EDITED
PART 2 - CHAPTER 21
Merlynn reflected on the year – her first, full year in Camelot. Away from her mother, away from the village who shunned her, away from her lost love. Today marked a full year that she escaped from Ealdor and found solace in a physician and her destiny.
"Merlynn, you idiot!" her destiny called.
She left her place at the barracks and followed Arthur's voice to where he stood a few metres away, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. Like a baby, she thought with a roll of her eyes.
"Yes, Arthur?"
He huffed, as if he had been waiting years for her response, and said, "My father has restarted the work in the mines, and so I'll need you to sleep nearby my chambers."
"Why?" she sputtered.
"Because," he sighed, like she was silly for even questioning him, "it'll be loud, and what if I am attacked? Or in need of a pint of water? You won't be able to hear me so far away!"
"I... of course, Arthur. As always, at your beck and call at all hours."
Two nights (sleepless, cramp-inducing nights) passed before Arthur had enough of the miners. He yelled her name for five minutes – oh, she counted – before she gave up, stumbled to her feet and entered his chambers. He lay there with his arms crossed, reminding her quite fondly of a toddler in trouble, and huffed at her.
She tried not to notice the definition in his arms or the sparse spread of hair across his tummy lit just nicely by the moonlight.
"Are you deaf, Merlynn?" he whined.
Merlynn smiled thinly, "I only dream of it, sire."
"I want you to go down there and tell them to stop."
"They're under the king's orders, Arthur. I can't command them to just stop their work," she pointed out. The miners were angry, unpaid and underfed; they hardly would accept the demands from a servant in place of royalty.
"Yeah, and you're working under mine," he replied. "So follow my commands."
Merlynn said nothing in response but, true to her status, she left his chambers and wandered down into the mining chambers to let the men know. She doubted they would listen, or care, for what she had to say. The only workers who ever took her seriously were the kitchen workers but, as an malnourished young girl in a small town she knew the food providers were the most important people to be kind to.
She flinched with each clang of the picks against stone as she ventured deeper into the mines. Then, without a word, it stopped. Perhaps she could take credit (though she doubted Arthur would believe her) and return to her chambers to finally, finally, sleep.
That did not happen.
Miners charged at her, rounding the corner yelling obscenities from their mouths. They did not even see her; they pushed her into the wall and kept going, blindly racing out of the mine and away. There was no direction to their running, only fear and madness. The pain in her chest from their hands began to throb, and she knew there would be a bruise. It would heal, but it still ached.
She stared down the hall where they had come and listened for some beast, a spirit or a wizard. There was nothing – just her, the torches, and the dust settling.
Damn her curiousity.
Merlynn went deeper into the mines. The magic in her bones sunk into her fingertips, buzzing to life to protect her at any moment. She picked up a torch along the wall to guide her along and hoped, prayed, she wouldn't be attacked. Her sleep deprivation did not prepare her for this.
Finally, she saw the gaping hole in the wall and with it came the smell. Old, dusty, murky air that had no doubt been trapped for decades. She swallowed back the uncomfortable feeling settling in her belly and stepped in – it was a tomb.
Trinkets, coins, goblets, things of pure gold littered the room and surrounded a coffin that still managed to shine as if it had been freshly polished moments before. She placed the torch on a hook to light up the tomb and left it to explore. She touched the coffin, splaying her fingers over it; it made her skin tingle. There was magic here, unexplored but waiting, lingering, to burst free.
In the centre of the coffin sat a glowing, ashen blue stone and she knew, deep in her bones, that it was where the magic was. Her hand hovered over it, almost trembling as she reached down to touch it.
In her peripheral, she saw a figure and gasped. "Oh! I'm sorry, the prince –" she looked up, and a miner stood stock still with his back to her. His head bowed, he did not move or react to her presence.
"Sir?" she tried, but still there was no response. Anxiety crawled up her spine; this was not right. Her hand reached out and she grabbed his shoulder, noting how cold his skin was through his tunic. His body suddenly by her touch went lax and he fell down at her feet, rolling onto his back.
The man was dead, grey and mouth gaping in a silent scream. Those eyes, so scared and unseeing, stared right through her.
All she could do was scream.
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Somehow she managed to move her feet and race back to Arthur, gasping out what she had seen before he could send her to the stocks. He said nothing more, only threw on his tunic and stormed out.
Within minutes she was back in the tomb – surrounded by guards, Arthur, and the dead man at her feet. She stared at the man until Gaius covered him with a blanket, but only moved until he touched her arm and pulled her away. He kept her close, observing the room but mostly her. She had seen the dead before, she had killed before, but this man was innocent and scared and so empty.
