Chapter 3
Seven-year-old Guinevere walked along the streets of Camelot with her father, looking around and drank in the sights of the town. This would be the second time since his father had taken her here. The snow had just stopped and the streets were all covered. Living in a not far away village out of Camelot, they had come here to gather their daily supplies.
Guinevere's father had been working as a blacksmith, but he believed that one day his little girl would become queen, so he had given her such a name-not that Guinevere herself liked it at all. Most people had always called her Gwen and she liked it, a lot.
Now she had stopped in front of a stall to purchase pieces of cloth and buttons for a new shirt and all of a sudden, she felt something pulling the hems of her dress.
She had never seen a cat looked like this before. This graceful …or maybe gorgeous? Actually the girl couldn't think of a word to describe the cat at the moment but she followed her, curiously and being entranced.
She walked down the steps and it was so very dark down there. She could sense there was still a half of a candle on the table, so she lighted it.
She could see clearly then. The boy younger than her was very ill. She hesitated a little, and then went outside to fetch some water to tend to him. His fever was severe. After a while, she thought of the potions she had just bought to take home inside her pocket. She held the boy's head to let him took the potions.
"Here, take the rest of my potions, they may make him feel better." She put the glass phials on the table. The cat mewed.
She bit he lips and cast the boy in the bed a worried look, and she really would like to ask some questions, but-
"I have got to go, my father's waiting, but -I think you'd better find him a doctor." She told the cat.
She walked up the stairs and went down to have a close look at the amazing cat. "You really are a good cat." She smiled, "You've safe your master. I hope we can meet again."
Nimueh gave her a poisonous look but she seemed didn't notice. Merlin my master? Never .She snorted. She was the high priestess, after all.
The cat watched the still kind of chubby Guinevere with mocha skin walked away, she had a very good heart though, she thought.
Inside, magic was bubbling through the veins of the young warlock, helping him recover. He turned in his bed to chance a position but he didn't wake up. He had been like this for a few days though and Nimueh had to go outside to find herself something to eat.
The first thing Morgana Le Fay used to do when she was younger after she got up was to tear the curtains aside by her own hands. This might have been a little bit difficult for her—everybody would just tell her she was not old enough, which made her feel a bit angry. She used to tiptoe with her bare feet after that, only to see if there were swallows outside the window or sunshine on the sill.
Now she was six years old and she was even taller than her father had expected. Her eyes were emerald, her skin was pale, her figure was slender but actually she was as healthy as a young tree.
Le fays lived in the north of the border. Ever since little Morgana could remember, her father, Gorloris Le Fay, who was a knight of Camelot, had always been away from home. He came back home once every three months approximately, bringing her presents and stories of a knight's life. Her mother Vivienne ran away from the land when she was only one. She didn't quite remember her mother actually, but she had the love of her father.
She didn't have to draw the curtains today, though. She knew that it couldn't have been any sunshine or swallow. The sky would just be gray out there. It was winter in the north-the weather had always been merciless.
She stayed in her bed and tried to get back to the state of asleep. She had always had dreams since she was very young. The visions she saw were all vivid, so vivid that sometimes she even couldn't tell whether they were dreams or realities. Most of her dreams were nightmares, and they had become worse since the recent departure of Gorloris.
She had dreams about streets, and she thought they belonged to Camelot because they just looked like how her father had told her. He told her a lot about the city he guarded.
She had dreams about Uther Pendragon. She saw him sentenced people to death because they practiced magic. She saw his men drown the children of the Druids into the wells and slaughtered their parents in their camps.
She had dreams about wars. She saw warriors wearing red cloaks fell one by one. Everywhere was on fire. She could hear women scream and children cry.
Not that all of her dreams were nightmares though. Sometimes she saw things really fascinating-like dragons and the boy who was talking to him. The dragon seemed outraged and he roared, with fire blowing out of his mouth.
There was knocks on the door and it opened, an old man's face appeared between the doorframe and the door.
"Oh, good morning Gaius! You paid me a visit such early!"
"Ah-good morning, my lady, it's not that early, your father has asked me to take care of you and he doesn't want you to slug in bed all morning-"
"I didn't slug in bed-"
"I am sure you didn't. It's all your nightmares, isn't it? I'll make another potion for you later. Now hurry up, you have lessons to take."
"Thank you, but the potions-I don't really want to take the potions you gave me anymore."
"Why?" Gaius raised his brow.
"Because they only make it worse. I am sorry, Gaius."
Morgana's chamber's was warm and comfortable. Her maid Susan had just taken away the candle so it was dark, though Morgana herself didn't afraid of darkness. It was a miracle, the maids and servants in her house said, because most of the children in her age didn't like darkness.
Compare with her nightmares, darkness had never threatened to draw her to the edge of madness. She thought of the boy she saw in her dreams. He had talked to the dragons. He had saved Arthur. He had kissed her on her cheek.
