The Curious Case of the Magic Mistletoe
Chapter Eight – The Pain of the Chosen
Merlin's POV
The scratch of the quill against parchment was the only sound in the King's Chambers, apart from the occasional grunt when Merlin accidently caught his finger with the needle, which he was proud to say didn't happen that often anymore, compared to when he first had to darn the Prat's shirts. Truth be told, the darning wasn't that urgent and he could easily do it at night with his Magic whilst he slept, utilising the time better spent by helping with the preparations for the Yuletide Banquet.
However, keeping an eye on Arthur was.
It hadn't passed his - admittedly sometimes wandering - notice that Arthur had been feeling… off for the last few days, with the mysterious illness steadily deteriorating. Course, the Idiot King wouldn't admit it to him, (Merlin had inquired about his health a number of times, each time being refused) but the Warlock could tell.
It was in the little things, like how his handwriting had become a little shaky, or after every ten breaths Arthur would breathe out quickly, before steadily slowing his breathing again, over exaggerating the movement to appear to be normal. Like how sometimes, when he forgot that his Manservant was in the room, he held one hand to his heart and winced, letting the full amount of pain that he was showing on his face.
It broke Merlin a little, when that happened. To see his destiny in such agony, with his magic being of little help.
And so in the quiet moments when the quill faltered, Merlin would start up a monologue about anything and everything, his intent to distract the King from the pain he was obviously feeling. It was concerning that one rant about Arthur's weight had gone on for a good five minutes before the King had noticed. Just then, the quill scratching stopped and all was silent. After reaching thirty seconds with no moment and gazing out of the corner of his eye to find Arthur half hunched over the table, Merlin finally had enough.
"This is getting ridiculous Arthur," The Manservant said decisively, casting away the sock that was more hole than material and standing up. "It's clear that you're in pain."
"No I'm not," Arthur replied stubbornly, immediately sitting upright and picking up his quill returning to whatever boring document he had to read through and sign.
"Yes you are," Merlin retorted, annoyed that the Prat attempted and failed miserably to lie to him.
"It's just stomach ache," Arthur grunted in reply, attempting to wrangle his features back to normalcy. It just made his lips twisted in an ugly grimace, and his brow knotted.
"My buttock it's just stomach ache."
"Why you have very nice buttocks, Merlin. Really they're your only redeeming feature."
Merlin levelled a glare at the King. "A compliment, really? And you still believe you're fighting fit?"
Arthur was silent for a moment. "I would greatly appreciate a glass of water. Cold water. Drawn straight from the well."
It was said painstakingly slowly, though whether that was in response to what he was actually feeling or the fact that he was having to swallow his pride as he practically begged Merlin for the beverage, the Manservant did not know.
"Your Pratness." Merlin bowed, and left.
Guinevere's POV
For the first time in what felt like months, but in reality had only been just shy of a fortnight, Guinevere woke up in her own bed feeling refreshed and invigorated after receiving a good's night sleep. She shot up, humming to herself as she readied herself for the day ahead. Popping her head out the door, she saw that she had awoken early – alerted to the fact by the sun not even managing to dawn over the flat little lane that her house stood by. Closing the windows behind her as she retreated back into the warmth of her home, she heard a crunch and looking down, beheld a little knot of crocus' with a base of clay.
In my travels, I learned of the struggles of flowers that bloom in winter; of the crushing cold, and the unrelenting harsh environment. To be determined to bloom despite these difficulties in order to bless the world with their beauty, in the awareness that they may never feel the sun's warm embrace, shows true character. The knowledge makes their hues more breathtaking, their strength astounding, and their delicacy amazing beyond belief.
We all need to learn from the flowers of winter, save those who already are one,
Lancelot
She picked up the flowers, picking off the broken clay. They were only slightly crushed underfoot, and with a wee drop of water, would continue to bloom for a while yet. She smiled.
Today, she was determined to get all of her chores done.
When Guinevere spied Merlin for the first time that day, she moved quickly, determined not to lose her chance to speak and apologise to her favourite Manservant. She pushed her way through the little gathering that taken place, all of whom were staring up at the ceiling and muttering, leaving people flinching with pain due to being in close proximity with her.
"Merlin!" She called, but to her frustration, he didn't seem to hear over the mutterings of their fellow servants, instead striding on ahead down the corridor.
She stumbled as she exited the crowd, hearing the person whose foot she had tripped over behind her hiss with pain from touching one Chosen, the mistletoe's enacting its anger at the other who was not her Soul Mate coming into close contact. She didn't bother shouting again and instead ran the slightly emptier corridor, for once thankful that she had been Chosen – the Servants and Nobles that were there immediately stood to the side, not wanting to risk being zapped by Magic.
Turning the corner, almost colliding into a stone statue, she spied a head of ebony half way down the passageway that was miraculously clear save for the two of them.
"Merlin," She huffed, "wait!"
