Refuge
DJ Dubois
April 2016
Rating: T (Teen)
Notes Part 1: Thanks to Tara for supporting this particular idea and first foray into Merlin fic. Much appreciated!
Notes Part 2: The story takes place about a fortnight after "Another Sorrow". It will be eventually Merlin/Mithian. This edition of Merlin belongs to the BBC and Scyfy Channel.
Chapter 1 [Whitgate, Kingdom of Nemeth]
[A/N: I realize that Nemeth's castle/capital city never received a name in the series. I'm sticking it in here now.]
Following Odin's disastrous invasion, Whitgate suffered through the initial stages of rebuilding. Industrious hands worked to rebuild the battered gates. Heroic soldiers were laid to rest under the soft earth. The denizens reconstructed their damaged homes and workplaces. Out in the countryside, the farmers resowed their fields with a careful eye for crows and other scavengers.
Despite the heavy hearts and slow trudging ahead, the Nemethians knew their blessings well. They felt grateful for those who survived the occupation. They treasured the solidified relationship with Camelot to the south and King Arthur. Best of all, their beloved monarch, Rodor, sat once more on his throne with his daughter, Mithian, at his side.
If only things could keep going forward steadily, that would be key. Alas for some, it was not so….
[Council Chamber]
As with the affairs on the outside, Rodor and his advisors chipped away gradually at the kingdom's business in front of them. With Odin's army razing much of the land, assistance and outreach remained high on everyone's list. The debate however focused on prioritizing the how, when and where so as to hit the severest need first but not seem insensitive to everyone else in the process
Even as the debates extended into hours and days of circular logic, Mithian listened patiently to the councilors' points. Occasionally she'd strategically inject a sage point where she thought it most prudent. However she wrestled with divided attention and loyalties and so kept her peace….
Still if she'd had her way, they'd have accepted Arthur's offer to assist in the rebuilding effort. In the two encounters with King Arthur and his people, she'd been genuinely impressed by their quality. Granted the disappointment of the failed engagement had tarnished things however Camelot had more than redeemed itself since. Arthur would have overseen such activities in the field. Gaius would have overseen the medical efforts across the region masterfully. Running between all parties, Merlin would've played the usual go-between with humility, a cheerful grin and a can-do attitude….
…that and a notable streak of accomplishing tasks no matter how great or small….
…a standing that marked the best of servants and those exceptions rising above their station which Merlin did…routinely….
Thinking of Merlin relaxed her for some reason. The anger in her bosom waned slightly. The butterflies brushed against the sides of her stomach. She flushed inexplicably at the memory of him and what he'd done for them all. Calm yourself. He's a servant and a peasant. Not that he's dirt but you two could never be…As if Father would ever allow that?
The clash of emotions inside of herself churned another storm inside of herself unfortunately. A wave of numbness clamped down on her scalp. Her hands and back burned with a strange heat. Pinpricks stuck at her arm. She ground her teeth and bowed her head so as not to let the men around her see her pain. Her place was there not the sickbed….
Her people needed her. She'd ride the Pain and this mysterious malady out as she had for the previous month. At first it had only been minor aches and pains in her elbows and back—a few momentary pinpricks to be doused by the physician's tonic and no more. It had required an hour's rest or a solitary walk through the palace gardens to put it in check once more.
She glanced at the beautiful gilded bracelet around her wrist. While people complimented her on its beauty and how it caught the light, she grimaced at its effect. Since Morgana had clamped it on her wrist, Mithian had tried on several occasions to remove it unsuccessfully. She winced from how it would constrict her wrist much as a python would squeeze its prey into submission. She endured its pleasures and wanted it off now. She yanked at it again.
In response, the bracelet constricted threatening to cut off all blood flow to her hand. It sent torturous agony throughout her body burning her in reprisal. She spasmed involuntarily.
Around them all, the air suddenly chilled. The denizens around the table saw their breath hang in midair despite the fact that it was mid-summer.
"What madness is this?" Lord Edwin, the eldest councilor, protested. He shivered and clenched his robes around his wrinkled skin.
"Mithian, are you all right?" Rodor queried in concern. Granted he wanted to deal with the cold as well. Still his duty as a father outweighed his own self-preservation. He rubbed her shoulders caringly.
"I…am sorry, Father. Please…continue. The…people need…" she pressed while pulling at the bracelet to get it to relent.
"They need you healthy, Princess, if you don't mind me saying," Lord Aethelred respectfully disagreed. Granted he normally chafed at a woman sitting at the table with him and the others. Still, as a human being, he didn't want her to suffer. Thus a meeting of both agendas….
