[fic] The Ivy Crown, 8a/9

[da_ya_ri]

Part 8
Derry, Derry Down


In retrospect, Merlin didn't remember much of that first night.

It had been dark when they'd arrived, and he had seen little of their destination—just a twine-covered wall of ancient masonry, a high doorway and endless dark flights of stairs. The druids had led them into the house—or well, mansion, since what Merlin had seen of the house had been huge. As wary as they had been of the druids before, strangely enough, no one had objected when they'd all entered the mansion together, not even Arthur. Or maybe they'd just all been exhausted from the long day, excited at the prospect of sleeping in an actual bed again for the first time in weeks.

But if he stopped to think about it, Merlin doubted that anyone had been as tired as him. Iseldir had approached him in the clearing, and to Merlin's surprise he'd pressed a shimmering leaf of ivy into his palm, promising that it would ease the rest of the journey.

At first he hadn't noticed anything amiss beyond the cool, barely discernible weight of the leaf against his chest where he'd tucked it into his tunic. But little by little, he became aware of a curious silence around him, a lack of noise that seemed all the louder because he'd gotten so used to incessant sound before. Sure, he'd still heard the wind and the voices of the others, but it had taken him a few long minutes to realize that he could no longer hear the eternal hum of the forest's magic.

The leaf must have been enchanted, and although Arthur probably would have yelled at him for a fortnight if he'd known that Merlin had just taken it without poking and prodding at it first, Merlin didn't care. All he knew was that he could finally let go of all the exhausted tension he'd gathered close to himself over the past few weeks in a desperate attempt to withstand the unceasing magical assault to his senses. It was like the leaf spun a safe cocoon around him, a place where the magic could not touch him, where his senses were his own.

Fatigue engulfed him like a wave crashing over his head, as if the mere fact that he was finally able to relax was enough to remind him of how many nights of restless sleep he'd had lately. Still, Merlin had hung back when they'd been led to what he assumed was the mansion's guest wing. There were things he'd had time to think about, things he needed to discuss with Iseldir, because he had the vague feeling that it would be his last chance to consult another magic user on any of the strange things that kept happening around them.

"Wait," he'd said to Iseldir, tentatively, as the older druid pushed past him. Arthur caught his eye over his shoulder, but Merlin waved him on, trying to encompass without words that he just needed a moment. Miraculously, both of them had cooperated—Arthur raised his eyebrows but continued to follow Caedmon up the stairs, and Iseldir had turned around to face Merlin, his features a polite mask of curiosity.

The footsteps of the others grew quieter, echoing through the large stairwell although they were muffled by the thick carpet that covered each step. For a long moment, the two of them had just looked at each other, and Merlin had noticed that Iseldir looked older in the moonlight, his hair gleaming silver.

"Back at the clearing, you said that someone gave Bayard a hint that we'd be here," Merlin stated at last, keeping his words straightforward. He didn't know if the druid would even answer his questions, but he couldn't muster up the energy to beat around the bush then.

Iseldir inclined his head in acknowledgement. "You are safe here," he assured him, his voice pitched low and soothing. "This place cannot be sought, it can only be found. Those Mercian patrols could walk right past these walls and see only trees and bushes."

"That's not what I meant." Merlin sighed, and rubbed a tired hand through his hair. His face felt oddly stiff, like it had been locked in the same expression for too long and his muscles were only just beginning to loosen. "Who was it? Who ratted us out to Bayard?"

A short silence had fallen then, but Merlin hadn't fidgeted or looked away under the sudden intense scrutiny of the older druid. He'd only met the man once before, but he was probably the one who had saved Leon's life back then, and Merlin had no reason not to trust him. More than that, even in his exhaustion, he was sure that Iseldir didn't mean them any harm, and would never do anything to actively sabotage their quest.

"You know the answer to that," Iseldir said at last, quietly, like it pained him to see Merlin's face fall at that.

"Maybe I do," he admitted, not caring to disguise the edge of futile hope that crept into his tone. "But I'm hoping I might be wrong."

Iseldir's features hardened—not much, but after the smooth impassiveness from before, it seemed all the more disapproving. "Even after everything the Lady Morgana has done to destroy your prince's future?"

"So it was her," Merlin muttered, more to himself than to the druid—in a way, he didn't even know why he was surprised. The astonishment was dulled by his tiredness and the odd feeling that everything had been leading up to this, that every path they had taken since the beginning of their journey had inevitably ended up there.

