A/N: so this was born from lots of little ideas coming together and I decided I didn't want to do oneshot after oneshot. Now they're all combined here. Here's chapter one, let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
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"My Lord."
The call came quite late into the evening. It would have been dismissed, had said lord not known what this would undoubtedly be about. After all, there would only be one reason why his servant Bastian would enter his chambers at such an hour. A mission had been bestowed upon him; return meant success.
Or, if it did not, the man was a fool to return.
"You have found it then?" he asked, leaning forward in his elegant chair eagerly, hands coming to link together.
"Yes sire," Bastian replied. "I have no doubts."
"You have found it then? The city I saw in the scrying?"
A nod. "The very same. It is exactly as you described."
The servant was treated to a thoughtful hum as his master leant back in his chair, one hand coming to rub his chin. "Then I must ride out immediately. There cannot be any delay. I will wait no longer to reclaim what is rightfully mine!" The declaration was finalised with a thump to the table. Taking a moment to compose himself, the nobleman then looked over at Bastian once more. "And what was the name of this city?"
"Camelot."
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"Merlin."
Being a servant was hardly the most terrible job in the world; especially when one was a servant of the royal household, or the king. It certainly paid better than many other professions one could undertake and it was not – in theory at least – a job that was classified as 'dangerous'. Indeed, a servant could be rather well off if they went about their duties respectfully and in a manner that was timely.
"Merlin."
There were, however, certain parts of his job that Merlin did not like. It wasn't always the undeniable truth that he lied every day to keep himself alive, nor was it always the fact that Arthur did seem capable of drawing in a remarkable amount of negative acquaintances, and the fact that aforementioned acquaintances often wanted nothing more than to see Arthur die in some horrific way.
"Merlin."
No, it didn't actually tend to be any of that – surprisingly enough.
"Merlin! You are going to be late for work if you don't get out of that bed."
"Gaius…"
It was this.
His groan was met with a bemused chuckle from his mentor. "Oh come now Merlin, it's hardly that early. Hurry!" Gaius called back as he descended the stairs that led to the main room. "Or else Arthur will be late and I know you wouldn't want that!"
"No we wouldn't," Merlin grumbled, staring at his open door in distaste.
It was with a great reluctance that he threw back his blankets, shutting his door before quickly changing. As soon as his boots were slipped onto his feet and the final knot tied in his neckerchief, Merlin made one last assessment of himself, more to make sure everything was as it should be than a display of vanity. Snatching half a sandwich from the table as he passed, Merlin gave the physician a wave and a yell of good-bye as he left, swinging the door shut after him.
"But you haven't eaten you breakfast!" came the immediate reply.
"I don't have time!" Merlin bellowed back, knowing Gaius would be mumbling choice words under his breath; the phrase 'I told you as much' undoubtedly present.
Hastily collecting Arthur's breakfast from the kitchens, and dodging a particularly snippy cook in the process, Merlin jogged up the flights of stairs leading to Arthur's chambers. With a practised slide that almost turned into a tumble, Merlin threw a hand onto the door to balance himself before pushing said door open.
"Morning sire!" he greeted jovially, smiling as he waited for the inevitable bad-tempered response. Two steps towards the curtains and still nothing, Merlin turned, face instantly morphing into a frown when he found the bed to be empty. "Sire?"
Making to move towards the bed, the warlock paused before making a split-second change to his plans, instead grabbing the heavy drapes and yanking them open, flooding the room with light. A new assessment performed in the now lit chambers showed him exactly what he had first assumed; that Arthur was most definitely not present.
"Sire? Arthur?"
Placing his precariously balanced tray of breakfast down, Merlin surveyed the room more intently, looking for any signs that something was amiss. As he paced from corner to corner, fingers idly running through nooks and crannies, he wracked his memory, trying to find anything, a sentence, an order, a reminder, that would explain this strange phenomenon.
Because it was certainly strange that Arthur not be in his chambers at first light, sleeping contentedly and groaning when he was awoken – despite the fact that they did the same routine every day.
A flitter of movement appeared in his peripheral vision and Merlin turned to see what was creating such erratic shadows. And then, for some inexplicable reason, a wave of fear fell upon him, causing him to gasp audibly and a shiver of terror to run down his spine. He could almost feel his blood freezing as terror rushed through him.
He shouldn't have been scared of it, really he shouldn't have. For all it was, was a robin.
A robin; a bird.
A small, helpless bird.
The poor creature flew around the room in a path that was of pure chaos. It swooped from closet to bed posts, from bed posts to dressing screen, wavering there uncertainly. The window in through which it had flown was still open, and yet it could not seem to comprehend that therein lay its escape. Its tiny feet hopped across the screen, head tilting to the side in perplexion.
And Merlin would be none the wiser as to why such a simple bird filled him with such daunting amounts of terror. For some reason, the sight of the robin had him back-pedalling so fast he nearly stumbled. His neck prickled when it twittered its unease, and he had to literally focusing on breathing – in and out, in and out – to prevent himself from hyperventilating.
What was wrong with him? Why was this bird bombarding him with such an ill omen that his magic was all but screaming at him; screaming for him to run, to hide, to flee.
As the unbridled fear consumed him, Merlin rushed to the screen where the robin was perched even as his instincts roared at him, cursed his foolishness. There was something very wrong here.
"Go on, go," Merlin urged upon reaching the screen, gesturing to the window. "Get out of here."
The robin tittered at him uncertainly before hop, hop, hopping away, making for Arthur's dresser instead.
"Not that way!" he hissed, gestures becoming almost violent. "You need to go."
"Merlin. Please tell me this is not what it looks like and that you're not giving orders to a bird."
Usually the young warlock would've come up with some witty retort to Arthur's drawl while inwardly burning with humiliation. But not today. No, today he turned to Arthur with something very much akin to relief. And Arthur would have to admit, it threw him off guard, the lazy smile he had on his face promptly dropping away.
"Arthur, thank goodness!" Merlin blustered, eyes wide with an emotion the king couldn't place. "You have to get rid of it," he explained, pointing at the robin desperately. "It needs to go."
Arthur stared at his servant incredulously. "Merlin, it's a bird."
"It needs to go."
Never before had Arthur seen such determination in the other's eyes. Thoroughly confused but willing to humour Merlin for now – since that would grant him an explanation at least – Arthur signalled for his manservant to wait before carefully sneaking across the room. Swiftly, silently, he struck, grabbing the bird in a powerful hand and closing his fingers around it securely yet gently. It took him six steps to reach the window, and another two to loosen his grip enough for the robin to fly away.
That achieved, he turned back to Merlin, expecting to see gratitude or something of that nature. What he saw instead surprised him. It was maliciousness and unforgiveness.
"You should have killed it, not freed it."
With that, Merlin turned on his heel and left, slamming the chamber doors shut behind him.
Because, if one did not kill a bird that had entered one's house, death would shortly follow.
And death was coming. He could sense it.
Death was coming.
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A/N: so, I haven't really given you much as to what is going on, but it's a start. Just so you know, this story will have a darker edge to it. Review and let me know what you thought.
~DeathGod777