Merlynn never noticed how empty and cold a dead body was before. Will was still warm when life left his body, and she had been dragged (forcefully) away so she did not have to see his face.
"How do you think he died?" she said. Gaius did not reply. "Do you know who's tomb it is?"
He stared at the stone, a frown settled deep in his face. "Not sure," he finally replied. His eyes seemed faraway, lost in his thoughts and not even Merlynn's clumsiness could pull him out of it as she stumbled on a fallen stone in her path.
She thought she had recovered well – nobody had noticed. Not until she heard Arthur's chuckling behind her. "Were you born clumsy or did you work at it?" he asked.
Do not kill the man (boy) you are supposed to protect, she forced the thought into her head. "I practiced really hard before I came here in the hopes of impressing you, of course," she muttered with a wide, tight smile.
"You've done well. I just wish you could practice doing your job," he retorted and clapped her hard on the back.
"Well, this is quite a find?" King Uther announced his arrival, stepping over the dead body without a care to meet with Gaius. "This is a treasure to be found right under Camelot. Which of my predecessors do I have to thank for all this, Gaius?"
"I'd have to look into it, sire," he replied.
Uther noticed the miner at his feet and raised his brow; Merlynn wondered just how many men, women and children he had watched die with that same look. "How did he die?"
"He seems to have unwittingly triggered a trap here."
"To deter grave-robbers," Arthur suggested.
Uther nodded in agreement. "Well there's plenty in here people would want to steal. Have them secure the tomb," he said to his son. "Guarding it is your responsibility."
"Yes, father."
Arthur spent the next twenty-four hours yelling, insulting and throwing things at Merlynn, for ordering her to clean every inch of his chambers was not enough for the prince. He loved to remind her that, as his personal servant, she was to tend to each desire as it came to him. While she understood that, she thought that perhaps there was more to them, their bond, one that he noticed as well.
Alas, that did not appear to be the case.
Even as she tightened his saddle, he stood over her and huffed about how long it took her to do so. Merlynn bit her tongue and apologised (though kept her biting insults to herself), then bit her tongue harder when he suggested she fall to her knees for him.
"I may be a servant, but I do have my pride," she scoffed. Servants would die for those words – be sent to the gallows to rot and wither away – but Arthur merely laughed in her face. Which, she supposed, was better than the former.
He did not push further, however, but forced her to cup her hands to support his boot as he hefted himself onto his saddle. The saddle snapped on his way up – as to how, she had no idea – and he toppled to the ground with a smack.
She hid her grin.
"Merlynn!" he shouted her name from the floor.
"I don't understand. The girth was perfect," and so is karma.
He stood, red-faced and huffing, "clearly not!"
A man appeared by her side, scruffy and squinty-eyed. "Would you like me to fit the girth properly for you, sire?" he asked, with a grin too wide.
"That would be lovely, thank you," Arthur replied with a similar grin.
He fixed the girth with ease, and turned to them. His yellowed teeth glimmered in the sun as he said, "It's an honour to be at service to the prince."
Merlynn clicked her teeth but remained quiet, watching over them with a careful eye; the man's glee disturbed her to the very core. She ignored Arthur's cheeky look and his comments, snide and purposeful, about her lack of ability. She ignored the pat on the chest he gave this new man, this yellow-toothed, unkempt, slimy mess of a man.
"Allow me the honour of brushing your clothes down," the man continued to bleed respect and did as he said, egged on by the prince's smile.
"The honour," Arthur whispered to her. She bristled. She would say nothing, in fear of the stocks, the stables or his father.
"Anything else, sire?"
"Well, you can give Merlynn here a kick up the backside," he remarked with a bark of laughter.
The man, with a smirk wider than Arthur's, looked her up and down. "I wouldn't wish to deprive you of the pleasure, sir."
"Ha! What's your name?"
"Cedric, Sire," Cedric said with a flourish of his hand and a bow. "I've come to Camelot in search of work."
"Good. You can be a beater on the hunt. We're short of a man or two," Arthur offered and clapped him on the arm.
Cedric smiled. "You're too kind, Sire."
Merlynn brewed in her anger and felt the tremor in her fingers as she grabbed a bat from the floor, fallen from the saddle bag. "Here, you'll need a beater," she said with a sweet grin. Magic sparked in her fingers as she shoved it into his gut, forcing power behind it to leave him sore and breathless. "Oops. Sometimes I don't know my own strength."
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Merlynn refused to speak to Arthur; it was petty, like a disobedient child, but she did not care. But he was cruel, crueller than usual, and it was causing her stress like no other. The extra chores and the constant insults did not help. She was fire, and he was stoking it with a big, dumb smile. A year of friendship, and his near-death did not bond them any closer; he didn't even give her a day off!
