A/N: Hey y'all! Long time no see ^.^ It's been a rough year for me, and so I haven't been updating . . . anything, really but that's all going to change! I've got a bunch of new one-shots in the works, and two new stories that I'm going to be updating through the summer! I created this story for The Heart of Camelot's 'Chronicles' Challenge, and although I didn't finish in time, it's still been really fun to write. Since I haven't finished in time I'll be able to focus on this story as well as my other story, which is going to be a Loki and Tony-centric (although not slashy!) Avengers Highschool AU and I'm SO pumped about it. That's about it on updates. I hope you like Prophesied!
This is basically my own little AU in which Balinor/a ton of dragonlords and priestesses survive the purge, Merlin gets to be a prince, he and Arthur meet as enemies, and whumpy/angsty/bromancy shenanigans ensue. But first, my monster prologue! A little advice: never try to write a pre-purge prologue, it will suck you in, and then you'll end up writing two thousand more words than you meant to. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
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P. r. o. p. h. e. s. i. e. d.
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P. r. o. l. o. g. u. e.
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"As your King, Nimueh I command you to—"
"No, Uther I will not."
The brown haired man ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath; his court sorceress stood by the window, watching the children play in the courtyard and dreading what would come next. Her hand tightened to a fist. Uther Pendragon's voice was barely a whisper. "Please Nimueh . . . as your friend, I beg you to give us a son. Please." The King never begged. Nimueh sighed in exhaustion and gestured for her King to leave. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and slumped dejectedly away.
"Uther." He turned, hope sparkling in his eyes. "Do not come to me with this again."
The door slammed on his way out.
Nimueh's hand was shaking when she held it up to the light. Blood trickled down her palm and she cursed, moving to her drawers to find some linen. Her hands shook as she dressed the wound. The children's laughter echoed in from outside, and Nimueh's mirror cracked.
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Uther stormed into the physician's chambers, his anger practically rolling off his shoulders in waves. Gaius glanced up from his work, an eyebrow raised.
"Yes sire?"
Uther glared at him. "Don't sire me, Gauis!"
"Yes sire."
"Gaius . . ."
The healer laughed. "Take a seat, Uther." Uther slumped down in one of the workbenches. "Now," Gaius put down his potion. "What's wrong?"
Uther tried to glare at his friend, then sighed, and his great demeanor crumbled. He rubbed his face. "It's Nimueh. She won't perform the spell to give I'graine a child." His voice cracked. "What am I going to do, Gaius? Our enemies attack constantly, and although our forces are strong, without an heir, if I'graine and I are killed or taken, Camelot will—" Gaius raised a hand and Uther broke off, eyes sparkling with tears. The physician walked over and sat next to his friend, clapping a hand on the man's shoulder. Uther looked up, pure misery on his face, and locked eyes with Gaius. Gaius sighed.
"For my own part, I don't think that it's a good idea either. For there to be a life, there must be a death, and the magic itself is so unstable, even if someone volunteered I doubt that it would be guaranteed that they would be the one to die." Gaius's gaze held such an intensity that Uther almost wished to turn away. Only stubbornness let him persist.
"You have to talk to her," Uther pleaded. "She'll listen to you. Camelot must have an heir!" The hurt on Uther's face was evident now, and Gaius rued the day he ever took vows for such a stubborn king. "Do it for our people, if not for me."
"It's not that simple, Uther," Gaius warned. "Consider the consequences. Are you willing to do this? Are you willing to make that kind of sacrifice—to take the life of a mother, a brother, a friend? It might be a beloved grandmother in the lower town, it could be a manservant working for a visiting noble—it could even be you. Are you willing to take that kind of risk? To bare that guilt?" Uther looked away. He was silent. After a few minutes Gaius, satisfied, got up and went back to his work.
"Yes."
Gaius froze. He turned, his eyes betraying his shock. "What?"
Uther looked up, wearing what I'graine called his 'Kingly mask'. "Yes, I will take that risk. If not for me, then for the good of the Kingdom. My child will rule Camelot. Unfortunately his life is more important then that of a regular man. He must come first."
Gaius stared in shock at Uther, so cold, so different from the man he knew. Every cell in Gaius screamed in revulsion but he could not betray his King. Besides, it was Uther. This feeling, this deepness in the pit of his stomach, it was wrong. Gaius forced his mouth to open, forced out the words that his heart begged him not to say. When he finally did, it was barely a whisper.
