Author's note: After some delay, here's the next chapter. Thank you everyone who has read, reviewed and/or added this story to their alert lists!
Rabid plot bunnies have unfortunately attacked me again so despite my plans of this being my own WIP at the moment, I'll now write on two fics simultaneously. (They have nothing to do with one another though.) I hope I'll still be able to update and finish this - remind me please if I'm getting too lazy and aren't updating fast enough! Also please tell me if you find any errors; I want to improve as a writer and I can't do that entirely on my own.
Note (2012-09-07): Someone pointed out to me I'd used the word "niece" when I meant "nephew" - since I'm using "he/him/his" - I'm sorry for the error! I'm writing in my second language and thus errors can slip through. (I haven't got a beta yet so if anyone feels like they'd like to do that for me, I'd be very, very grateful; just PM me.)
()()()
I Am the Embers of You Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 10
()()()
Gaius is returning from delivering the King his medicine against the pain in his shoulder, the remains of an old wound, when a slightly – nay, truly irate Prince bursts into the library to inform him that he's found "his blasted idiot servant" hiding near the top of one of the towers, muttering about having to drag him down all the way. Before Gaius can inquire about any details however, the Prince has turned on his heel and left.
The physician pleasantly surprised when returning from his errands to find his ward in his chambers wrapped in a blanket, drowsing peacefully despite the morning light. To ease the pale light so that he might sleep properly – he certainly needs it - Gaius pulls shut the shutters over the windows and settles at the desk to read while waiting for the boy to wake. But he finds he cannot concentrate on the words before him.
No, his thoughts wander to more recent events medical journals from the last century.
His ward has been so quiet as of late. Perhaps it's the confinement to bed and the long monotone days of doing nothing; mostly he's not let the boy out of bed at all, and many hours of the day he's also been forced to be alone, as the physician runs errands and Gwen, who uses to visit, is working. But Gaius has a sense there's more to it.
The conversation last night, and Merlin's reactions, had truly concerned him. The boy had said he'd dreamt, seen Nimueh in those dreams, and through her he'd heard the name Emrys - but something about that story doesn't seem entirely right for Gaius to be suited with it.
For why would Nimueh contact Merlin in such a manner and speak that name? Why would she even poison him? He is just a peasant boy – though being the Prince's manservant, few of importance would bother to even remember his name if they ever met him and knowledge of his existence wouldn't be common outside Camelot – no one would know of him, and never suspect him of magic or the like – it just isn't logical.
Unless…
Gaius' mind reels at the thought. No … It cannot be!
But.
Merlin's panicked eyes, the fervent questions and need to know more … Piecing it together with the boy's strong affinity for magic – the gift so attached to the boy's very soul and so easily reached and bent by him, unlike anything Gaius has ever before seen – and his coming to Camelot and convenient meeting with Prince Arthur and saving his life; the pair's sudden attachment even though both refuse to admit it, how Merlin slowly has started to mold the Prince into the man he truly is, working through that thick arrogant façade …
If that is true, then all makes sudden sense.
The old man hesitates. There is none he can share these suspicions with. Such a thing is far too dangerous. Then what should he do?
Turn a blind eye, like he's so done so many times before?
()()()
At midday Merlin wakes from his nap, feeling more rested than he has for days or maybe even weeks, and he's comfortably warm.
The warlock sits up, stretching his arms; they don't feel as heavy now when he's slept but still they ache a bit, especially his left one, where the rash has been: there's an itch right below the skin that he can't quite reach. It's difficult to keep from scratching at it – Gaius has been threatening to tie him down if he doesn't leave it alone. The red mark hasn't faded completely yet.
His stomach growls for attention, so Merlin raises his head and looks about the room. His guardian is writing something by the desk, completely absorbed in his work. A plate is set next to the candle, filled with bread and venison and turnip. He's never set his eyes on anything more tempting. He swings his feet out from under the blankets, wincing at the chilly air's merciless attack on his bare legs; he really should've taken the time to find a pair of trousers before falling asleep … Ugh, it's cold. But he's hungry as well and the hunger is direr than anything else at the moment.
He's half-way to the table when a concerned voice stops him. "Merlin, wait."
Abruptly, Merlin freezes.
"There's blood on the sheets. Why is there blood? Are you hurt?"
