Title: Love's Second Cycle-Bleed
Rating: PG13, Some disturbing elements again
Characters: For the second cycle: Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin, Lancelot, Ysmay (minor others) (centered on Arthur mostly)
Spoilers: Season 1&2, but not beyond. This one continues the AU element strongly as it goes further than the show has gone.
Disclaimer: I disclaim. Merlin is the property of the BBC/Shine.
For: camelot_love 's 14 days of love. This story uses multiple prompts and will be posted in 3 cycles.
Love's Second Cycle uses this quote, prompted by jeyla4ever :
M-8: "Love is a friend, a fire, a hell,
Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell."
~Richard Barnfield
III
Thanks for your feedback last time! So appreciated! It's so exciting for me to see how many people have put this story on their favorites/watchlist or left me kind words, this one and my other Merlin stories. It's just really cool so thank you so much! Hugs!
In advance I apologize if any of the dividers are not there. I've noticed that on this site pretty much no dividers show up so I'm trying capital letters. Hopefully they will work because I like having clear dividers between sections, better for when you read. I've noticed that some of the other times they haven't shown up so sorry about that.
Bleed Part III
"Love is a friend, a fire, a hell
Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell."
~Richard Barnfield
III
Love's innocence abused…
Choked by the secrecy of lies, shaking fears
And jealousy's lame excuse.
The heart is pricked
The soul ripped.
For love now dwells in no whispering sweetness.
But…
Instead…
Screeches
Within
The strangling
Clench of
Hell.
III
"ARTHUR!"
The servant ran across the courtyard, frantically calling out.
"Arthur?
Arthur…"
The man didn't hear.
Hell's grasp was already too near.
III
"I've been told I am…here because of you."
A room just steps away in simultaneous time, a woman lifted heavy eyes.
The man sitting at her side smiled quietly with relief.
Her hand, flawed by the fire's flames, reached out.
Beyond, unbeknownst to them, the fallen man was being tended to.
"Thank you Lancelot."
As the situation grew more urgent outside, inside he gave silent thanks. She had finally parted her lovely dark eyes just precious moments ago. With her voice still heavily raspy and her body only beginning to recover, Lancelot intended to keep the talking to a minimum.
Gwen was not in horrid pain, despite her severe injuries and prevalent discomfort, lying within a thick blanket atop the same cot she had tended to Merlin years ago, in the same room of Gaius's workplace and home quarters. Lifting tired eyes, she could just make out the light of day coming through the window. Confusing, since her last memory she could recall was of night.
Her expression a bit vague now, Lancelot guessed Gwen's mind was murky about the past events. Gaius had said it was understandable, that time would uncover more, but possibly not every detail…ever.
Gwen turned away from the window, focusing now again instead on the chisel faced man before her. It was mostly a year since she had seen him last, just receding the second dragon's fiery attacks, and the departure of Arthur, Merlin and a group of Camelot's fierce knights to finally put an end to the beast.
Days after their absence, the already weakened kingdom had been startled by surprise hostile attacks from the far eastern borders, where throne related conflicts were commencing. With half the knights of Camelot gone on the mission with Arthur and Merlin, others injured by the second dragon's attacks, and some only newly trained, Camelot was decidedly vulnerable.
It was during this precarious time, he returned to keep her safe, her knight in theory.
Lancelot.
After the danger was over, or at least temporarily halted, the new crop of knights and the small group of veterans actually having been able to defend against the shock of attacks, Lancelot decided his assistance was no longer needed. She disagreed, quietly pleading for him to stay, as simultaneously she prayed for her prince's return.
Perhaps reluctantly, he relented.
The threats of before no longer a concern, but the healing of the kingdom from the dragon's attacks still in progress, Gwen had been thankful for Lancelot's assisting presence. After her long days of tending to the injured he would visit, giving her head rest on his shoulder. They would talk sometimes intimately; other times simply sit in mostly peaceful silence.
Thus in those weeks that neared a month's time, their relationship was allowed to blossom far enough to an evening kiss.
As fate would have it though, the night of their shared affections under a quaking moon, their fingers clinging at each others' cheeks, their mouths tasting…
He…
Returned.
They had been seconds away from parting lips, not hearing the prior announcement at the palace's gates, as the prince and Merlin arrived near her little home. Later she would find out it had been on purpose. The prince had wanted to see her…
First.
Witnessing what he did though, the prince made no admittance of such that night, his eyes for a second widening with surprise, before they blinked it all away. Accompanied by a firm set to his jaw, they hardened quickly to sword tip gleam, before total disdain.
And yet that flashing moment of vulnerability had been long enough for her to read the questions of hurt. Starkly she realized it then with finality. The games could not go on. She couldn't bear it any longer, nor was it right to make him suffer through it. Everything about them was simply façade. A waiting joust that would only end with misery, for she was nothing more than a lowly handmaiden, no matter how highly she regarded her work and readily accepted her position, and he was the most noble, a prince soon to be king, a man growing to a destiny that she could never…
Ever…
Be part of.
There was more too of course, even if in the past he had tried to pretend it wasn't there, wasn't an issue. It materialized quickly that night, making his expression change to smirking satisfaction.
Pretend?
Maybe.
But real enough to the king and so right enough for his son's kingdom he would one day take ownership of. Ysmay that night sauntered to her prince. That prince warmly kissed her on the cheek before touching at her lips with his, looking away from the woman who…
Nights after that, a night that was intended in full celebration, Gwen made good on her thought to end the suffering of them both.
She freed her prince. Angered him. Baffled him. Hurt him.
Left him.
Left him to his…
Destiny.
For after all, she would never be anything more than a handmaiden, a servant expected to fall to her knees in the company of those she served. He would never be anything less than…
Royalty.
The man who would order her to her knees.
Lancelot observed Gwen's focused silence now. She seemed deep in thought. He wondered a bit idly if she was thinking of the last time they saw each other, nearly a year ago, during the time of those surprise attacks. Concerned for her welfare then, he had stuck close by, even spending some nights at the tavern nearby. She had actually pleaded for him to not leave. Days later, weeks gone by, one moon filled evening they kissed in surrounding shadows of the castle's outer towers in front of her house, not realizing their tiny little audience until it was already done.
The prince's reaction had not been easy to read, quickly changing, but it was there for a quivering second, shock. Per usual though of course his words were flippant, his flat line mouth changed to careless smirk. Just like it had been with the rescuing of her from Hengist, the prince pretended no care. Lancelot knew though the truth, that the prince had rushed to rescue her then, and so he couldn't help but wonder that night, if once again the prince had rushed to see her first, only to be jarred by his…
Competition?
Lancelot wasn't entirely sure. Gwen's innermost feelings had yet to be revealed to either it seemed. Perhaps with a touch of gallantry, but mostly feeling three was a crowd, he departed soon after.
It was strange though, Lancelot reflected, turning away from his thoughts regarding Gwen for a moment. The prince had shown no knowledge of Merlin's abilities then, and yet after the earthquake just last night, it was obvious that Arthur not only knew about it, but fully accepted it, encouraged its use even…in secret.
Less than a year ago, that night, nothing had given to that.
Something else was given though. She seemed terribly fond of him, the Lady Ysmay, and the prince seemed to return some of that outward display with an arguably chaste kiss, perhaps a reaction of pure jealousy. Lancelot wasn't sure, although it was obvious how well the king responded to the interaction, as Gwen's face showed simply hurt.
Lancelot had mused about it all as he rode away late into the night after the prince's return, once again secretly, shamefully not saying goodbye to Gwen.
Oh how he had hated leaving her in such way, but there was no place for him in Camelot, not with her prince returned especially.
Maybe the presence of Lady Ysmay had meant an opening for him…
Still he couldn't walk into it. It was wrong. Showed no gallantry.
The type he fought to be…honorable. Respectful.
And yet now, here he was. Back again. Everything changed.
This time he would not leave.
Not yet anyway. Not so easily. Not so trusting.
He gave the prince his chance then.
Seemed he failed.
Failed to save her.
Failed to…
God…
Heaven…whatever it be…
If he hadn't come…
No.