"Okay. I'll talk to her."
Uther's mask melted into a grin, and he clapped Gaius on the shoulder. "Thank you, my friend." The King of Camelot practically bounced out of the physician's room, but his friend dropped down on the bench, unable to shake the feeling of foreboding building up inside of him.
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Nimueh walked softly, trying to sort through the mess inside her head. She was a High Priestess of the Old Religion, she was supposed to be unshakable—it was the only way for her to protect her people—but this affair was shaking her. She remembered the deadness in I'graine's eyes when Gaius pronounced the queen barren, the hurt in Uther's when she refused to cast the spell—a hurt that was quick to anger, and an anger that was quick to rage. Her monarchs, her friends . . . but she knew that it was beyond futile, beyond forbidden. Nothing good could come of this spell; it was the kind of spell that doomed not only the caster, but everyone involved. Retribution might not come immediately, but it would come—in bitter lives and bloody ends. She had seen it time and time again. Nimueh didn't care so much who died to create the child, but rather what the consequences of such a life would be. But it would not happen; of this she was—regrettably—certain.
Nimueh paused by I'graine's room. Muffled sobbing was barely audible through the great wooden door. Nimeuh knew of I'graine's tendency to cry when no one else could hear, and the priestess's soul ached. She turned away with a heavy heart and walked slowly back to her chambers, her chest burning with every step.
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Gaius paused outside Nimueh's door, face concealed by shadows. He raised his hand to the door, hesitated, and then knocked.
"I know why you're here, Gaius." Gaius sighed and walked in. In front of him was a beautiful woman, twenty at most, but Gaius knew the truth—she was far older than he. Nimueh had at least a hundred years on his mere thirty-five. And yet here she was, a great priestess, curled up on the floor, staring listlessly at the wall. Nimueh was dressed in nothing but her underdress, not even bothering to conceal the scars and markings she normally kept hidden. Many men would run in fear at the puckering of skin, wince at the burns and crisscross white lines, and frown at the tattoos weaving across her body. But Gaius knew Nimueh far too well to be afraid, so he strode across the room without permission and sat down next to the priestess.
She didn't look up. "I won't do it, you know. Your love for Uther has blinded you to the foolery of consenting."
"And your love for I'graine has hurt you dearly in refusing."
Nimueh eyes met his own, all storm and power and greatness. Gaius often wondered if she got tossed in her storms, found herself lost in her own power. "I will not do it. The spell they ask of me only breeds sorrow. I have seen it again and again."
Gaius laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "But this time will be different. The prophecies have spoken of Uther's son—"
"—You can not be certain that the child will be a boy—"
"—Yes I can. The Once and Future King, the one who will unite Avalon and bring peace to all the people, those of magic and those without—"
"—And there lies the problem!" Nimueh shouted as she shot up, eyes flashing. Thunder rumbled in the background. "There is nothing wrong with the Kingdom! Magic is not banned here as it is in Mercia, and for the most part, the people are happy! Uther is a good King, so I don't see why—"
"—And what of the Saxons, Nimueh? What of the users of black magic, and the enemies pushing at our gates? How will you protect Camelot then, when Uther's body lies on the ground with no son to follow him?"
"Oh you are so quick to speak of enemies," Nimueh scoffed. "You follow in Uther's shadow far too much, Gaius. You see enemies where there are none."
"And you do not see suffering where there is much." A silence fell upon the pair. Finally Gaius let loose a deep sigh, filled with a long annoyance towards prideful superiors. He stood slowly, refusing eye contact with the priestess. "Very well Nimueh. I will not ask again." She smiled, true relief on her features. "But when the walls of this kingdom come crumbling around you," his eyes flickered to hers. "Do not forget why." Gaius left as he came, without permission, seeking nothing, leaving Nimueh frozen where she stood. She thought of curses and fire and hurt and consequences and she reminded herself why, but it didn't stop the storm outside from raging on.
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Uther Pendragon walked into his chambers completely exhausted. The council meeting had been long and tiresome, and all he wanted to do was to drop into a deep sleep. But as soon as he entered his room he knew that he wouldn't be resting anytime soon. On the floor was a shattered bottle, the remaining liquid inside staining the wood floor. On the bed was I'graine, tears flowing freely down her face.
