No Better Assassin
A/N: Thanks so much for the interest in this story already! This fandom is very inviting and warm, I must say. :)
I realize that I am spoiling you by posting another chapter within a day of posting the first, but I must be honest and tell you that I will not be able to post this often most of the time. My writing time is relatively limited, but I will try to find a more regular posting schedule after this so people know what to expect.
All right, so I was about 3 pages into what was to be Chapter 2, picking up where I left off with Arthur and Gwaine, when I realized that, yeah, Merlin's side of the story needed to be told. I really wouldn't be doing this story justice if I didn't. I wanted a plausible reason for why Merlin just hung there from the dang ceiling instead of trying to escape...and I think you all do, too.
Also, this chapter is a little shorter than I normally would write, but the stopping point was just so good, I had to take it.
So, we will get back to Gwaine's explanation to Arthur, I promise. It just might take a couple chapters, that's all... (No throwing me in the stocks and hucking tomatoes at me, please!)
If you get a chance, please review. I really appreciate it! Thanks!
Chapter 2: Et tu, Merlin?
After summoning his magic to cause the rock fall, Merlin could remember very little. Once he saw with his own eyes that Arthur was safe, he let the lethargy he'd been holding at bay consume him. If the mercenaries were only going to kill him anyway, perhaps this was for the best.
Yet, they did not. It didn't make sense to Merlin, but he had no real mental faculties left to riddle it out. He felt himself fading, as if he were being pulled down a dark hallway from behind. He couldn't keep his eyes open, even when he was jerked upward by rough hands under both armpits. Even the pain of his infected wound seemed small and far away to him.
The snippets of memories that seeped through his hazy world seemed more dreamlike than real: the rhythmic movement of his body swaying as he was being carried Gods-knew-where; the whoosh of his breath being forced out of him as he was dropped unceremoniously upon the ground; the voices – familiar voices that he knew he should place but his brain would not cooperate – speaking of his fate as if he were nothing.
Then there was a telltale shing of a sword being removed from its sheath somewhere above him, and Merlin waited for the killing blow that never came. Instead, there was a moment, words that embedded themselves in his subconscious mind with stunning clarity. They didn't make sense to him now, of course, but they would appear in his nightmares for years to come: "Arthur is strangely fond of the boy; he could prove useful…very useful indeed."
Merlin gasped as the frigid water shocked him awake. A fiery agony immediately blazed across his chest as his dead weight half-pulled his arms out of their sockets. Swinging from the ceiling by bound wrists as he was, it took Merlin more than a moment to find his feet. He discovered he was able to touch the ground as long as he stood on his toes.
Shivering from the fever and the drenching, his teeth chattered. His eyes still shut, Merlin tried to steady himself, willing the brutal pain from his wound to subside enough for him to regulate his breathing and mute the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.
What he heard next, however, made his blood run cold.
"Good morning." Morgana's voice was so smug, Merlin felt sure her trademark evil smirk must be making an appearance.
Of course, Morgana would have been behind the ambush, Merlin thought angrily. If he'd had a free hand at that moment, he would have literally smacked his own forehead. It was so obvious now; he couldn't believe he hadn't realized it sooner. And she probably had a little help from dear Uncle Agravaine...
The thought of people that Arthur loved abusing his trust like this fuelled Merlin's rage and temporarily overrode his suffering, giving him the presence of mind and bravado to face his most formidable foe.
Pure, unadulterated hatred blazed from Merlin's eyes as he opened them to glare at Morgana. "Is it?" he snarked in the most disrespectful tone he could muster.
His attitude only amused Morgana further. "Aw, don't be like that. We have a lot of catching up to do."
Merlin grimaced as his foot slipped in the slick of water on the floor and he jarred his wound yet again. Black spots popped up in his peripheral vision and it was by sheer willpower alone that he remained conscious.
Morgana's voice took a more bitter turn. "After all, I haven't seen you since you condemned my sister to a slow and painful death, thwarted my plans to take over Camelot, and forced me to live in a hovel…"
Merlin could no longer hide his shivering, but his eyes turned dark and steely, locking with determination on Morgana's. "Couldn't do me a favor, could you? Let Arthur know. He still thinks of me as an underachiever, but I'm quite proud of those accomplishments. I can die happy," he spit out, his face pulled into a sneer.