Suddenly aware, the warlock breaks out in a cold sweat. That's why he felt so off last night, with the faint ache, he realizes, but it'd been so subtle. He should've known, should've recognized the signs!
Quietly he struggles not to be sick with fear, all thoughts of food forgotten. He doesn't want Gaius to know. Doesn't want to go through that again (he remembers clinging to his mother's skirts, her voice filled with disbelief, his own tear-filled eyes). He doesn't want to go through all that again; it would hurt so much, be so shameful.
"Merlin," Gaius voice is stern. "Speak to be in honesty. Have you been injured when I wasn't present?"
He can't – he doesn't want to tell but he hates spreading so many lies, it's difficult to lie straight up in Gaius' face. "No!"
"Lie down. Let me examine you."
"It's nothing. I swear, I'm fine."
He needs to get away. He inches toward the door, face burning. His mother had once told him not be ashamed, but how could he not be? How could he not want to run away and hide?
"Merlin!"
"Really, it's nothing."
Gaius grabs his wrist and the grip is surprisingly strong for such an old frail man. "You're a dreadful liar."
"Please, Gaius," Merlin says weakly, "it really isn't—"
The look sent his way silences him.
"Does it hurt anywhere?"
This time it actually doesn't hurt that much (usually the ache is a dull, persistent throb that his mother had said, trying to soothe him, would eventually get better and disappear but Merlin personally has his doubts) and he shakes his head, averting his gaze. All of these lies, one after the other - they leave a bitter gall in his mouth.
"Hmm. Strange. Take off your clothes."
For some reason he starts trembling. Or maybe he's been all the while but not noticed until now. He doesn't want Gaius to examine him like a – like a thing. Like it's wrong and needs to be examined and revealed. (People would think it wrong. But he's tried so hard to tell himself that it's not, the bubble is so delicate, so fragile that a single word or hand could easily break it.) He doesn't want his naked body to be looked at or touched or – or anything else now. Why can't Gaius understand that and leave him be?
"I'm fine," Merlin whispers. "I'm fine."
"Merlin, something clearly isn't right." His mentor's voice is softer now and the man pulls up a pallet to sit in front of him. He takes one of the quivering hands. "Merlin, I see you don't want to but it's important for me to know that you are fine. Did somebody hurt you? Did anyone … force you do things you didn't want?"
The warlock looks at him confused, then, realizing what he's implying, shakes his head violently. He has this weird urge to laugh. Gaius is all off and even if he did tell, he wouldn't understand! Nobody would.
He draws back his hand from the physician's gentle grip, quietly cursing himself for having so little self-control. "It's nothing like that. It's not a … a wound or injury. Please, just leave it. Please."
If he's not let out soon his magic will burst on its own accord, Merlin knows it's happened before when he's been upset like this.
"Merlin, I'm sorry but I cannot allow you to leave this room until I find out exactly what is wrong."
"But I can't!" Merlin yells. "Can't let you know. You don't understand. Don't understand." His breath hitches. He doesn't want to cry, not again, damn it! "Please, Gaius."
Maybe it's the desperation of his voice, or the anguished words, but the physician does stand and back away and lets him go. Merlin doesn't run out this time to the battlements or someplace else but up to his room, closing the door with a snap and curling up on the tiny cot. His face burns in fear and shame and his heart beats so fast.
He'd give anything right now to be back in Ealdor with his mother and Will.
()()()
Soft footsteps pad up to his door and he glances up when it opens, tendrils of candlelight falling upon the floorboards. He rubs furiously at his face but it still feels warm and red. Gaius places the candle on the upturned box next to the bed, serving as a table, and next to it, a steaming bowl and a piece of bread and cheese. Merlin eyes the food; he's not eaten anything solid for days but finds he has no real appetite now.
"I thought you might be hungry."
He takes the offered food and nibbles at it. It tastes sour now, but it's somewhat soothing as well, and the broth is warm on his throat.
The old man lets him eat in silence for a few minutes, before he begins to speak, and he used soft quiet tones and there's no rush, no stress in them. Not the same force as before. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I, no … yes," Merlin mumbles and swallows. He wants, but he's scared of what the reaction will be. "I - I'm not sure how." There are no right words to use, they all feel awkward and off but they're all he has. "It's complicated."