He had left that night, but didn't depart as far away as he had the first time. This time he had found a home much closer to the palace, to Gwen. Taking a menial job serving a noble of a neighboring kingdom, Lancelot was able to keep a closer eye on the happenings of Camelot. Thus, he was near enough last night to feel the quake's beginning rumbles, in close enough proximity to race forward on horseback. Then by foot he had rushed through the somewhat familiar high ceiling hallways to the in-normal-times smoldering kitchen area.
Only last night the smolders had escaped the ruined doorway, monsterishly out of control, flames of the most sinister being.
Stopping with already choking breaths, the smoke torturously heavily thick, in the black fiery haze he was just able to spot it, ravaged folds of lavender. It innocently peeked through the red blood spiked orange flames, half mottled by soot.
Gasping, forsaking his own safety in what was most definitely a treacherous situation, Lancelot dove through a pocket of flames, feeling it only singe at his long sleeves, before he pushed them back fiercely, no longer allowing the dancing fires to catch. Coughing more as his being became fully enmeshed in the fiery grave hell was producing, he pulled at the lavender with desperate fingers. Pulled until the softness of her luscious body was against his hardened one, whipped at the threatening flames already mauling her dress with his coat. Then bringing her against his chest, her legs hanging over his embracing arms, he slid across the floor, doing his best to avoid the screeching embers above. So fast he moved, he did not witness the carnage heavily of those she had tried to save.
Once out, he choked, collapsed upon already lowered knees. He knew he could not stay though. The fire was too out of control. Looking down upon her face, he saw no recognition of his deed, no answer to his pleads of her name. There was a slight breath though at least escaping the beat of her chest. She was alive…if only just so.
As he had hurried down the hallways, he lost his way, in between the rumbling tumbling shocks that followed the quake. He fell a few times at first from the tickles of soot that stained his throat. It was why he had not seen Merlin come down. With no clear direction, the shaking sometimes continuing, the castle so immense and littered with quake damage, he wandered too long, if maybe in real time only a few precious moments.
Finally rounding back out to the kitchen, he heard the yell, more like scream from the depths of purgatory. He knew which man it came from. Finding them at the kitchen's entrance on their knees, the fire miraculously out now…must have been Merlin…he informed them that who they mourned…
Still breathed.
If only just a bit.
He never wanted to let her go, almost ignored the prince's hard edged sarcasm about who should hold her, because she just felt too precious in his arms. She had nearly…
Oh God. Or Gods. Or magical beings. Whatever it was.
He was no deeply spiritual man, only simple, honorable, and at that moment, desperate. She had pierced his heart without her knowing the moment he had felt her hands measure at his sides for his knight's uniform those years ago.
The woman he loved.
Who loved another.
Who another loved.
Complicated Purgatory. It held no mercy.
Less than a year's time ago, he left. This time, he had yet to depart.
If ever.
He had claimed he was her prince, prince of his people, and yet where was he?
Lancelot could only shudder in the fact that if he had not chosen a place nearby to live, maybe…
He still had not left yet.
He would not until…
What he was doing was right, just, protecting her.
Protecting her even from inconvenient truths.
Secrets that perhaps he had no right…
To hold?
He did not know, maybe did not care, that around, above, Heaven frowned heavily.
No good can come from this.
But no good either could have come from those flames that had been licking at her skin being allowed to turn her to ash. He had thrust his coat down upon them with haste, hitting, smothering til they faded away, leaving ugly burned scarring.
And yet nothing could ever make her not beautiful.
Nothing could make him leave her side.
Not even the man who was called her…
Prince.
The servant hurriedly entered now, beyond the fallen form of his master.
She turned with notice, wincing at the slight discomfort it brought, but she was determined to see. It was Merlin. He was gesturing to Gaius anxiously, getting the man to follow him out of the room.
Why?
Merlin's distress usually meant…
The fallen prince outside heard none of her inner concerns, felt none of her nearby presence asking in heart of his missed presence. Instead beyond his heavily closed eyes he drifted to the outskirts of the most sinful desert, bringing to his mind a thousand screeching nightmares of her death…before his heart blazed back that no she was alive.
But never his…
Hell hissed.
Never.
"Lancelot?"
Leaving all his conflicted thought, Lancelot followed the lead of her eyes, suddenly wondering too.
"Merlin seems worried about something…what is it?"
He was the gallant one. Hah. The noble hero Lancelot.
With the most thorned secret. One he hated keeping, and yet selfishly, protectively, would not divulge.
Only his answer now was at least complete truth. He was just as confused as her by Merlin's sudden hasty actions.
"I do not know."
The answer was unsatisfactory, bringing to her mind the beginning year. She recalled now the worst night of the dragon's attacks. She had rushed across the flaming courtyard, until he called out, grabbed at her arm.
Then under a rapidly thrown blanket, he almost bruisingly pressed his lips to her own, before they magically softened under soft lavas of heat, making her feel she was gloriously melting, before protocol hissed at her enough.
Two men had kissed her, of significance beyond young flirtations of a simple girl's road in life. Two men ever so different that even the moisture of their lips were as contrary as breakfast to dinner meal.
One had dark rough locks of steel brushed hair, chisel so manly, wide eyes tumbling through the night's calling, but then a voice in sweet softness, almost naïve. He fought like a warrior, and yet when his hand enclosed hers, it did with a gentility that made her knees weaken to stumbling ecstasy.
The other had golden waves of silk soft hair that ruffled in the wind playfully, eyes as vivid as daytime sky, a look so deceivingly innocent at times that it hid the rough timbre of his voice when angry, when commanding with a confidence that could astonish. He fought like a king, regally brutally graceful, and yet when his fingers brushed by her cheek, they heated it to the warmest rapture.
Two men so different so of course the feel of their mouths pressed to hers was contrary too, but she had yet to say which she favored most.
She had yet to reveal if she even had a clear answer to that inquiry…love an emotion she felt for…
Both men.
Simple Hell.
Her worry climbed through her unsteady heart now, past choked stained lungs still wearied by the flames of the night before.
She thought of it fiercely, how she had spoken to Merlin, Lancelot too of course, knew every fate but…
One.
Maybe that was why her voice trembled beyond just tiredness as too dry lips parted to ask.
"Where is he?"
As her heart tremored unsteadily like the earth still every wry moment gave a little unwelcome shake.
"Who?"
Lancelot asked too innocently, too pretending to be misunderstanding, too much not wanting now to think of who else she had feelings for, that as much the other didn't understand his, he didn't understand that other's.
In her midnight eyes flashed unresolved fear.
"Arthur…"
Outside…
Gaius and Merlin hurried after the helping knights, tending to their most distinguished leader who was exhausted to sickness. Behind closed eyes smothered into a hell where she endlessly died in his far too reaching arms.
Inside…
"Where is he Lancelot?
Where is Arthur?"
Trickle
Trickle…
Hearts leaked.
Hell was the most repellent dwelling.
Clawing at its acidic magma walls,
Love searched a way…
OUT
III
Three Days Later…
Purgatory is not quite yet done playing its teasing game
Snaring its victims into its labyrinth of awaiting barbs.
Cackling at the fiendish result of pitting them against each other.
"What are you doing? You're not supposed to be up!"
The prince pushed his arm through the quilted sleeve, his jaw clenched tight, trying hard to avoid hitting the material too strongly against his still mending hand as he responded roughly.
"I've lain in that bed enough. I'll spend not another minute in it, not while my people need me, not while the kingdom still recovers."
It was the plain truth, even if he didn't reveal the other reason. That hellish dreams lay beyond sleep, ones where his failure to reach her in time, resulted in the most unwelcome…
Outcome.
Ones that made him wake in tremoring heart shaking quakes of repulsive sweat and terror.
Merlin rolled his eyes at the one answer revealed. Typical. The prince had insisted when staying at Gwen's place a full size mattress because the floor was too hard, and yet when he was given the allowance to rest comfortably in his finely cushioned bed, he couldn't last past a couple of days before disobeying medical orders.
Three days ago when the prince had collapsed outside against the wall, Gaius noticed the extent of Arthur's improperly cared for injuries. His leg was fractured and his hand needed better removal of the stone, better wrapping, but even beyond that was an emotional weariness that had taken its full toll. Tending to the physical, the physician then ordered the young prince to bed rest for it, and the less obviously seen injury
Merlin understood that well. The prince he doubted had slept at all the night past the quake, his eyes reddened with cracks the day he told him about Gwen's waking.