Uther hurried to his wife, embracing her from behind, letting her turn into him and cling so hard that it hurt. He whispered soft nothings to her, rocking her gently as she cried, kissing the tears from her face. It took a while for her to calm, but she finally did, and Uther was able to pull them both down into a more comfortable position. I'graine lay miserably on his chest, eyes still swollen and raw. Uther knew that potion—it was the one she had been asking Gaius for again and again, putting a little less hope into each attempt, getting her heart broken a little more each time. I'griane, just like her husband, would not stop hoping for a child, but unlike her husband, she was still hoping that pregnancy would come upon her like other woman. Uther knew that the only way for her to bear a child was for a spell to be cast, but it had been almost a month since Gaius talked to Nimueh and Uther was running low on hope.
Igraine turned towards him, choking on sobs. "Is there any hope, Uther?" He tried to shush her but she shook him off. "No! I am barren. There is n-nothing we can do . . . nothing at all."
"There are some things," Uther began, but I'graine shook her head.
"No, we can't ask Nimueh anymore, she's been walking around lately like the fate of the kingdom is on her shoulders." It is, Uther thought grimly. "And besides, it's not natural, a spell like that. We'll just . . . we'll just . . ."
"We could always adopt," Uther offered, a pasted smile on his face, and miraculously I'graine laughed.
"Ah, well, Vivienne's with child, we could always steal hers." Uther's stomach dropped. "Uther?" I'graine frowned. "Uther, what's wrong?"
He smiled. "Nothing, it's nothing." He hoped so, anyway.
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What was she doing? Only three months ago she had sworn off this spell, and now here she was, putting on the finishing touches. She could still turn back now, Nimueh thought, holding her potion over the cup of life.
No she couldn't.
Nimueh couldn't bare it anymore. She couldn't watch I'graine suffer, couldn't watch Uther hate her. Sometimes he was so angry that she thought he would banish her on the spot, but then he would sigh and she would make him promise to stop asking. He came back though, time and time again. Gaius had kept true to his promise and never pushed her on the subject, but Nimueh could feel his disappointment. Almost two hundred years and she was still weak. The potion splattered onto the cup, and Nimueh lifted it with shaking hands.
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Nimueh fell back, completely spent. Her eyes flashed gold one last time, and she breathed the final spell. I'graine's back arched, and the woman screamed.
The next few hours were a blur, as Alice and her midwives rushed around the room in preparation for the royal baby. Hunith and Nimueh held I'graine's hand, and as the Queen screamed and panted Uther paced anxiously outside. Finally the crying of a child filled the room, and Nimueh's eyes sparkled with tears and I'graine held the child she had wanted for so long. I'graine smiled and offered him to the priestess, who took him into her arms happily.
But as she took the boy all feelings of joy dissipated. A chill shot up Nimueh's spine. In horror, she looked down at the young Pendragon, who smiled up at her, blinking his bright blue eyes in wonder. She looked into those beautiful eyes, so innocent, so young, and she saw. She saw the future he would build, the man he would become. She saw a mighty, golden haired King leading all of Albion into a glorious future, with Emrys riding at his side. She saw peace and happiness—a Utopia in every sense of the word. But with horror seeping through her she saw the past that would lead up to his rule. She saw blood and screams and burning children and the great and kind Uther Pendragon with the face of the devil. Distantly Nimueh heard her name, and the vision shattered. She became aware of how hard she was shaking, and her face was wet. Tears. She hadn't wept since she was a babe. Her eyes met her friend's.
I'graine smile weakened slightly. "Is . . . is everything all right Nimueh?" There was so much hope in the woman's face, and Nimueh's own tongue went numb.
"N-no, everything's . . . everything's . . ." Gently, Alice took the young Pendragon from Nimueh's arms and carried him outside, where Uther received his son with tears and cries of joy. "Everything's fine." I'graine smiled, but quickly broke off into a fit of coughing. Nimueh collapsed into a chair. Outside Uther praised the gods over and over, kissing his son on the forehead.
There was a scream. Nimueh shot up and she wished that she could take it all back—saying yes to Uther, the months of research—but it was too late. She had doomed them all.
Uther appeared in the doorway, his son in his arms, his brow creased with worry. "I'graine?"