"I can deal with complicated," Gaius says, soothing him a bit.
"It started when I was little. Well, it's always…always been there. But I didn't notice until I was eleven, or twelve I think it was."
He tells him about the lake, and Will, and the blood. About rushing up to the cottage and throwing himself into his mother's arms in confusion. Gaius sits quiet and it's difficult to read his face, and Merlin looks away in embarrassment when retelling those painful moments and awkward memories. "She examined me," he says, "she knows a bit about medicine. Things that you taught her. But she was so worried and … She said she'd never seen anything like that before, that my – my body, it's different and I couldn't change that. She didn't know what to do." Suddenly tears spring his eyes, hot and salty. "I didn't know what to do."
He tells him about hiding in the house for days, about fearing it was magic and that people would find out. "If they did, they'd think it magic, they wouldn't understand. I think … I think I was always like this, but after that moment things just changed. I couldn't turn things back the way they were before." He tells him about trying to force away the difference with his magic, wordless and raw, but nothing had worked, it'd only hurt so badly, as if he'd tried to remove himself from the earth, and his mother had been so angry and worried and scolded him worse than she had in years.
Finally, he tells him about the secrecy, about being alone, that there was no one that truly understood and of how quiet his mother always was about it. Things she never wanted to tell him but he noticed. He tells him about growing up confused and uncertain and scared, with not only his magic but his body to hide too: this permanent, strange state of both and in-between. When he stops speaking, he's shaking, but there are no accusations from the old man.
"Am I a freak?" he whispers. Regardless of the truth, he needs to hear it. "Am I some kind of monster?"
Gaius grasps his shoulders and looks him in the eye, startling him. "Merlin, never think that."
The physician stays and lets him weep on his shoulder. In hindsight Merlin would feel rather pathetic, but right then and there it feels good to just cry and Gaius smells of old herbs and reminds him of home. It's safe.
"Arthur will require you tomorrow as I told him you ought to be well enough to do simple chores. Do you want me to tell him you're still too ill to work?"
For a moment, Merlin considers it, and then shakes his head. "No." He's not weak, and he doesn't want Arthur to think so. This morning – had it only been this morning? It feels so long ago, like a dream almost – had been so vague and he can't quite remember all the details. He wants to face Arthur and find out exactly what Arthur knows. His magic. "No," he says again, more firmly. "I want to work."
"All right. Eat up, and get some sleep. You need it." Gaius moves to stand, but Merlin stops him.
"…Thank you. For … for being here. For listening."
"I always will be. Don't think of it." The physician's tone is serious as he stands to put out the candles, albeit Merlin sees there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth right before the lights goes out and the room falls into darkness. But unlike before, this dark is warm and safe and it doesn't worry him. "Sleep, Merlin."
()()()
Next morning he leaves for work feeling exhilarated despite the recent ordeals. His heart is so much lighter. Because Gaius had listened and not condemned or judged. This morning the physician had promised to help him to hide his situation, and again reminded him that he could tell the old man an there's anything bothering him, like a worried parent – but then he is his uncle, and Merlin couldn't wish for a better one. Apart from his mother Gaius is the first person to know … and having someone knowing within Camelot's walls makes him actually feel a little safer, instead of uncertain which he'd feared: one of the reasons he'd hid it from Gaius until now.
He's only allowed to do simple chores; no heavy lifting, not too much running up and down the corridors and no mucking out the stables. Not that he's complaining about that. He's quite certain Gaius would've preferred to keep him abed for another week or two - maybe just to keep him out of trouble. But he's a servant and if he's gone too long, the Prince might just see it fit to sack him and hire some other, more sufficient servant; and they need the pay. Gaius might be court physician, but the pay he earns is meager, especially when to feed two people instead of one.
Something's changed, he notices when he goes down to the kitchens to fetch Arthur's breakfast. The way people look at him or address him. Before, a lot of servants had been downright rude; now though they're looking at him like in a new light. As if they've realized something.
One, a man in his mid-twenties that Merlin just vaguely recognizes as a stable hand, approaches him and apologizes for his previous behaviour toward him, and Merlin realizes with startling clarity it's all because of the poisoned goblet. Maybe they though his coming to Camelot and convenient saving of Arthur's life was a set-up or something, but the goblet couldn't possible have been – his barging in on the ceremony and having the Prince threatening him and still not listening to orders, drinking it anyway. And now he's slowly starting to gain the castle staff's trust.
