Why do I keep on coming up with story ideas when I'm already juggling five other stories, three of them being crossovers? Oh well, I'll just admit the fact that by the end of this summer I'm going to be insane from writing so many different plots. That's okay, because if I am going to be crazy, that would be the best cause for it XD. Anyway, without further ado, this is Remorse for the Fallen, the other story in the poll I took on which Merlin story to write first, which tied with my recent story Arisen.
Nausea took over Arthur's being as he attempted to rise from his bed, and he immediately collapsed back down on the mattress, rubbing at his head. The bite from the Questing Beast had been more fatal than he had thought it to be, but obviously Gaius procured some remedy for it, his recovery being the proof. He noted in his head that one of the priorities of today would be showing some gratitude to the old physician for his life, he had just nearly slipped from Death's awaiting fingers.
He couldn't very well just lay here in bed. He was the prince, and since he had recovered, there were certain responsibilities and duties he had to fulfill, even if he didn't feel quite up to it. Fighting back the nausea with all his might, he rose from his bed with the support of leaning his hand on the bedside table.
As Arthur observed himself in a nearby mirror, he could honestly admit that he hadn't looked worse in his entire life. All the color in his face had been drained, leaving only a shell of a transparent ghost. Bandages were tightly wrapped around his upper chest and right shoulder, where the bite had pierced his flesh. A mat of dry blood stained the white medical dressings.
His father had only visited him just a little over an hour ago, along with Morgana, and afterwards Guinevere had stopped in as well, where he had especially enjoyed taunting her about how she had made a speech to him while he was ill. Truly the only part he could remember about the whole thing when she had actually said it to him was "the man inside". After mentioning this, the maid ran off in embarrassment and he just grinned in reply. But there was someone missing, someone who hadn't visited him, and in doing so had neglected his responsibilities.
"MER-lin!" his voice rang out, surely startling the whole castle in the process. It didn't take long for the lanky servant to burst open his bedroom door unceremoniously, who then gasped for air from the effort of dashing up four flights of steps.
"You… you're cured! This, this is great. Fantastic!" Merlin practically panted out, and his master couldn't help but roll his eyes at the spectacle.
"Surely you've heard the news by now, I've been up for hours and the whole kingdom is chattering about it. Well, I suppose you're happy because this means you won't be out of a job anytime soon, but you will be if you keep up this showing-up-late-business. And while I would celebrate with you, my father has already demanded there be a feast to celebrate my recovery which you will be at tonight, just as all the servants will be. Really though, my father is making such a big deal about nothing. How is my recovery from a wound a cause for a grand celebration? Is it that special or even important?"
Merlin muttered darkly under his breath, "Believe me, it's a miracle." Arthur glanced at his servant oddly for a moment's notice, but pretended as though he did not hear the boy's reply.
"Merlin, can I ask you something, and will you tell me the whole and entire truth?" Arthur inquired.
"Of course, Sire."
"Who did kill the Questing Beast?" he questioned.
Obviously, out of all the questions Arthur could have asked, it seemed that Merlin had not anticipated this one. He paled considerably and attached his gaze to the floor, refusing to maintain any eye contact with his master.
"It was Sir Olaf," Merlin replied quickly, still retaining no eye contact whatsoever. Arthur wasn't convinced.
"Merlin, you and I were the only ones who entered the cave the Questing Beast was in. I know you're lying to me; you've got that, that face you get whenever you lie to me. I asked you to tell me the whole and entire truth. I'll ask you again. Who killed the Questing Beast?"
Merlin hesitated, shifting his feet uncomfortably. "It…it was me. I killed the Questing Beast, after you were bitten. I didn't think that telling you was that important. I didn't kill it quick enough, in the end," he solemnly confessed.
Arthur widened his eyes at the response and furrowed his brow in confusion. It couldn't have possibly been Merlin who had killed the Questing Beast, could it? He, the crowned prince of Camelot, hadn't been able to make as much as a scratch on it before it attacked him. How the hell did Merlin fare against the creature? And yet the boy made it sound like it was a less than ordinary feat not worth mentioning, and still wasn't satisfied with his accomplishment.
"Well, um, Camelot thanks you… for your persistent drive and your attempts to prevail in saving, uh, it. Thanks." Arthur winced as he finished, he had never been one for showing pure appreciation all that well. Still, it seemed to cheer Merlin up as his cheeks flushed red in bashfulness at the very allusion of his deeds. Well, the master couldn't let that get to his servant's head.