Finally, he seemed to hear her, and he spun around, smiling when he saw her. She slowed down to a walk at his acknowledgement, but was still slightly out of breath by the time she caught up with him. Yet she was still grateful that he had stopped; for the rudeness in which she had treated him yesterday crystal clear in her mind. Her stomach dropped at the reminder: how could he smile at her when she had behaved so appallingly?
"Gwen!" He beamed at her. Despite herself, she smiled; his mere presence able to elevate her mood.
"Merlin." She breathed in a sigh of relief. "I've been chasing after you for ages! I never knew you had such long legs – honestly if I wasn't Chosen there's no way I would have been able to catch up with you."
Merlin snapped to attention, his eyes gleaming with an unidentifiable emotion. "Chosen -?" He trailed off.
She bobbed her head slightly. "Yes. I know now."
Merlin relaxed, tension which she hadn't even realised he had apparently been carrying dissipating, though not completely.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you when I figured it out. I didn't think you wanted to hear it. And then, when I tried to explain –"
"I know, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did – you were in the right and I the wrong. It's understandable that you didn't want to come near me when it would have and does bring you pain. I apologise most perversely."
He eyed her warily. The action saddened her: it did not fit well with the Manservant, one who was renowned throughout Camelot for being so open and friendly. Yet due to losing her temper and admonishing him for something that wasn't even his fault, he felt trepidation towards her – the first friend he made in the city.
She continued on thoughtfully, in a bid to break the remaining tension between them. She so wanted things to go back to normal between them; she relied upon Merlin like no other. He was her confident, her best friend. "I suppose, I also accept it. It would be selfish of me not to, would it not? I should be honoured to have been Chosen to love and be loved in return."
Merlin finally breathed, relaxing completely. He smiled, the joy and kindness in it blinding. "Yes, you should be."
Gwen smiled in return, and savoured the moment that their friendship was knitted back together, that all was well between them. She noticed the Manservant holding a jug full of water, an ice cube of two bobbing around within.
"For Arthur?" She asked.
"For Arthur." He confirmed, voice wavering slightly. She didn't acknowledge the hesitation and the cause for it, instead choosing to barrel on.
"Well, I need to go anyway. Elsa's waiting for me in the kitchen."
She turned away, intent on completing the rest of the day whilst she was still in a good mood.
"Gwen," Merlin called when she had taken a few steps away from him.
She half turned. "Yes Merlin?"
"I truly am sorry." The Manservant was uncannily serious, his face graced with a sombre expression. "Even though - I've told the others to stop spreading the rumours and to leave you alone. They should let you live in peace now."
Guinevere's breath caught in her throat as he finished speaking, tears beginning to collect in her eyes. It was clear that Merlin was being sincere and it meant so much to her – in order to have gone to the effort of topping the rumour mill for her in order to make her happy, even when they had been fighting, meant that he had still cared.
"Oh Merlin," She breathed, and overcome with gratitude, she rushed forward to smother him in a hug.
But to her surprise, the Manservant stepped back, away from her. Her face froze in confusion, and she knew that he had noted the crestfallen gaze in her eyes that she tried to hide from him.
"As much as I would love to hug you," He said gently, a sad smile touching the corner of his eyes, "I can't. The enchantment, remember?"
Of course. The stupid Chosen enchantment that prevented any female or males to be able to touch her unless they were her Soul Mate–
Gwen's eyes widened in realisation and her mouth dropped open slightly as her thoughts moved sluggishly, still stunned by what she had inadvertently revealed.
"Gwen?"
"I- I'm sorry Merlin. I need to go. I need –"
Without being able to complete her sentence, Guinevere span on her heel and ran off down the corridor, towards her future.
Towards him.
The Servant knocked frantically on the door, her heart beating wildly in her chest, so loud that she could barely hear her knuckles rapping on the wood, or the slight squeal from the metal hinges as the door opened.
Lancelot stood before her, clad in only breeches and nothing else. Immediately, her cheeks flooded pink, and her lips parted as she drank in the sight before her.
"Guinevere? Is anything alright?"
She tore herself away from the vision that was her chest to look towards his face. "I – I think so. May I come in?"
He smiled. "What Gentleman would refuse?"
He bowed courteously and opened the door wider to let her walk through, his left hand flowing out to direct her in. Straightening up after she had entered, he moved to shut the door, and judging by the stiffening of the shoulders, Lancelot had seemingly remembered that he was naked from the waist off. He quickly moved to stride across the room, grabbing a newly cleaned pristine white shirt that had been laid out on the bed and donned it.
"Apologies for my lack of decorum," The Knight said hastily over his shoulder.
Guinevere took a step towards him.
Lancelot turned around, a smile on his face. "So what is it I can do for you, my lady?"
He was still buttoning up his shirt as he spoke, but as she took another step forward, he stilled eyes instantly alert, yet drinking her in at the same time. She laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Guinevere?" His voice was hoarse, rough.
"Some might say I am cursed. Others, say I am blessed. I have been Chosen whether I like it or not, and it is my burden to bear. These past days, I have felt so alone..."
