Author's Note - Thank you for all the lovely reviews. I am very glad you are enjoying this story. Just so you know, this will have very little similar to Christmas Carol, just the initial idea of Three Ghosts and changing a person's perspective. That's about it. No Tiny Tim, sorry.
I was going to give you this chapter as a gift for there not being Merlin on tomorrow night but I can't wait that long to post it so here it is.
The sun was just rising in the sky, a new day dawning in the quiet land, faint rays pooled on the grassy meadows and thick, leafy woodland. A group of starlings flitted about, diving and twirling, as they tweeted in the morning chorus. Further away, sitting on a branch, a lark sang sweetly, adding her voice to the harmony whilst a lone deer wandered idly among the forest trees, plucking delicately at dewy shrubs and weeds.
In the villages, the farmers were climbing out of the their beds, sleepily slipping their feet into worn boots and stumbling out of their doors, grabbing a bit of breakfast on the way – their stomachs not really ready to be digesting much yet. A donkey brayed in its stall, wanting to be fed.
These farmers, however, were not the only ones to be awake on this early winter's morning. Lying in on a low wooden bed in a small stone house, a young woman cried out in pain, sweat peppering her brow and her knees up above her head. Her pretty face was red with exhaustion. Around her, two women stood, one at her head, holding her hand and the other at between her legs.
It was in this small, smoky, stress-ridden room that Arthur and his ghost materialised. A strange smell immediately assaulted his nostrils: a pungent mixture of sweat, blood and herbs. The young man looked around, confused and disorientated. His gaze fell upon the scene before him and his mouth fell open in astonishment and horror.
"We shouldn't be here!" he exclaimed. The prince had always been taught that men should never acknowledge or ever be present at things that concerned only women. It was just how things worked. A man at a birth was taboo.
The Ghost of Winter Past looked at him with a pitying expression on his face. "We have to be here. This is where it all begins."
"What all begins?" Arthur asked, tensely, slowly backing towards the door, trying to avert his eyes from the gruesome tableau.
"A life must begin with a birth and this is where we are. It is the eighteenth day of the ninth month."
The young woman, who was no more than a girl, let out a heart-wrenching cry of pain. She was breathing heavily and her breast was shuddering up and down with the great sobs which issued from her mouth. Arthur winced away, like a dog that had been hit by his master, cowering.
"But- I can't see this," Arthur replied.
"You must," the ghost answered, emphatically. It turned those strange, bottomless eyes on the prince and he wavered. Usually, he did what he wanted and he wouldn't be coerced into anything but it was so hard to refuse those eerie orbs.
At the foot of the low bed, the oldest of the women there, was doing something….down there, as if grappling with some awkward hen that didn't want to come out of the roost. Arthur wanted to be sick; his stomach turned violently, especially when there was a wet noise and a gush of liquid splattered messily onto the straw-strewn floor. The smell of blood intensified.
And then the sound of a baby's cry could be heard. It was so pitiful and full of innocence, that all other thoughts were pushed from Arthur's mind. Instead, he stared, astounded, at the pink wriggling thing that the midwife held in her crimson hands. Was that really a baby? It looked so alien and abnormal and…tiny. Little arms and legs kicked into the air; hands balled into fists which flailed clumsily, hitting the woman holding it on the chest.
"Ah, he's a little fighter," she smiled, mopping at the infant gently, getting rid of all the nasty slime which covered his body.
"It's a boy?" the new mother asked, her voice trembling with exhaustion but her eyes alight with hope.
The midwife smiled. "Aye, it is, dear."
"Can I hold him?"
"Just a moment, let me get him a bit cleaner for you." She finished rubbing off the goo and gunk that coated the child and then laid him carefully on the girl's chest. Her brown eyes widened for a second with fear and then they softened as the baby settled into her arms. "Here comes the afterbirth. I'll burn it for you." The woman smiled and picked a sloppy red thing that looked like a cow's liver and threw it in the flames of the hearth.
Arthur jumped as the fire grew for a second, ash flying everywhere, before it died down again. He stared at the girl who clutched the babe to her bosom. She had a familiar face but he couldn't place her.