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"Balinor!" He should have expected Nimueh, he really should've, but with I'graine only a month in the grave he'd hoped the priestess would wait a little longer. She had been growing more and more anxious the longer he remained in Camelot, and Balinor was sure that she'd want her captain of the dragonlords back on the border as soon as possible. But with the dark times they were all in he wanted to remain in his home, with Hunith by his side. He had hoped to take her to the border this time, to take her as his wife, but with Arthur's birth passing from a time of joy to a time of sorrow within minutes he hadn't asked yet. Soon.
Balinor turned. "Nimueh." The sorceress acknowledged him with a quick nod. "I won't pretend that I don't know your purpose in coming."
Nimueh stepped closer. "I need you to leave. Now."
He sighed. "Nimueh, I don't think—"
"—You don't understand!" Nimueh ran a hand through her hair and it was just then that Balinor noticed how tangled it was, and the depth of the shadows below her eyes. "It's imperative that you go. You and Hunith, and all of your riders!"
"All of the riders?! But the city's defenses—"
"—Will be gone anyway when Uther sentences you all to death!"
Balinor stared at her in shock. "What?"
"You have to leave," Nimueh pleaded. "You haven't heard him these past few days. He's been driving himself insane—talking of enemies in the shadows, going mad with grief. He looks at me like he would look at the devil." She laughed bitterly. "He's banished me."
"What?! Why?!"
Nimueh sighed, and pity flooded Balinor for the sorrow in her eyes. "He blames me for his wife's death. But not just me, Balinor—he blames all of magic. He's starting with the more aggressive tribes but I know it will be us soon. The more he destroys the madder he'll become. I've seen it." Her eyes caught his, and he felt himself drowning in the urgency of her gaze, in the madness of her words. "I'm gathering the priestesses and taking them far away from here. I'll warn the druids on my way, and then return to make sure that others can escape."
Balinor's head was spinning. He heard his voice, distant, asking where they would even go.
"The fisher king's lands, although treacherous, are survivable with magic. The castle within, and the area surrounding it, could be enchanted to be lush and beautiful, and the dangers of the perilous lands would protect it." Nimueh's voice took on a level of desperation that he thought he would never hear. "Please, Balinor. It would be torture to watch you and Hunith perish." Balinor felt his ears ringing. His stomach churned, and shock filled his veins with ice.
Two boys ran though the woods, side by side, one dark haired and one light. The golden haired boy laughed and turned to his friend.
"Apples, Bali?" The dark haired boy turned to where his friend was pointing and grinned. His eyes burned gold.
No, not Uther. He wouldn't do it, he couldn't.
"Take your priestesses and go Nimueh, but I will not abandon him." Balinor turned to leave but Nimueh's hand shot out. Her nails dug into his arm.
"Consider what I've said Balinor, and come to me if you change your mind. I can not force you to go, but I will go to the others if you do not." Her hand let go. He turned to face her but she was gone.
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Balinor woke to shouting. Drearily he wondered why the guards were barking orders. There was an odd smell in the air, a sickening odor that he couldn't quite place. Something in his gut churned and he barely got to the bucket before he was emptying the contents of his stomach. Wiping his mouth, he got up slowly. The shouting had stopped, and screaming had started—long, drawn out wails of pure torture. Balinor ran to find Uther.
When he tore out onto the balcony Balinor thought he was dreaming. It took a moment of shock before he could take it in—the stakes, the men, screaming; the women, begging for their husbands. And then, a little farther away . . . the children, four to a stake. Fire licked at a sobbing woman's feet. Numb with horror, Balinor turned to his left to see Uther overseeing it all, his expression purposeful and alien. He turned to Balinor . . . and he smiled.
"Uther," Balinor's voice cracked. "What is the meaning of this?"
Uther's face darkened and he turned away. "They have betrayed me Uther. They all turned on me, just like Nimueh. There is only one penalty for treason."
"But the children, Uther!" In his mind's eye a lively boy laughed beside Balinor, and tossed an apple his way.
"Soon they would grow to be like their parents, traitors, all of them." Uther's eyes flashed with madness. "Magic will corrupt them, and then they too will turn against me. I will not let it happen." The apple fell between the two boys, and the dark haired boy reached out to take it. His friend grinned.
The soldiers set fire to the children, and Balinor made his choice.
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