XoxoX
He wakes up - too early - to his daughter's screams. The couple of weeks leading up to the Reaping were always the worst.
He runs into the other bedroom, scooping up the thirteen year old. She was still asleep. "Imogen," he murmurs. "Wake up."
Her blue eyes spring open and her hands clap around his arms like a vice. She's hyperventilating. He hugs her tightly until she calls down.
"It was me," she choked out. "In my dream, it was me." Merlin feels the blood drain from his face. He hopes that this one was just that, a dream, but he knows that Imogen is a seer, like her mother.
An hour later, father and daughter are eating their breakfast - eggs and sausages, for the occasion - in silence. She's trembling. He wishes her mother was here, and hopes against hope that Imogen isn't picked.
When she walks out of her room in her best dress with her hair neatly braided, he has to bite his lip to stop himself from crying. He wishes Arthur were here, because if Arthur were here, none of this would be happening, because Arthur wouldn't let this monstrous competition take place.
They walk to the square in the middle of the town. There's a stage set up in front of the town hall. There are already kids lined up in front of it. He has to leave her and stand with the other anxious parents after she goes through check in.
He can barely hear what the ridiculous looking woman from London was saying over his own heart pounding, but he hears her name loud and clear. Imogen Ambrosius, third row from the front, looking as though she's seen a ghost. She walks out into the central aisle, trembling all over. He father doesn't even realise that he's shooting her name.
She looks back, eyes like a rabbit caught in headlights. Sometimes she acts so grown up - heaven knows, she has reason to - that he forgets how young she is. He's reminded now though. She's just a child, a child who knows that she walks to her death. He doesn't even hear the name of the boy.
It comes as no surprise when his daughter gets an eight in training; she's agile, and intelligent. He doesn't try to get his hopes up, he knows her chances of survival are slim to none.
Imogen Ambrosius manages to survive to the third day before getting caught in a trap set by some careers, and butchered as he father watches in horror from miles away on the television. His daughter is dead. The only thing he had left in the world to care about, stolen away from him by a cruel dictatorship.
When the victory tour comes around, Merlin has to be dragged to see the victor. The victor is the boy who snapped Imogen's neck like a match. He shows no remorse as he cheers himself on. Merlin knows that had his daughter survived, this boy's parents would be sitting at home, cursing his daughter's very existence, but that doesn't stop him from seething.
He wishes Arthur was here. Surely this was Albion's moment of need?
Later that night, he uses magic for the first time in years. He feels little remorse for burning the victor alive, just as the victor felt no remorse for murdering Imogen. They can't tie this to Merlin; it looks like an accident. And besides, there's no such thing as magic, was there?
XoxoX
Tell me what you think! I think this is the darkest story I've ever written. Please review.
Emotional Dalek, AKA: Nessa, xoxox