"Can they not see us?" he queried, worriedly, glancing over at the apparition who was watching mother and son too.
"No," the spirit said, "We are invisible to them."
Gingerly, Arthur took a few steps forward, still aware of the heavy footfalls that his boots caused on the dirt floor. The women did not look up however, so he knew that his transparent companion was telling the truth. Now he was closer, he saw that the creature which he had seen before looked more like a baby now – without the blood and lying peacefully – its head poked out of the top of the blanket. He had a crumpled little face and a shock of hair the colour of pitch. So far, his eyes had not opened, as if they were glued shut with sticky resin that you often found on plants.
The woman was staring at her infant with tenderness and unconditional love in her eyes.
"Ghost," Arthur began, his tone commanding an answer, "Who is that child?"
"That, ignorant prince, is Merlin."
"Merlin?" Arthur repeated, astonished. "That's impossible. He was born years ago."
"It is years ago, hence the fact I am called the Ghost of Winter Past. We are twenty years before your present, at the birth of the village boy, Merlin."
"You're joking," Arthur shook his head, disbelievingly, staring at the tiny bundle that lay in his mother's arms. He would never look at his manservant in the same way ever again. "Why on earth have you brought me here, of all places? Surely, there could be someone better to witness the birth of than Merlin."
He now realised why he recognised the young mother, it was Hunith of course, much younger but still relatively similar to how he remembered her. Now, she didn't wear the headscarf so her mahogany hair was allowed to tumble all about her shoulders and her eyes were bright with tears; cheeks red with exertion. Arthur realised that she was very pretty in her youth.
Her friend was asking her a number of questions, from what the prince could understand, she was querying as to whether she wanted the father to come in. Merlin's father, now there was a sight he wished to see, he wondered whether he would look anything like his son. Would they have the same lanky frame and big ears? The same expressionisms? The same ocean coloured eyes? Would he be as annoying?
"Merlin is at the heart of everything, Arthur; you must come to understand that. With our visits, you undoubtedly will." The spirit turned. "We shall leave now."
"And the point of this was?"
"To see a real humble beginning. That way you will appreciate what is to come."
Once more, they vanished.
Arthur started, once more unsure of his surroundings, as his feet hit solid ground with a jolt. His instincts kicked in and he barely stumbled. With an air of someone who was fed up of his situation, the young man made a face and looked around the place they had appeared in.
It was the same village, one that he now identified as Ealdor and evening was falling this time, rather than morning dawning. A hairy dog with drooping eyes and a weakly wagging tail plodded in between a gap in the houses, no doubt looking for a rat to chase or a cat to irritate. His nose was stuck to the ground, in search of smells. The sun was setting and an owl could already be heard hooting in the sky; its call soft and echoing.
In front of them stood a house that Arthur recognised as the one he had visited not that long ago, when coming to save the village from bandits. It looked, unsurprisingly; less ramshackle than it had when he last saw it, there were no creepers twisting through the brickwork and no cracks in the wall. The plants outside the door were fairly well tended to. He supposed, after twenty years, it had aged considerably. Tendrils of smoke swirled lazily from the chimney, floating up into the air before being enveloped by the darkening sky.
Suddenly, Arthur noticed a child, sitting in the dirt outside the house. His hair was a familiar inky black mess and his skin as pale as milk, angular features highlighted in the dying light. He was playing with a stick, waving it backwards and forwards, twirling it between his slender fingers and making shapes in the air. There was an intense look of concentration on his thin face.
Merlin.
Arthur couldn't help but stare. It was unnerving to see his manservant as a little boy; he could only be one or two and already looking underfed and gawky. The prince recalled his wet-nurse telling him that he'd been a stocky toddler with a strong will and a loud mouth; he doubted whether the same could be said about Merlin.
His unnatural blue eyes abruptly shifted from his stick and his ears seemed to perk up, listening. Perplexed, Arthur wondered what had attracted his attention. Then he heard it.
