Cured
By TheAlmightySun
Chapter eleven
_____
King Uther was pacing the meeting hall.
He had never been more furious in his life.
In a few days would be his son's twenty-third birthday.
Hundreds of guests have been invited, a feast has been prepared, and a warrior competition was scheduled, as was a ball. It was the largest celebration Camelot has seen in years. The most expensive. The most stunning. The most planned.
And the crown prince was missing.
Uther didn't know what to do with him. It was one thing to insult one of the most respected scientists in the world, never mind him, the king. He could even forgive those ridiculous comments about sorcerers being good. He could even forgive the empty sit by his side for the past two days.
But if that boy didn't turn up by tomorrow, he'll throw him in the dungeons and lock the door behind.
"My lord?"
Uther turned, eager for news. Then his face fell.
"Gaius. I see you've returned from your trip."
The old man nodded, and entered. He closed the doors securely behind him, facing the king severely, his eyes intent.
"My lord. I must speak with you about the cure Amaroe has provided you with."
"Ah, the cure," The king said, turning away from his old physician. "Possibly the only good thing to happen in the last couple weeks. It is quite phenomenal, isn't it?"
Gaius did not answer. The king sat contentedly at his throne, giving the old man a questioning look.
"Isn't it?"
"You know my opinion, sire."
Uther grunted in amusement. "Yes. I do. I assumed they changed, after such a mind blowing success."
"You cannot possibly call this disaster a success, my lord," Gaius said, swallowing his anger.
The king's eyebrows rose. "'Disaster', you say? In what way? The streets are at long last magic free, and my kingdom is under no threat. There will be no more executions. No more people have to die because- what have you called it? Their birth."
"They're not dead yet," Gaius said, trying to keep his voice level. "Just imprisoned. And not just in your dungeons, my king, also within themselves- in a prison they will never escape!"
"I think imprisonment victors against death, Gaius," The king said, a tad belittling. "You cannot blame me, or Amaroe, for their inability to handle being cured of the contamination that has been darkening their souls for so many years. Normal men can handle the lack of magic- and if they can't, that is merely because they're too polluted, tainted, to do so."
"You are largely mistaken if you believe all the… cure does is make sorcerers non-magical," Gaius said gravely, looking at the king defiantly. "Their magic is still there, just locked away from them, so that they cannot reach it. Imagine not reaching a part of yourself, my lord. Imagine being locked out of your own self."
Uther brushed him off with a lazy wave. "Please stop with these ridiculous theories, Gaius. Both you and I know you'd disagree with anything I do to demolish sorcery. You don't want to kill them, and now you don't want to keep them alive. I'm truly at a loss as to what you would find acceptable-"
"I must remind you, my lord," The old man cut him off. The king fell silent, his previously easygoing face turning furious. He was not used to being cut off. "If you remember what had occurred only sixteen years ago-"
"Of course I remember," the king hissed, standing up in a fury. He marched down to the window, gazing out. "There's no need for reminding, Gaius. It has nothing to do with anything."
"The young woman you loved. The one that carried your child within her- the one that died because you could not accept the child's magic-"
"Stop!"
"You must realize, my lord, that your views of magic are becoming more and more radical, more and more dangerous to the kingdom! She was just a girl, and she died because of your hate for sorcery. Would you now execute your own son, who was born out of magic!?"
"Gaius, if you do not cease this instant, I will-"
"If you distribute the cure among all the people of the kingdom, you will never be able to bear the consequences. Exactly as you couldn't bear the consequences of the death of Arthur's mother. Or the death of servant girl you had locked up in the dungeons, pregnant with your own-"
"Guards!"
Gaius fell silent, breathing hard. The doors opened behind him, and two knights entered.
"Escort Gaius back to his lodgings," King Uther commanded, his face ablaze. "And make sure he stays there."
The two men bowed, and reached for Gaius's hands. He brushed them off, giving the king one last mournful look.
"You keep repeating the same mistakes, my lord."
The king turned his head back to the window, where the sun was shining with all its might.
"This was all you idea, to began with," He muttered, as the knights escorted the old man out.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Merlin's head was underwater.
He couldn't breathe, but he struggled, anyway. Hands held him down tightly, drowning him, keeping his nose and mouth under the surface. He pushed against them wildly, his lungs screaming for air, his battered body tortured to the point of exhaustion. What hadn't they done to him?
They've taken off the chains, pulled him roughly out of the chair, used their bare fists and heavy boots to smash and pound at his body, had cut into his flesh with large sharp knives, and burned his skin with coals. Merlin could feel every inch of his body, every cell, every molecule. His throat was utterly raw from screaming, and his left hand, where all five fingers had been shattered, was all he could think about.
His head was spinning from lack of oxygen. He kept gulping down water, trying to breathe, shaking and fighting against the men taking his life. He had no energy left. He couldn't keep fighting for long.
He didn't know how long he'd been there, locked in the cell with the two giants. A few hours? A few days?
Everything became cloudy. Merlin saw the bubbles escaping from his tightly shut mouth, and felt the water settle down around his head as his shoulders stopped moving. He blinked slowly into the scorching cold water, thinking of his mother, and Gaius, and the prince for whom he was dying, the one who loved calling him an idiot eight to nine times a day…
Just as his vision turned black and the last scraps of air escaped his bloodied lips, they pulled him out, dropping him brutally on the stone floor, gasping, chocking and spitting up blood and water. Merlin couldn't make himself open his eyes, or turn around, or move. He lay as they left him, broken and shivering.
