Banana Split Cake
Rehabilitation was hard on Bedivere, that much every one of them could see.
It was a poor twist of fate that such a tragedy would befall the same person twice.
The first few days were the worst; he would refuse to speak to any of them, preferring to stay in his hospital room. Guinevere and Galahad had fallen asleep many a times on the chairs outside, sick with worry. Kay was a spring coil; filled with tension to the brim. Gawain was not much better, walking restlessly up and down in the hallway. Tristan spoke often with his sister, who worked as a nurse in another hospital, informing himself with as much knowledge as he could.
Ector, Percival and Mordred were in the main hall, reading through some of the brochures about rehabilitation. Lancelot and Bors visited Andre and Elizabeth, once, before they were transferred to another hospital that specialized in Ophthalmology.
Artoria and Merlin glanced at each other, unspoken messages between them, the former's face marred with guilt.
In later weeks, he would barely speak to the therapists and psychologists.
Artoria would not watch it any longer.
"Bedivere."
Pale blonde hair waved around, and green-grey eyes looked up. "Yes?"
She sat down on the edge of his bed, willing herself to keep a reasonably gentle yet neutral face. She took care not to even glance in the direction of his Hand.
Instead, she took a look at his unruly hair, and began combing through it, softly.
"I know this must be hard on you, my dear knight," her voice was low, soothing, and Bedivere found himself leaning into her fingers with alarming ease. "But know that everyone wishes to help you – the staff as well."
He stayed silent for a short while, knowing what she wished to convey – he wasn't working together well with his therapists. He didn't really know how to voice his thoughts- starting to speak, before stopping himself; time passed in silence between them, and Bedivere found himself eternally glad that the one speaking to him was Artoria and not, say, Gawain or Lancelot. Or Guinevere – she was a great friend, but she had not experienced the horrors of the battlefield.
Still, none of them ever lost a limb.
With a shuddering breath he tried again. "They wish to help, but none of them understands what it feels like – this is the second time I've lost my hand."
Artoria straightened herself, tilting her head to the side, her hands never leaving Bedivere's hair. "I am aware that you are unable to voice that, but given the circumstances, should that not, how should I say... prepare you for what's to come? Was the first time not more..."
He sighed, nodding. "It was worse, yes - thank the heavens for modern medicine, but..." He clutched his stump tightly, "... can you imagine how it feels, having both arms, then suddenly having only one, because you sacrificed it valiantly to save the life of another? We lived in war times; a lost limb was something I was prepared for, eventually. And even after I'd lost it, Merlin and Mordred combined their magic and alchemy to make a proxy limb – modeled after the silver arm of Nuada, one of a kind. I could move it almost without restrictions or delay like my lost arm, even have some feeling."
Artoria listened intently, knowing what he was speaking about – it was the only time she had seen Merlin and Mordred work together in their old lives, for something that was truly as singular an existence as Excalibur or Galatine. It was his and his alone.
"And then, I was Benton, and then I was Bedivere again, with both hands and no war and – can you imagine the feeling of having something lost returned again?"
She remained silent, easing his hand away from the stump, still weaving through his hair with her other. His voice cracked, but he continued, still. "And then Laslow throws a party and invites me and Andre for whatever reason, and – it's gone. Again. No war, no danger, no actual reason why I should loose it, no magic to fix it."
The room was silent, once again, and Artoria finally understood the reason – why he felt so much more distraught than the first time. Their lives were idyllic, compared to war-torn Britain, and yet he lost his limb again, not to glory, but to a stupid accident. She choose her next word carefully.
"I think I see now, what you mean. Still; you should not blame yourself for something such as this. Live; even if life throws obstacles at you, overcome them. Bedivere, all of us are behind you – your Family this life as well. They are sick with worry, since you won't respond to any of their calls. Whatever happens, all of us will work together. You are no less a man, with or without a limb – you never were, you were and will always be Bedivere, my first and last knight."
Despite himself and her warming words, he had to snort. "All for one and one for all? Milord, we did not invent that. The Musketeers did."
She smiled herself, tugging playfully at his hair until gravity took hold of him and he fell into her embrace from behind. "We did not, sadly. Still, I hope that my point came across?"
He had to smile slightly, relishing this moment.