"But don't think that excuses you from your duties today. Honestly, I'm on my deathbed for a day, the room looks like a tornado hit it, and where is my servant? Not even at my bedside, but lying in his own bed, catching up on rest while he ignores his obligations! You can start by scrubbing the floor, washing my dirty laundry, tidying my room, polishing my armor, sharpening my sword…"
OoO
Arthur practically loathed these gatherings. Surprisingly enough, he much rather enjoyed when it was just his father, Morgana, and him dining together, it felt more real. Here, nobles stuffed their faces full of expensive meats, fruits, and wines till the point where Arthur could smell everything they ate since they had consumed such an abundant amount of it, the foul stench lingering on their breaths. He would much rather be distributing this food to the peasants of Camelot, who deserved it so much more. Joyful cries could be heard throughout the castleof "Hand me another!" and "Drinks all around!" and the frequent feigned "Arthur, we are so glad that you survived that ghastly wound. You mean so much to us."
Sir Leon, perhaps the only guest in the room who actually cared about his wellbeing, stood and raised his goblet.
"A toast! To Prince Arthur and to Camelot. May the kingdom be as lost without its prince, as it would be without its king." Everyone rose up their drinks in respect, and with ease poured the contents of their cups down their throats.
"Arthur? How are you enjoying the feast? I trust that today all has been well for you?" his father asked of him. He nodded, perhaps too eagerly to disguise the fact he felt quite the opposite.
"Yes, father. This is quite the feast, I thank you for it."
"There is no length I would not reach to bring you happiness. I hope that you know that, Arthur," his father confided, but then that moment ended as the king turned to chat with a lord of the kingdom. At seeing this, Arthur punctured the chicken on his plate with his fork rather forcefully. Although this feast was intended specifically for him, he didn't seem to be the main focus of it in reality.
On Arthur's right sat Morgana. Usually at these events she was rather animated and most of the time a knight would be seated next to her, chatting her up as if he had a chance at the king's ward. And typically, Arthur intervened on her behalf. This time however she had barely touched her plate, and her lips kept twitching in discomfort. Every five seconds her neck would crane over to her left and Arthur noticed she kept glancing at Merlin with concern, but she snapped it back into place fearing anyone observed her odd behaviors. She was upset about something.
Sparked by keen interest, Arthur turned his head also to the servant to glimpse at what interested Morgana so about him that she kept this odd practice of looking at him. Afterwards, the prince couldn't blame her. Merlin looked deathly pale, not a natural pastel coloration. He faintly detected traces of sweat brimming on the boy's forehead. Merlin leant against a pillar, seemingly exhausted just from producing the effort to stand there. But as soon he noticed that people were staring at his strange condition he attempted to shrug it off, by strolling over to where Arthur sat and poured him another glass of wine from the pitcher. Gaius, also a guest at the banquet since he had cured the royal, now would not avert his gaze from Merlin the entire time; a steely facade painted upon the old man's features. It was only a matter of minutes until Merlin erupted into a coughing fit, in the process dropping the pitcher and spilling the wine all over the stone floor. The room became silent. Uther could be considered practically livid at that point just from his facial expression, but Gaius was soon up and out of his seat kneeling down on the floor helping his ward up.
"Sire, I must take Merlin back to my chambers, he is obviously ill and unfit to perform his duties for the night," the old physician declared. Arthur's father's features relaxed, since the king had now assessed the situation and understood the court member's argument.
"You may go with him, Gaius," the king obliged. Gaius scurried out with Merlin, his arm linked with the boy's for support, and Arthur could not help but hear the hoarse, rough cough that sounded as though it belonged to a man on his deathbed that echoed down the hallway as they departed.
However the period of silence wore off all too swiftly for Arthur's liking, and it was back to blissful merriment for the lord and ladies while the prince only had eyes for the door; longing he could just slip out of the room unnoticed. For he rather much cared about Merlin's ill state of being rather than the drunken state of the many nobles.
OoO
As soon as the feast ended, Arthur wandered down to the physician's chambers to check on his servant—no, friend. He was checking in on his friend, Merlin. Because while Merlin may be the lousiest servant of the palace, he was the loyalist friend Arthur had ever befriended.
