Conversations with a sorceress
Part 3
Joy flashed across the pale skin and expressive eyes, Merlin's grin widening as he looked off into the distance toward the prince. In a way, it was rather endearing that the boy could feel such friendship for an oafish boor like Arthur Pendragon but it would make no difference in the end. No matter how much Merlin might fight his fate, Nimueh would be the victor.
However, she thought that the timing could have been better. After all, things could become complicated if Pendragon decided to intervene.
"Ah, your destiny approaches." Merlin scowled in her direction, was about to reply when she said, "I would have thought you'd have kept this meeting a secret. Do you trust him so much?"
"I trust him with my life."
She had never met anyone who could wear their heart on their sleeve with such intensity before. She'd have to train it out of him, of course; emotion without restraint could be destructive and she'd learned the hard way just how gutting the loss of control could be. If she had kept a cooler head in those first few days after Uther went grief-mad, she might have been able to save more of her kin. But it had all been too late, too late and now all she had left was ash and memories. And revenge.
But she had to admire Merlin's doggedness. Blue eyes flashing, the flush of guilt on his face, he managed to look both furious and incredibly worried, and yet beneath it all, there ran an undercurrent of quiet pride.
The bond between Merlin and Arthur - she could see it was a deep and abiding one. She could use it, exploit it if she had to.
"You trust him with your life." She repeated flatly, then stepped closer, lowering her voice into threat. "But not with the knowledge of your gifts."
Merlin may have been a simple farmer but months at the court must have taught him a few things about the subtlety of coercion. He looked back toward the prince, then turned toward her again. Hands curling and uncurling at his side, face openly distraught, he stumbled over his words, almost pleading with her, "You… you won't tell him…."
"No, I won't." Nimueh smiled, saying lightly, "Because you are going to send him away." He looked as if he were going to object. But just in case he was foolish enough to think he had any choice in the matter, she made it crystal clear. "Before he gets… hurt."
His reaction was instantaneous. "I won't let you."
Arching one eyebrow, Nimueh said nothing for a moment, instead glanced back down into the valley, toward Hunith's hut. Prince Arthur was standing there, talking to Merlin's mother, looking around as if he were trying to see past her, hunting for Merlin. The woman kept shaking her head as the man grew more and more agitated. An argument, it would seem. Nimueh had to wonder who would prevail, the oafish prince or Hunith protecting her child.
When she looked back at Merlin, he was hungrily watching the tableau of mother and prince; longing and fear and utter determination were writ large on the warlock's face.
"If you cooperate, the prince will be unharmed but if you don't…." Merlin's gaze shifted back to her, his eyes flat with hatred but it only solidified her resolve. Nodding toward the prince, keeping her gaze steadily focused on Merlin , she said matter-of-factly, "Uther Pendragon killed my family. I have no qualms with returning the favour."
"I will stop you."
"You will try." Nimueh fought to keep the laughter out of her voice. He was such a child, posturing as if he thought he could best her when he had no idea of depth and breadth of her abilities. A few successes against minor warlocks and magical creatures and he thought to threaten her. Foolish boy. "You may have raw talent but I have knowledge and the power to use it."
She could see movement in the valley below. Apparently, Arthur had discovered their whereabouts and was steadfastly coming up the hill, sword in hand. He looked grim, determined, utterly unlike the boor she'd seen in past encounters and more like a shining prince about to attempt a rescue of his friends. It was almost a refreshing change – almost.
It was time to hurry things along.
"Are you willing to sacrifice him so easily?" Nimueh began to gather bright energy in her hand, a roiling ball of flame that hissed and spat and sent sparks into the shivering leaves above her head. Juggling it in her hands, letting the fireball swirl around her fingers, tossing it back and forth as if playing with a child's toy, she said flatly, "Send him away. Any excuse will do."
The blaze was alive in her hands, growing more intense with every heartbeat. "Or I swear I'll destroy him before your eyes."
Merlin's gaze kept flicking between the inferno caught between her fingertips and the prince still doggedly coming toward them. Hands clenched tight in worry, a pained frown on his face, he seemed to tremble with indecision. "I'll die before I let you hurt him."