Alas, as everything, it had to end, and she looked slyly at him. "Because there is a very nice therapist waiting for you, with an assortment of different prostheses. And I doubt that you would want to let Mordred or Percival decide."
He looked up at her, somewhere between shock and amusement, and nodded.
19: Rainbow Cake Madness
What Merlin remembered of his early life was not much – dark alleys, the smell of alcohol and cigars, rodents of every size he could think of and the pungent smell of sweat and grime every time he saw his old man.
He had been born with a genetic mutation, which turned his dark hair into an unnatural white and which destroyed every color pigments in his eyes except the blue ones, which gave him purple-red eyes.
His father called him a demon.
His mother was a sweetheart, but was unable to do much for him; she worked in the red-light district and had started a year long – Merlin really couldn't call it anything else but affair, since the man was everything but friendly and nice. He wondered to this day what she saw in him.
Still, after he left, she resumed her earlier work. Sadly, prostitution didn't really work well if you had a little nursling with you, and they were forced to move out of his father's apartment, since his mother refused to give him up.
The owner of the local nightclub, Telma, took them in, but she herself had little in the form of extra money, since she took care of a few more girls (and guys). Merlin always had to stay at home when his mother was off somewhere, oftentimes only accompanied by Telma's cat, Louise.
Then, when he was six or seven, his memories came rushing back.
That evening he was alone once more, his head clutched in his hands, having fallen off the seat when it happened.
He was Merlin, one of the world's most powerful Mages – a Wizard.
And he was more than human. While being a sympathizer with humanity, and being attracted to the idea of humanity until it could be called a fanatic love, he was not a being of the third dimension. He was a dweller of the Otherside, a being that transcended human boundaries. It did not matter if his old mother was human herself, he was an Incubus, a honorary Fey. He fed on the love and positive emotions of the humans.
He lived in the fourth and fifth dimensions, alongside mythical creatures such as Fairies, Dragons or Demons. He saw more than the color spectrum of the everyday human, he saw the flow of magic in the people of the land and the echoes of old in the monuments of humanity. He sang with Naiads and drank with Dwarfs and learned magic from human mages and fairykin alike – he had the highest skill a magus of his time could earn, true Clairvoyance –
and all of that was being condensed, repressed into the shell of a mere mortal. As Merlin lay weeping in his bed, he wondered if that was how Artoria felt, when her dragon blood was roaring; like wearing armor too small and tight. Like suffocating on air.
It was horrendous.
Terrible
– it was so very human it hurt.
So, here we have another Bedivere and a look at Merlin's (not-so) bright past! There will be a chapter from an outsider tomorrow, and the day after that the final Bedivere 'arc' chapter. After that, I'll be gone for a week, so I thought it best to have them updated together istead of separately. I excuse myself for any wrong portrayal on Bedi's behalf, since I know nothing about prostheses or therapy. I hope you'll forgive me for the sake of storytelling.
Phew, anyways, onto the Reviews:
Cefaye: That is a very good idea, thanks for suggesting it :D
Knight of Steam: Well, the mafia part was inspired by my own Family, admittedly, without the mafia, obviously xD They once went all the way from Italy to Germany because one of my aunts had finally found a boyfriend. The poor woman was surprised as hell when a handful of men stood bevore her and said 'we'd like a Pizza, please' xD and everything is Happening in modern days, and as you can see what for a past Merlin had, he doesn't know that much about robotics.
Fireminer: The others are obviously helping him with the money. With the income the cafe has, they're better off than some other, unfortunate souls. Funny though, that you'd think that upon reading :)
CG-3m1y4: -Gwen bein Italian/British was established in chapter 2 I think. Lance and Galahad are French.
-Heh, fate or a particulary sadistic author, I guess xD I've always wondered how it would have been if Shirou summoned Bedivere instead of Saber. Somewhere along the line a guilt trip of epic proportions would have happened, especially with F/GO's Bedivere and Shirou's guilt over surviving the fire. Oh god, so much potential-! ;)
-Later, my friend, later. I want all of the Roundtable Members present in at least two-three chapters, and some cameos from others (like Ector)
Also, I know about that, the style is so cute 3 and the Food looks so good that my Family actually tried the salmon recipe (with some alterations) in the second chapter. With success! And it seems not all hope is lost for Saber in the kitchen! Nah, kidding xD it certainly is an Inspiration though
Happy Baking Everybody!