Her voice was quiet, measured. Underneath her hand, she could feel his muscles tensing and relaxing in an unpredictable cycle.
"You saved me. You touched me. You embraced me." She whispered.
"I will always embrace you."
Guinevere tilted her head back, and honey met gold, their eyes locked in a tight embrace. Lancelot leant down, their breath mingling.
And then the world ended.
Merlin's POV
"I've got the water you asked for," Merlin announced, barrelling straight into the King's Chambers without bothering to knock.
"I'm so glad that in all your years of service, you still remain the rude incompetent idiot who ignores etiquette." Arthur grunted.
"Who says incompetent?" Merlin asked when he reached the Prat, pouring the water into a goblet he had snatched on the way past and setting it in front of the King. He waited eagerly, hovering over the other man's shoulder as he stared unimpressed at the beverage.
"It's water."
"It's icy water," Merlin countered proudly, tipping the goblet slightly so the ice cubes broke the service. Arthur half twisted in his seat to gaze up at him.
"Well I must say this is a –ARGH!"
The King jolted back into his chair before shooting forward, his flailing limbs knocking over the goblet and the jug as they flew to his chest, cradling it. Merlin gaped for a moment, and then leapt into action.
"That's a bit of an overreaction, isn't it sire?"
Arthur didn't answer; the only sound he made was the air whooshing in and out of the small gap in-between his clenched teeth.
"Arthur? Where does it hurt?"
"My. Chest."
Gently, Merlin lifted up the King's head, checking the pupils, whilst simultaneously reading the man's pulse. It was irregularly racing – no wonder the man had been panting throughout the day. It was like he had ran a marathon.
"I thought you said it was your stomach? Don't you know your basic anatomy?"
"I know you're a clot pole," Arthur ground out, glaring at the Manservant as he examined his torso. "Look there's nothing there – nothing wrong!" He continued, whacking Merlin out of the way before quickly returning to his position of being a ball. "Just in pain. Get potion from Gaius."
"Only if you move to the bed."
"Fine."
"Gaius. Gaius? I need painkillers for Arthur – now. He's on the bed – or at least he should be by the time I get back – but it's serious. I don't know what's wrong with him. He's not been poisoned, or stabbed, and I couldn't detect any magic – huh."
The Physicians Chambers were empty. Curious. Usually Gaius was in this time of day – Merlin had already made the Castle rounds, and the Lower Town inspection was tomorrow, not today. Still, perhaps there had been a medical emergency – Lillian was due to give birth any day now, and Gaius had projected that it had the potential to be a difficult birth due to some complications she had suffered whilst being tortured under Morgana's (thankfully short lived) reign years prior. Quickly shrugging off the unusually disappearance, he headed straight over t the medical cabinet and shelves, quickly rooting through the tiny bottles to find the pain numbing potion he was looking for.
After a few fruitless minutes of searching, Merlin stole one last glance around the room to check there was definitely nobody else there, before letting his eyes glow gold. Immediately, two little vials came bobbing out of the cabinet and with a flick of his eyes they emptied themselves out into the mixing bowl.
"Gebíegan hearm!"
The mixture bubbled forest green, but as the bubbles popped, the concoction gradually darkened, till eventually after a few seconds had passed the colour closely resembled royal blue.
"Perfect," He muttered to himself, transferring the potion back into a vial and magically sealing it. With his track record, he'll have dropped it five times by the time he reaches his King.
Moving towards the door, he nearly lost his hand when flung open, Gaius storming in and instructing the two guards to place the body on the Physician's bed, a woman trailing after.
"Gaius – what's this?"
"Merlin pass me the aconite, will you? And Gwen, the mortar, we'll need to ground it up."
"Gwen? Who is – how is – Lancelot?" He had taken a few short steps towards the body in an effort to find out who the patient was. "What's happening?!"
"It was me!" Gwen was tearful as she stood in front of the Manservant, wringing her hands. "I thought I had figured it out, but then he collapsed and his heart stopped and now I don't know –"
She cut herself off and hurried to get the mortar when Gaius said warningly; "You two can catch up later."
Merlin grabbed the aconite from the drawer next to him and hurried forward. The Knight seemed dead – or close to it anyway. He bent forward, giving Gaius a muttered "sorry" as apology, and moved to check the pupils and his pulse. Bending down over the fallen Knight to monitor his breathing, it hesitated silently, and then Lancelot spoke.
"Are you quite finished?"
"Somebody else has the same symptoms. I need to go back."
Merlin pushed away from the group and ran to the door.
"Who? Who has the same symptoms?" Gaius shouted.
"The King!" Merlin yelled.
As he sprinted through the corridors, the sinking feeling in his stomach grew stronger as Lancelot's words repeated themselves in his mind. Combined with Guinevere's state as of late, and Arthur's reaction, there was only one reasonable conclusion.
"I only wanted – I wanted to feel the sun's warm embrace. One last time."
Oh Lancelot. What have you done, my friend?