"Aurelius!" Hunith's voice was edged with desperation floated out of the house through an open window. "You are being ridiculous."
"I am not the ridiculous one, woman. You are the one being ridiculous. I knew that I should never have married you; you have brought me nothing but grief." It was a man's voice, one that Arthur did not recognised
"Aurelius," Hunith cried, clearly stung. "You cannot mean that."
"I do," he snapped. "I told you that we should hand him over, be done with it, its going to happen sooner or later. We can try again but you refuse! A woman should never refuse her husband anything."
Hunith was sobbing now. "But, Aurelius, he's my son, he's our son."
"He's no son of mine," the man retorted with such venom that a small boy sitting in the garden flinched. "He's a freak."
"Don't call him that!"
"A horrible, unwanted little freak."
"Aurelius!" Hunith's tone was admonishing.
"How do I even know he's mine, eh? Doesn't look like me. He doesn't sound like me. And he certainly didn't get his….problem, from me."
"It's not a problem; it's a gift. And of course he's yours."
"You are blinded by love, you stupid, irrational woman. That child is a death sentence. While he is living, there is an axe waiting above our heads, waiting to fall if just one wrong word is spoken."
Arthur had no idea what they were talking about. He couldn't understand it. It would seem that this vile man, who was being so rude and atrocious, insulting both his wife and his son, was Merlin's father. Judging by his voice, he was nothing like how the prince had imagined. Arthur couldn't comprehend why he was calling Merlin a freak; he may be a tad strange at times and very clumsy, unnaturally so, but that certainly didn't categorise him as a freak. Just annoying. And what on earth did he mean by a death sentence?
There was such a longing for him to understand, that he wanted to rush right in there and demand an answer. However, that wasn't possible. Instead, he looked at the Ghost of Winter Past to see if he would give him any clues. His expression remained blank. Fat lot of use he was.
Turning back to face the house, Arthur noticed, with a stab of pity, that Merlin was now sitting with his knees clutched to his chest, large eyes round with sorrow. The prince had assumed that, at such a young age, children couldn't understand much, wouldn't interpret what was being said but, looking at the way Merlin had reacted, he certainly understood something, whether it was just the anger and loathing behind the words or their actual meaning.
Hunith suddenly appeared in the window, her eyes fell on her son who sat on the ground outside. Those eyes filled with shining tears.
"Aurelius, he's your son, if you can't see how special he is and you won't protect him then I suggest that you just leave."
"Leave?" the man exclaimed, he sounded surprised, as if he hadn't even considered the thought. Then, "You're right. Why don't I just leave? It would make things much easier. You can keep your 'special' child. Just don't come crying to me when your head is on the chopping block…. and certainly not his."
With that, the rickety wooden door of the cottage flew open and a tall man strode out, bringing with him a whirlwind of anger and hate and disgust – it was as if he was surrounded in red, evil haze. Arthur tried to commit every detail to memory, that way; if he ever saw this man in his own time then he could take some revenge on him for what he had just said to Hunith and about Merlin.
His hair was dark brown and his eyes set wide apart on his face. Skin dark, suggesting he worked in the fields, that and his broad, muscular body. Arthur could tell why he didn't believe that Merlin was his son. They looked nothing alike. Except…their eyes….they shared the same startlingly blue eyes. Orbs that seemed as if they could look into your soul. Unlike Merlin's, however, his were flashing with rage and odium – dancing like stormy seas.
Face set in a hard, determined expression, the young man blew passed his son who watched him go without saying a word, as if he was already resigned to what was happening. Merlin's father didn't even spare him a departing glance.
And then he was gone, vanishing into the depths of the forest, no way of tracking him down ever again.
Arthur started after him, dumbfounded; he couldn't believe how wrong he'd been about Merlin's father, or in fact, his whole past so far. From what he'd seen, the boy had not had an easy time of it. Even so, whatever made him such a 'freak' Arthur was yet to see and he had to admit, he was ever so slightly intrigued.
