared his arms and legs, but so thin were they that he broke through quite quickly.
Each picked a direction to walk in. Their calls for aid and the names of their friends echoed in the woodland, but they went unheard by any other man. No matter how loud they shouted or how frantic they became, they got nowhere. No one came or responded, and no matter how long they walked, they were always returned to the same spot they had started. For hours they went through the same motions. Time did not pass and the sun did not stir from its place in the sky.
Sir Lancelot was the first knight to break from whatever trance held him. He was the first to notice that his path led him back to the same place no matter which one he took and to understand that the forest itself was enchanted. But, without Merlin, he could do little more than sit down and wait.
‘Merlin,’ Thought the Knight. ‘Where’s Merlin?’
///////////
The Warlock had not woken in the same manner as his friends. He woke submerged in shimmering blue waters, shirtless and surrounded by old stone. He had risen from the depths easily. He did not panic and did not feel his chest constrict with the need for air. He felt refreshed, well rested and found that his breath came easier than it had in many years.
He climbed out of the pool and ensured he was alone before drying himself off with magic. He did not need to look around to know he was in the temple. It was the very same one that he had seen in his dream. Around him, light poured through cracks and holes in the stone. Greenery grew in every part of the place. It was older than Camelot, than the Kingdom herself, and had been open to the air of the world for a very long time. Birds sang in the trees outside the walls, and butterflies and insects fluttered by or hummed just out of sight. His soul felt at peace, his magic too.
A sigh of relief escaped him at the feeling of that part of him pushing against his skin, tugging at the very blood running through his veins. He let it out, allowing it to cover the world in its warmth. It felt right to be there, in the old ruins… like home. He had felt the same rush in the Crystal Caves, only now he was far more used to the call. It comforted him rather than bringing him fear and alarm. He knew now it was his strength, the sheer power of his magic attuning itself to the relics of the earth, to the Old Religion.
“You feel it, then?” Spoke an old, weathered voice. “Ancient magic and ancient stone?”
Merlin whipped around to face the pool again. There, on the opposite edge, sat an old druid woman. Lines of paint and natural ink covered any visible inch of her skin. An elder. Her magic moulded with his own, greeting one another in a way no one else could.
Her eyes wrinkled kindly when she smiled. “Welcome home, Emrys.”
“Home?” Merlin did not approach her, though he returned her smile.
“Yes,” She said. “Look around you. These walls tell their own stories. Much is etched in the fabric of this temple, and your prophecies are among them.”
“My… prophecies,” Merlin whispered. “You mean to say that this is the birthplace of my name?”
“No,” She shook her head. “No, this is only one of many places. Far across the lands of Albion, there are temples such as this. Where your story started, I could not tell you.”
The Warlock turned and began to scan the walls. Pictograms and words in the tongue of the Ancients greeted him. Merlin surprised himself when he found that he could read them just as easily as the language of his childhood. There were so many that it overwhelmed him, and soon he had to look away.
“But, why bring me here?” He asked.
“This wood is cursed.” She replied. The druid elder stood shakily, relying heavily on a staff Merlin had not noticed before. He walked to her and helped her to stand. She did not reject him but grew emboldened by his touch. His magic reached out as well, giving her some of his strength. In thanks, she reached up with gnarled fingers and patted his cheek gently.
He waited for her to continue. When she did not, he spoke up again, “If it is cursed, why did I not feel it before entering? How have I never felt it before?”
“You come here often and cross the mountains each month.” She said. “But it was not until Arthur came unto the throne that the magic here woke. Under Uther’s reign, during the purge, this was a sanctuary for many of our kind. The temple was a stronghold and beacon for hope, kindness and compassion. But it lay within Camelot’s borders.”
“Uther found it?” In Merlin’s mind, the events began to unfold. Terrified screams echoed in his head, and a vision of blood swam in his mind. “He did this?”
“His men did. Hired hands, mercenaries, on the rare occasion his knights.” She replied. “The magic died here, it receded into the roots, and the leaves floated away in the wind. Things stopped growing, and the world began to sleep. Much of the green you see here is the same as 15 years ago.”
“The magic is angry?” Merlin asked.
“Yes. Angry, yes. But… the land has begun to grow again, and the magic senses that the hour of The Once and Future King is upon us. Emrys, the curse that has befallen this land is only a curse to those that seek harm upon her followers. It is protection for those like us. But it has taken your friends and your King.” She led him to the door. “Only you have the power to break the spell.”
“How do I help them? How do I break this curse?” He turned to look at the trees outside the temple.
“You must convince the forest that it is safe, that all those who pass through her will not come to harm. You must show the forest who you truly are.” She gently brushed the hair from his forehand before pulling away.
“How do I do that?” He turned back to her, but she was gone.
My plan for "The Big Book of Merlin Magic Reveals" thus far:
A Different Story (Current Piece) - Magic Reveal (No Scar Reveal), Non-normative plotline.
A Classic Approach (Next Piece) - Magic & Scar Reveal, classic "Assassination Attempt" plotline.
A Leap of Faith - Voluntary Magic Reveal, Magic has been restored to Camelot plotline.
A Touch of Destiny - Rewritten "Battle of Camlann" & Finale, BAMF Merlin plotline.
A Turning Tide - Rewritten "The Darkest Hour" & "Lancelot Du Lac", Merlin challenges the Cailleach and reveals himself to the Knights plotline.
I wanted to ease myself into this giant project by starting with only a simple, creative magic reveal. That way I could get my creative abilities flowing.