Merlin feels oddly proud of himself, that he's achieved that.
"Maybe if I drunk some more poison then everyone'd like me," he muses aloud, eyes twinkling, when running into Gwen who's very happy to see him up and about again.
The maidservant stares at him in horror when hearing his words. "Merlin! Don't say things like that, that's terrible!" she admonishes.
He glances at her slightly apologetically. "I was only joking, Gwen."
"You shouldn't joke about it," Gwen tells him seriously. "You came close to –" she draws a shuddering breath. "Please don't frighten me anything like that again. I mean, us, Gaius too, not just me, and I'm sure a lot of people were very worried about you too, not just - me."
"I can't make promises like that," he answers but sighs, admitting that yes, she's right, it was stupid to say that. But he can't promise. If Arthur or Gwen or Gaius or anyone else near him got hurt and he could do something about it, he wouldn't hesitate.
The woman shakes her head as if continuing to mentally berate him. "You truly are odd, Merlin. Not in a bad way of course! It's amazing what you did … saving Arthur's life like that, so brave. And he broke the King's orders to save you. That's, that's unheard of, really."
It's the second time he's heard it, but it still sounds as astonishing. "Nobody's done it before? A nobleman saving a peasant, I mean," he asks curiously.
"Not really. Of course, the knights have saved many lives, but not directly like that, against his Majesty's will," Gwen says. "I can't linger anymore, lady Morgana expects me. But we'll see each other later, right?"
"Of course."
Now he has just to brace himself and get ready to face Arthur. There's no telling how grouchy he'll be, given the incident last night.
()()()
The Prince raises an eyebrow when Merlin pulls the curtains apart, letting strong white sunlight into the spacious chamber.
"Still alive then?"
"Just about," Merlin replies, quirking a grin. He moves on toward the wardrobe.
Arthur slides out of bed, stretching like a cat before seating himself by the table where breakfast is laid out. It's quite more lavish than usual, the Prince notices, even if he suspect that there was a second piece of honeyed bread that's disappeared down his servant's throat on the way here (it wouldn't surprise him the least).
"Any particular reason for this feast?" he asks and the servant turns toward him, pausing in the middle of placing the Prince's clothes for the day on the nearest chair.
"Look, I never got to thank you – for saving my life," Merlin says, edging the words, a bit hesitant. He's not exactly practiced this speech and Arthur is fully concentrated on him, as if he were a thirsty man drinking the words. "Last night was, um. Well, I wasn't thinking that clearly."
"So I noticed."
Merlin's voice is serious, eyes burning with sincerity. "Thank you, Arthur."
"Well," the Prince says and shrugs and starts digging into the bread. "A half-decent servant is hard to come by."
The words are casual but Merlin knows how difficult it is to wriggle out even the simplest emotional statement out of the Prince, so hearing him say that makes him feel oddly warm, the feeling growing from the bottom of his stomach and up.
There's no mention about magic or swirling lights, even if he catches Arthur looking at him strangely later that day, but the Prince doesn't speak up, and before Merlin can ask Arthur has looked away and given him a new list of orders.
()()()
As it turns out, Gaius has been spending almost the whole day down in the library. No one has asked why, since it's not an uncommon sight, but the physician has felt slightly on edge looking for information such as this. In the eyes of the King and many others, science has always lain dangerously close to magic, and Gaius isn't entirely sure if his niece's condition is one or the other, or a combination of both, or perhaps – an alarming thought – something else entirely.
"I have done some research," he responds when Merlin asks where he's been, the warlock coming home for dinner. "While I found something, I'm afraid the contents are very vague, and I am not sure how much truth lies within the words."
Merlin wants to hear it anyway, leaning over the table in anticipation, all attention focused on the physician as the old man opens the book he's brought. It's heavy and old and fragile, almost falling out it its binds. The food on the table is completely forgotten.