But most of the time when she saw the lanky boy with board shoulders and sapphire eyes, she felt she was…overwhelmed and drown.
It was those streets again. Streets in Camelot. But they were all hollow and colourless. The tiles and bricks used to lay with the paths were all covered with snow. She looked around to find someone, only to see the boy coming towards her. He didn't look at her in the eye though.
She saw blood on the tiles as he walked. It may have come from his bare wounded feet. He was walking slowly so she could get a better look at his limbs, which were all flecked with scars and sores and some of his sores had even already suppurated. He was only in his pants and vest and all of them were dirty, especially his pants-now she could see why he was walking that slowly-it hurt. His stomach hurt, very much. Serious diarrhea.
She wanted to shout out but it was in her heart and no voice came out. Wait a moment-
She wanted to run after him but her legs didn't move. He soon disappeared around the corner of the street.
She snapped her eyes open only to see a concerned face of Gaius. Her mouth dry, her hands sweaty.
He put one hand on her forehead.
"You've got a fever, Morgana." He said gently.
Merlin didn't bring back anything to eat for himself, nor did he bring anything back to feed Nimueh. It was his four-year-old birthday and it seemed that nobody did care. Nobody did think that he could get a day off or a least something proper to eat. It was late at night and he had just finished rubbing all the dishes in one of the castle's kitchen. He sat on the edge of his bed to give his sore legs a rest, casting Nimueh a sorry smile as he raised his open hands.
"They had left me nothing. At all." He uttered as he shrugged, still smiling and Nimueh climbed onto his narrow bed, sitting next to him. She knew the boy was hungry and she felt very sorry for him. He didn't want her to be sad though, so he reached out his hand to touch the fur on her back and she didn't pull away-she had really hated people petting her, but this time it was an exceptional.
"It will be better tomorrow, don't worry Nimueh." He assured her, "tomorrow I will give you your favourite." He let go the cat and lay down, and he got up again to blow out the candle.
He knew there were stars high above the sky outside. He saw them before entering where he stayed. More stars meant that the spring was coming—everything in the world was waiting.
His tomorrow didn't become better at all, nor did his following days. His life had actually become even worst since the first day he found himself couldn't hear any more.
He used to be a bumbling kind. Now he was even clumsier and "unbelievably idle-brained". He kept making mistakes. He kept blundering by misunderstanding orders. He could not watch others' lips-language and guess their meaning, for he was only four and barely hold his vocabulary.
They literally chastised him for all the disasters he had caused and all the errors he made. Some of them lashed out at him as if he was a fly, others gathered and made fun of him whereas he was being punished.
He found himself easier to get hungry as he grew older. If permitted, he sneaked into wherever it was to get some food; he had done so before since he came to work in the castle, but frequently now.
Magic had always been necessary for successful and frequent thefts. His magic. It was almost the only thing that made him alive and move on, let alone his imaginary friend Morgie. He was born with magic. He was special because of magic. This somehow prevented him from self-pity, though he was not yet a master of magic, for once in his life. Most of the time he succeeded and managed to feed himself and Nimueh with several bonds of stolen bread, other time he was flayed raw when he was found sneaking out with a pocket tucked full of food inside.
Now they understood why their food in the kitchens or chambers always became less once they were absent.
"Sneak thieves like you should be condemned to a slow and painful death." They said harshly. "Count to ten, you filthy little badger."
One of them was holding a leather strap and gave him a dorsal flogging. "Count!" they demanded.
"One..."he panted. Then he just kept in silence to think of which number would be the next. Three, or maybe four? Damned if he knew.
All he could keep in his eyesight was their distorted face when they laughed. They yelled something at his face. He was there surrounded by insults like "idiot!" or "pig!", but he somehow wasn't there.
He always wasn't there. He should have corrupted if he had heard what they said about him. Deafness somehow gave him a small silent corner of universe and an innocent heart.
The strap whined across the slightly chilly air and descended on his back rapidly without mercy. He whimpered like an animal in the trap. It could have been worse. Again and again, they kicked one of his calves roughly. Some smacked him. Some said they would cut his dirty paws off and feed the dogs. Some laugh at the sound of gulping in his throat when the leather crash through his skin.
He cried out his only friend's name, voice hoarse with despair and heavy pain. He was disoriented, almost collapsed on the ground. He saw their disgusted expressions when they heard him cry, not the numbers they demanded but a name, Morgie. It was not wise to do so as some of them began to wonder who Morgie was, but maybe this was the only thing he could keep in mind at this moment. The moment he was severely starving yet nobody thought he didn't deserve to be treated like this. Eventually they let him off, after giving him a thrashing because of his sin, but mostly because of who he was. Merlin the idiot.
Having enough fun, they left him on the ground and apart, back to their tables to continue their whiskey and mead. Morgie still aired in his mind, around him.
Merlin would meet Morgana next chapter.
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