21. To Protect
Summary: It's both relieving and slightly irritating, knowing this whole time Merlin has indeed been privy to my feelings no matter how concealed they appear.
I say practically nothing to Merlin at midday meal, or the rest of the day and into the week. About my meeting with my father, or in general. We lay in uncomfortable silence each night, me trying to ignore the echo of emotions that range from worry to annoyance to boredom, and occasionally to fear - from the first time Nimueh tells us the stories.
"A history lesson," she described it as, and yet it bears little resemblance towards one. In short terms, everything horrible that has ever happened to an obstinate recruit. Ranging from bad to grotesque: recruits trying to manipulate the power aliesanned back to them for a different purpose and instead feeling their body seize as the claim bound tighter, burned thicker marks that traveled all across their body. Recruits trying to kill their guardians and inevitably failing, and afterwards being punished so severely they died from the pain itself. Recruits trying to be rid of such marks by cutting off each other's arms to no avail - the two were sent to the infirmary where Muirden set about slowly, excruciatingly painfully, growing their arms back.
Apparently even magic can't accomplish everything. Muirden was unsuccessful; the recruits were deemed useless and 'disposed' of.
Merlin seems nauseated a good two hours after her vivid descriptions of such matters, which Nimueh claims she witnessed firsthand, and empties out his stomach that night before going to bed. I can't blame him; if not for Lord Uther's assignment weighing on my mind I might be just as disturbed. Instead it presses down at the back of my head in every spare moment, a reminder that in the coming weeks things will change. Soon, everything will change.
"Once a recruit has mastered the basic elements of the claim and how to wield their guardian's power, they join the divisions for training. Sentry duties, if assigned to stay in Camp and guard the Inner Ring, or duties of a soldier at the front line," she explains to us one morning, after having Merlin practice 'reading my intent.' Its a long morning of throwing random commands from my head and seeing how quick Merlin can respond before she lets us rest.
"And how long, till I've mastered all that?" Merlin asks tentatively, both with curiosity and fear.
"There is no need for you to master what you've been born with, it would seem," she says, smirking, "only to teach you the words for harnessing it, towards your guardian's different objectives. Not long, I would think."
Merlin glances at me, unsure of how to take this news. Even a day ago, I wouldn't have been quite sure either. Would it be better for Merlin to interact with, even befriend some of his kind? If it made life more pleasant for him?
Even in the knowledge of the number of recruit casualties reported from the front line?
Now, with my father's sentence over our heads I know it would not; even if he was miserable with only me for company, Merlin would be safer here.
And he most certainly is miserable hearing the news of more recruiting. Sir Jethro organizes parties out, both for identification and retrieval, and Leon among others is called to go by the end of the week across various areas of Camelot and beyond. "My mission is being sent to one of the larger druid settlements," he tells me after our sword exercises, the last one before his departure. "A couple hundred apparently."
"Shouldn't more of you be going, then? When they fight back?" I question, and he shakes his head.
"They'll run, of course, flee and disappear and scatter like the four winds, but fight?" Leon looks down briefly with a drawn brow, meeting my eyes the next second to say, "No. I don't think that will be the problem, Arthur."
When his mission returns they bring back three gagged, wide-eyed and tightly-bound peasants. Two older women and one young man, who looks more frightened than angry out of the three.
"So it isn't usual procedure in recruiting to force your victims unconscious?" Merlin asks faintly, the words joking but his tone far from it as we see Morgana lead and several knights pass with the three in tow. In fact, he looks a little nauseous again.
"We originally went on a scouting mission, actually, not a retrieval. That was improvisation on Sir Foehart's part," I tell him honestly. And on my part as well.
Merlin startles slightly, as if he heard my unspoken words regardless. But then he goes back to magically polishing my armor on the stumps where we both sit, not mentioning it out loud. I bite my lip and refrain from bringing up the subject either. With the day Uther assigned me drawing closer I am afraid to say anything that could be endangering what is already an undesirable, but inevitable future.