A shoe stepped loudly right in front of his face.
Merlin coughed out more blood, his lungs sucking air violently. He was shaking. Amaroe leaned down next to his head, smiling.
He hated that smile.
"So, what do we say now, sorcerer?" The man asked. Merlin heard his voice as if from far away, and it did not fit the movement of his lips. He could no longer feel his body. He could no longer feel anything. "Are you going to help me?"
Anything, but hate.
Amaroe's too-light eyes stared at him expectantly.
Merlin swallowed, and, wrestling against his screaming muscles, shook his head.
"No," Amaroe repeated, looking even more excited. "That's too bad."
He straightened, pulling something out of his coat. Merlin tried to push himself away, but his arms weren't responding. He lay, motionless, as the older man leaned back down, a green bottle held loosely in his fingers.
"Right, then," He said, unscrewing the top.
Merlin could do nothing as Amaroe raised his head slightly. He was blinded by the pain. Amaroe poured some of the liquid into Merlin's mouth, and Merlin couldn't find the strength to spit it out.
"Alright then, boys," Amaroe said, putting Merlin's head down gently on the floor. Merlin shuddered, and the act made his agony triple. "Let's let him think it over for a while."
They headed after him, out the door. Amaroe turned to Merlin, and smiled.
"You may just change your mind," He said happily, and locked the door behind.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Atora sat between her parents, staring at the fighting warriors clashing swords below.
They were dressed in the usual red-rimmed silver armors, their heads fully hidden from view. They had fancy names, and long, stretching titles. Their muscles were well trained and steal strong, their smiles smug and certain. She held a conversation with one of them once. It involved many different variations of the word 'uh'.
It was nearing noon, and the sun was at its highest. All around her people sat and cheered, laughing and joking with each other. Her mother was having the most fascinating discussion with the queen of some kingdom Atora should have probably known the name of, about useless maids that folded cloths wrong. Her father was still, dark and brooding as usual. Atora had no memories of him being any other way.
And she was bored to tears.
She didn't see the point. She really didn't. She'd been watching these useless competitions for years, ever since she could remember herself, and found them overall very noisy. It got a little exciting when someone started to bleed, but that didn't happen too often. The competitors didn't really want to hurt each other. They only wanted to win.
As she was staring out at the sky, watching the clouds collect in threatening clusters, thoughts made their own clusters in her mind. Thoughts she never told anyone. Thoughts she kept to herself.
She was so young when she left, what, three years ago now? Seventeen. Seventeen years old with carefully manicured nails and perfect hair. She always wore the best silks. She always smelled of the best perfume.
It all made her gag.
It wasn't the perfume. It wasn't the gowns. It wasn't even her father.
She was trapped.
Like a captive animal, well trained to jump and bark on cue, waiting out the days until it died. Every day was the same. Smile. Say please. Say thank you. Complement the right people, disregard others. Stand straight. Chew slowly. Cross you legs when you sat.
Seventeen was the age of marriage. She was the only daughter of Zorath's aging prince. They brought forth men of the right blood, the right families. Handsome and ugly, young and old.
She wanted to run in the fields and ride horses. She wanted to let her skin soak in the sun and let the sounds of the forest engulf her. To walk barefoot in the grass and watch young birds as they learned to fly.
She didn't want to get married. She didn't want to paint her face with makeup and sprain her ribs with corsets. She didn't want to lock her unruly hair into tight fitting bens. She didn't want to stay in doors and wear gloves and use umbrellas against the sun.
And she told them that she didn't.
She told him.
And when he locked her in her chambers, her body red and blue from his strokes, she smashed the vaulted window open, climbed down the tree that grew beneath her rooms, and ran.
Bleeding, hurting, limping, she ran, tears sliding down her face, washing away her makeup. She circled around the castle, passing the bridge over the river and entered the wild woods. She'd never gone there before, but she couldn't turn back. Owls and wolves and other creatures howled at her as she passed, and she ran faster- faster and faster until her bare feet turned bloody and her skirts had ripped beyond repair. Her throat was dry and her face was wet, and the whipping winds and the roaring rain that had started mellowed the sobs. Lighting stroke and she screamed, falling to the soggy ground, shivering with cold and fear and loneliness. She was lost and alone. She couldn't go back, but where else could she go?
There was a roar of thunder.
Atora glanced up, snapping out of her dreams. Her father was standing besides her, staring, wide eyed, at the sky.
It was no thunder.
It was a dragon's growl.
For anyone wondering, Merlin CAN use his magic now, since Amaroe gave him that first potion that 'woke' him up, and that was the antidote Gaius told Lancelot about earlier.
(Suzie- sorry. :-) )
About Atora and her father: Atora's father is the older twin brother of the king of Zorath (King Boro), which is a kingdom that has been in good term with Camelot for a while. He's a prince because he's the son of a king. There is no blood relation between Atora and Arthur! (Though that wouldn't have stopped her father...)
Anyway... the next update might take a little longer, since, well, I've got some school stuff going on (and on, and on, and on...) I'll try to get it in by Saturday as usual, but I can't promise anything!
By the way... if anyone notices Merlin's injuries being a little too... ah, medically inaccurate, let me know! I don't know much about that, but I'd like to stay realistic (as realistic as one can playing around with magical characters in medieval times).
What did you think? (Has anyone noticed that there are 121 reviews?!!?!!!!! God! Thank you!!)