"This text is based on a myth told by the Greeks, an old people down in the south, far, far beyond Albion's coast," the physician begins. The warlock has never heard of that people or their land, and just nods. "The author himself describes the translation as quite loose and inexact to the original. But, mainly, it tells the story of a beautiful young man and a woman, a nymph, who fell in love with him; when he did not answer her love, she prayed to the gods that they make him and her one - of which she probably meant marriage. The prayer was answered and the two were joined, but not in the way the woman had intended: they became one being, with a combination of both sexes. Now, I am not sure how much truth and how much fairytale this is. Physically, the description their body and its functions match yours; but I do not think yours came to be the same way as theirs."
Merlin wrinkles his nose, a bit displeased with how little the story actually told. Prayers, nymphs, gods … He'd sent no prayer wishing to be in this body!
"No, I've always been like this," he says with a shake of his head. "My mother mentioned something once about seeing I was a bit different, when I was an infant; but she thought it was nothing – that'd it disappear when I grew up, or something … But then I got the bleedings, proving she was right suspecting it all along."
"I agree: you were born like this. Unless, of course, an enchantment or spell was put upon you when you were little. Did you ever meet any sorcerers before coming to Camelot?"
Merlin shakes his head. "Not … not really. Well, sometimes, years ago there'd be exile sorcerers passing through Ealdor. Just a handful of them. They did simple tricks, but my mother convinced me to stay away from them even though I was very curious ... There was one of them though, when I was eight. One of the sorcerers who'd come for the Beltane feast acted … really odd around me, like he sensed my magic. Kind of skittish, actually. But I never spoke to him and surely I'd have noticed if he or someone else put a spell on me!"
The physician looks intrigued. "I have heard of such a skill – the ability to sense magic. It's rather common among druids. Can you do it?"
"Yeah. Sometimes, with some people - others are like blurred as if they're hiding it some way. But," Merlin says, returning the conversation to the original subject, "I can't imagine why he or any other sorcerer would have reason to … to do this to me!"
"Hm. I must say I agree. None of these sorcerers stayed for a longer period of time in Ealdor?"
"No. They all left shortly after arriving, to avoid detection by soldiers and witchhunters, and in total there weren't more than five I think. Although …" His voice stills for a moment, as he remembers the smell of ashes.
"There was a woman, Annie, living a few houses down the road from ours. But I doubt she could've done this to me – even if she was magic. She was old and don't think she was married; she'd been there for as long as I could remember. She was always very kind, sometimes looking after me when my mother was busy. I never sensed any magic in her … Never saw her perform anything of it, even if she never spoke of it in fear. She even said magic was something, something beautiful I think. But then – I was six years old, I think – some of Cenred's soldiers came to the village and took her away. At the time I didn't understand what was going on. Later as I grew up I realized what it meant. Why I didn't see her again after that … why there'd been the stench of burned flesh hanging over the village." He shudders and abruptly closes his eyes. "I didn't see her do any magic, Gaius. I never knew."
The old man pulls him in for a hug. "Oh, my boy. I'm so sorry."
"It's a long time ago and I never knew her that well," he murmurs. "It's just that – she was innocent, she hadn't harmed a soul, and they just … just … It might just've been based on loose rumours or someone thought it suspicious: a lone old woman who still was doing so well, despite having no children or husband. There was no real trial, she couldn't defend herself, no one stood up for her ... It's so unfair."
The old man sighs. "The Purge is not the first of Witch-hunts and, I fear, not the last, but it's one of the worst. Sorcerers fled not just Uther's kingdom but the whole of Albion, dispersing in panic, and those who didn't went into hiding. Some acted too late. Camelot is not the only kingdom with laws against magic, albeit the punishment here is harsh and there is no redemption. I know Mercia, Bayard's kingdom, doesn't openly display any friendship with magic but they do not have as many executions there as here. It's the same with Estecia, at least today. I've even heard rumour there's a sorcerer at Cenred's court. However two decades ago it was a different story. Many Kings joined Uther in his attempt to destroy magic once and for all."
"But this, I am certain, rules out the possibility of your body being the result of a spell or intentional magic. Which means, Merlin, your condition is something nature did – actually it makes sense, because if it was forced by magic, your own natural magic might've cleansed your system, so to speak. You have not shown any signs of being terminally ill. Just that your bleeding cycles are regular is a very good thing; if your body had been in distress, they probably would have been irregular. You're perfectly healthy."