Instead I speak to someone I can trust - sneaking to see Morgana in between training and sparring."Arthur?" she says as I enter, in the holding tent of the three future recruits. All of them lie in restless and possibly unnatural sleep in cots similar to the infirmary, though there's a strange burnt smell emitting from them. Her small hands are just finishing tying a straw poppet, their nimble movements slowing to a stop.
"Morgana," I nod, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. Not counting the past two interactions, we really haven't spoken in two years. Not since her father's death triggered her magic, and my father declared my friend dead. And punished her the first and last time I was found to be showing her kindness.
"What is it you need, lordling," Morgana folds her arms across her chest now, cocking an eyebrow at me.
"To ask you a question. I've been . . . experiencing, I guess, something strange with Mer-my recruit," I correct quickly. "And neither Muirden nor Nimueh have mentioned such a thing about the claim."
She leans forward, staring at me with intrusive eyes. "And you could not ask his lordship . . . ?"
I breathe a harsh sound out in frustration, glaring down at her. "Because in the case it is not a natural phenomenon of the claim I would - would not have my father worried, of course, and take drastic measures."
"You speak with too much vagueness," Morgana leans back, shrugging. "What are you here to ask me?"
"Has Lord Uther mentioned being able to, well, noticing he could . . ." I bite my lip, not sure how exactly to put it.
When I don't continue the girl huffs out a frustrated breath. "Feel my emotions, and I, feel his back?" she guesses bluntly, and at least half of my worries deflate.
"Oh," I breathe, "so the claim does that then." It's both relieving and slightly irritating, knowing this whole time Merlin has indeed been privy to my feelings no matter how concealed they appear. Though Morgana did not mention the ability to hear actual thoughts.
Morgana stares at me for a good minute, and then pulls her mouth into a strange, half-hearted smile. "No, m'lord," she says rather softly, "No. Actually, that is something I've only heard of once before."
"What are you talking about?" I demand, wary of the sudden kindness in her eyes.
"Sharing emotions, or whatever you experience - I was approached by Merlin about it not long after he was bound to you. I have never heard of it before, and couldn't tell him if it was mutual for you. Though the second you started describing it just now I guessed correctly."
I swallow, struggling to take this in. "And what did Merlin say?"
"He asked why, or how, and I told him what I'll tell you now," Morgana says, and her expression immediately darkens. "The only thing that matters is Lord Uther will think it mind control and deem Merlin unfit for service, if he finds out. And dispose of him. So if anywhere inside you, Arthur, there is a shred of pity for Merlin and our kind you will not speak another word on this subject again. For his sake."
One of the sleeping druids stirs, relieving me of her weighted stare for a second long enough that I can respond. "I won't," I tell her as she crouches at the side of the unconscious young man.
"Good," Morgana nods once, before turning her attention to the poppet in her hands and uttering an indiscernible chant. The poppet lights a fire, much like her eyes, and I watch in curiosity as Morgana quickly puts the smoking poppet under the cot. "I think it best you leave now."
When it is merely three days from the morning my father has determined our departure, it only grows harder to explain to Merlin what is about to happen. Nimueh trains us each morning, her lessons growing more advanced and less boring by the day, and afterwards I have him spend a large portion of the afternoon in the infirmary. Too often she adds that there is little left necessary to be taught, but Merlin does not seem to understand what that implies.
I enter the infirmary tent, still wrestling with the right words to tell him exactly that when I stop at the sight in front of me.
Merlin kneels at the bedside of a soldier and is in the process of unwrapping a bloodied leg wound. ". . . the raiders came for the harvest. Big, ugly weapons to match their ugly faces. Once my mum had to stuff our grain in my pillow and have me act like I had the plague, so they wouldn't go near me. But that was the worst of it - I'd never heard there was such unrest in Camelot," he's saying.
Every cot is filled with wounded from the front, all of whom are in some degree watching or listening as Merlin speaks with avid interest. Others as well; Gaius, resting on a stool, Muirden covertly paying attention as he tends to another patient, Guinevere the serf girl holding the soldier Merlin is helping by the hand. Everyone listens and watches Merlin as he speaks as if captivated, and when he pauses to murmur a few strange words, eyes flashing briefly, the deep cut in the man's bruised calf oozes out an impure liquid.