He stopped in front of the wooden door, about to knock until he heard an argument ensuing from the physician's chambers. Even though this spit in the name of everything any etiquette teacher had taught him, he pressed his ear against the wood and listened in.
Gaius ranted, "How could you be this stupid, Merlin? I specifically told you, a price would demanded, and now look where it's gotten you!"
"And I will gladly pay it," was the stern response.
A lethal silence filled the air for a few moments.
"Someone's out there, and you had better hope they heard nothing of what we said," Arthur overheard Gaius whisper to Merlin. The prince stepped back from the door; apparently his skills of stealth were no match for the sharpened senses of the court physician.
"Hello? Who is it?" Gaius called out.
"It's me, Arthur. I came to check on Merlin," he announced.
Instantaneously, the door swung open and Gaius greeted, "Of course, come in, Sire." Arthur peeked around the physician to spot Merlin lying on a cot, smearing a wet rag to his forehead. His servant's condition peaked slightly from where it had been twenty minutes ago, but the boy still looked rather dreadful compared to his usual perky, healthy self. Admittedly, Arthur was no physician, but he could tell that Merlin shouldn't look like…this, whatever 'this' was.
"Gaius, how long do I have to keep this rag on my head?" Merlin moaned.
"Either until your fever goes down or until you stop irritating me. I doubt the latter will come first." Arthur took this opportunity to pull a chair by the cot, instead of just awkwardly hovering over Merlin's form on his feet.
"How do you feel?" After inquiring this, Arthur wanted to hit himself for asking the blandest and most generic question anyone would ask of any sick person. Really, did he have no tact whatsoever?
"Why do you care so much? Well, I suppose you're disappointed because you won't have a servant to perform every task according to your bidding for a whole day," his servant bitterly responded. Arthur grimaced as his words from that afternoon were seized from his mouth and were shifted so that it applied to him now.
Just as he was about to open his mouth, a messenger boy approached in the doorway, a small scroll curled up in his hand. The boy looked no older than ten, yet dark lines were traced underneath his eyelids.
He stated in a monotone-like voice, "A message for Merlin." Arthur reached out his hand to grab it from the child, but his hand was quickly swatted away.
"This is a message for Merlin and Merlin alone. You Arthur Pendragon are not authorized to read it. Where. Is. Merlin?" The prince stepped back from the strange boy, allowing him to walk over to where Merlin lay, and the messenger stuffed the crumbled scroll of parchment into the man's outstretched hand. The boy blinked his eyes once afterwards, and the dark lines under his eyes seemingly disappeared from his face. His eyes darted around the room like that of a small child's when lost. Arthur heard the kid breathe to himself, "What? Where am I?" The messenger did not wait a second longer and scurried off into the night.
"I don't know what the hell that was, but what does your letter say?" Arthur questioned.
"It's, it's nothing. I have to go…muck out the stables. After all, you said yourself that I wasn't excused from my duties today, and servants don't get sick leave, remember?" Merlin tried to cram the letter into his pocket, but didn't realize that it fell from his grasp onto the floor. The servant shakily lifted himself to his feet and started for the door.
"Merlin, you know you never listen to my orders," the prince stated in confusion.
"Well, maybe it's time for a change."
The young boy strode towards the wooden door, but before slipping out, stopped in front of it and spun on his heels to face Arthur.
"Just—when I'm gone, please try not to get yourself killed," were the last words that tumbled from his lips before he left and slammed the door shut behind him.
There was something about that letter that was making Merlin act this way. The royal picked the parchment up from the ground, smoothing the creases so he could distinguish the writing. The messenger boy's words rang in his head. "This is a message for Merlin and Merlin alone. You Arthur Pendragon are not authorized to read it." This only increased his desire to discover the written content the letter contained. Only two sentences were jotted down as well as a name down at the bottom.
It's time to pay your end of the bargain. Meet me at the Isle of the Blessed; you know your way there.
-Nimueh
How will Arthur interpret this note and what will he do about it? I always thought it would be interesting if Arthur was more invested in the plot of "Le Morte De Arthur" and this is my spin on it. Also, I found it rather odd that the mission they were on was to kill the Questing Beast but after Arthur recovered, no one questioned its death, so I thought I should add that in. Well hopefully you guys enjoyed it so far and please review!
