Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or any of its characters or dialogue. They belong to the BBC.
I don't like this. Camelot's security is too tight by half. If I didn't have my reputation on the line... I just need to finish the job and get out. How hard can it be to take out one handicapped sorcerer. A few more days, and I can be out of this dump and happily counting the new coins that line my pockets.
Gwen hovered worriedly above her father's bed. She had tried everything; even a potion she had begged from the court physician. Nothing worked.
Tom groaned slightly, shifting in his sleep, and the damp cloth fell from his brow onto the pillow beside him. Gwen picked it up, frowning at how much of the water seemed to have evaporated. She placed a hand on Tom's forehead, her eyes crinkling in concern as she realised how hot he had become.
"Elyan," she called. "Can you watch him for a moment? I need to fetch more water."
Elyan hobbled in, still suffering from the ankle wound he had received during his last misadventure. With a nod, he settled himself in the chair next to their father's bed. The situation seemed far too dire to be expressed in mere words.
Gwen hurried through the market place, a bucket trailing from her hands. She wanted to be home as soon as possible. The seconds that the pump took to siphon water seemed to drag into hours. Finally, Gwen picked up her now much heavier bucket and set off in the direction she had come.
There was a startled yelp as she ran headfirst into someone, spilling nearly her entire load down the front of his shirt.
"I'm so sorry," she appologised hurriedly, looking up to see a rather drenched Merlin.
"No, no," Merlin said. "It wasn't your fault. Here, let me help you." He plucked the bucket from her hands and jogged back to the pump.
"I'd better be going," he said as he handed the bucket back to her.
"No, wait," said Gwen, catching his arm. "Come back and dry off. It's the least I can do."
"That's very kind of you," said Merlin with a grin.
Gwen tried to protest when Merlin took back the bucket, but he was adamant that he should carry it.
"What are you doing in the lower town anyway," Gwen asked casually, not slowing her pace.
"Arthur's armor needs polishing, and the storerooms ran out," Merlin replied. "I heard that there was a shop around here that sold some."
Gwen nodded. "Finnigan's, down by the market."
Merlin smiled gratefully, opening the door to her house so that she could step through.
"How's your father," Merlin asked softly.
Gwen motioned for him to place the bucket on the table, then proceeded to soak a rag in its contents.
"Not much better," she replied. "He's still running a fever. Nothing we do seems to make any difference. " She walked across to her father's room, easing the door open and stepping inside. "Elyan, do you think you could find a towel for Merlin?"
Elyan glanced at the door, realising that Gwen had not returned alone. He stood up and limped out of the room.
Gwen squeezed out the cloth one last time before draping it on her father's forehead.
"Thanks for everything," said Merlin, sticking his head through the doorway. "I-"
He cut off abruptly, his face turning pale as he caught sight of Tom. He ducked out of the room and Gwen heard a scuffling sound coming through the door. Merlin returned a few moments later with a few sprigs of lavender from her window box and a variety of spices from her cupboard. He walked straight over to Tom and smeared a few of the spiced across the rag on his forehead, pausing to let them soak in. He then squeezed a few drops of moisture from the lavender and added it to the mix.
"It's an old family remedy," he explained. "My mother used to use it whenever I had a fever as a child."
Gwen looked at him oddly, and Merlin averted his gaze.
"I had better go," he said abruptly. "Arthur's armor isn't going to polish itself."
He departed quickly, leaving Gwen staring at the spot he had been standing. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the cloth on her father's head glow a dull gold, but when she turned to look it had returned to normal. Just a trick of the light.
"Who was he?" Elyan asked, appearing in the doorway.
"Just a guy from work."
Morgana sat in her chambers for several hours before finally forcing herself to move. Quite frankly, she wasn't entirely sure what was going on. Uther had been like a father to her, and yet when Gorlois, her true father, had been in trouble, where had Uther been? Morgana needed answers more than anything, and in order to do that, she had to be prepared to listen. She had to hear this Nimueh woman out.
As soon as her decision was made, a pathway seemed to light up in her mind. A golden path shimmered on the floor of her chambers, hugging the threads of her silken rug, leading through the door and into the corridor. She followed the trail, looking left and right to see how the guards would react to this latest phenomenon. Surprisingly, none of them batted an eyelid, even as the trail blazed between their feet. Confused, Morgana continued to follow the pathway as it led her out of the castle.
The guards at the city gates bowed to her slightly as she passed, and she paused. Was it really wise to follow a magical trail, for she could only assume that it was magical, away from her home and everything that kept her safe? She huffed, dismissing the thought. She was more than capable of taking care of any potential threat.
After Morgana had been walking for about fifteen minutes, the trail led her to a clearing with a stone basin in the center. It was round and intricately carved, it's base seeming to melt into the ground in a tangle of tree roots. It held a small pool of water. As Morgana gazed into its depths, a series of images seemed to flash across the surface: A burning house, a crying child, a roaring dragon. She stepped back abruptly, turning her head away.
Morgana's eyes fell instead upon Nimueh, now clad in a blood red dress with her hair twisting over her shoulders. Nimueh smirked, and her cold eyes gleamed in the light that filtered through the trees.
"I thought I'd be seeing you here," she said confidently.
Morgana carefully composed her features into their usual, regal expression. "I want you to tell me all you know about my father's death."
Nimueh smiled again. "Why tell when you can show?"
Nimueh took Morgana's hand and led her over to the basin.
"Diegol cnytte, gewitte me yst, pa tacnian me yst bonne ieceb sicle. Diegol cnytte, gewitte me yst, pa tacnian me yst bonne ieceb sicle. Swilte ar ond calan, draedan mordor to Gorlois de morte he cymb. Diegol cnytte, gewitte me yst, aliese hine to Gorlois de morte he cymb."
A picture appeared on the surface of the water.
Morgana's father, Gorlois, appeared, quickly scrawling a letter. Peering closer, Morgana realised that the letter contained a request for reinforcements.
She saw Gorlois standing on a hill, a platoon of soldiers at his back, a small army making its way to their position from the front. A horseman clad in the Pendragon colours rode up beside him.
"No sign of the troops from Camelot," he reported.
The army was upon them now, and it was clear that Gorlois and his men were severely outnumbered. Still, Gorlois sliced his way through the enemy ranks, his sword flashing brilliantly in the sunlight and the blood of his enemies smearing his already bright red cape to the point that you could barely make out the Pendragon crest embroidered in gold on his shoulder. Inevitably, though, the force of numbers was too much for him and Morgana watched as a sword slid between his ribs. She couldn't even tell which of the enemy had delivered the killing blow. Whoever it had been had already moved on to take care of the last of Gorlois's men.
Morgana staggered backwards, throwing her head back in an attempt to halt the flow of tears that was trickling down her face.
No more tears, she thought. You're stronger than this.
"You see now," said Nimueh. "Uther has stolen much from both of us."
Morgana remained silent, too consumed by grief to speak.
"I've finally come close to righting the wrongs done to me. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. There are only two targets left. Join me, and we can make Uther suffer as we have."
'I want him to be as I was: alone.'
Arthur.
Nimueh wanted to hurt Arthur.
Hello all. I'm not dead, but this story very nearly was. If anyone is still reading, which I hope is the case, then know that at least I know where I'm going with this now. Sort of. Any opinions would still be well received.
I hope that the last scene helped to make things a bit clearer, such as Nimueh's ambiguous intentions.
I can't say how regularly this will be updated, seeing as it has to fit around my school work, my sporting commitments, and my beta-ing work. Still, this story is not dead yet.