Mock-surprise graced Morgana's face before she goaded, "Oh, you're not going to die. I'm not going to make it that easy…"
As Morgana sauntered away out of eyesight, Merlin's shaking increased. His legs felt rubbery and his muscles trembled with exhaustion. Closing his eyes, he searched inside himself for the threads of his magic, wanting to keep it close in case he had an opportunity to free himself without giving his secret away.
To his horror, he found the threads weak and frayed and barely responsive to his will. In desperation, Merlin flung what magic he could control outward, searching all around him for the possible source, terrified that Morgana had somehow found out who he was.
The rope around his wrists was not enchanted, nor was the metal chain it was suspended from. He found wards both inside and outside the hut, yes, but nothing besides of the normal shielding and protection charms. Merlin gasped as the magic slid back inside him, perhaps half as strong as it had been when it left, and perhaps a tenth as strong as it had been the day before when he'd caused the rock fall.
Spots swam before Merlin's eyes again, making him feel motion sick. The whole world felt as if it were slipping sideways, tilting downward. His last thought before succumbing to blessed unconsciousness was that there really could be only one explanation for such a grievous loss of his magic: He was dying…and because he was magic, his magic was dying with him.
Merlin awoke, weak as a kitten and chilled to the bone, hanging limply from his wrists, as he had no strength left to stand. He could not even open his eyes. It was all he could do to simply breathe and keep his heart beating.
The infection from his chest had spread to his blood, Merlin knew, because the tendrils of fiery ice that constricted his breathing now fanned out up and down his left side. He could feel the ache of it in his hip, his knee, his shoulder, and even in his otherwise numb fingers. It wouldn't be much longer before death claimed him completely. If only he had enough of his magic left, Merlin could have invoked the rite to Mirror Life and Death, but it seemed that that power, along with so many others, would die with him. His magic was ebbing away, draining out with the last of his congealed lifeblood.
Merlin's heart ached at the thought of leaving Arthur, unprotected and having not yet reached his potential as the Once and Future King. Merlin felt that he had failed him; failed in the destiny that bound them together. He wished with all his heart that he'd gotten the opportunity to reveal his true self to Arthur; he deserved to know the truth about his magic. But now Arthur would never know, and perhaps magic would never be freed in Albion after all. All he could do was hope that he'd had enough influence on the young king – his friend-brother-soulmate – to steer him the rest of the way.
Ah, Gwen…his first friend in Camelot and its destined Queen. Would even that come to pass now? He didn't know. He desperately hoped so; Arthur would need someone he could love and trust once Merlin was gone.
He thought of the knights: Gwaine, who had come back to Camelot for Arthur, yes…but more so for him. Elyan, Leon, and Percival, who all loved to tease him, but deep down, he knew that they thought of him more as a younger brother than a servant.
And what would happen to Kilgharrah and Aithusa without him? If he really were the last Dragonlord, then his death would also bring about the destruction of the dragons, for there would be no one left to call the new dragons into the world.
Merlin thought of Gaius…and his mother. Tears gathered in his eyes and slid silently down his cheeks. They would both be devastated. He wished he had the chance to say goodbye to them, all of them. Yet it was not to be. All that was left to him now was to die with honor and pray that he was not so far from the Lake of Avalon that Freya could not find him once he passed into the spirit world.
With one last sigh, Merlin let go of his tenuous grip on the land of the living and slipped slowly toward the gift of eternal rest.
Merlin hovered near awareness, just a hairsbreadth from surfacing. Confusion overwhelmed him; he didn't understand what was going on. Shouldn't he be dead by now? Seriously, what was taking so long?
As more of his lucidity returned, he could sense a presence right in front of him; a magical presence…and not a good one, though it was one he recognized. Morgana.
Why couldn't she just leave him alone? Hadn't she done enough already? Did she really have to ruin the peace of his last moments on Earth, too?
It was then that he noticed the horrible stinging sensation coming from the general area of his wound, the pressure and pain of a cloth scrubbing against it again and again, and the tangy but familiar smell of healing herbs. What the hell?