Merlin bites his lip. To hear that is both soothing and frightening. Explaining that his body was the result of magic would've somehow been simpler … easier to accept.
"Maybe it is entirely natural – something that simply occurs from time to time. I do not have all the answers."
"You're a physician," the warlock edges. "Couldn't you … fix it?"
Gaius stares at him. Then, he says, sternly, eyes darkened: "No. No, Merlin, I cannot."
Anger and pain suddenly blossoms in Merlin's chest at the man's swift dismissal. He doesn't even seem to have considered it.
"Why, doesn't it matter that I want to be normal?! That I should be normal? That at least I should have a chance to be?" he snaps and abruptly stands up, nearly causing the chair to topple over, and his fists clenches. He's distantly aware of the pots and books littered all-over the room are rattling against the shelves, tremors of magic rushing through him as an outlet of his emotions.
"I thought you'd give me this chance at actually becoming normal, at getting rid of this secret, so I'd have to lie less! You don't understand, do you? Don't understand how difficult it is, how hard it's been to hide and it hurts being so – so lonely all the time with no one to talk to and no one to understand! I don't want it to be like this!"
The old man's tone softens. "Merlin, I would help you if I could, believe me. But your condition is something I've never before seen. Trying to 'fix', as you put it, something I have so little knowledge of would be extremely risky."
"But I'd take those risks gladly! I-"
"Do you truly want to take those risks?" Gaius' interrupts him in a grave tone. "If I attempt it, your very life could be at stake. My affinity for magic is weak and petty: it's nowhere strong enough to perform any kind of spell that could alter one's body so momentously. It'd be down to the skill of my hands alone. How do you think your mother would react, were I forced to send word to her that her son perished under my care?"
He shakes his head firmly. "No, Merlin - I refuse and will keep refusing to put a knife to my nephew unless it's absolutely necessary."
The warlock goes silent and after a moment sinks back onto his seat, defeated.
"I just … I'm sorry, Gaius. It was rash to say that. I just, I want to be normal. I don't want to keep hiding ..." the words wrenches in his throat almost gagging him, and his knuckles turn white.
There are no words that Gaius can offer to console him, not fully. "I am sorry as well, Merlin. I wish there was something I could do to make it easier for you, but all I can do is be here; as support, as a keen ear. Your secrets are safe with me."
Merlin wishes his secrets could be safe with the world. "I suppose you're right." But he avoids looking at his mentor's face. "I should - I need to go, help Arthur settle for the night."
Right when he's standing on the threshold, Gaius' voice reaches him: "Merlin - I'm not angry with you. Remember that."
()()()
The Prince's chambers have darkened, only a few candles littered about burning low. The curtains haven't been drawn yet and the blackness of the windows makes the room feel cold, exposed. Merlin slips in and crosses the room to close them causing Arthur to look up from the desk where he's writing some important document that the warlock cannot read from this angle.
"... What are you doing here?" He sounds surprised. "I thought you'd gone to bed already."
"I came to help you retire, sire."
Arthur raises an eyebrow and Merlin realizes the man has already dressed in a pair of soft dark trousers and a nightshirt. "I expected Gaius would want you to take it easy and retire early."
"I'm not an invalid," Merlin retorts.
The Prince's face adopts a shadow, there's a strange seriousness and almost ... worry, fleeting as it is, in his eyes. Then it's gone as he blinks. "You were poisoned, Merlin. Most sensible people would stay abed for weeks after such an event - especially if they're living with a physician." He gestures at the door, the words calm and firm: "Go home."
"But-" The boy glances at the door, thinking of having to face Gaius again so soon after the outburst. But, what other choice is there? It's not like he has anywhere else to spend the night. He doubts Arthur would appreciate him sleeping on the carpet in front of the until fireplace.
"That is an order. I can take care of myself."
"You sure of that?" the warlock asks and Arthur rolls his eyes. Honestly, Merlin's more tongue-in-cheek than the rest of the castle staff all put together! The boy ought to be glad Arthur is willing to oversee it.
"Just go and rest." The man stresses the word as if the warlock were a simpleton, causing him to scowl.
He puts out the nearest candle before grasping the handle. "All right, all right."
"And be on time tomorrow."
"Yes sire."
()()()