She swallowed her love for him, if only just for a moment. She would protect him with her life (she always would) but she would not show her love, show her devotion, in any capacity. He did not deserve it.
The hunting party was quiet, spears raised. They walked in formation while Merlynn dawdled behind, swinging her baton by her hip. The others knocked theirs low on the ground or high up on tree trunks to lure game out for Arthur to kill. She kept her eyes down; men, she could watch die, but an animal was different. It was a connection to the earth and to a life so pure she longed to be free like they were. To watch a creature so innocent die in such cruelty was almost a sin.
A squeal echoed in the bushes before an overgrown hog burst free and charged toward them. The entire party backed off and raised their batons as weapons in case it swerved into their direction. Arthur took his shot, but it merely bounced off the hog's thick skin and only made it angrier. It charged right at him.
Merlynn grabbed a spare spear from the ground (fallen from a fearful man's pack) and aimed it at the best. "Flíe 'fǽgð," she murmured and let it fly from her hand. It soared through the air until it found home in the hog's neck.
She did not watch it die, but listened to it scream; her eyes squeezed shut and she prayed that the earth forgave her. Her loyalty outweighed her morals and it killed her.
"Who threw that?" she heard Arthur call.
Merlynn stepped forward and opened her eyes. The amazement on his face was sweet, mouth slightly gaped as he took in each of their faces. She wondered if she should, lest she get praise or mockery for suggesting that she, stupid clumsy Merlynn, could ever save his life (though she had on many occasions).
Cedric made the choice for her. He cleared his throat from just ahead of her to the right, waving his hand sheepishly. Rage took hold in her belly and she let out a rush of air (and worried that, perhaps, it could've been steam).
"Was it you?" Arthur asked, eyes sparkling. "You just saved my life."
She struggled to remain standing as she watched the man she was sworn to protect praised the man who was stealing him from her. A voice in her head reminded her that she was to get used to this sight, unappreciated, invisible, weak.
"Honestly, Sire, it was nothing," Cedric brushed off.
"I shall be forever indebted to you. You must be rewarded," Arthur insisted.
"No, I couldn't possibly."
"Come on. What do you wish for?"
"I only desire one thing, Sire," Cedric said, after a moment. "A position in the royal household."
Of all the things – jewels, gold, a knighthood – he chose to have a position in the household? Merlynn pursed her lips and watched him with narrowed eyes; no man would willingly choose to have a position in the household, not at the level he would receive. She was put in the position by accident, an accident she would soon learn was the product of destiny, and this man seemed to covet the same treatment.
She highly doubted it.
Arthur agreed, and called for the hunting party to return to Camelot with their prize, his arm around Cedric's shoulder. They walked together, like old comrades, the entire journey home with Merlynn walking behind at an even pace.
Her eyes did not leave Cedric, not once.
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Merlynn found her way to her chambers once they returned home; Arthur did not notice her, merely squeezed his newfound friend's shoulder and continued on his way into the castle. She forced the door open with too much force, almost tearing it from its hinges.
Gaius barely reacted to the start of her tantrum, only sliding his spectacles further down his nose so he could stare with open disapproval at her huffing figure. "Now, what is wrong?" the almost condescending tone did nothing to soothe her mood.
"I hate him!" she began and tossed her hands in the air. Angry energy crackled from her fingertips and caused the water from the pot on the unlit fire-pit to begin to boil. "I save his life and someone else gets the credit, which I should be used to by now. But I hate it, and I hate him, and I never asked for this."
"That is your life, and it was chosen for you," he merely replied. "So it would be better to stop moping about it and make the most of what you have, am I correct?"
Merlynn did not answer him, her attention more focused on the scroll in his hands. An inscription she did not recognize was scrawled in black ink, in looping letters that she wished to learn. "What are you doing?"
"I found this inscription on the sceptre," he said. "I'm not sure what language it is, though Sigan would know many languages."
"Who?"
"The man in the tomb."
Merlynn ran her fingers over the letters; she wished she could read it, could tell whether it was a curse or spell or a love note. Instead it was beautiful gibberish. "Why did he get his own tomb – was he important here?"
"Merlynn," he said her name in such a way that she was embarrassed for even asking the question, "he was the most powerful wizard to have ever lived. You didn't grow up in Camelot, but for those that did, Cornelius Sigan was a figure of horror. His power was extraordinary."
"More so than Nimueh?"