Yet, as he looked to his right, he remembered how he had come to be here and any feelings for Merlin that he had begun to feel evaporated immediately. The Ghost of Winter Past was just hovering there, watching him and he felt like he was being evaluated, picked apart and read. He felt like he was being predictable and he didn't like that. Arthur was never one to do what was expected. Just because he discovered that Merlin had a sob story which he had never told him about didn't mean that he would suddenly become a better king. What a ludicrous notion. If that was the best that this spirit could do then he had another thing coming.
Arthur couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to start feeling sorry for his manservant. Merlin deserved no more sympathy than anyone else. He was sure that plenty of other peasants had similar tales to tell.
"Was that it?" he sniped, ungratefully.
The apparition didn't look surprised. Arthur wasn't even sure if it was even possible for him to show emotions. If he was the ghost of the past did that mean he knew the future too? Did he know how the prince would react every time? Perhaps, that was why he wasn't shocked.
"Yes, that is the second window I will give you into the childhood of your young friend."
"He's not my friend."
Ignoring him, the ghost gave the raven haired toddler one last look and then shook his head before twirling slightly so they disappeared once more, melting out of the picture as quickly as they had arrived.
The sound of children's laughter reached Arthur's ears as he arrived at the next destination. He pondered how much further they had jumped in Merlin's timeline this time. Was he nearing being an adult yet? What more could the Ghost of Winter Past show him that could be of interest? Surely, a simple farming boy had little more mysteries in his past. Merlin wasn't that fascinating; Arthur had learnt that from experience.
Astoundingly, he found himself just wanting to return to his own bed to get some sleep. He even wouldn't mind sticking out the Winter Festival if he could escape this trip down dreary memory lane…actually, that wasn't entirely true, he still wouldn't be able to stand that damn festival.
Why were those children laughing? It was getting annoying now, a background noise that he just couldn't shut out. Usually, he was the master of blocking out unwanted sounds, for instance, he could instantly mute a cheering crowd when he needed to focus for battle or drown out all the other sounds of the forest when searching for one prey in particular. It was a skill of his. Nonetheless, this time, the sound was persistent and he seemed to just not be able to ignore it; it was drawing him nearer.
Resigning himself to discovering what the fuss was about, Arthur looked over at his companion and saw that he was watching him once more, with that blank expression of indifference on his pale, adult-yet-child face. It would seem that perhaps he should take the initiative, so he stepped forward and followed his ears.
They were in a forest this time, he doubted whether they could be far from Ealdor but it was not actually in sight. The tree trunks were relatively dense and a thick carpet of russet leaves carpeted the ground. That suggested the season was either late autumn or early winter. Most likely winter, considering who he was with. Glancing up into the sky, he saw, through the sparse canopy, that the day was overcast – grey, bloated clouds hanging, suspended in the heavens. It would, indubitably, rain sooner or later. He hoped they wouldn't be there when it happened. He was only wearing his thin blue shirt, which he had grabbed just before the spirit had brought him on this night jaunt, trousers and a pair of loose boots. They weren't exactly waterproof or chill proof.
The laughter was growing louder. He must be close.
Striding through a bramble thicket, the perpetrators of the noise pollution came into view. There were six children altogether, ranging in age from about eight to twelve or thirteen - all boys. Now he was closer, Arthur found that their laughter sounded more sinister, more mocking. They seemed to be gathered around the foot of a thick oak tree and he wondered what on earth they were sniggering at.
It wasn't until, the laughter died down and he heard them speak, did he realise.
"Hey, guys, I have an idea, why don't we make him wet himself?!" One loud, nasty voice piped up and there was a jeering consensus.
"Make him pee his dirty pants!"
"What do you think, wart, will you pee your pants for us or will we have to make you do it by force?"
"My name is Merlin," a small, defiant voice stated from among the crowd of heads.
"No, dimwit, you're called wart. A little stinking, ugly wart on the face of the earth." The boy and his cronies cackled, horribly. "Now, if you don't piss in your smelly wart pants then I'll punch you in the stomach until you do!"
