Emrys Lost
Chapter 2
"Gaius, where is he?" Arthur demands. He is sitting in his favorite chair, resting his head on the fur thrown over the back, one leg hooked over the chair's arm, looking over to where Gaius is standing near the door. He had sent a guard to find Merlin when he didn't bring in his breakfast this morning. Gaius came instead.
Gaius shifts uncomfortably, clears his throat. He is unsure whether to cover for Merlin's absence or to admit that he doesn't know where Merlin is. Merlin had vanished in the middle of the night without leaving any clue as to his whereabouts. Gaius feels sure that Merlin wouldn't leave for good without saying goodbye. In the end, he settles for the truth, preferring to let Merlin chance Arthur's anger at his absence rather than lie and perhaps put Merlin in greater danger because of the lack of concern. He looks steadily at Arthur, who is swinging his leg impatiently.
"I don't know, Sire. He wasn't in his room this morning. I'd hoped he was with you."
"No. He didn't show up this morning." Arthur sounds clearly displeased. "Did he say anything last night about his plans?"
"No. He came in much later than usual, and collapsed in bed. He didn't even pause long enough to eat supper."
"Long day yesterday. Then he had to catch up on his chores after the feast."
Arthur pushes Merlin too hard, Gaius feels. He also thinks that sometimes Arthur deliberately goads Merlin just to get a rise out him, seeming to enjoy Merlin's quick tongue when he was pushed to assert himself. But, then again, Arthur no doubt believes that Merlin is just a servant who needed to be reminded of his place from time to time. Setting additional chores for Merlin to do is an effective way of accomplishing that reminder. Arthur gets up from the chair and walks over to the window near the fireplace and gazes out while waiting for Gaius's reply.
"I don't think that would have precipitated a sudden departure, Sire. He's used to working hard."
"If you hear from him, let me know immediately. I won't tell my father he's gone missing again." Arthur looks around back at Gaius, then turns away to the window again in a clear sign of dismissal. He doesn't see Gaius's bow as he quietly leaves Arthur's chamber.
"Why did he go?" Arthur thinks to himself. He well knows his father's view on the value of servants, and doesn't want to see Merlin punished or lose his place because of his unexplained absence from Camelot. He also knows that his father would not allow him to go look for Merlin. He'll put it out of his mind for now, he decides. Let Merlin come home when he comes home.
xXx
When he wakes again, he is alone in the tent. He is naked under the soft covers, and is in much less pain than before. He sits up and looks around for his clothes, tossing the blanket aside. As he starts to stand, a young girl enters the tent and sees him. She giggles, blushes and quickly leaves as he snatches up the blanket again.
She runs to fetch the healer who tells her to bring water and some broth for the young man. She scurries off.
The healer enters the tent and sits on a stool next to the cot. "Can you hear me?" He asks. No response. He tries again sending his thoughts out. "Can you hear me?" This time, a response.
"Yes in my head. How?"
"You are a natural telepath, Emrys. Few have the gift."
"But I can't hear you when you speak."
"What do you hear?"
"Just a buzzing noise."
The healer nods, and kneels over to examine the young man; he sits back, pleased with his progress. "You're feeling better?"
"Yes. Thank you. Much better."
"Shayna is bringing you something to eat. You need to recover your strength."
"And some clothes? Please?"
The healer laughs, "of course, Emrys."
"Why do you call me Emrys?"
"That is your name, among our people."
"How do you know who I am?"
At that moment, Iseldir enters in time to hear the question, and sends his thoughts out, "because of the prophecies. Your coming has been foretold."
"What?" Emrys looks startled. "I don't remember who I am or how I got here, and you say you knew I was coming here? Have we met before?"
"No, but we will meet again, Emrys, in the course of your journey."
The blushing young girl returns with some food and water, which he accepts with a smile of thanks. She giggles again as she leaves the tent.
"I see you've charmed young Shayna," Iseldir smiles.
Emrys blushes himself, recalling his nakedness. "Tell me who I am," he begs Iseldir silently. "Please. I need to know."
Iseldir begins, "you are Emrys, destined become the most powerful warlock ever to walk the earth." Emrys snorts, hearing this. Iseldir continues, "you and the Once and Future King are foretold to unite the land of Albion and restore magic to the land."
"Forgive me, but this all sounds rather far-fetched. What does it even mean?"
xXx
Days pass, and he feels at peace living with the Druids, walking around their camp, content to enjoy the sights and sounds of a people busy with their own lives. He helps out where he can, pleased with small accomplishments. "No wonder Morgana wanted to stay with them," he thinks inexplicably. He doesn't know who Morgana is or why she suddenly came to mind. "Progress?" he thinks.
As the buzzing in his head abates, his hearing improves. He now feels a tingling in his fingertips, which Iseldir tells him is his magic returning. He plays with his magic, testing it. He can barely get a candle to light; Shayna laughs at him as she lights all of the candles in the tent at once.
So he lives each day, feeling his magic grow stronger, though he has difficulty controlling it. It's instinctive, elemental, coming from deep within his soul without his conscious thought. Sometimes, it just happens. Shayna seems to take delight in this, giggling at each mishap. The sound of her laughter is like musical bells.
He tries not to think of the prophecies that Iseldir has told him about Emrys. They make no sense to him. Is he even Emrys? The Druids must have the wrong person. He has less magical ability than a simple-minded child. How is he supposed to become this great warlock? How can he accomplish what the Druids foretell if he doesn't know who he is, or who they are talking about. The Once and Future King and his Kingdom of Albion mean nothing to him.
The Druid's life is peaceful and serene, the people kind and gentle. But, something is missing. As pleasant and soothing as it is among the Druids, he feels torn and broken and empty. Lost. He's lost who he is, and what he's supposed to be.