He cleaned his glasses, his face thoughtful. "I would say so. He could change day to night, turn the tides, and legend speaks of him building Camelot with his power alone. In the end he grew too powerful and the king at that time ordered his execution."
"Someone so powerful wouldn't have gone down so easily," she said.
"No," he agreed. "He became obsessed with finding a way to defeat death itself. I hope for all our sakes that he did not succeed."
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She began her duties with a deep breath and a hard face; though her rage carried well into the next day, she was still his servant. Merlynn would rather swallow the urge to hurt him and continue her role than leave him and be at his mercy later. She grabbed his usual breakfast from the kitchens, said hello to the cooks, and continued up to his chambers.
She'd even conjured a flower in a vase – just for him.
Once she entered, she was confronted with the sight of Arthur already eating from an array of dishes that could only have been brought up by a miniature army. By his side was Cedric, a cloth over his arm and the same greasy smile he always wore.
"Is that lunch?" Arthur asked, mouth full of warm bread. "This is lovely, Cedric."
Merlynn tried to place the tray gently in front of his feast (though it was a slam that rattled the table's hinges with its force) and pasted a smile on her face, "Is there anything else you need, sire?"
"No, I think Cedric's got it all covered." They shared a smile that she didn't miss even if she wanted to.
Cedric glanced at her, a wicked look in his eyes, and said, "Oh, I regret that I was unable to muck out your horses."
Merlynn could barely even get a word in before she was dismissed. With a pain in her chest and nausea curdling her belly, she nodded and bowed and went about her business. She felt eyes on her back as she left but did not turn in fear of seeing something, something that she wasn't ready to accept. That she had been forgotten, left alone in her duties and soon, replaced.
She went down to the stables and listened to the horses breath for a moment, their deep huffs so calming that she almost forgot about what had happened. She closed her eyes and suddenly, there was no more.
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Manure and hay entered her nose as she was suddenly shot awake by a slap at her back. The world came into focus and she saw Arthur, bent at the knee staring at her incredulously. She felt hay, damp from the morning mildew, and startled. Merlynn was in the stables on the ground, and she had been there for a while – the sky was pink and orange as it streamed through the stable doors.
"What are you doing?" Arthur bellowed.
"Nothing, no – I wasn't asleep I was just –" she stumbled to her feet and grasped at the column by her side, ignoring a flash of pain from her hand. "I was just bending down."
"Looking for something, I imagine," he mused.
"Yes! Exactly."
He smirked, but there was rage hidden in the expression that he'd pasted over his golden face. "I would imagine we're looking for the same thing."
"What?"
"Oh, the horses, perhaps!" he wildly gestured around them at the empty barn. Her vision focused outward, away from her prince, and saw.
"Oh."
Arthur took a firm hold of her arm, and she felt the weight of his rage. "One mistake I can understand – things have been hard, I get that, and everyone has bad days. But Merlynn, this is one thing after another and I won't stand for it."
"I," she mouthed, unable to form the words she wished to speak. She stared into his cherry red face and could only say, "I don't know what happened. One minute I was awake and the next, you were waking me."
She heard a man clear his throat behind her, and her body tensed. It was Cedric and, though she refused to turn to face him, she felt his beady eyes on her figure and knew he was plotting. "Sire, don't be too hard on her. She's a good servant but… perhaps she's just tired. Not many can handle this line of work."
A meaty stab at her ability for good measure. "I'm not," she burst out. Arthur was looking over her shoulder, a curious look in his eye.
"Maybe if she had the evening off," he suggested.
She tried to force Arthur's eyes to make contact, so she could plead, so he could see. "I don't want the evening off, Arthur."
"A good night's rest…"
"I did not fall asleep!"
"I am more than willing to take over her duties this evening," he added, for good measure.
"Perhaps you're right," Arthur replied.
Merlynn all but grabbed his chin to get him to look at her, for once, to see her side, to believe her for who she was. "Arthur, please," she whispered.
"Shut up, Merlynn, can't you see what you've done," he snapped.
Rage took hold, and she tore his arm from her. Her teeth snapped in anger and her body bristled, "Can't you see what he's trying to do? He's trying to get rid of me! If you weren't such a clotpole you'd see what was happening here, and you'd try to stop it."
Arthur raised his brow, almost amused by her rage. "A what?"
"You heard me," she challenged. "You're an insufferable clotpole."
"Cedric's right. He can look after me tonight. You can go home and think about whether you want to be my servant or not."
"But..."
"Go."
The way he looked at her then, like she was so inferior to even dare speak to him, sent the air from her lungs in a whoosh. "You've pushed me to my limit, Arthur Pendragon," she only said, and left him with a man who most certainly wanted him dead.