A particularly vindictive scrape of the cloth across the worst of Merlin's open wound dragged him into consciousness with a strangled hiss. Tears of utter torment glittered on his lashes as his eyes opened. Though his vision was blurry, he could tell that the shadows cast from the window behind him had changed direction. Obviously several hours had passed since he was last alert.
Squinting to focus on the face of his captor through watery eyes, he could barely make out her features, partially shielded as she was from the late afternoon sun by the shadow of his own body. She seemed wholly absorbed in her task, not noticing for several moments that he was awake. And then she said mildly, as if they were simply discussing the weather, "You know, there's one thing I don't understand, Merlin. You're Arthur's servant, nothing more. And yet, time and again you've proven yourself willing to lay down your life for him."
Merlin's voice was so harsh, guttural, and anguish-filled that he barely recognized it as his own. "What are you doing?" he demanded instead.
Her face half-lit and half in shadow, Morgana scoffed, "Have you never seen Gaius clean a wound before?"
"All right, I know what you're doing…what I don't know is why!"
Morgana scowled and grabbed Merlin's chin, forcing him to make eye contact with her as she glared up at him. "I believe I asked you a question first. Why are you so loyal to Arthur?" She stared at him for a long moment before shoving his face out of her hand and resuming her work.
The pain was so unbearable now that Merlin could not keep his voice from cracking on every other word. "I don't expect you to understand, Morgana. You have no sense of duty; no sense of loyalty…"
Silence gathered between them before Morgana finally bit out, "You're wrong. Don't think I don't understand loyalty just because I've got no one left to be loyal to."
Removing the offending cloth from Merlin's wound at last, Morgana covered it with her hand instead. Merlin knew what came next…and it sort of terrified him. Not the healing in and of itself, no… it was the enchanted sleep that went with it. He'd never had a healing spell as powerful as this one would be performed on him. While he wasn't the best at performing healing magic, he certainly understood the principles behind it: the graver the wound, the longer the sleep… and it went against his every survival instinct to be that unprotected and vulnerable while in Morgana's presence.
He mentally prepared himself (since physically tensing anything was not going to happen) and hoped to hold off that part of the spell. I am Emrys, after all, Merlin thought. That should count for something…
"Ic dhe dhurhhaele dhinu licsar mid dham sundorcraeft dhaere ealdan ae," Morgana chanted, her eyes mesmerizing Merlin as they bored into his. Already he could feel the healing effects beginning, the magic tantalizingly warm and soft as it flooded his body from Morgana's palm. "Drycraeft dhurhhaele dhina wunda ond dhe geedstadholie." A flash of gold emanating from her eyes punctuated the end of the spell and Merlin suddenly felt so relaxed that it was as if he were melting into a puddle of boneless, mindless goo. His eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids began to drift closed as Morgana grabbed his chin and, with a smirk, wordlessly pushed one more shot of magic into him for good measure.
Merlin tried to fight against the feeling, he really, really did, but it was like swimming upstream through molasses or being surrounded by the most sumptuous featherbeds one could imagine, and he was tired…so tired…
One last time, Merlin tried to push back with his powers, but they were still too fragile and feeble to hold up for more than a few seconds against an onslaught of powerful magic like Morgana's. And so it was that even the mighty Emrys succumbed to the oblivion of a simple healing enchantment.
As Morgana turned to walk away from Merlin's now limp form, a strange sensation stopped her in her tracks. Her right hand was tingling. It prickled, as if it had fallen asleep and was just reawakening.
No, it can't be… Morgana thought, her nose crinkled in confusion. It's not possible… It must be some side effect of the spell; after all, it was quite powerful.
Facing Merlin again, she placed her right hand back on the unconscious man's chest. She breathed in a deep cleansing breath and concentrated. Searching inside of him she felt nothing, no trace of the tingling she'd experienced a moment before.
Still, she needed to make sure. She gripped Merlin's chin with her left hand while cupping her right palm across his forehead and incanted, "Ic i abene drycraeft to acydhan!"
In response to her command, Merlin's eyelids fluttered for a moment. Morgana's eyes widened in stupefaction as she watched his irises morph to the tiniest, faintest flicker of gold.
A/N: Oh yeah, I went there.
The first spell used was the healing spell from the episode, obviously. The second one was mine: I command the magic to reveal itself!