He turned away from Iseldir's searching gaze, rubbing at his tired eyes. The puzzle pieces were slowly but surely falling into place, and it was all he could do to try and keep up with the formation of a new picture. All along, Merlin had hoped that it wouldn't come to this—he'd hoped that he would eventually find out that Morgana hadn't tried to lure them into Mercia all along. He'd been counting on the Green Knight to have been the driving force that directed their journey, not another facet of Morgana's plans.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose did nothing to alleviate his oncoming headache, and so Merlin turned around again with a heavy sigh, barely noticing the note of concern that had sneaked into Iseldir's gaze. "Somebody told me that it was the Green Knight who led us here—that he needs my help to break free of her spell."

"He did, and he does," the druid confirmed, seeming relieved that he could tell Merlin some good news as well. "She underestimated him, and he used what little leeway he has left to get you here. Unfortunately, that was also the Lady Morgana's plan."

"I just don't get it," Merlin admitted, spreading his hands in a gesture of surrender. Confessing it made him feel oddly self-conscious, since he still remembered the odd reverence in the druid's tone when he had first called him Emrys all those months ago at the cave. "Does she want to get us all killed by Bayard's soldiers? Or are we just part of some master plan to lure Bayard into breaking the peace treaty once and for all?"

Iseldir hesitated for so long that Merlin begun to think that he hadn't heard him. Feeble light spilled over his shoulders, and it made what little Merlin could see of his features look strangely old, but at least he didn't seem surprised. "We do not know what her intentions are," he finally answered, choosing his words carefully. "But if you can free the Green Knight, you will have a powerful ally."

Merlin rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to get them to stop itching—he could feel his eyelids droop, his body demanding him to let it go and just go to sleep for tonight. But he didn't want to end this conversation now, no matter how tired he was. "It's just frustrating, you know," he said, not bothering to disguise the forlorn hopelessness that crept into his voice. "You—all of you, your druids and the Green Knight and even the dragon... you think you know me, you think you know what I can do, just because of some prophecies you've heard of, but I— most of the time even I don't know what I can and can't do. And this—," he waved an idle hand, encompassing the mansion and the forest and the entire mess with Mercia and the Green Knight with his gesture. "I have no idea what to do about this. I don't even know how to free him."

In retrospect, Merlin didn't think he would ever forget the silent, steady look that the druid had fixed him with. Iseldir had just gazed at him in silence, a small half-smile on his face as though he'd been hoping for just those words, although why he would ever hope for that, Merlin didn't know. Feeling tired and wrung out, he let the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable, but at last, Iseldir cleared his throat and looked away.

"We have been watching her," he said, his voice hesitant and thoughtful. Merlin blinked, startled out of his own thoughts by the sudden turn in the conversation, and it took him a second to understand that Iseldir was talking about Morgana again. "And we hoped that she would never end up where she is now, half mad and vengeful with grief." He sighed, suddenly looking just as lost as Merlin had felt a moment ago "I am sad for her, but I know of nothing that anyone could have done to stop her plight."

Merlin swallowed, trying to push away the memory of when he'd last seen Morgana, her golden eyes terrified and broken as she'd screamed out her despair through the chunks of rock falling from the ceiling. "Why do you care?" he asked, perhaps a bit more sharply than would have been polite. "You don't even know her."

Iseldir just gave him a blank, uncomprehending look, as though he thought Merlin should have reached that conclusion on his own. "She helped Mordred."

Hearing the name was so unexpected that Merlin almost flinched back, and remembered just in time that he was in a stairwell and shouldn't just take a surprised step backwards. Still, he had to steady himself with a hand against the rough stone wall, and just gaped at him for a moment. "You know Mordred?"

Smiling just slightly, Iseldir tilted his head in what was neither confirmation nor denial, wearing the same enigmatic, thoughtful expression that Merlin had seen earlier, and said, quite simply, "I know that your king saved him."

"My— oh," Merlin muttered when he realized that the druid was talking about Arthur. That day seemed so long ago now, especially since it didn't appear to matter to Mordred anymore that once upon a time, they had not been enemies. Merlin still remembered the stunned, unbridled hatred in his eyes when they'd last met, the echoing chill of a feeling too deep to bear for someone so young. I will not forget this, Emrys, he'd said, and back then it had seemed like Mordred had also forgotten that Arthur had once helped to save his life.

"You should not trouble yourself with thoughts of things long past," Iseldir said, as if he'd guessed the direction that Merlin's thoughts had taken. This time he sounded almost stern, in a way that reminded Merlin of Gaius. "You cannot change them, but you can change the present."