Now finally he had rested, and yet disturbingly enough not a single crack seemed removed, their red still cutting through the prince's vision. Still, Merlin knew no argument would work. It was painfully obvious the prince had enough of being confined to his bed. No order would get past his stubbornness.
Merlin inquired quietly,
"That day, you know when Gwen woke up…did you talk to her first, before you fell?"
Arthur finished with the gambeson quilted undershirt, his answer dismissive even as he couldn't fully rid his body of the hot chills that would come to him during his ugly dreams.
"No.
Merlin, get my shirt."
The servant reached for a red tunic, understanding now the reason of the redness not being gone. Nothing was settled. Standing at the prince's side, he carefully helped the man with getting the worn, by royal standards and yet the prince never wanted a new one, material of the tunic past his head and shoulders.
Protesting moodily at the servant's 'kid handling' of him, Arthur only passively noticed how the sun's mottled form was already blazing into his room on what was starting out as an uncomfortably muggy day.
"I am not crippled Merlin! I can get my own shirt on."
Merlin smiled wryly, for the moment playfully forgetting any worries. Sure the prince could, and yet still he regularly expected things like his armor being carried, polished and such. He always wanted…to be waited on hand and foot…well…most of the time anyway.
Truth be it, Arthur was a rare contradiction that Merlin didn't witness in most other young royals who sometimes were spoilt beyond reason, and left the hard battle to those they commanded. The prince could be the most annoying egotistical royal prat, and at the same, a leader with gallant, brave tendencies who always watched out for those in his care. Unlike some of those other royals, Arthur demanded on being in the heat of the battle, charging forward at the start of each bloody encounter with not an inch of fear.
He often remarked it was what killed you first, fear. No time to be scared, and so never make the mistake of allowing it to seep through.
"Well then you should be able to find it too, shouldn't you?" Merlin teased back about the tunic, rarely as sentimental as he might have been when he first encountered Camelot, the prince's dryness over the years wearing off on him some, and his own just a little bit wryer.
Let it be said, Merlin was definitely not like any other servant Arthur had before. Merlin actually answered back, regularly.
Merlin countered, volleyed, and even refused at his bravest…with simple words.
The prince's look sharpened to the point of a dagger.
The servant gave an innocent crooked smile, habitually used to its effect.
Arthur rolled his eyes, realizing yet one more time with bewildering wonder how the servant's unexpected comeback tempered his usually fiery spirit. Sometimes he still had no understandable answer to why he allowed it. No other servant would have gotten away with half of what Merlin did.
No other servant was as…
Interesting as Merlin.
As…
Mysterious…
To everyone, even him…
Merlin carried a dangerous secret, a criminal one, a life threatening one.
One Arthur knew well now.
Found out in a…cave of all places…
Found out moments from what could have been his own…
Death.
He was it.
A sorcerer.
His bumbling servant was a sorcerer, a bloody powerful one at that.
On shaky legs for more reason than just his injuries, Arthur could feel the water trickling down from his chainmail to his pants, the patterns of wetness left over from when he fell unceremoniously into the cavern pond. The pond he had blurrily awakened from to see the most…
Amazing sight.
There he was, his servant, eyes of flashing gold, words that no mortal Arthur had ever heard of speak, a language so foreign of tongue it existed in no known kingdom. His servant though communicated it efficiently with the dragon, fiercely commanding it with a voice so deep it had lifted at the hairs on Arthur's neck. Made his bones chill with fear.
All of that awesomeness and now the dragon was gone, Merlin's eyes were back to their innocent blue, and if the prince wasn't mistaken, the young man was clearly shaking with terrible fright.
A sorcerer…
Afraid?
Merlin asked the stupid question about how much he had seen.
Arthur answered strongly that it was enough.
Then came out his rash side, as he recalled without having understood a single spoken word, how Merlin had let the dragon flee. He let go the vile beast that had injured, murdered those of Camelot, including an unrecoverable portion of the knights,
Merlin let go such a horrific creature.
Perhaps he should think of his actions, that this young monster could just lift his evil sorcerer hands and kill him in an instant, but Arthur's instincts were often stronger than his mind.
He engaged purely in the physical now, leaping past the pond, ignoring any hurt in his limbs. He picked up his fallen sword and swooped it up into the air, raised it to do the mortal deed.
A sorcerer. A betrayer. An enemy.
Reaching the servant's side with alarming speed, Arthur locked at Merlin's ankle with his. It caused the younger man to sprawl toward the ground, his back hitting the jagged rock with a whoosh of painful air.
Half on his knees, crouched even with a smarting leg, Arthur determinedly lowered his sword to the defenseless servant, before he lifted it high. Squared it in direction of the mortal heart for a questionless kill.
All set to go…
Just one flash downward and his shining blade would contain the lifeless blood.
Just…
"You betrayed me Merlin. You betrayed all of Camelot. Now…
You will meet your deserving fate."
Instead of striking, he dug the blade against the treacherous sorcerer's tunic, hearing the catch of voice the metal whispered to the vulnerable skin underneath. He wanted a reaction. He wanted to delay it…at least for a few moments.
Finally the servant pleaded. "Arthur. Listen to me."
He sounded like the youth who first came to him. Even as Merlin had recently reached a more manly age, it did little to make him less boyish in appearance. For years now Arthur had looked out for his welfare when in battle, always making sure Merlin was safely away from any danger.
And it was for naught.
Who knew what this boy/man had conjured up in his sick malevolent head? Who knew if he sent the dragon to wreck havoc upon the land and people, himself?
"I am a sorcerer…yes…but I have never betrayed you Arthur. Never Camelot."
Arthur sneered. Lifted the blade…once more. One second was all it would take. He was experienced enough to do it. He was a killing machine, a mechanism, born, trained, skilled enough to end a life in an eye's blink. He knew exactly which direction the blade needed to drive at, knew the soft tissue it would have to cut through. He knew what would be needed to avenge all the needless deaths this sick creature allowed. All he had to do was lower it quickly. Suck the life out of the traitor.
It was perhaps moments of weakness though, too many memories cemented into his brain, possibly even his heart. Ones of laughter and relieved smiles. Barbs of silliness.
And he couldn't look past it, the eyes he had grown to know all too well, the such familiar blue that years ago, that very first time, squared courageously as his mouth elicited that word…prat. He had challenged him then, even as it was so obvious how clumsy the boy was at fighting.
Even as…
That second time odd things had happened. Arthur felt himself falling for no explained reason that day.
Ah…well now here it was.
It would take just one second to spear into the monster's vital. To KILL what needed to be killed.
His arms would move no further though. The aim felt too hard, too distracted. He'd killed the enemy so easily before, never hesitated in striking, but now his limbs felt heavy, like the push into the heart would be too much a burden.
It was all the servant's fault, so still, so shaking with fear. Merlin was pretending to be weak, a victim and yet look what he had done. Look what he caused. Look what he…WAS.
A wicked sorcerer.
A wicked sorcerer who for some reason just lay still now, didn't magically end this. Why not? Why didn't he fight? Why did he pretend he could do nothing when it was so obvious he was capable of much more?
He'd watched him with the dragon, heard the horrifying decibels the boy's mouth rose to, volumes Arthur could not even begin to fathom. Volumes that had shocked his being.
Arthur thought it viciously, get up Merlin. Fight you bastard traitor. Fight me! Make your death just.
"I am your loyal servant."
Oh those words, those traitorous claims. Arthur growled viciously, but still his arms felt like lead, would not move.
He couldn't listen to him anymore. That was it. If the boy wouldn't fight, he'd just do it, end it all. Now. He had to.
He snarled back,
"You are a sorcerer, a stupid one to bring your magic to Camelot when you've known full well for years of the laws against it.
Well now your stupidity will be met by the slice of my blade."
Merlin countered fiercely, the servant's familiar rambling rants finally leaking out.
"If all I am is an evil sorcerer then why haven't I struck you down yet, Sire? I've had many a chance. Why haven't I taken it? Because even the times you've been such a royal prat, I've never wished you dead Arthur."
The prince couldn't help but smile at the all too familiar name calling. Merlin used such regularly, even once made him ridiculously think he was fat. And he got away with it all. It was hard to gain the prince's trust, but Arthur had grown in a short time to trust Merlin implicitly.