Merlin dabs it away and raises his head with a pleased smile, only to make eye contact with me. "Arthur," he says in surprise, still subconsciously not following the rules.
All of the wounded soldiers immediately shift back in their cots however, as if the presence of Lord Uther's son has reminded them of their place. Of Merlin's place.
Not the young man Merlin's just healed, however. He watches me with dark, assessing eyes as I respond, "Are you finished here? My armor is need of polishing."
Merlin nods, making to stand, when Guinevere catches at his sleeve. "Thank you so much, Merlin," she tells him fervently, and the soldier nods in agreement. At that moment I realize the two must be related, though the resemblance isn't too noticeable.
"Feel better, Soldier Elyan," Merlin grins to him and waves a goodbye to all of the wounded before joining me outside.
"You seem rather content there," I observe aloud, and he shrugs. But his eyes are too bright to be flippant.
"I've gotten better at healing, like you hoped," he responds with.
"Not just that." I shake my head, giving Merlin a look he doesn't seem to understand. "You are aware it's Muirden's job to assist Gaius with the Inner Ring infirmary?"
Merlin's face turns down in an annoyed frown. "And you were the one who sent me there in the first place."
"I know. It's just . . . never mind. Keep walking." I grit my teeth, unable to say anymore.
Soon we've made it back to my tent, Merlin closing the flap behind him as I sit on my bed. "There it is," I gesture vaguely at the pile of armor in the corner of the tent, though he barely glances at it before approaching me. I frown as he nears, cautioned by the intensity still there in the sorcerer's eyes.
"I've been talking with Morgana for some time," Merlin starts, standing in front of where I'm hunched over. I look up at him with a frown. He stares at me in concentration, and suddenly I hear: Yes, another recruit. Trying to get answers.
A gasp escapes me without my permission, and I clamp hands over both of my ears in shock. But the sound didn't come from my ears. "Never do that again," I tell him, angry now. "Do you realize what my father would think it means?"
"I don't give a damn what Uther thinks," Merlin says brazenly, and my heart stops cold.
He could be burned alive for such impudence.
"You don't give a damn about your own life, then?" I shoot back once I've recovered, rising up to meet his challenging eyes. They don't waver.
"You're weak, Arthur," Merlin says, jutting out his chin in defiance. "I can't blame you for being raised weak. But I can blame you for what I can feel your heart knows but your head won't listen to."
"You can't talk like this, don't you understand?" I grab both his shoulders, ready to shake the sense back into him.
"You won't tell your father. You haven't yet, have you?"
"That's not the point - "
"Stop trying to fight it!" Merlin wrenches his body from my grip suddenly, eyes wide with a brightness that scares me now. "Stop forcing yourself to act like him!"
I stare at him, heart in my throat, and for a moment Merlin smiles hopefully at my expression. "See? You know I'm right. You're not like him. You've protected me, Arthur."
"You don't understand," I start weakly, shaking my head, and stumble back to the side of my bed. I look at him in despair, watch the growing confusion replace the hope on Merlin's face, and everything sinks inside me with my next words.
"I can't protect you from anything."
He immediately shakes his head, starting, "You already -"
"Merlin, shut up for one second. Please just listen to me." I swallow thickly when he stays silent, willing the words into my mouth. Finally I manage it. "I'm so sorry. Merlin, we're going to the front line."
A/N: dun Dun DUUUNN. Drama. My specialty, I guess. Lol. Yay for longer chapters, however belated in arrival! Can't wait to hear what you guys think.
catherine10: Sorry to disappoint, though the real history of the claim won't be long in coming, I swear! Thanks for reviewing :D
FairyGoatMother: Well good! And yes, it very much was a setup for this next string of events headed their way. What comes next is a turn in the current story arc - so I hope you enjoy where it takes them! Thanks for leaving your comments, always appreciated.