"I agree. Mithian, I'm sorry but…." Rodor slowly stood so as not to shiver in the chill more than needed. He gently offered his hand to her.
"No…I can….I…" Then she felt another surge cutting through herself. She doubled over in pain as if feeling afire. "Father! Please make it stop! PLEASE!" She closed her eyes tightly and ground her teeth. Tears squinted from her eyes.
Around her, an ominous crimson glow built in intensity. It cast the entire chamber in its hue dazzling the men as much as it burned her.
Her hands glowed with a purely white light.
"Mithian, what is it? WHAT IS….?" Rodor demanded almost in a panic. He reached out toward her once again.
"She's a WITCH! She's possessed!" Lord Aethelred accused while going for his sword.
"STOP! One more word and…." Rodor countered that accusation firmly. Perhaps something was happening but he would not allow her to be so accused….not without a fight at least….
"Father, I….Morgana did something….I….AHHH!" she tried to explain. "GET BACK!" She forced herself away from the table and toward the side of the room defying the pain to do so.
The energy within herself exploded. The chamber and that side of the castle shook. The heat burned the tapestries on that wall and discomforted the others. The braziers flared menacingly. The aura and the light flashed dangerously bright enveloping her. The shockwave shoved men and furnishings against the far walls.
For several minutes, an awful pall hung over the room. King and councilors lay unconscious in the event's wake. The table and chairs lay in a pile of wrecked splinters and shards. Only a singed spot on the floor and a few burning scraps of cloth attested to her presence.
Then heavy footfalls rushed up the granite corridor outside in desperation.
Four loyal knights slammed the council chamber's door open spilling into the room. As with the rest of the palace, they'd endured the impact and feared the worst. With swords drawn, they inspected the chamber and stared incredulously at the damage therein.
At their head, a tall and muscular man with long brown hair and a matching beard scanned the area frantically. He pulled a broken chair off of the king and checked him over. "Father! Speak to me!" He looked around the area again for the princess. "Where is she? Where is Mithian? So help me!"
"She is not here, Milord," a red haired slender knight assessed.
Beside them, a dark skinned warrior beheld the singed spot on the stones underfoot. "My Prince! Look!" He pointed out the area.
"Look after the king!" Prince Kay demanded. He cursed being away on that diplomatic mission to Gaul during the kingdom's occupation. Bad enough he'd failed his father, sister and the people in that regard. Now he hadn't been here to face whatever had attacked the council and harmed her. He slowly raised the singed scraps to his eye level. His nostrils protested at the acrid odor offending them. His eyes watered at the thought of his baby sister's pain. He glared at the three companions. "Is there a sign of her?"
"None, my Prince. Lords Athelred, Edwin, Gustavus and Rodrick are breathing at least. The king is alive. Thanks be to that," Red Hair noted. "This is the work of magic!"
"I thought that accursed witch dead," a third knight, a man of Iberian complexion, presumed. "Did not the tomb collapse on her?"
Kay frowned. "Who knows with a sorceress such as that? She could've survived. Damn her!" He set his jaw "We'll consider that after we see to the King and the counselors. Sir Galahad!"
"Aye, Milord," Red Hair responded immediately from where he supported Rodor's prone form.
"I will tend to the King. You organize a search party for the Princess. Leave no stone unturned until she is found. Am I clear? I doubt not Princess Mithian's strength of character. Still she will need help. Do whatever you have to. She is not to be harmed!"
"At once! I will organize the search," Galahad agreed. He allowed Prince Kay to take over caring for the king. "Sir Hector, you are with me!"
"Go! I thank you both!" the Prince agreed allowing his fear and indignation to tone his response more than he'd intended. He cradled his father in his arms. "Rodrigo, you are with me then. Watch over the counselors. I shall get the King to Master Wyngate for treatment. Nothing happens."
"On my life, Sire," the Iberian vowed.
"You never fail me, Ywain. I trust you first," Kay assured his liege man before hustling his father from the area.
Ywain curled his lip. He wished that the Prince had assigned Galahad the babysitting duty. I'm the better tracker of us both. And that's not counting Malodius! He nodded while considering his extra special companion.
This was not the end of the affair. On the contrary, it was only beginning. For the present, Duty demanded a patient sifting through the affair and pain staking examination. The royals needed to be accounted for. The perpetrator must be found.
He wet a cloth and started tending to the fallen officials as best as he could manage while waiting for further word.
And so it went….