Those dumb blue eyes wanting him to listen now. Stupid skinny kid. Why did you come to Camelot Merlin? Arthur wanted to ask. Why did you lead me to this horrible decision you're forcing me to make now? Why did you make me actually…get on with you? When now it must all end. I must kill you.
I will kill you. I will delight in it. I will never mourn you.
FIE…why wouldn't his arms move?
He had done this so many times, never hesitated, never felt the heaviness. Why couldn't he do it now?
The smile faded, hardened to a flat line. He was a prince who would one day be king. Enough of this weakness. Magic was forbidden, magic was a sin. Yes, sometimes he didn't agree with his father's ways. He had saved that boy Mordred after all, but no good came from magic.
Right?
Perhaps the servant saw the chance, for he went on. Weaved through the cracks in the steel.
"I've only used my magic for good Arthur. I swear that. I didn't know it was forbidden in Camelot when I first came. My mother sent me because I didn't really fit in…in Ealador. I didn't know how to channel what I knew. So she sent me to Camelot to…Gaius."
Arthur scrutinized sharply. "So he's been helping you?"
It seemed the servant feared what his words maybe told too much of. He shook his head violently, as he lay underneath the harsh light of the prince's blade, the metal point eerily reflecting his frantic expression.
"NO. I…mean…well you know how he once did magic when the king allowed it, but no more. He…whatever you do to me, Gaius has done no wrong. He's warned me not to use my magic plenty of times and he obeys the king. Kill me if you want, but Gaius is innocent. My mother is. Do nothing to her. Don't allow-
Arthur stared. The servant was mumbling, stuttering his words with repeated tremors. He seemed to be understanding that his execution could lead also to those he was affiliated with.
A flash of gold came to the servant's eyes as he became the sorcerer again. Arthur gasped at its returned appearance. Those eyes gleamed like the shiniest golden goblet. They were repulsively horrifying. They were beastly. It made it easy again, took away the heaviness. Merlin was no longer his ally, but some thing that needed to be destroyed, some evil entity. It was time. He had to do this now. Arthur prepared to drive the sword in stronger, got ready to make the blood…
Flow.
Merlin grasped magically to turn the blade on his prince and yet…
Something held not right it seemed.
The gold in his eyes faded away, turned back to innocent blue. His ragged sigh signaled failure, emotional…
Pain.
"I can't do it."
Arthur felt like he was flipping through a thousand shocks, a new one now as his servant's eyes returned to their natural blue, actually started to moisten, fill with unshed tears. It drilled without his wanting at Arthur's heart. He should have done it when he had the chance, but once again he showed his weakness, held back for some unexplainable reason. If his father had seen all this, Merlin would be in a dungeon now. Merlin might even be…
Dead already.
The servant spoke quietly, complete resignation, with just one inch of foreboding for those he loved.
"I can't kill you, even though I know you may not stop with me. I can't kill...
Sire, my father suffered enough. Please leave my mother…
In peace.
Or from the grave I will haunt you. I promise you that Arthur."
The prince held still, didn't lower the blade further, an emotion too deep now by Merlin's words. He had to speak of his mother of course. Arthur never knew his own, never saw her, and that would always be his biggest pain, regret. Hole in his soul. If only he could have known her for a few precious moments. Seen her. Feel her. Smell her…he imagined her scent was heavenly, her voice gentle and…
Oh yes. Loss of a mother was something he understood too well. It made sense Merlin spoke so fiercely about his and Merlin had good reason to be worried. When his father would come to find out he was a sorcerer, he would possibly go after her too, bring her to judgment. And yet as far as Arthur knew the woman was not responsible for any crime. He actually liked her, but no telling how the king would react. He sometimes seemed so blind when it came to magic. And as for Merlin's father…
Wait a minute.
His father?
"You told me once you never knew your father. Are you saying now that was another lie?"
The servant shook his head.
"I didn't know him, no lie."
He paused heavily.
Arthur nodded his head, actually listening now, betraying what his sharp brain's instinct screamed at him to do.
"Except for one full day, and one inch of another. I saw him. I spoke to him. I learned why I am…what I am."
Arthur cocked his head at that. He actually…saw him? When?
"What do you mean? Who was your father?"
Perhaps the sorcerer was recalling sweeter memories, because he smiled fondly for a handful of seconds, before the moisture crept more into his eyes, a tear even being allowed passage finally, traipsing down his cheek.
"He was magical too. For that he was hunted…for years. He had no choice but to leave the woman he loved, never find out of his son…until…"
"Who was he Merlin?"
Arthur asked pointedly, needing to know now, for some fathomless reason.
"Balinor. My father was Balinor…Sire."
The answer brought a new shock. Arthur's eyes widened with it.
Merlin's father had been…
Balinor?
It confounded him, before it all came together.
But of course. Now it finally made sense. Merlin had been so moody then as they took that trip, so quiet and disturbed by something he wouldn't reveal. Then when they found him, after Arthur's bout of sickness from his injuries, and the man's first refusal to help, Merlin seemed happy when the man changed his mind. Not just happy, but…fulfilled in some way.
Arthur recalled it now with a new sense, that fateful morning, when Balinor was stricken by a sword, stricken down. Merlin had later revealed, a year ago, that Balinor had actually saved him in that battle, sacrificed himself because Merlin had not been quick enough with the sword. Arthur had thought then, kind of oddly gallant. But now it was clarified. Balinor was only protecting his son just like his own father would do for him.
Balinor. Merlin had indeed known him for only one day. He watched his father die in front of him, after being with him for such a short time. So of course there had been tears in his eyes that his silly servant tried to hide. Of course that death had meant so much to him. Arthur had told him then his theory of no knight being worth his tears…their honor being beyond that, and yet how callous those words must have seemed. It was not a knight, a man who was going to help them even, but the boy's father.
Balinor had been Merlin's father. Balinor the Dragonlord.
Wait a minute. Balinor had been…a Dragonlord so…
Merlin…
Was he?
Oh heavenly Camelot!
He let the dragon leave. Once again, maybe it was he who sent the dragon in the first place. Maybe this had been his final vengeance. Arthur had let too much emotion seep through about who the boy's father was, but now enough of this. Balinor had seemed a good man, and maybe in some ways he was, but too he was this thing that Merlin was. He was magical with who knows what agenda. Merlin was his offspring, just as vile possibly. He should have done more back then. If Merlin was so sickeningly magical, why did he allow all this MISERY? Merlin was pure evil if…why didn't that evil DO SOMETHING?
"Why don't you get up Merlin? Why don't you strike me? If you're as EVIL as your father was-
The servant cut through fiercely. "He was NOT evil! My father was a GOOD man! But your father hated his kind so he hunted him down…he never allowed him a life of peace! He forced him to move…to keep moving…to become a hermit.
Magic is not a CRIME Arthur. It should not be judged so awfully. My father was born like this.
I…
Was born like this."
It was the strongest defiance from his servant.
And then it sunk out of him without warning, with alarm.
Arthur knew he couldn't care though, couldn't allow any vulnerability. Who knew if the sorcerer was just waiting? Who knew if…
Oh all of Camelot…his father was Balinor. How complicated could Merlin be? His simple servant so much disgustingly more. So many lies and secrets.
He thought of it now, how in Ealador Merlin had wanted to confess something to him, had seemed scared to. Oh he fooled him even then.
"It was you…not Will who caused that wind, wasn't it Merlin? Was it you too…
Who defeated the first dragon? Or did you just let him go…
Like you did this one?
I mean come on Merlin! How is it that I could deliver a mighty blow…
Whilst lying unconscious?"
Now it was all found out, the service of the servant/sorcerer.
"It was me, and believe it killed to allow Will to make up that lie during his last breathing moments. And yes it was me again…and yes…
I let him go."
The truth was too ugly. Too disgusting. This thing before him was not the ally he had thought him to be. He was not even a powerful sorcerer, but one who should feel shame for his allowance of so much carnage. The sick boy allowed his own friend to pretend on his death bed he was something else.
Arthur's eyes filled with revulsion. Maybe his servant was just a coward, a lying treacherous weak sorcerer who allowed the deaths of others ever so…
Easily.