"Yeah, well, if only I knew how," Merlin muttered, rubbing his fingers across his forehead in an effort to erase the dull throbbing ache that had settled there. It was probably nothing that a good night's sleep wouldn't cure, but right then, he just felt like a myriad of confusing thoughts were pounding against his skull from the inside, wanting to be let out.

Iseldir had been silent for a long moment, studying Merlin as though trying to gauge the impact of his next words. Merlin held his gaze, and thought suddenly that his earlier impression had been wrong—the druid didn't look old so much as ageless. The druid tipped his head down lightly in the barest hint of a respectful nod, and said, quietly, "You're the most powerful sorcerer I have ever had the honor of meeting, but you are also just a man—a man who wants to protect what is dear to him. Trust in that, Emrys."

Merlin had opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to think of something to reply—how could he trust himself with anything, when the only thing keeping them from a run-in with Mercian soldiers was the forest's magic, and doom was still looming unresolved above Gwaine's head in the shape of a monstrous axe? Besides, he had spent the past two weeks not really protecting anyone, what with how out of it he'd been, disoriented and near-delirious with magic.

But the druid had seemed to guess at his thoughts again, because he stepped aside and reached out a hand to him, a polite gesture to usher him further up the stairs and to whichever chamber had been prepared for him. The thought of a soft mattress and plush blankets had convinced Merlin against his own better judgement, and so he'd followed Iseldir's lead with a sigh.

After that, his memories went blurry. An endless flight of stairs later, a door had opened to guide Merlin into a large candlelit chamber, but he'd barely noticed the high ceiling and the ornate curtains obscuring the windows. Even the large, comfortable bed had looked out of focus to his tired eyes, and the last thing he remembered was letting himself fall forward onto the mattress, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

When he woke up the next morning, he felt as well-rested as he hadn't in ages, and as Merlin drowsed through the first lazy stages of waking, he realized that it wasn't just because of the large, comfortable bed. It was also because of the ivy leaf that Iseldir had given him, a cool, smooth weight pressed to his chest beneath his tunic. It had done its job well the past night, keeping him safe and sane, guarding his dreams.

He flinched when there was a knock on the door, and cranked his lids open with some difficulty, realizing that that had probably been the sound to wake him in the first place. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the cozy, reddish light that spilled in through the windows, but once they did, he realized that it must be well past sunrise already, if the room was that bright despite the curtains.

"Um— yes?" he called in the general direction of the door, the words scratchy with sleep. The blankets rustled as he sat up, slipping down to his waist as he sat up, and for a moment Merlin thought he'd felt the mattress dip under a sleepy weight that was not his own.

"I bid you good morning, sirs," a voice answered from the other side of the door, sounding polite and not at all surprised at Merlin's sleepy tone. It was probably a servant, Merlin thought; there was no way such a huge guest room would belong to anyone but a rich lord. "Breakfast is served in the dining hall downstairs, and you are welcome to join the others as soon as you're ready."

"I'll be right up, thank you," Merlin said, the last of his sleepiness evaporating in a flutter of discomfort.

The faint sounds of footsteps echoed through the hallway outside as the servant departed, probably to tell his master that Merlin had woken up at last, and he let himself slump back against the headboard with an annoyed groan. He had slept in, and while that wouldn't have bothered him much back in Camelot, he couldn't help but worry what their mysterious host might think of him now.

He sighed deeply as he rolled over, and almost jerked back in shock when he suddenly came face to face with Arthur.

Merlin froze, his heart suddenly beating close to his throat—so he hadn't imagined that dip of the mattress after all. Fleetingly, he wondered for how long Arthur had been awake, if he'd heard the servant as well or if he'd woken up before that, confused and disoriented when he'd found Merlin in his bed.

But Arthur wasn't snapping at him to get out just yet. He just looked at Merlin, his features shuttered into a carefully neutral expression, and finally he said in a measured voice, "You know, the original plan was for you to sleep in the other bed."

His hair was mussed from sleep, Merlin noticed distractedly, but he seemed as wide awake as he'd ever been, waiting for Merlin's answer with uncharacteristic patience. He hadn't even seen Arthur the night before—for all he knew, Arthur could already have settled down to sleep when Merlin flopped into bed beside him. He hadn't even had the strength to change into his loose night clothes—the last of his energy had dissipated as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"Sorry?" he tried, his voice coming out too high. There was a pensive look in Arthur's eyes that Merlin didn't think he'd ever seen before, and it made his heart flop around oddly in his chest. He looked like he would have been content to gaze at Merlin all morning if Merlin hadn't woken up.