"Would you like to see just how far I'm willing to go?" The fireball flared up, impossibly bright. Within its depths, there seemed a storm of fire demons and dragons blazing and creatures hell-bent on destruction, screaming for release. It was terrifying and exhilarating and deeply profane. It was also powerful enough to obliterate a foolish prince into nothingness and they both knew it.
Merlin's bluster collapsed into defeat. Eyes liquid with fear, he said, "Please, I… I'll get him to leave. Just… don't hurt him."
Letting the fireball dissipate slowly into the wind, letting it paint her hands for a moment as she released the magic she'd gathered so easily, Nimueh said, smiling, triumphant, "As you wish."
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She slid back behind a tree, watching a conquered Merlin shuffle down to meet the prince. Nimueh was cloaked in a glamour of near invisibility; it was a way of diverting the eye from seeing reality, a way to camouflage her whereabouts. It had been useful in the past. She'd visited Uther in his own chambers and tricked Merlin into thinking herself a young handmaiden with magic such as this. Foolish mortals that would see only what they wished to see. Now she was using it to spy on her newly-won pawn.
The prince had slowed when he saw Merlin coming toward him but then sped up again, doggedly climbing the hill toward his servant. Surprisingly, it would appear that Arthur had been worried about Merlin. The frown on the prince's face had lightened into softness when the warlock had first stepped out of the shadows and then tangled back into a scowl. It should be an interesting encounter – if Merlin didn't turn fool and tell the prince the truth about his powers.
Finally, Merlin stopped a short way from the tree line. He gave one quick glance back toward her location and the turned to face the prince. Shoulders hunched and head bowed, Merlin looked like a sacrifice, even from a distance. But Arthur didn't seem to notice.
"What is wrong with you? Going off like that without a word!"
Face flushed, the prince seemed hell-bent on berating Merlin, yelling at him as he continued up the hill. It looked as though Arthur were furious with his manservant, one gloved hand waving wildly in the air, the other gripping the sword and pointing it straight at Merlin. Even so, she could still hear the undertone of worry in his voice.
"I left you a note. It's not like I just snuck away," Merlin snapped back. He sounded guilty and sullen and not at all contrite but the little glances he kept sending back toward her were full of fear.
Arthur seemed to bristle at Merlin's reply, growing more agitated by the moment. "You idiot, you couldn't wait for me to come back from patrol, explain the situation? Everyone was worried sick. Morgana wouldn't shut up about it."
"I didn't think I needed permission to go home."
Finally reaching Merlin's position, Arthur stopped and glared at him. Jaw forward, eyes bright with anger, the prince put one hand on his hip and straightened up, puffing out his chest in some kind of grand gesture that would have terrified lesser mortals. "Well, you do. I can't be having my manservant just running off like that without my consent. It makes me look bad." He had been gesturing, too, with his sword but now kept stabbing the tip into the soft earth as he said, "Besides, there are bandits. You know this. You should have taken some of the guards with you."
"I can take care of myself." Merlin sounded almost insulted at the implication.
Most royals would have had their servants in the stocks or worse for talking back like that and yet it seemed to calm the prince. Even the sword had stilled.
Arthur gave a soft snort and only shook his head. "Take care of…. you trip over your own feet walking my dogs. Last time, you ended up in the well. Concussed."
"They hate me." Merlin glared at him.
"Merlin, don't be ridiculous. They are perfectly trained, unlike you."
He reached out and cuffed Merlin across the top of his head, making it look more of an affectionate gesture of friendship than any kind of punishment, and then gave him a gentle shove back. The warlock stumbled a bit, then caught himself, watching Arthur as the prince began to wave the sword around, using the blade to emphasize his words. It was almost comical but Merlin didn't seem to mind, just stood there, listening to the fellow berate him.
"And how were you going to defend yourself against bandits? You're pathetic with a sword. Even Morgana is better than you and she's a girl. I'm surprised you haven't cut your own head off by now."
Merlin turned away, head down, face white as death but even Nimueh could hear him mutter, "No, I'll leave that to the king."
"What!?" Arthur stopped short, looking at the warlock as if he'd lost his mind.
"Ummm, I said not for want of trying." Merlin shrugged, looking miserable.
"That makes no sense at all." Arthur didn't look as if he believed the answer but didn't press for clarification. Instead he insulted Merlin again. "You really do have some kind of grave mental affliction."