Arthur screamed, uncontained.
"We marched into this cave MERLIN! Half of the knights are DEAD because you did nothing. All the loss in the kingdom, those innocent children nearly perishing! Camelot only begins to recover because you stood and just WATCHED. You let your own friend die in DISHONOR for something he didn't even do? This goes beyond my father! I WANT to kill you now! I will!"
Merlin cried out, one last time, tears too free in their passage now. "NO! I told you allowing Will to make that excuse for me hurt so awfully. I loved Will like a brother. I have hated keeping this secret. Kill me. I don't care. Just…
I've done all of this…
In service to you.
I've stayed in Camelot keeping this secret…
To protect you.
I know so many lives have been lost. But I have done my best to save those I can too. I've…
Kept you safe Sire. For that there has to be sacrifice.
I've learned that the hard way."
Merlin turned his head away, looked at the walls of the cave, not caring it seemed to see what his prince would do next.
Arthur didn't know why, but he believed him about Will. Maybe it was all those tears that came, the strangled effect of his voice. If this was a façade, Merlin was too good at it. But then Merlin had been a pretty good liar too.
Resolve fastened, even if it didn't bring him any satisfaction, Arthur lifted the sword high.
Merlin turned at that moment, met his eyes.
Whispered. "Do it."
His arms were no longer heavy. His instinct was strong. It would be one clean swipe.
There was little fear in the servant's eyes now, just resignation of what was to be.
Fiercely…
Swiftly…
Arthur brought the blade down.
"I knew you would hate me when you found out. I knew it."
The words startled his drive. The blade landed off kilter, but enough to make the servant gasp with pain. It hit somewhere. It cut through something. But the heart?
Arthur stared as Merlin gurgled with discomfort.
The blade not hitting exactly right, fell away, the sword clashing against the rocky ground, released from the prince's shaking hands with almost haste.
Hate him?
Merlin had wondered in Ealador if Arthur would think anything differently of him if…
Arthur had then thought it was about an inability to fight, but this is what Merlin had been scared of. Merlin had feared he would hate him for being magical, just like his father hated everything magical. Merlin had feared his prince would have no tolerance for…
What he had been born with. What he possibly had no choice in.
And yet…
"You missed…Sire." Merlin informed now dryly, before coughing.
Missed and yet…it was obvious some of it had been effective. The servant was in definite pain.
It was because of those words…that word. Hate. Arthur knew he should just raise the sword now, finish the job. Kill him before returning to Camelot.
Hate.
God Merlin…Holy Heaven Merlin…why do you make me think? Why do I even care?
Merlin showed one last bit of defiance. He wasn't dead yet so of course…not ready to shut up yet either.
Arthur mused on it with dark humor.
"Just one more thing you should know. I'm not a coward. If I was I never would have kept looking out for your royal backside."
Arthur smirked at that without any instruction to do so. Just instinct that lay beyond the brain. Even in dying Merlin would not close that big mouth of his.
Merlin had even more to say, giving no indication how deeply the blade had struck, but what seemed a shaking steadily invading his body now.
"I let the first dragon go, but I warned him to never return to Camelot. To never hurt its people again. And I did the same with this one…Sire. That may mean nothing to you…but it is important. Dragons must heed Dragonlords. They have no choice but to."
Right. As Merlin was one. Had he always been?
Merlin answered Arthur's unspoken question.
"I became one after my father's death. It is passed down to son, just like you will become king…when…"
Arthur grimly swallowed, not wanting to think of such a day, and not wanting to listen. But Merlin was noticeably trembling now. His speech was interrupted by tremors.
The servant continued, words sounding heavy.
"I don't agree with your father's…feelings on magic, obviously, but I know too he is right that some use magic for ill being. I am against that.
Magic should be used for good…not evil.
I was told once that our…fates are linked, yours and mine. I don't know if that's all true, but I know I serve you loyally. And I know that THIS part was true, many will try to stop you from becoming king. They already have.
I have served to protect you from them."
Arthur scrutinized sharply. Was his life threatened even more than he knew? Sure he had enemies, but had there been times Merlin interfered that he did not know about?
He recalled now the moments after his feverish state, how he had marveled the fact that magical beast's bite hadn't actually killed him. It should have. The beast's bite was supposed to be lethal and yet…
"How was it that I lived…you know when that Questing Beast bit me? Its bite was supposed to insure death."
Merlin nodded his head dully. The servant's movements were growing more ragged. Slow. His blue tunic was turning to…
Red.
"You should have died…but there was one way to guarantee your life. If I gave mine. That was the only way to keep the balance. The rule of The Old Religion…of…everything. One life for another.
But Nimueh tricked me. Instead of seeking my life, she sought my mother's. Then later Gaius's…so I had no choice but to get rid of her. She was too evil."
Arthur stared, dumbfounded. Merlin could be lying to him…
But-
"Nimueh…is that the woman who tricked me in the cave when I went to find that flower to heal you?"
Merlin's look was troubled, beyond his moans that were starting to come out now between spoken words. "Sounds like."
Arthur slowly nodded his head, thinking of more, not focusing on the trail of blood that was starting to deepen.
"There was a light. The cave was dark and this light just…appeared. I thought it wanted to do away with me at first, but it LED me out of the cave. Did you have something to do with that Merlin?"
The servant shrugged painfully. "I guess. I honestly don't remember Arthur. I was sick. But he said that I spoke your name during my fevers…that I conjured up something. Gaius told me-
The servant bit his tongue.
Arthur listened with understanding. Maybe Merlin was a betrayer, but he couldn't have faked his love for Gaius, like he was a father that…
A father…oh wow.
It was something he had little doubt the servant lied about. His father abhorred magic and could be cruel about his punishments for it, viciously cruel, blindingly. "Did my father really make your father's life unbearable?"
Merlin wearily nodded.
"Yes. Too for both of the dragons, Sire. He chained the first one of course. He killed all the rest of his kind, but a Dragonlord in secret spared this second one you and I just faced. Your father has many enemies because of his punishments against magic, Arthur. That means you have many too."
Merlin's eyes closed, the fatal result of the cut creeping into his spirit.
Just a few last words he wanted to say it seemed. "I feared you would hate me. Now that's done. It doesn't matter…
The past years…uhhh…oh…"
Arthur's eyes lifted. The boy was in a lot of pain. When did his tunic get so…
Bloody?
"It's all done now. Just…Sire…
Don't trust easily…
Too many…
Want you…
Ooooohhhh…ah…dead. They don't want Albion to ever unite…or they don't want…
Your father to live. Magic…restored…they…oooohhh…just…
One or another….aaaahhh…oh…Arthur…both your lives…
Merlin paused heavily through a forceful moan.
"Are…in
Danger."
Merlin finished with a throaty gasp…his limbs spasming in ugly ways.
Albion…what was that he said? Arthur kept it in his memory to ask about…
Later.
Mostly the prince watched uncomfortably. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to just die, but the blade hit wrong. Merlin's stupid words. Interfering. It made it slow…not mercifully fast.
"And YOU don't want to see me dead? My father?"
Merlin shook his head quickly, moaning as the action caused more pain. "No…ooohhh…I thought you a prat when I first saw you."
Arthur smiled, before he flattened his mouth. Concerned and…
Angry?
"Still one sometimes…but…ooohhh…you're also…aaaahhh…Arthur he-"
Was he actually asking him to assist?
If he had been, Merlin didn't continue the words, no matter how much discomfort he was in. "Sire…you need to become king. You're just…oooohhhh…not ready yet. Your father's death…"
Merlin gasped torturously now, reaching out without direction. Arthur lifted his hand, steadied it against his servant's spasming arm. "What are you trying to say?"
"Hurts…oooohh…bad-ly. Uhhhh…oh Camelot…uh…it's more than that. I lost a father. I wouldn't….ooooohhh…wish it upon someone else…not even…aaaahhh…a prat."
Merlin smiled just an inch with those last words, a snarling smile, before he reacted to another deep spasm. Tears dried on his face. Tears of years perhaps gone.
Arthur looked down at the sword. One swift dig. All it would take. He'd die instantly this time.
