Prompt: Write a drabble with the word SURRENDER in it (and for the peeps who asked for a continuation of #49)
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Gwen
Ratings/Warnings: K+, continuation of 'Realizing' (#49)
Word Count: 357
Burning
I'm scaring her. I know I am, but…it's the only way. It's the only way to show her because she seems to think it's going to be alright, because she seems to think that someone like me deserves a friend like her, because she seems to think…
She seems to think she's safe with me and that I'm the one who needs saving.
I can't do this, but I must. I have to.
A large part of me screams with fear—fear for my heart, my life, my friendship with them all—because if I tell her now, if I surrender my secret…
The other part—the stronger, fiery-hot part—is demanding I do so because she promised, and I know better. I know she won't keep her promise, her so-called guarantee. Not when she knows what I am.
She can't keep promises like that. She can't. It hurts too much to hear them when I know they'll be broken.
So I'll tell her on my terms. I will do it to protect myself from harboring hope and guard myself from falling into a trap of dreams of acceptance and friendship that will undoubtedly never be mine, and perhaps that is selfish. Perhaps that is very, very selfish, because it shouldn't hurt anymore. But no. Not so selfish. She will see, and I won't be able to hurt her—or anyone else—anymore. The nightmare that I am will be duly punished, which is no less than what I deserve.
"Do you ever remember your dreams, Gwen?" I ask, interrupting the string of soft, comforting reassurances—false reassurances; I have to remember that they are false—she's offering me. "Your nightmares?"
She blinks in confusion. "Do you—Merlin, are your—?"
"Please, Gwen, answer the question."
"Who doesn't remember at least some dreams?" Gwen asked in a small, unsure voice. "Or the worst of the nightmares? Those stay with you."
"And the worst of them?" I whisper.
Despite herself, she shudders and swallows thickly. "Fire. Burning. Ever since I was accused of being a witch. Sometimes—sometimes there are real sorcerers standing in the crowd, jeering at me with their horrid gold eyes."
The harsh truth of reality burns.