A small part of her wondered if she should let him.
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She cried in her bed like a child sent to bed without supper, like she'd been punished. Merlynn would stay like this for hours if she let herself. She could feel her magic begging to be released in a giant cathartic wave of emotion, but she reigned it in. Too much magic had impacted the kingdom – one wrong move could send her to the pyre in an instant.
Time passed before she felt Gaius' touch on her shoulder, his weight on the bed sitting beside her. "What is the matter?"
"Nothing," she said and buried further into the pillow. He sat with her a moment, hand warm and heavy on her, before letting out a deep sigh and standing. Gaius almost managed to reach the door before she spoke again, "I'm not an idiot."
He resumed his place. "What happened?"
"He doesn't trust me, and he doesn't care." Her voice was muffled, barely coherent. "I just want him to see me for who I really am."
"One day he will."
"That's just not good enough," she burst out and sat up. "I do everything for him, and he just disregards me completely! But not Cedric, no, not new little Cedric! Everything I have sacrificed for him, he doesn't notice, and then Cedric comes to Camelot and he takes all the credit for what I've done. What does Arthur do? Grants him everything bar a royal bloody title! Why can't he just notice me, for once?"
Gaius remained silent during her rant, ever watching and waiting for her to settle and breathe; he soothed her with a hand on her arm and a kiss to her temple. "Not everyone thinks you are useless. The sacrifices you have made for him are greater than any person, and I believe that you and he are destined for greatness. You have a destiny, and it is mighty, and it is to protect and serve him."
"I don't want to serve him, I don't want my duty to be his servant until the end of our lives," she said. "I want to be me, not who the gods want me to be."
"I know," he replied, but he didn't, not even a little bit. "I am sorry that this is what they have planned for you. But Camelot is in great peril, and it needs you. I have translated the inscription – 'he who breaks my heart, completes my work.'"
Merlynn dried her tears. "What does it mean?" she had no time to be miserable, not now.
"Do you remember the stone in the tomb, how it glowed?" She nodded. "It's not a stone, it is in fact the soul of Cornelius Sigan."
"So you think he's been alive this whole time?"
"His soul is," he said. "But in order to truly live, a soul needs a body. I fear that if the stone is removed from its setting, then the heart is broken and the soul is released."
Later that night, with a bitter ache in her heart, she forced herself to sleep. Her tears were very much dried, sticky on her skin, and she had long since abandoned the clothes she soaked them in. She squeezed her eyes shut and count backwards from one-hundred until she could count no more.
At last, perhaps her exhaustion could give her a good, proper sleep for once.
But she was awoken by a sudden, ferocious tug at her belly. Merlynn launched awake as if she were being pulled by rope, and stared into the dark shadows of her bedchambers. It was the very same feeling she had when the Mage Stone was used. She considered leaving, considered following her instinct to seek out the source of the magic. Instead, she settled back down into her cot and forced herself back to sleep.
Whatever it was, it could be dealt with in the morning.
She would not waste sleep over the Pendragons, over Camelot, any longer.
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Perhaps this was a time where seeking out her gut instinct was the best course of action. The tomb had been broken into and, along with countless other jewels, the sapphire gem was taken. The heart was gone and with it, no doubt, was the source of Sigan's power.
Merlynn watched Arthur graze the spot where the stone used to be, and clenched her jaw. The rage seeped off him. "Sound the warning bell," he did not spare her a glance as he stormed off.
She went to follow him, but a call of her name made her pause. "Whoever did this got more than they bargained for," she heard Gaius say as she turned to face him. In his hands was the gem – but it was white, instead of blue.
"Whoever got in must've used a key," she said. "The gate's not even damaged."
She closed her eyes and pressed her palms against them until she sees stars. A growing dread rose under her belly button, like a nervous, anticipatory drop – stumbling off a cliff with no grip for her hands to purchase. She doesn't even wait for Gaius to speak; he would just state what she already knew.
"Arthur has the only key. He wouldn't, and the only person who had access last night was Cedric," she spat the name out like acid on her tongue.
The slimy git.
"Go after him," and so she did.
She had once counted the number of stairs she climbed to get to Arthur's bedchamber – two-hundred and sixteen, exactly – and the number was lost on her as she raced to him. To her prince, her other half, the man she bled and cried for.
"Cedric is possessed by an evil spirit," she declared, bursting through the door. Eloquence was never her strong suit, and she never pretended it was.
Arthur stared like he'd never seen her before. "What?"
"He tried to steal the jewel, but it wasn't a jewel, it was a soul of an ancient sorcerer, Sigan," she said.