Turning back to his servant, he saw the strong trails of blood. He had not hit his heart, but he got close. If Merlin died this way, it would be slowly, torturously, but Merlin still could be…
His father would think him a coward, a weak being. He should not care. And yet…
Violently Arthur ripped the bottom of his tunic, cutting it away to reveal part of his own unmarred skin, except for the bruises from the dragon's attempt to kill.
Attempt. He should be dead.
But for Merlin.
Merlin…gurgling, choking, coughing, struggling to reach for something. Merlin hurt.
How many times had he protected the boy, relieved when Merlin was okay?
Now he might be dying.
Would he sit and watch?
Saved.
That was the other choice. Possibly the most stupid one.
Merlin could be saved.
Arthur pushed through the soaked material with his. Pressed against the wound firmly.
Merlin's lips parted with shock.
Arthur smiled dryly.
"Close your mouth Merlin."
"What…aahhhh…are you doing? I thought you wanted me dead-
Arthur shook his head.
Stupid boy never listened. Always going beyond yes-no answers. Always challenging him. Always…
If he had been so wrong all these years, if Merlin was truly evil, why was he lying so acceptingly now, lying on the ground that is? Merlin had the chance to stop him and he had backed away from it, instead enduring Arthur's blade.
Merlin was staring at him.
Arthur battled with brain and heart, growling his words.
"Just shut up and lie still so it doesn't spread so fast."
The servant seemed baffled, but also was not moving as much.
It relieved Arthur. Something was just so terrible about those spasms. So hard to watch. Merlin was moaning still, but preventing the bleeding was…maybe working?
What was he doing? Why hadn't he just-
Merlin said he bargained his own life for his. Was that true? A lie? It definitely wasn't a lie that Merlin swallowed a goblet of poison for him. He saw it happen. He watched the boy fall to the ground after smiling that it was fine. Merlin had truly been sick then. Merlin had nearly died then. Later, when he ordered him to stay, Merlin followed him to that beach. He wanted to drink the 'poison' there too…but Arthur wouldn't let him. He drank it first himself, not caring what the test did, just…
He couldn't let Merlin die then. It was his fault about the unicorn. He would be the sacrifice for it then.
That night of the first dragon, nearly even knight died, but a few others and…him. Merlin prevented that dragon from killing him, from returning to Camelot. Merlin prevented this dragon from killing him. Yes he allowed the deaths of the other knights, people, but…because he knew how dangerous his secret was?
Maybe Merlin's mission really was to protect…as was his own.
Think about it.
If so malevolent, why did Merlin put up with it? If he was a sorcerer and nothing else, with sinful ambition, why would Merlin come to Camelot where magic was banned, and stay when he found that out? Why would he take that chance?
Years ago, after their first volatile encounter, Merlin stopped that flying blade, the first of many, from reaching his heart, the evening his father granted the boy with the unglorified position of service to his prince.
Yet Merlin took it, a sorcerer who could go onto much bigger ambitions, chose to serve…
Him.
Putting up with all the physical abuse, allowing the punishing boring hours sometimes of drudgery work.
Why?
It pierced the silence, ripped through his thoughts, another strangled moan, a row of uncontrollable coughs. Arthur's other hand actually soothed at the blue enclosed shoulder. Past his lips came the most hidden hush of quiet, nearly gentle. And yet nothing too easily revealed.
He could tell by the servant's floundering eyes that he still had no idea what the prince's motive, intended destination was Arthur gave no answers as he asked dryly,
"Have you lied about it all…your inability to fight?"
Merlin gave a crooked smile. "Definitely not. You've seen me with a sword…though…uuuhhh….actually I'm a lot better now."
Yeah…like better enough to keep it from stabbing his foot.
Ha.
The prince smiled a fraction with amusement.
Merlin just came out with it.
"Aren't you going to kill me Sire?"
Wasn't he?
This kind of treachery, it would be more merciful to just stab him this time with no holding back and leave him here to bleed it out.
If ever found out in Camelot, if he told his father of Merlin's secret, the boy would first be manacled and thrown into the dungeons. There he would suffer through days and sleepless nights of painful torture with no real outcome, but the first intended one, burned at the stake. He would be forced to his knees in shameful confession at the king's throne. Hands bound at his back, he would be paraded out into the square of Camelot, pushed against the waiting trunked pillar of forest wood, ready to burn the instant the spark was lit, and yet slowly enough to be good show for those who enjoyed this sort of sickening thing. His feet would be bound to the unmoving boundary too, and yet nothing would be done to his eyes. The king wanted them to all watch as the fire licked at their vulnerable flesh. The king seemed to endure their voices horrific hollers before he turned his back and left it to what it was…punishment for treacheries.
Arthur wondered darkly if Merlin would scream like others had, or more likely just stand there with hollow eyes and succumb to it. Merlin would probably be quiet, before the heat of the embers would force his throat to screech at the agony of his flesh ripping.
Of course he had one other choice. One that would signal his own…
Flat out deceit.
And yet keep a life.
Moans that he couldn't hold back were coming out of the boy's mouth. The bleeding was still flowing too freely. He could keep pressing. Never give up. Keep the boy ali-
Or…
Arthur pressed more, hampering the bleeding's progress, and finally answering the boy's question, at least a bit.
Would he kill him?
"Not yet."
Merlin started to question more. Arthur put up his hand for silence, only getting it after a few mumblings. Merlin never changing, always babbling when he should shut his dumb mouth.
"Oh and…"
A hollow weak question of 'yes'?' Came from the servant.
As Arthur contained the bleeding. Should have just killed him.
Heart's instinct was too strong though, superior over the brain's, for the moment at least.
"You were wrong."
The words were incredible where they came from, but they were the truth. Implicit trust given doesn't end that easily. And Arthur simply was no fool when it came to giving that kind of…
Trust.
"I don't hate you Merlin."
"Did you hear me Sire?
When do you plan to see her?"
Arthur drifted out of the memory, his servant's insistent prattling loudly cutting through. In that cave not pondering his decision too deeply nor understanding it, always more a man of action, Arthur did press the material down with as much care as needed. He kept it there strongly until most the bleeding was squelched. Then he had assisted his servant to rest against the cold ground, as he sat by with watching…
Confused eyes.
What would his next move be?
Would he reveal his servant's secret?
Only time would answer those questions. But let it be said. In that cave, the victor was…
The heart.
"That is none of your concern…Merlin."
Arthur recalled now a more recent memory, and yet equally painful. He loved her so much, just like he cared for his servant more than he would admit outwardly. He had rushed into Gaius's room of healing to be with her, to hold her close and…
There he was again. Lancelot. Arthur didn't hate him, but he hated what he signified.
Everything crashed then, fell apart, like he supposed his body gave up too that day, leading to his collapse. That was when the blackness took over, just seconds before the ugly dreams crept in, wouldn't leave him alone.
Just last night another, leading to dampened skin, sheets, horribly hot, horribly…
If that was what the fire had felt like for her…
She must have been…
In
Hell.
A Hell he allowed her to…
Drown in.
Merlin watched as Arthur closed his eyes heavily. His tiredness, unhappiness was still so prevalent, and yet too he was so ready to go to his duty.
This wasn't right though. He should have spoken to her, but Merlin mused now he probably should have warned him too that Lancelot had yet to leave. He wondered now if the prince had spotted him and that was when everything…
Demolished.
Merlin considered Lancelot a good friend, but there was so much tension now between the man and the prince, all about her of course. He saw it start during their rescue of her from Hengist. It was sad to watch because before the two men had been such solid friends.
Now.
Ah.
She was a servant just like Merlin, and maybe like Merlin, not magically of course, but by some inner strength, some trick of character, she was destined to be more. Merlin could see a future with her as queen, regal, strong, and yet compassionate, kind, and beyond, not quite easy to predict.
"You need to talk to her."
He confessed now what he probably should have stated in the first place. Sure Arthur was upset, but he didn't know it all. He seemed to think she didn't care and yet she did greatly. Merlin had felt from her the deep concern when he told her that Arthur was hurt from the quake.
"She's asked about you. I told her what happened…
I told her you were injured."
Slowly the prince opened his eyes, saw the blaze of the sun outside his window, felt it slap at his cracked pupils with fiery determination that forced him to look elsewhere. "You shouldn't have."