Arthur was horrified. He stood, flabbergasted, by the scene that was unfolding before him; he was too stunned for words. Never had he believed that youngsters could be so abominable to one another, so harsh and crass and downright disgusting. And to Merlin of all people. Why would anyone think it fun to torment Merlin? What? Like you do? A small voice in the back of his head said, darkly. Arthur ignored it.
The prince wasn't sure whether he should intervene. He certainly didn't want to bear witness to Merlin having his head kicked in.
"I won't do it. You can't make me," Merlin's voice was trembling but he stood his ground, blue eyes hard with determination. Arthur had to admire his gall but shake his head at his stupidity. Even Merlin wasn't foolish enough to think he could take on six boys who were much bigger than himself and win, surely? Then again, Merlin didn't really tend to think.
"If that's how you want it," the leader of the pack's lip curled in a wolfish grin. He was homing in on his helpless prey. The group was closing in, circling the fresh meat. Merlin had no chance of escape as he backed up to the tree, feeling the roughness of its bark through the flimsy material of his shirt.
Arthur didn't want to watch. Like he said before, he didn't want to see his manservant hurt, especially not in the skinny, fragile looking body that he currently occupied. One well aimed punch and surely he would shatter like a piece of broken porcelain.
There was no escape. Fists were raised, ready to fall in a rain of agonising blows. But those blows never reached their target….
Because one moment Merlin was there, standing at the bottom of the tree, with no means of getting away, and the next he had vanished – just like that. Arthur blinked, stunned. The bullying boys seemed shocked too as they stared around, dumbly, wondering where their victim had gone. An amused chuckle sounded and Arthur's keen senses immediately honed in on where his junior manservant was.
Somehow, Merlin had ended up in the high up branches of the tree from which he had been seeking protection. He was peering down with a smug expression on his pale face; he shot them all a cheeky grin when they looked up at him. Typical Merlin. Arthur couldn't even fathom how he'd got up there so quickly. The tree looked impossible to climb, even for him, a full grown, athletic adult. The trunk had to be ten feet in length with no visible foot or handholds before any branches sprung out. For the youngster to shimmy up there in a matter of seconds was astonishing. But that was what he must have done, wasn't it?
"How?" One of the boys yelped, his eyes widened with anger and confusion. "How the hell did you get up there, you wretch? Come down, now."
"What?" Merlin laughed, "So you can beat me to a pulp? I don't think so, thank you very much."
All the boys frowned. Their fun had been ruined and there was nothing they could do about it. A couple tried to begin climbing the tree but they had no chance, the trunk's surface was practically flat.
"We'll get you tomorrow, Merlin! Mark my words."
"I'm looking forward to it," Merlin yelled back, ever chipper. His face was lit up by his trademark dazzling grin that Arthur recognised from many encounters with it. He was surprised to see it now, though, on such a young boy.
The group left and Merlin was left, alone, in his tree. He didn't show any signs of leaving any time soon, however; in fact he sat back in the bough of the tree and seemed to doze off.
Having seen that his manservant was going to be harmed and was actually perfectly fine; enough to have a kip anyway, Arthur spun round to face the Ghost of Winter Past. The childlike figure was facing away from him, seeming to survey the world around it. With a light, whimsical sigh, it turned back to look at him. Their eyes met.
"We have completed the first stage of your journey," it said.
"We have?" Arthur repeated, quirking an eyebrow. He didn't feel like he had learnt much, to be honest, except that perhaps, Merlin didn't have the easy childhood that he'd assumed he'd had. He had a wayward father and group of bullies that seemed to be on his tail but what other than that? He didn't feel like he'd learnt anything deep and meaningful. Was the spirit about to explain things to him? Hopefully, otherwise he was completely lost.
"Yes. I will now return you to your bedchamber. On the next hour, a second ghost will appear to you and take you on the next step on your path to become king. Take your time to mull over what you have seen, borne witness to, try and understand what has been said or eluded to. Details shall be the making of you, Arthur Pendragon."
"That doesn't even make sense," Arthur frowned, but the spirit had vanished and he found himself standing in his room once more. "But I still don't understand what the hell Merlin has to do with all this?" he shouted, frustrated, at no one in particular.
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