"Merlynn, have you been on the cider?"
She bit down her counterargument, the flare of fire that ignited at the condescending tone, and continued, "Just – listen to me. Camelot is in danger. Sigan is using Cedric's body to take his revenge."
He took a moment to regard her, to stare her up and down. Something changed in his expression and she thought he would believe her, if just this once (perhaps he was finally understanding that she was usually right about these things.) But then he rolled his eyes and she knew he was still an idiot. "This nonsense you're on about is one of the most insane things you've ever said, and that's saying something."
"Why do I even bother sometimes?" she spat. "You're just an ignorant prat who doesn't care about anybody but yourself – I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the royal tree, huh?" A low blow; a week in a cell, a month in the stocks, she would take them all.
"I'm going to ignore that," his jaw was strung tight. "Cedric! Could you escort Merlynn from the palace, please?" He looked through her like she was a ghost and stared at Cedric with a kindness that sent her anger blazing harder, hotter, so much so that she started to sweat.
Fire turned to ice as she turned to face the man (read: less of a man, more of a slimy vessel) who grinned back at her. The blue glint in his eyes was all she needed to see. So she charged and sent them both to the ground, squeezing her thighs around his waist so she could land punches at his nose.
She felt bone snap under her fingertips and felt victorious. Heard his cry of pain, heard the shouts of Arthur behind her, and was thrilled by the blood rushing down her fingers. Merlynn could only linger on it for less than a few seconds as arms tore her away from Sigan's host.
"Merlynn!" Arthur shouted. "You've gone too far this time! You can spend a few days cooling off in the cells."
She saw guards at the door, weapons drawn, regarding her like a wild animal – no, less than that. A thing. A thing to be caught and to be punished. "I hate you," she said, no louder than a whisper but with enough malice to cause Arthur's arms to freeze around her.
"Guards, take her," he sighed the words instead of saying them.
Merlynn felt his eyes on her back as she was dragged away.
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The screams began not long after she was locked away. She listened with a clenched jaw, felt the magic of Sigan spark like lightning throughout the citadel. He was a power she had not felt since Nimueh; a deep rumble through the rocks and crackling through her blood. Merlynn wondered for a moment if she should sit here and let Arthur watch his city crumble beneath his feet. But those screams were of the people – good people, who knew nothing of their leaders' ignorance.
She sighed, and burst the door open with a flick of her wrist.
Merlynn reached the square in seconds and saw Arthur clutching a shield to his chest like it was an extension of himself, bracing himself on the ground against a creature that was swooping to attack. It looked remarkably like the gargoyles on the castle towers. Her eyes widened as its body creaked with a flap of its stone wings – it was!
Before it could grab Arthur, she grabbed under his armpits and tugged him backwards, away from the gargoyle's talons.
"Merlynn?" he gasped. "What are you doing out of your cell?"
She rolled her eyes and said, "I kicked it down." The gargoyle swooped again, and she tackled Arthur, rolling him out of the way and as close to the ground as possible. A talon scraped her back – it burned fiercely. The wound was shallow, but bled steadily down her side. Merlynn noticed Arthur below her, trapped between her thighs, a look of wonder on his face as he regarded her.
"Merlynn," he breathed. The words sunk deep into her bones and slid across her skin like warm water, burning her from within.
"Sorry, sire," she cleared her throat and removed herself, far away from him. Away from his touch, away from his burning eyes and golden skin. In the distance, she could see a makeshift infirmary and began to drag him towards it by the wrist. "I told you Sigan had been released, but did you listen to me? Of course not!"
Arthur remained silent, and she turned to continue, flared up by his inability to reply. She had more to say. "And another thing -!"
"I'm sorry," he interrupted her, and shifted her grip on him so that they held hands. "You have every right to hate me, but thank you for saving my life."
"Again," she added.
He ignored her comment. "I've been acting especially –"
"Like a completely arrogant idiot who cannot listen to others? True, you are."
He took a deep breath, but otherwise barely reacted to her digs. Merlynn was surprised; usually, his apologies were short-founded and he returned to normal behaviour the next minute. "You didn't deserve to be treated that cruel, and I'm just very sorry."
"I forgive you," she replied. A part of her, a very deep part of her genetic makeup, could never hate Arthur – not even for a minute, or a day. "But one day I might not." A lie, but his reaction was what she wanted.
Arthur nodded, and squeezed her hand tighter. "Come work for me again, will you? It's all weird without me yelling at you," he joked.
She smiled. "Of course." Merlynn saw Gwen in the distance, tending to the injured, and excused herself. She went over and touched the girl's shoulder. "Gwen, I –"
"Weren't you meant to be in the dungeons?" she asked with a coy smile.