Nimueh saw then that it was clearly a game between them, one they'd long perfected, affectionate teasing and an irreverent cheek that seemed to bind them together.
But Merlin was not in a position for games and he knew it. Sending a quick, frightened glance up toward her, he said sharply, "Why are you here?"
"I told you. Morgana was worried about you." Arthur looked puzzled, almost shocked, as if Merlin's refusal to mock him back was a concern. He stopped that absurd swordplay, instead looked at the boy and said carefully, "Kept nagging me. Said that my idiot manservant was in trouble and I'd have to go rescue him… again."
When Merlin didn't object to the insult or the idea of being rescued, just stood there still and silent, Arthur stepped closer to him, frowning. His voice was biting, rising sharply as Merlin refused to fight back. "I really don't have time to be dropping everything and running after you like some damn fool. I'm the Crown Prince, not some bloody nursemaid."
"Then don't." Merlin folded his arms around his chest, stood taller, looking as if he was done with conversation and wanted the prince to go. Nimueh knew it was just a façade; she could almost taste his dread. But he only said flatly, "Look, Arthur, you've seen me. I'm fine. You can go back to the Lady Morgana and tell her not to worry."
"Who says I'm done yelling at you?"
The prince was clearly growing alarmed and Merlin must have realized it because there was a near panic in his voice. "You are done. I want you to go home."
"You can't speak to me like that. I'm your prince." Scowling, he drew his shoulders back, straightening, putting one hand on his hip again as if to make himself as large and intimidating as possible. Clearly a warning.
Merlin was having none of it. "I can and I am. Go back to Camelot."
"What is wrong with you?" Worry and heat and swelling anger flushed across the prince's face, agitation, too, in the way he began to pace, sword in hand.
"Go back to Camelot, Arthur. You're not wanted here." Merlin was half-shouting at the Pendragon boy, desperation darkening his eyes as he sent a fleeting glance toward Nimueh.
"Not wanted?"
It was difficult not to laugh. The sheer look of disbelief, as if the prince had been punched in the gut. Apparently, no one had ever told him no; the royal prerogative of being adored must be such a terrible burden to those who were born to the privilege. Spoiled, pampered boy.
But Arthur seemed to be made of stronger stuff. And more intelligent than she'd thought. He was staring at Merlin as if seeing him for the first time, as if his servant were a puzzle to solve. And as Arthur stood there, Nimueh could almost see the pieces beginning to fall into place before him. He knew something was wrong.
"You always were a terrible liar. What is going on?" Arthur looked around, his eyes seeming to be everywhere at once, a hunter's gaze, alert and steady. He was searching for danger.
"Nothing. I don't need a spoiled prat around insulting me all the time. Go home." The underlying shrill in Merlin's voice would have set off warning bells in the most idiotic of princes and Arthur, much as she might think otherwise, wasn't that dim-witted.
"You are in trouble, aren't you?" He began to circle Merlin, an act of intimidation. He was trying to make him talk and Nimueh knew the warlock would crack soon enough.
"No! Look Arthur, just go. I'll be fine." The boy reached over, stopping Arthur, moving him in such a way to block his view of her location. Tried to smile and shrug into the lack-witted loose ramble of an idiot manservant trying to please his master. "Next time I see you, we'll talk all about it and we'll laugh and I'll even let you insult me some more if you like."
"Who is threatening you?" The prince wasn't falling for it. He looked worried, angry, seemingly ready to rush after those who would threaten his friend and turn them into bloody meat. "Raiders? Have Kanen's men come back?"
"Arthur, please. Go home."
Merlin was all but begging him to leave. But Arthur looked as immovable as stone. "I've never run from danger, Merlin. Just tell me and we'll face it together."
She'd had enough. She'd wasted enough time with princes and pig farmer mentalities. Merlin was hers. She'd thought to give him time to come to grips with his destiny, to realize that his gifts must be trained into perfection, not found in a traitor's book, but it would seem that warlocks, even ones with his raw talent, could be idiots at times.
It was up to her to take action.
"Prince Arthur, you wanted to know of the threat to Merlin's existence."
It was amusing to watch him twist and turn, his body going into battle alert, his eyes darting around looking for the source of her words. But only for a moment.
Dropping the glamour that had hidden her from view, she stepped out from behind the leafy barrier. "The only danger to Merlin is… you."