His injuries had not been even close to hers in severity. She suffered through burns. She slept an entire night that he begged her to just live. His Guinevere…to feel the heat of her lips, to be touched by her thick surrounding fingers, to fall into her eyes of midnight mystery…to…
Arthur yearned to press against her, ached to find her presence, suffered to taste the delicacies of her skin.
And yet…
He still was there, came back regularly, stubbornly wouldn't leave her side, tended to her illness.
And in quarters around castle corners he had his own who his father expected him to give…
Vows to.
To…
He knew Merlin's secret. Merlin knew his.
The servant was a bumbling idiot.
A loyal needed friend.
Of course he told her…
Of course his servant shouldn't have.
A voice interrupted. It leaked with sugar's sweetness. It was the voice of who he held tight to during the shaking of the earth, the voice he used to pretend this ugly fallacy.
The woman wrapped in blue layers of royalty rushed happily to the prince. It was all so much façade. It was all tricks of a forced upon destiny. And yet still he accepted her embrace, her kiss.
As his heart gave no real lift, no excitement.
Merlin watched the dullness of the man's eyes.
Dwelling into hell.
For that's all lies ever lead to.
III
Two Weeks after the Quake…
Selfish desires still reign supreme. Secrets continue. Fear turns to decisions without any conscientious thought. Jealous fires burn.
Pierced hearts trickle away…
Their existence.
It was still there from time to time, a shock of seconding shudders, the earth not quite steady. They were growing lesser though at least, and of less magnificence. As another one hit now, he ignored it.
Spotting something more important across the way.
It was the end of a less than happy ceremony, a memorial of remembrance. It lay many feet away from the castle's courtyard, beyond into the heavily canopied forests. The markings of each grave were simple, rustic, made for the poor, for the…
Too easily forgotten, as new ones had already taken their place.
Those of royal blood that perished always had a stone put up of heavy decoration, a cross of medieval remembrance, and a plot much nearer to the castle.
These though were of the servants, the help, the anti of noble, at least in Kings' eyes.
He wasn't sure he saw it so easily, even if he was of the highest noble birth, the royal heir. These people that lay here had helped run the castle. They kept it clean, smelling fragrantly of finely cooked food, and made sure that all the rich lived in luxury.
There had to be importance to that, yes?
The ceremony was fully over. Only one remained, one who stumbled against a marker as she weakly came close to losing her footing.
He ran, raced even with a leg that two weeks ago had been harshly fractured. His boots thundered over the uneven dirt land of the forest understory. His chainmail whipped against his back, his red tunic just fractionally visible underneath. His golden strands of hair lifted more from his motion than the slight wind, too warm to carry far. The day had little breezes, stagnantly humid with thin dirty clouds of only one purpose, trapping the heat closer to the bruised earth.
In seconds he was at her side, his hand roughly, protectively, clasping her arm.
She was stunned by the suddenness of it. After all had left, even Merlin, she had quietly stayed. It had been a simple service, tended to by only one priest, the most vital prayers already having been bestowed that awful night.
This had been the last send off, the final goodbye to all their dear friends, those they had worked alongside. Twenty three servants had perished that night, twenty three lives lost, twenty three souls floating above them now.
She had been kneeling at the grave of the woman who so kindly greeted her those first days, who boisterously welcomed her to the fold of Camelot's crew of help.
Weak from emotion as much as physical strength only beginning to return, she leaned against the hand that held at her now.
Sweet Lancelot had been with her since this all started. He was so dear.
"Lance-
He held firmer at her arm, brought his face into her view, a half scowl lining his flat unsatisfied mouth. That name grated on his patience. The man had another home after all, didn't he?
It was the eyes. The only thing necessitated. Brighter blue than the murky skies above, but piercing with unhappiness.
"Milord?"
He felt a rare excitement in his heart at finally the voice he had begged to whisper to his ear that horrific night, elicited…his name, even if by protocol. This was the woman who should have been at his side when the earth began rumbling. These ringlets of ebony should have been against his chest as he comforted. These small thicker fingers should have been clasped into his longer ones.
She looked up to see a glimmering spark in his eyes before it faded. It was so odd now to be against him, wonderfully odd. Since that night, she had only seen him in passing a few times, amongst royal beings who would allow no intimacy.
Her voice, but that awful protocol. He just wanted to hear his name on the tip of her lips, his given one. He wanted all this distance to end and just…
Aw this horrible weather, for days now just unchanging clouded heat. It was like living in Purgatory.
The dizziness invaded now, as it sometimes since the fire still made her feel unsteady. Her arm had been solidly burned. It was in a wrapping splint. Her legs were days away from carrying her without bits of stumbling. Sometimes her breath shook just like the earth did.
His hold was fierce, perhaps just a bit too pressing. He seemed so insistent, so needing of something, and yet what did he expect her to give?
Lancelot's hold was often gentler.
Softer than this.
Arthur frowned heavily. It seemed she had nearly fallen again. This was wrong. He knew she was back at work already, his father not having given her the time that should be respected for recovery. She had to be so tired…
She shocked as he seemed to be lowering one hand, finding the backs of her legs. She protested at it right away, moving further so his fingers could only fall, rejected.
He grimaced at that. He never got the chance to hold her…not that night. Not now. She should have been in his arms!
She looked up to his watching eyes, the blue drills that hardened his pupils.
Protocol must never be forgotten.
She looked away, held at the skirts of her turquoise dress, started to bow just a fraction. He should be noticed for the royalty he was.
It satisfied him even less as he grabbed impatiently at her arm. Belatedly he realized his folly, her tiny cry deafening his ears.
Fiercely he let go, more furious with himself than anything.
Nothing felt right. The weather was too hot, too uncomfortable. Finding her at a gravesite, what could be more morbid? That splint on her arm was like a barrier, hissing don't touch. His body was heavily sweating under all the chainmail and double layered tunic. Trickles of his own existence irritating his unhappy skin.
She wasn't hurt too bad, his hand having left her arm fast enough, but there still was no peace.
The heat of the pushed away sun felt too much like dull flames. Heaven was lost.
Hell laughing with delight.
The air felt wrong, but as his distance remained, she noticed his own deepest injury perhaps.
She took a step forward, the soft patters of her shoes not at all hard enough to kill the encroaching weeds that were having their fun with the forest.
Strangling its native beauty.
She ran her fingers over his hand, the cuts from the shards of rock that had ripped through his skin that night.
It stilled him, made his flesh yearn more than feel any peace.
Ugly burning.
She thought how it had to have been painful for him.
And yet Merlin made plain he ignored it, more set on finding…
Her.
Only she had already been found.
Recalling a kiss now just hours ago against her lips, she let her fingers fall away.
Unhappily he sighed at their sudden unwelcome departure.
His skin screamed betrayal.
She thought of it, how he visited, unlike her…
Prince.
His kiss, Lancelot's, was warm and wanted and yet…
Something always managed to seep out.
Some trickle plagued.
The prince felt like he was bound by thorns placed there to force the bleeding. He wanted to apologize for his father's insistence that she return to her work earlier than she was ready. He wanted to tell her he thought it unfair. He wanted to be gentle like she needed. He wanted to confess he visited her that night, that he loved her and only her, that…
His lips needed hers. His body yearned for hers in unheavenly fires. His soul couldn't take any more of sugar's sweetness. He wanted to press against-
FIE
Nothing right came out of his mouth, only too polite platitudes of unimportant directionless conversation.
"I guess I missed the service."
Love's new dwelling snickered at how fear was reigning supreme, making anger easily just a trace behind.
His words startled, but only for a moment. There was no way he could have planned to attend. The service had been presented by the help, not meant for royalty. Lancelot had been there, before she gently sent him on his way, knowing he had work he had to tend to. Merlin had been there too of course, but…
Well Arthur was of a different world.
"You planned to come?"
He closed his eyes for one short moment. Her voice caressing his ears before the dry hot wind irritated, her voice filled with responsibility and gentleness. It was deeper than that of most women, and yet still a bird's most solemn song. It was unique. It was her.
He stumbled on his words, emotional, holding back, tied to some invisible barrier that laughed at his feebleness.
"No…I mean…well I wanted to see her. Pay my last respects to…
Adelaide."