"Yeah, I was," she smiled back. "Could you tend to Arthur? I know you're busy but I need to be far, far away from here when the king comes."
"Of course," she said. "Hurry back as fast as you can."
Merlynn gave her a knowing smile and caught Gaius as she was leaving, pulling him behind a pillar. "I'm going to try and defeat Sigan. Only magic can do it and, obviously, I'm the only witch available."
"Sigan's power is far beyond yours," he argued.
She shrugged. "I don't have a choice. There has to be a way."
Gaius was quiet for a moment, pondering, and there was a hesitation that filled her with doubt. "The Great Dragon is the only creature alive old enough to have the answers we seek."
"You knew?"
"Of course I knew," he scoffed. "You are both creatures of magic; it was inevitable that you would find each other. I hoped he could help you. You must go to him."
She shook her head. "He wants freedom, he's selfish, I –"
"You don't have a choice," he interrupted, and squeezed her shoulder. "Hurry."
[][][][][][]
Merlynn went to the dragon, and felt the air turn thick as she looked up at him. His gaze was dark, angry. He said nothing to her but she could sense his expectation, awaiting her promise that she was unsure whether she could keep. But it was Arthur, her everything – whether she liked it or not.
"I promise to set you free if you give me this spell," she said. He knew of Sigan already; there was no need to explain. He could either hear the commotion or feel the magic crackle in the air like she could.
The dragon stared deep into her very self in silence, until finally he settled closer, and nodded. "Close your eyes and open your mind." A warm breath washed over her body and she closed her eyes, letting his magic seep into her skin. "Few have ever been gifted with such knowledge. Use it wisely." He leaned back. "You made a promise, young witch, and one day I shall keep you to it."
She did not respond, only smiled and left him in his prison. Whatever the dragon gave her was potent and left her weightless, buzzing like she had downed the finest wine. It was more than a spell – it was magic, pure magic. Magic that sprouted from the ground, magic that raced through a dragon's blood, through their fire and their breath.
It melded with her magic and it struck like lightning in the very core of her.
She was ready.
Arthur was unconscious when she found him, in the centre of the courtyard just like before. "You never learn," she cursed, watching a gargoyle drive straight for him. "Astrice!"
It turned to dust before it could reach him, and doused him in its ashes. Merlynn ran to him and checked his pulse; he was alive, breathing even, just unconscious.
"Who would've believed it?" Cedric. She looked up and saw him hovering nearby, that same, slimy smirk on his mouth. Though his eyes glowed a bright blue and he was enveloped in a feathered cloak that had been no doubt taken from the crypt. No, this was not Cedric, but Sigan. "You, a sorcerer, and a powerful one at that?! Unbelievable."
She stepped over Arthur and stood over him. "I won't let you hurt him, Sigan."
"And you're going to stop me?" he cackled.
"Yes," she said. Even she was surprised with how confident she had become. This was it; she could either defeat him, or fail. The latter was unquestionable.
Sigan stared at her in silence. It was beginning to grate her that most seemed to do that, regard her in such a way, studying her like a physician would a patient. Or, perhaps she was a bug to him, squirming under a looking glass.
"What?" she spat, impatient with his constant staring.
"Prince Arthur doesn't deserve your loyalty," he finally said. That shocked her, though she tried to hide it. "He treats you like you're nothing but a slave, dirt on his boots. He doesn't even realise how valuable and smart you truly are. I've seen what you've done for him. I know what you've sacrificed, and he shows no appreciation."
"Well," she tried to argue, but she knew it was true.
"I've seen into this mortal's head – he cast you aside without a moment's thought!"
Merlynn shook her head, eyes on the ground. She grit her teeth, "That doesn't matter."
"But it must hurt so much to be so put upon, so overlooked, when all the while you have such power," he cooed.
"That's the way it's supposed to be," she insisted. He was digging under her skin, slicing into her chest and baring the deepest parts of her soul. The smirk on his face let her know that he felt it too.
"Is it?" he retorted. "You are so young, Merlynn, and yet so strong. You have such potential, and you haven't even discovered your true power. Look inside yourself. I can help you. Just think – you can have the world appreciate your greatness, to have Arthur know you for who you truly are, to have him value you the way you deserve."
She felt tears sting at her eyes; she hated that he'd gotten to her. "That will never be. Not with death and destruction, not how you want it."
"Together we can rule over this land," he said, reaching out to her. "Would you rather be a servant for eternity?"
"Better to serve a good man than to rule alongside a monster," she bared her teeth at him.