The single word broke the spell, though, because Arthur cleared his throat and looked away to the windows for a moment. "It's alright," he said, gruffly. "You were pretty dead on your feet last night."

He sat up then, with an abruptness that seemed like he'd waited to do that for a long time. The mattress dipped slightly, and Merlin inched back a little when Arthur took a moment to look around the room—the situation was unsettling enough without being close enough to Arthur to feel his body heat.

When Arthur glanced back at him, the thoughtfulness was gone from his eyes, and he gave Merlin an appraising look. "How do you feel?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral, although Merlin saw the way his fingers were fumbling with the covers, smoothing out the same crease again and again.

"Good," Merlin mumbled with a small shrug. He felt strangely unsettled, heat rising to his face under Arthur's intense scrutiny, and he hoped that the curtains dimmed the light enough to hide his blush. "I'm— I'm fine."

"And what about the—," Arthur began, but broke off with a frown like he couldn't quite figure out the best way to say what was on his mind. He settled for a vague gesture that seemed to encompass the room, and Merlin realized that he was referring to the forest's magic.

"It's okay," Merlin assured him, and sat up hastily to prove it. He didn't want Arthur to worry, not now when it felt like the prince had spent the past two weeks doing nothing but that. Secretly pleased when the sudden motion didn't even make him dizzy, Merlin attempted a reassuring smile. "I can't feel it here. It's like the house is shielding me."

He briefly thought about mentioning the leaf of ivy that Iseldir had given him, but decided against it after a moment. This was enough for Arthur to take in for now, and anyway, Merlin wasn't quite ready for a shouting match about accepting potentially dangerous magical items from strangers.

Arthur gave him a long, searching look, but finally nodded. "Good," he said, his voice a little rough, and abruptly turned away to step out of bed.

Merlin blinked at his back for a moment, confused by the defensive gesture. But then again, it probably made Arthur uncomfortable to have been caught worrying, or maybe he was just embarrassed at having spent the night in bed with him. The oddest things pricked Arthur's pride sometimes, and Merlin fought the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't know how this was more embarrassing than having stuck his hand down Merlin's trousers the other day, but right now, he didn't feel like bickering with Arthur. It didn't feel like a safe topic to tease him about.

With a sigh, Merlin stood as well, wincing as the cold stone floor chilled the soles of his feet. Arthur wasn't the only one who felt strangely uneasy this morning, after all, and he decided to just let the matter rest for now. Depending on how long they'd stay here, there would be plenty of opportunities for Arthur to shout at him or ignore Merlin again, or whatever it was that he would need to do to regain his balance.

"We should probably get dressed for breakfast," Merlin offered, his voice sounding too loud in the complete silence of the room. Arthur made an affirmative noise without turning around, but the jibe that Merlin had expected to hear about his sleeping habits didn't come, and he felt his heart sink a little before he pushed the feeling away.

Their luggage had been put on a large table in the middle of the room, and Merlin walked towards it, heaving a mental sigh of relief at the prospect of changing out of his travel-worn, sleep-rumpled clothes. They would need to make themselves presentable for the lord of the mansion, if only as a basic thank-you for letting them stay at his house.

The thought felt odd and unwieldy in his head, and Merlin sighed to get rid of some of his mounting trepidation. He hadn't gotten the chance to truly think about it yet, but it did seem rather strange that their host had just let them into his home last night without so much as coming to meet them. Maybe the druids had sent word ahead that they were bringing him guests, but still, it seemed dangerously careless of him to take in a bunch of well-armed strangers.

It was only when Merlin had already opened his mouth that he realized he'd been about to voice that thought to Arthur. Words stuck uselessly in his throat, and it was harder than it should have been to push them down again, but Merlin didn't allow them to slip out. It didn't seem like the right time to voice his concerns, and he didn't want to influence Arthur's judgement when they finally met their host. And Arthur probably knew about all the half-formed worries and suspicions that were swirling through Merlin's mind anyway.

Still, he found himself pivoting on his heel, turning around just in time to see Arthur tug his tunic over his head. His back muscles rippled in the warm, curtain-filtered sunlight, and Merlin tore his gaze away from where it wanted to linger on the shadowed curve of Arthur's spine. He turned his back to Arthur again, his mouth gone curiously dry, and bent down to rummage through the bags in search of a clean shirt.






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