His voice tremored unhappily with that name. She understood it well as the marker she had just kneeled to carried it. All the lives she grieved, but perhaps hers she grieved the most, alongside the too young Stella.
Making up her mind without even pondering it much, she reached for his hand, the cut one. She led him forward, pointed.
"This is Stella. She was only a few years older than me when I first started."
He listened heavily. She had more control than him often, but now her voice was growing more fragile by the second.
She asked him dully. "Do you know how many were lost Milord?"
Slowly he nodded. "Yes…23."
It warmed her heart just a fraction that he answered without question, knew the exact amount. She wondered idly if it was the same for the king. Probably not. She doubted her own life would have meant much to the man.
"She had only been here for days…Stella. I gave her my apron to wear so she wouldn't anger her mistress with a dirtied dress."
Arthur lifted his face to the murky skies, the harsh light of the battling sun. So white, so glaring that it pained his eyes. He couldn't look at her now though. Cowardly, he could only listen, knowing the help had suffered too horribly, guilty in that he hadn't reached her first.
Not a single noble had died in the quake, only the poor, only those who had the lowest, and yet possibly most important jobs.
Gwen went on, her voice raspy, struggling against emotion.
"Both dresses are ruined now though. They do not matter anymore.
Only the memories of those who…"
The words crumbled.
"Guinevere…"
A hoarse whisper, making her tremble. It was always only he who called her that regularly, he who turned it into something she never thought it could be, made it…
Beautiful.
She turned, dark eyes threatened by an emotion too smothering now. She could feel it all again, the flames, the agony of the deaths all around her, the…
As finally he lowered his own, his blue cutting through the midnight.
Quakes inside a body.
Tremoring through two.
The heat was still too strong. The wind was mercilessly gone one minute, whipping with hot smoldering shots of aggravation the next.
Nothing was going to be resolved, was it?
Not while love dwelled in hell anyway.
Still he pushed his hand out, lifted sweating fingers to her cheek, their wetness dripping like violations of hot wax over her unsettled skin.
She looked up, the blues leading her to only dizziness now. Weakly she leaned into him, needing some relief, some…
"Stella…Adelaide…
I just pray they weren't too…
Terrified."
That was it. All he needed. Nodding barely, he clasped the back of her falling head with greedy fingers, forcefully brought her face to his chest.
Peace was nowhere near to help. He could only feebly whisper it. Recalling how it felt that night, not being able to find her for too many cruel moments. That charcoaled kitchen taunting him that she was de-
His voice came out chilled, to the deepest fear.
"For one ugly sick moment…
I thought I'd lost-.
He couldn't go on. He felt as desperate as he had two weeks ago when screaming out her name and getting no heavenly answer. It was always in those sweating nightmares, that macabre kitchen scene, the lavender finally appearing…
Ravaged by flames.
Her…
Enflamed.
It made him shiver involuntarily.
She closed her eyes, pressed harder against the chainmail that trapped his tunic against his body. It scraped her vulnerable skin, but it was nothing like the flames that had torn at her flesh that night. Nothing could compete with that vile abuse.
Suddenly she felt the shaking of his body though, one sharp jolt.
She lifted her face a touch. His head was pressed hard against her shoulder, blocked. He wouldn't look at her. She gave it up, thinking maybe it was just a momentary false feeling.
His eyes stayed shut tight, tight enough to make his lids ache, but maybe that was just punishment. With ravage, his fingers moved into her ringlets, violently they held. He couldn't let her go, couldn't lessen his grip no matter how fierce it may be to her. Just…he needed her alive, breathing, speaking…just…don't let the dreams come true. Don't let my failure take you away from me. Please.
He wanted to dig deep inside her. Climb past every barrier of skin. Push away the earth, every intrusion of nature. He wanted to get to somewhere Lancelot would never reach. Possessively he wanted to hide her away somewhere with no finding, not even disaster. Keep her safe.
Keep her…
His.
All his touch was roughened, his royal skin scarred and hardened from battles of bloody proportions. There was nothing soft or gentle in him now, but there was little that was at peace in her anyway. Her dreams were often stained lately. She finally understood what her mistress had suffered through, for since the fire, her nights were restless, her sleep plagued by groans of the dying, by the feel of her own self enflamed.
He could feel it, how purgatory dwelled deep inside her, as too it slithered through his vitals. His lips needed some hydrating taste, something. He pressed them against her forehead. That night all her skin had been blackened, soiled by soot. It covered her from head to toe. He had wanted to grab her away from Lancelot, clean her with his own hands.
Heal her.
Vainly making himself into some saver, hero, when he knew viciously he was not even close to one that night. He should have fled that table, should have raced down the steps. Reached her first. Get his prize.
Sick to think that. But she was his…all his.
Had to be. He couldn't…couldn't bear her not being. Holding her was finally supposed to be salvation but he guilted at how roughly he was doing it. She wasn't close enough. The sun and wind were mocking them, causing the horrible sweat, making him want to be stripped down to nothing, and feel her the same.
Making…
Her head was lifting past his lips.
It made him frown as he realized it now, berating his stupidity, his selfishness. She had been pressed too hard against his chainmail. Scrapes lined her cheek. He reached out to tender them away. He had to find some calm, had to. He'd take care of her. He'd wipe away all those ugly scrapes. With gentle fingers he'd remove all her injury. He'd stop thinking about himself and start thinking about h-
"Arthur…Arthur…are you out here?"
The chainmail's scratches were nothing. Her skin could take it. She shuddered though at the voice. It was of a woman, a tall golden haired woman so perfectly matched for him.
He shuddered too, his heart literally rocking.
No. Not now. Go away. Hate me. I hate myself. Just leave us alone.
I know that has not an inch of gallantry.
I don't care.
I'm desperate.
I need her.
I need to be with her.
So just…
GO AWAY.
He refused to let go, held her even tighter, forgetting his promise of looking out for her first.
All what he wanted.
Guinevere frowned with misunderstanding.
What was he thinking? Why was he not letting her go?
"Come on." He pulled her even more against him, wanting to go to where the woods grew thicker, where they hid forbidden acts. He had no choice anyway. The calling of his name forced it.
It was the wrong voice again. It was the wrong woman's form. It was…
"Come with me Guinevere…away from here. Away from her. From them.
From everything."
She stared at him like he was insane. Where could his destination be? None would be far enough. He had duties and so did she. Always they were expected in their rightful place. Any person (other than the understanding Merlin and Gaius) seeing even a glimpse of their looks to each other would scream out treachery, would lead to her being shackled for the most heinous crime…
He kept insisting, before seeing it, the fear in her eyes as some unpleasant thought formed. It made him want it even more. There was no Lancelot now, only him, the man who was meant to be with her. He didn't care if that sounded viciously possessive. It was how he felt, feverishly dominant. She was his…
All his…
"Arthur…are you there?"
His hands pulled forcibly, but in his eyes was the pleads of a beggar, desperately insisting. He knew now he would fall to his knees if needed. He would kiss her fingertips til they were fully drenched in his love. He would do anything, lay down upon a blade, just, hell was too close. All this pretending was the most vile existence. He hated it. He needed…needed…
"Please Guinevere…"
His throat choked. His eyes filled with terror that she would say no.
And the earth rocked.
Unholy.
In his ravaged face she saw the unhidden ache, raw, exposed to her fully. It matched her own. The earth began to shake, just one tiny jolt, but enough to make her rush to his arms, to need his hold. To not care what was expected, what the protocol was, what the…
To whisper…
Even as hell snickered.
I'm not done.
Even as love scraped at the burning fire tongued walls with no hint of success.
"Yes."
III
To be continued…
Thanks for reading/feedback adored.
Author's note: This was supposed to be the last part, but I actually have more written past this including the details of the fire. I just can't rush this middle section of the story so please bear with me as I continue with it. A good thing, my writing vibe is totally there and it's flowing pretty fast, plus I do have some written past what I posted here, just needs heavy editing. I love writing this story, how it's evolved to more than I even planned, and I hope you are equally enjoying it.
Next time: more Arthur/Gwen definitely (I know I left you with a cliff-hanger here, it will be followed through), but Lancelot and Ysmay too…and of course…hee…Merlin
Oh and yes I made up some words/changed the context. It's a little thing I do when I write sometimes/try to keep it down though to not make it interfere with the flow.