Segan let out a nasty sound, insulted with her rejection. "So be it." Then his eyes rolled back into his head and Sigan (now Cedric, perhaps) collapsed.
The silence was stifling. She stared around the empty courtyard, filled with dead bodies and now-lifeless gargoyles. Cedric let out a bellowing sound, and a blue, swirling mist seeped from his mouth and began to move toward her. She stumbled back and tried to run, but it curled itself around her leg and rooted her to the ground.
Words spilled from her, words she did not know but no doubt came from the dragon. "Ic þín sáwol hér beléac, abide þæt ic þé álíese!"
But it was too late. It crawled up her body and forced its way into her mouth, nose and ears, despite her attempt to claw it away. The mist disappeared inside her and she felt it tear into her soul, trying to worm its way in. A sharp, white-hot pain struck her from within her chest and she screamed.
[][][][][][]
Gaius exited the infirmary into the courtyard and stared upon the destruction that Cornelius had caused. A mist settled across the city, but he saw Arthur on the ground, and no sign of Merlynn anywhere.
"Merlynn?"
He could see the outline of her body through the mist walking toward him at a slow, controlled pace. When he finally saw her face, fear struck his heart. There was no emotion to be seen on her face, no sign of her usual self. He believed in her strength, in her magic, but if there was some way Sigan had bested her, Camelot would fall by midnight.
Suddenly, she smiled, and he almost cried with relief. Merlynn held up the stone in her hand; it once again glowed blue with Sigan's soul. He laughed and took her in his arms.
"Well done," he crowed. "Well done. I'm so proud of you."
"He almost got to me, but I did it. I was strong enough," she said, and truer words had never been spoken by his protégée.
Gaius kept her close as they walked back to their chambers, too short to throw his arm over her shoulders, but too tall for her arms which would constrict her. He almost lost her, and the reality of her age threw him. She was so young, and her mission too heavy on her shoulders that he could see was beginning to suffocate her.
But he could do little else than to guide her and keep her good, wholesome, smart, any less and she would be tempted by darkness.
He vowed to never let the dark touch her again.
"Goodnight," he kissed her on the head and sent her off to bed before he, too, retired.
The next morning, he let her sleep a little later than usual; possession was taxing, and so her body needed plenty of rest. Merlynn stumbled down the stairs in her nightclothes, hair tussled and cheeks warmed. She looked healthy, happy, as she smiled at him once again.
He handed her some breakfast and began to eat across from her.
"You'll get no recognition," he said.
She rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Arthur may call me a bumbling fool, but it doesn't mean he's right."
Gaius opened his mouth to speak again, but he could find no words to say. He didn't need to dwell on it for too much longer as the prince entered their chambers, a little battered but fine.
"Merlynn!" she did not look up at him, but Gaius kept his eyes on Arthur. He saw the prince frown, shuffle on his feet; he was searching her face for something he could not find. "I do forgive you for not showing up this morning despite agreeing to continue your job as my servant."
"And I forgive you for treating me like a pest for the last week," she quipped right back.
Any other person and they would be in the stocks, or hung for their inappropriate tone with royalty. But Gaius could see him hide – what looked to be – a smile. "I also forgive you for repeatedly calling me a clotpole, even though I doubt either of us know what it means. But, you were right about your accusations against Cedric."
The chair beneath her shrieked as she launched to her feet. "Was I?" she feigned shock. "What a surprise! If you listened to me more you wouldn't have had your keys stolen, your castle destroyed, and your pretty prince face bruised."
"You think I'm pretty?" he was smirking now.
Gaius watched the two of them bicker like – well, he didn't want to think about what they were like. But he enjoyed listening to them, the adoration barely concealed under their petty arguments and little word games.
Merlynn flushed. "As if I could find you attractive! I'm just going off those ditsy girls down at the tavern. They have half a brain so I'm sure their word is gospel."
"Since you're in such a chipper mood, I have just the chore for you." He reached outside their chambers and dragged in a sack that rattled viciously with each tug. "I have a knighthood to bestow first thing tomorrow and, well, you've just been nominated to clean my armour." He pet her on the head and strolled out the door. "Have fun!"
Merlynn stormed after him and shouted, "Why don't you ask your best mate, Cedric? Oh wait, he ended up being an evil sorcerer. My mistake!" Gaius heard her huff and slam the door when she returned, leaning against it.
The poor girl was exhausted, irritated and unbelievably underfed. Merlynn "Merlynn, just this once, I will permit you to use your magic," he said finally. "You'll never get this done in time if you are going to get a good night's sleep."
Merlynn grinned at him. "Thanks, Gaius."
"You're welcome, my child."